Chain Gang Bling Special with guest edits by Gok Wan

We are still getting a good attendance for mid-winter rides in cold weather. It is a source of amusement and bemusement to me that 17 apparently sane people (well, most of them) will turn up for a fast training ride in the cold and dark. But turn up we do!

It’s my birthday soon, so I’ve been purchasing a few pre-birthday treats for my bike, some tasteful accessories with which to make my stylish ride even more beautiful. Tasty morsels of bike-bling arrived in time for the chain gang. Lightweight skewers finished in anodised red, saving 60 grams; a new multi-tool that saves a further 50 grams; and red handlebar bungs and anodised valve caps surely saved a few grams more. Huge weight savings and awesome looks – what’s not to like? I would surely be unstoppable!

So, what do I find at the start but Stuart Buckland’s bike sporting the SAME valve caps as mine! So embarrassing, I mean, he could have called me. The humiliation - it was like turning up to a party in the same frock. Just poor form Stuart. But as we shall see, this callous young man was not in the mood to conform last night.  And what IS that you wear under your helmet anyway?

We decided to ride as one group. That lasted approximately 5 seconds as 8 super-fast riders made off at a rapid lick with the help of a nice following wind. The rest of us were then caught outside the De La Warr by some temporary traffic lights. That breeze was too much for some to handle and one individual (name withheld) went straight through the lights, seemingly unaware of the need to comply with traffic laws. I detect a growing dissident element in the club. First, there were Simon G’s ‘loop rebels’, now this.  Something Must Be Done!

Well, thankfully some sort of order was restored as we rode along Bexhill seafront, two-abreast, at a fair pace. Simon G rode up the outside to signal the need to rotate the front and get the chain gang proper rolling, and so a fluid group of 7 to 9 riders rode with discipline along Cooden Drive and Herbrand, our rhythm interrupted by more traffic than usual, I thought, and by the lights at the level crossing. Thankfully, non-one ignored these particular lights and we were soon on our way again, reforming into a purposeful team. The communication was particularly good and I think this makes all the difference – calling people in at the front, calling last man and generally letting each other know what we are doing.

We rode past the Star Inn along roads that were wetter than I expected, spray splattering my face and ruining my mascara. We grunted up Spooky Hill and down the other side, then went right at the first bend to clearly see a car coming towards us as we headed toward the sharper left bend by the nature reserve. From nowhere came a gentleman on a racing bicycle that had not been with the group earlier, ripping down the outside, making us suddenly three-abreast. There was not time to shout curses, just time to react and make safe, the offending person speeding off the front of the group. As a whole, I do not think we were impressed with his antics but we settled down and pushed on towards the lay-by.

We had warmed up nicely, so no one wanted to hang around to get cold. We turned back promptly for Bexhill, into a gentle but noticeable wind. I was sensible, for once, and didn’t try to stay with the super-fasts, but instead pulled in ahead of Simon G. John V and John M soon joined us, forming a tight and efficient group that rode across the marsh at a good pace into the cold east wind. I think we saw Ivan ahead on the downhill side of Spooky, unusually having dropped off the faster group's pace. We soon hoovered him up into the group and the five of us worked well together all the way back, enjoying a really good group ride.

But as I am in the mood to make comments on style and fashion, I simply must tell you, Ivan, that wearing knee-length ski socks on the outside of your cycling longs is not the done thing – it’s so 2014! This season the well-dressed cyclist is wearing his ski socks inside his longs. Similarly, John V, what ARE you doing in three-quarter length shorts when the temperature is 2 degrees and, more to the point, with hairy legs on show?  Cover up or wax! However, I did approve of Peter B’s tasteful see-through gilet, pulled tight over his rippling torso, accentuating his finely chiselled features and honed abs. He looked heroic in a Burt Lancaster kind of way – dimpled chin, a far away gaze in his twinkling blue eyes as he remembered beating Wiggo up the Col de Madeleine. Peter paid me to say that, but maybe not enough!

At the lights, we had a friendly discussion with Mr B (for it was he) about the merits of overtaking three-abreast into a tight corner with a car coming the other way, and group riding more generally. I think and hope it was taken in the spirit is was intended. As ever, riding with the chain is a great way of improving fitness - working hard down the outside of the group to do a turn at the front - then enjoying less pressure until it’s time to go down the outside again. It works!

Anyhow, upgrading / adding some tat / pimping my ride (delete as applicable) reminded me of my first proper bike, aged 11. It was bright red (good start) but my grandparents, who were funding the purchase, insisted that I have something ‘sensible’ with Sturmey Archer 3-speed gears. So, it came with straight handlebars with white plastic grips with finger-ridges, a red steel chain-guard and mudguards, chromed rims and white tyres, gold pin striping and chrome additions. Nice to look at if your were 75 years old, but not if you want some wannabe racer street-cred. It was the bike my grandfather wanted as a young man but never had! But it was that or nothing, so I was (sort of) grateful.

I immediately planned some tasteful upgrades, to be applied once a safe period had passed and I could argue that ‘the grips have worn out’ or that the ‘mudguards have rusted through’ (the same strategy is still at work…). Fat chance! They were thick enough to armour a tank! Several years passed…  No-one would ride with me, not helped by rear-ending a mate on a ‘proper’ racer (the brakes were crap on my bike) and buckling his rear rim, as it were.

I was limited to one simple but misplaced improvement. I was convinced that the secret of going faster was to oil the chain. Logically, the more oil that was applied the faster I would go. I got through a can of 3 in 1 oil every two months. My Dad was mystified as to where all his oil was going.

So, the first enhancement was obviously a pair of luminous green handlebar grips. The fact that these clashed horribly with the bike’s colour scheme passed me by – they looked fabulous in the shop so would surely look fabulous on the bike. Whilst I was at it, I turned the handlebars through 90 degrees so that I had cow-horn bars. I let this radical change settle. I got away with it so I took off the chain guard, taking a pound of weight off the bike. I got away with this too. Result!

The next big step was to remove the mudguards (with a blow-torch and lifting gear). Opposition was met from an unexpected quarter. My mum was furious as she saw only that this change would generate more washing from wet and muddy clothing. I weathered the storm, scowling and grunting around the house as teenage boys do, fitting a black tyre with a knobblier tread paid for with money earned from gardening jobs.

I rode my now pretty cool looking bike for miles, visiting friends in the villages around Cheltenham, nipping into town, spending the day exploring country lanes. I fitted a milometer that attached behind the washer on the front axle, the miles measured as a pin on the spokes knocked a little wheel on the side of the unit. I don’t suppose it was very accurate, but it was the Garmin of its day, only a lot cheaper and frankly, with hindsight, crap. Dink, dink, dink, dink, dink, dink, dink, dink, dink, dink every wheel revolution... Arrrgh! Worse than Tom's bottom-bracket or John M's squeeky whatevers!

The look of the bike was transformed into a mean, clean cycling machine - oh yeeeaaaahhhh baby. Thinking back, I realise that I had actually invented the mountain bike. I rode it up and down the steep ‘whoops’ in the woods of the local park. These were like bomb craters - steep-sided, muddy pits that you had to shoot down as fast as possible in order to make it up the other side. I met some American kid there one day, I think his name was Gary Fisher or something, I think he stole my idea…

I had that bike for what felt like forever but was about six years. Then my Dad bought me a 70cc Honda step-through, starting my love affair with those other wondrous two-wheeled devices, motorcycles. My Dad used my pushbike on and off, but complained that the chain got oil on his trousers and the wheels sprayed him with water…  Sorry Dad! Best ride was 68 miles (measured off a map and not the crappy milometer) to the Forest and back.

See you next week, chain-gangers!  Neil