He's back! And this time he's really got a spleen to vent - Urban Toss

Over the last year I have spent a lot of time working on the Hitchin Nomads CC blog. And jolly good fun that has been. So far I think we are pushing somewhere between 45,958 unique page views, which for little ole Hitchin Nomads is great. Of the local cycling clubs, the Noddies' site is probably the most frequently updated, down with the kids and generally informative. Well, that's what people say.*

*That's what Nigel Wilson says and he's the authority on these things as far as we need be concerned.

Having suckered roped new Nomad, Steve Austin (he of splendid Mud, Sweat and Tyres blog fame) in to helping with the Nomads' site, I have a spare nanosecond to proffer my own musings.

To open my 2013 account I'll start with my initial observations on "new" cycling magazines. And one in particular. To a degree, anything which promotes cycling to the reading public is a good thing. But sometimes the narrative is onanistic to say the least. Typical articles include but are not confined to:

• Which carbon fibre inner tube cap is best?
• Get that courier look! (exclamation mark essential)
• Riding to Ulan Bator on a custom built steel tourer! (goatee beards and exclamation marks essential)
• Super bike review (lowest price similar to national debt of Cyprus)

In plain English these articles can be translated in turn to:

• You are a nob.
• You don't know you are a nob but will become a giant one by aspiring to ride a bike with coloured wheel rims and curating a fetid body odour.
• You are a nob but at least you might leave the country for a while as a result of being inspired by some hippy. You will hopefully be abducted on the Silk Road and sold to the local tribesmen as raw ingredients for a nice broth. Plus you will have a steel bike that has been made by a man in a shed in Bristol with his redundancy money from Aldi. Undoubtedly it will be called Trevcycle or Bazwerks.
• You can't ride a bike quickly but are confident your ability will increase simply by racking up a huge credit card bill/ divorce or both. Typically you will be a 4th Cat rider who gets dropped on every race on the first lap.

Or, in summary, you think Rapha clothing really is the bee's knees and that Nespresso is similarly great.

My good friend and fellow pedant/ ubercynic, Paul Riley, has just invested wasted a whole six English Euros Dollars on a copy of Urban Cyclist. He could have spent the money on Jaffa Cakes for his excellent water emporium. But no. He was drawn in like a sailor to the Sirens on the rocks by the promise of new knowledge and insight. Was this wonga well spent? Let's see shall we?

The following feature header, "Smashing Good Show" which as it indicates is:

"...a joyful celebration of a bygone age, inviting cyclists to dress up and enjoy city cycling as it once was..."

Promises to deliver the gen. But does it?

So what could that mean? I expect the author and also the editor thought that this would be akin to a Jules Verne epic which would incite the cycling nation to run to Hackett's, purchase a Berwick Tweed, batter a blind person andthen nab their golden retriever (or black labrador if possible) and then attempt to shoot some local peasantry.

Over the past 20-50 years many manufacturers have been at pains to create clothes and kit that isn't tweed. Because it is not a good idea to ride a bike in the equivalent of a National Service army blanket.

So what next in the Urban Cyclist agenda? Up the Alps in Hessian sacks a la mode of the  leper colony of ancien Guadaloupe? Which doublet should I wear whilst fitting carrying my sackbut and hedrygurdy on a club run? Can I still joust and tilt a lance whilst cycling a Raleigh Grifter?

So as you can see, this is an idea based in a universe where city cycling was once deemed to be both idyllic and fun.

But which city could that be? Which famed civitae and cyclotropolis? Was this a city where the streets were paved with gold wherein Dick Whittington would give you a rub down at the end of a heady commute to the flange-nut factory? No. 

Was this a city where there were no horses or associated droppings/ trams/ urchins/ horse drawn carriages/ horseless carriages/ hover cars like in the Jetsons/ white vans etc. No.

Is this a city which exists within a 300 metre radius of West Hampstead? Yes.
Is this a city in which everyone is called Giles, Rupert or Betina where a Trust Fund is de riguer? Yes.
Is this a city which is conveniently linked to the "country" by the use of a Bentley and driver? Yes.
Is this a city where I want to live? No.

It would probably be called Tw@tville cum Spanner.

So in the alternative universe of "Bikie Cyclist" the basis of the article would be as thus:

Smashing Good Show - some fools with too much money sit outside a bandstand drinking Pimms gazing in to the middle distance as the staff photographer takes close-up shots of their over engineered frame lugs (whilst wishing he'd studied harder and got a job on Nuts magazine or at least Which Hi-Fi).

At this point Paul Riley is brought in to inform the participants that this shoot is to be re-themed along the lines of the Hunger Games and is actually now a fight to the death on Primrose Hill. 

Several of the participants are subsequently impaled on or gaffer-taped to Bromptons which are then folded up and thrown in to the Regent's Park Canal (victims preferably still alive). Other "survivors" are similarly skewered on Rapha Condor seatposts and the like and made to lick jam of the tire sidewalls of Boris Bikes.

The "winner" is then forced to have a presta valve fitted to the side of his/ her head which is then pumped up to circa140 PSI using a Victorian fire engine pump.

At some point the ""winner's" head eventually explodes but not before the opportunity to fit in a consumer test of "cycling helmets of the 1960s" is performed by smashing them in situ (on the "winner's" noggin) with a mattock.

Two for the price of one.

Now that is a "Smashing Good Show" I would pay £6 to read about.