asthmatic camel wrote: ↑Sat May 07, 2022 7:15 am
Well, all went well, bike arrived on time and I had it built within an hour. Then disaster struck. The bike fell over and snapped the key firmly in the battery lock. Many fucks ensued. Bike is currently with my pal Will Wright of Will's Wheels, a genuine local asset. I anticipate a large bill, even though he gives me a discount for being a regular customer.
Well, here she is, fully repaired and kitted out with massive panniers, 10 trillion lumen lights, and the best lock I could find. A trial run indicates that the claimed maximum range per charge of 148 km/ 92 miles may be realistic.
The thing under the saddle, is that the rear light or just a reflector? Looks like following traffic might not be able to see it, because of the luggage.
It's just a reflector, (they're required by law.) The real light, which is very visible indeed, is mounted at the back of the luggage rack.
I'd been planning to buy something like this a few years down the line when I'm struggling to, ahem, get a leg over but with UK inflation now running at 10%, I figured I might as well get one now, while my money is still worth something. Raleigh has been manufacturing bikes in Nottingham since 1885, and the drive unit is made by Bosch, so I don't anticipate having any trouble finding parts in the future.
I was walking to the drug store the other morning and a guy rolled up next to me on a 10-speed bicycle. "I got no brakes!" The chain was slipping every so often. He was trying to get to Lorain, Ohio from Cleveland. "Which way is it?" I pointed in a direction that would take him away from my neighborhood. He mused about hopping a freight train. "Good luck with that!" Last I saw him he was pedaling west in the general direction of Lorain, Ohio. Into an inbound thunderstorm.
Back in my pub days, I fancied a week off and planned to cycle to my father's in Wales, some ninety miles away. I asked my friend Vic, with whom I played in a blues band, if he fancied coming along, (Vic was ten years older than I, and I was then thirty. He was also a very heavy drinker and not known for being a fitness fanatic.) Somewhat to my surprise, he agreed to give it a go.
The first day, we made it to Chester, Vic's home city, some fifty miles away carrying tents, etc., a not inconsiderable amount of weight. We went to visit Vic's old mother, found a B&B and spent the night on the town, Vic showing me his old drinking haunts and introducing me to some of his old friends. I have to say I was quite impressed that he'd held up so well.
Day two was to prove more challenging. My father lived near Denbigh, and to get there from Chester involved either crossing the Clwydian Range, no joke even without a banging hangover, or taking the coast road, a gentler option but about an extra thirty miles. We decided on the second option. About ten miles from my father's place, Vic was beginning to suffer badly and loudly. With much coaxing and wheedling, I managed to get him to within a mile of our destination where he had a massive tantrum and threw his bike into a ditch in a temper! A comforting cup of tea later and we were back in the saddle, Vic bitching like a good'n with every turn of the pedals, and arrived at my father's shortly afterward. Ten minutes later, we were in the back of my Dad's BMW on the way to his favourite pub and Vic was as happy as I'd ever seen him!
We spent the rest of the week touring around Snowdonia, crossing the formidable Horseshoe Pass into Valle Crucis where there is a campsite surrounded by spectacular scenery, and only a few miles from the beautiful town of Llangollen.
At the end of the week we got the train home from Chirk, having visited Chirk Castle, the home of my ancestors.
Poor Vic died of cancer last year but he enjoyed our week away so much that he talked about it until his dying day.
Well the tuning kit arrived today. (I'd already tweaked the bike by taping a magnet to the pedal crank and moving the sensor to see if it was worth spending £150 on the kit, and it definitely was: it gave me a 10 mph boost.)
Here it is...
https://i.imgur.com/hhHZ8qp.jpg
And the bike's ready to rock and roll!
https://i.imgur.com/LRbG7ck.jpg
Why, you may very well ask, spend £150 when the simple tweak worked just as well? Legality is the answer. Unrestricted ebikes are classed as motorcycles in the UK, requiring insurance, MOT tests, helmets and all that shit. The kit sits inside the motor housing, is invisible to the cops, and with a quick click of a button, I can switch between restricted and unrestricted modes. Also, the easy tweak renders the bike computer pretty much useless: it shows a speed of 5MPH when I'm doing 25 MPH.
It's a fucking stupid law. Ebikes are restricted to 15 MPH before the motor cuts out. Seeing as I regularly hit 35MPH on my unassisted road bike, it makes balls all sense. (That said, in my fifty-odd years of cycling, I have never seen a cop pull a cyclist over for anything, even when they should have. Still, better safe than sorry. :) )
Oh, and I found a supplier of cut-price Bosch ebike batteries in Lithuania and ordered the biggest one available. In theory, this should increase the effective range from 100 miles to 145 miles.
Why bother with all this? Well, I've suffered a few seizures over the years and, being a fairly responsible citizen, surrendered my driving licence about 25 years ago. Also, my mother is now eighty-three years old and lives on the other side of the city, so a fairly rapid means of alternative transport with a reasonable capacity for luggage is becoming a necessity. Of course, as you may have gathered, I genuinely enjoy cycling and, at fifty-six, I'm no spring chicken myself.
Mind you. It did sound like a morning-after cheap curry fart when it changed gear. Which, as guys all know, driving cars that make noises similar to having an atrocious shit makes porn girls creamy and you irresistible.
Alternatively you just look like desperate cunts making a fool of yourselves.
You know, Hotarubi, I don't miss driving at all. Really. Mrs. Camel needs a car as she works odd hours, so we run an ancient Fiat Panda for which I paid £800 five years ago, (less than half what I paid for the ebike featured above, which will likely see me out.) It now costs £100 to fill the tank, never mind insurance, MOT, repairs, extortionate parking fees etc. (assuming there are any parking spaces available), and most of her driving time is spent stuck in traffic jams burning expensive fuel.
I, on the other hand, pay virtually nothing for transport, (bicycle maintenance costs are minimal and I can do most jobs myself.) In addition, my blood pressure is 115/75 and my resting pulse is 55, impressive for an old fart. I can also feel smug about my green credentials, knowing that Greta Thunberg, the Swedish Doom Goblin, ain't out to get me.
asthmatic camel wrote: ↑Sat Jul 30, 2022 5:09 am
You know, Hotarubi, I don't miss driving at all. Really. Mrs. Camel needs a car as she works odd hours, so we run an ancient Fiat Panda for which I paid £800 five years ago, (less than half what I paid for the ebike featured above, which will likely see me out.) It now costs £100 to fill the tank, never mind insurance, MOT, repairs, extortionate parking fees etc. (assuming there are any parking spaces available), and most of her driving time is spent stuck in traffic jams burning expensive fuel.
I, on the other hand, pay virtually nothing for transport, (bicycle maintenance costs are minimal and I can do most jobs myself.) In addition, my blood pressure is 115/75 and my resting pulse is 55, impressive for an old fart. I can also feel smug about my green credentials, knowing that Greta Thunberg, the Swedish Doom Goblin, ain't out to get me.
:)
You're a cyclist which means you are an annoying tantrum-throwing shit that throws a kitteh™ when I get within 12 light years of your uncontrolled wobbling in your gay Ithinki'mmarkcavendish Trek Segafredo shirt , whilst wantonly pissing off everyone on the planet whilst demanding they accomodate you.
Alternativz, you could get yourself one of these bad boys:
Cheap to run better mileage, makes male drivers jealous and scared of you , makes women instantly ovulate and makes kids think you're the cooler than farts.
Tell you what, you mince about the North looking like Father Brown with an inferiority complex and I'll zoom around town, looking more awesome than Darth Vader and making 78 year old librarian women, who haven't seen a penis in 40 years...gush.
It is really a fucking easy pattern. Too many years ago, I assumed there were off-beats, only to be sadly surprised that there are none. I mean, you can teach a child, even Dickhead Surprise how to play it.
It is not even the classic "crotchet triplet," as an Old Brit Teacher called them for some reason, that open Radical Edward Yoko Kano's work:
which is basically a homage to Bohnam's introduction to "Rock and Roll":
which was, actually, a moment of frustration on Bohnam's part. I will note, en passant, that his copy of Chapin's work is not autographed.
But, then, it works. So maybe that is the point. Still, watching that, sort of long for:
I do believe that Anne Sacoolas, an incopentent American driver would have been better off riding a bike rather than killing a young man by driving on the wrong side of the fucking road. Cunt Trump supported her and refused to allow her to be sued here.
After a miserable spell in hospital,(I couldn't stand up on Monday,) I managed a sixty-mile bike ride last night. Twenty on my road bike and forty on my not-at-all gay e-bike. I celebrated the dawn by sharing a cigar, the BBC World Service and a non-alcoholic beer with my old friend Oliver Cromwell at Wythenshawe Hall. :)
Today, I visited the Whitworth Art Gallery, just to annoy Doctor X. I was going to visit the Manchester Museum, but it's closed for refurbishment, so I had to settle for a non-alcoholic beer at one of Manchester's best pubs, Peveril of the Peak. :)