Roughstuff Reconnaissance

I've got an itch to organise a decent old-fashioned Roughstuff Ride with the club. I've been slowly piecing together little sections I know of and poring over OS maps to find other bits. Today was a chance to find out how parts of it might join up, and what a glorious day it was.
I don't believe there's such a thing as lost when you've got a map with you, you are momentarily misplaced shall we say. I had the advantage of a decent visible landmark in the form of the Sugarloaf to aim for which was useful as I got a little misplaced by the NCN 42 signs.-

My bike for the day was my usual road bike, still on open tubs and running 39/53 chainrings. I did come to regret not changing to the compact.
From that point on there was some more dithering, sorry, ascertaining direction and after a rude fat lady in her Rover tried to force me off the pavement where I was mapchecking I as away again thinking I'd head off course a little to get a swift half only to find that the pub was shut. Gutted. Oh well, onwards.

The road became a section I knew from motorbike travels and so I was expecting a climb. Even though you know it's coming, it's still a bit of a wrench. This one is worth it though as it puts you at the start of a short off-road descent leading to a ford.
The beginning-

Those rocks are big enough to trouble a road bike so after avoiding going over the bars I walked a short section before hopping back on for the smooth run down to the ford-

and across the ford I went rather than trying to stop on the greasy concrete bed-

Lovely. From there it was just a 20 mile ride home.
Granted it's not going to be a proper roughstuff ride as there will be large sections of road joining it all together, but it will be the road less travelled.

Black and blue (and white)

Following on from the tales of whoops from Mallorca I was looking for moody shots for the end of my first stab at Black and White film photography in fifteen years. My scuffed and now decidedly used Burls seemed to be a good choice. Oh and the author too...

Mallorca

A week after the finger bashing I was out in Mallorca. I had taken the pushiron with me with a view to getting some miles in whilst my girlfriend took part in a long distance swimming training camp in preparation for her Channel Relay swim later this year.
Packing myself off with bottles full, a map of the island and a rough route in my head I was away.
First impressions were that it was rather warm, around 23'C and that the roads were quite smooth and nicely undulating.

Traffic was minimal, well it was a Sunday, and I was really rather looking forward to the day.
When consulting the map previously I had spotted what looked like a good climb from where we were on the South of the island. Every now and then it would peek out from around a bend or past the trees.

The sanctuary of Sant Salvador lay at the top.
Down to Felanitx and then hang a right up the climb. 4.5km of 7% gradient climb. Not huge, not tiny but you know about it.

I passed a couple of people heading up and enquired about coffee at the top but was met with blank stares.
Steady spinning does it and finally there was the top, or rather the sign proclaiming the altitude.

There is a café and it's around to the right a bit further up the hill!
After a slice of chocolate torte and an espresso I had a mooch around the chapel. Interestingly there were several genuine World Champion jerseys on display, donated by Guillem Timoner, a local cyclist.

 I sauntered outside and took in the view, chatting to a Dutch cyclist.

Then took the obligatory photo of the bike in the view-

before setting off back down the hill.
The eagle eyed of you will have noticed the bike is wearing the clincher wheels not the usual tubular carbon wheels. This was a thought on my part of 1) preventing the carbon wheels getting damaged in transit and 2) if I had a puncture it was easy to fix.
Hmm.
About a third of the way down, and tipping into a right hand bend I heard a sound and thought; 'my brakes are making a fu..' before I had time to think it was the brakes making the funny noise the front wheel had tucked under and I was hitting the tarmac and rolling.
Coming to a stop I did that self check where you see what hurts, can you move hands and feet and what does the bike look like.
Well I could see my kneecaps and parts of my palm I didn't want to and my left shoulder hurt. A lot. Right, I won't be looking at that then.
Bend the bike straight, tweak the bits that can be tweaked and swap the burst front tube over for a fresh one. There was no debris inside the tyre so I have no idea why it burst. Strangely the valve core was bent and the cap missing. Who knows. I do know that no fucker stopped to enquire as to how I was or ask if I needed help and plenty passed.
Back on and down the hill, passing a slow car and a couple of slower cyclist and motorcyclists. I love that shock and adrenaline cocktail.
I headed to Felanitx, the nearest town and stopped in the supermarket with a plan to buy some paracetamol for when the aforementioned cocktail wore off, and some food. In a daze I came out with no paracetamol as the supermarkets don't sell it, some sterile alcohol for my cuts, two apples and a twix.
I bit the first apple and poured alcohol on my cuts.
Then I ate the twix and headed back the way I'd come.
After about ten miles the rear derailleur snagged in the rear wheel. The hanger had been bent in the crash and it was only a matter of time before it went wrong.
At that point I did feel like crying.
Thankfully I maintained the stiff upper lip as two German cyclists actually asked if I was ok. They informed me there was a town a bit further on with a bar.
I walked there pushing/dragging the bike and asked the barmaid if she could phone me a cab back to the hotel as the bike was immobile. That done I asked for a beer.
No beer on sundays.
Bugger.
Long story short after two taxi rides to medical centres and hospitals I have a grade 2 AC joint dislocation and a natty sling.
My kit survived pretty well with not too many scrapes, and the bloodstains washed out ok.

My right hand had a good scuffing, though my left with my injured finger was unmarked.

and my knees were well on their way to scabbing up nicely.

Those photos were taken three days after.
So not the holiday I'd expected, but I'd go back though hiring a bike this time.
Today, three weeks after, is the first time I've been on a bike and it felt good.

Building

Picked the frame up from the signwriters with a little bit of paint on.
Left hand side the colours from the MTB race team I am/was in and right hand side current road club colours. Pleased with it.

About halfway through the build up and thanks to an ear infection things are a bit wobbly so called it a night.The tricky stuff is yet to come.

The three month wait

Last year the decision was made to go titanium for a road bike. I wasn't gelling with my carbon bike. Don't get me wrong it is light, efficient and very effective but there doesn't feel like there is a connection to it. After quite a lot of thinking, and searching, and more thinking, and speaking to people, and riding bikes I settled for a Burls. Although Justin Burls is based in the UK, Essex to be precise, the titanium frames are made by a small (4-5 men) team in Russia. Ex-Colnago pedigree.
Justin was a nice, affable guy to deal with and the email string demonstrates his patience! My order was placed early in December and the wait began. After some hold ups due to Russian customs and UPS I was told the frame was on it's way at the mid-end of February. It arrived with me last week, having come via Justin for quality checking and final touches such as head badge and decals.
So, here it is.

Weight according to my scales is 1547g
It is currently with a guy I know who does signwriting, to have some brush strokes applied to it, then I can build it up. Pictures to follow once complete.