Love that TW. Bit of a soft spot for the Van Van myself.

Funny considering the OPs username, the first thing I thought of when reading the thread title is the Ford Cougar and the Ford Kuga. Not sure it counts though.

Whereabouts in the country are you?

The sheffield one was great. About 400 there.

We always go to Trenchers (takeaway) and find it exceptional, but having seen this thread I’ll be giving the other side of the river a try next time.

Thanks for the feedback so far guys.

You mean fanbois?

Sweeping dismissals have, in my experience, consistently revealed more about those doing the dismissing than that which is being dismissed.

Not really. It negates the comfort disadvantage, they still don’t roll as well. Given full size wheels are stiff and strong enough and the difference in rotating mass is less than half what the suspension adds (hence negating any advantage) that just leaves the aero advantage – I would be surprised if any small wheeled bike has ever got close to being as aero in total as the current state of the art. Where they do come into their own is team pursuit or similar events where you can draft closer with smaller wheels.

So swiftly and easily dismissed are the experiences of countless Moulton riders and the life’s work of a respected bicycle engineer.

Oh god, if that was the case, there’d be only half the threads on this site!!

MTB wheel size rules do not apply to road bikes.

Suspension negates the need for large wheels. Smaller wheels are more aerodynamic, stiffer, stronger and have less rotating mass. And with suspension taking care of comfort, you can build really stiff, efficient frames.

Gee. If only somebody had realised all this 50 years ago.

The Shield.

I think Jackie Chan has a thing about only playing good guys. Something about wanting to be a positive role model.

Done it as a temporary measure while waiting for parts.

I like single ring setups on the MTB, but on the road bike it felt all the drawbacks with none of the benefits.

I do live in a very hilly area though.

Another Carradice fan. The cotton duck canvas type fabric is quite ridiculous. In rain it gets absolutely saturated on the outside, yet somehow remains bone dry on the inside.

First time I got them wet I was horrified. I had expected the water to bead off, but instead it just soaks in. Opened when I got out of the weather a while later expecting my kit to be soaked through, and everything was totally dry.

It’s strange, almost like they’re only waterproof when they’re wet. Great stuff.

Repairable, hard wearing, smart looking and locally made (if that bothers you). Really nice stuff.

I watched the whole thing and laughed the whole way through. It captures what biking is about. Fun. That guy’s certainly having plenty.

Staropramen glasses. I thought it was just me that somehow always splashed beer into my own eye. Turns out it’s the shape of the glass.

Edit – never mind.

Stories like this are totally lame.

Except when it’s your own story, in which case they’re tales of supreme awesomeness. So here’s my Tl;dr…

I was visiting a mate in London. Rather than mess about with public transport either end of the train journey, I took the bike with me. I went down on the Friday night and came back Sunday evening.

My mate lives in Stratford, East London, almost within sight of the Olympic park, and this was the weekend in between the Olympics and the Paralympics, so there was a real buzz around the area. People were visiting from all over the world, the cafes and pubs were spilling out onto the street, flags were flying, it was great.

I fancied a ride round to take it all in, so I left my (none-riding) mate a little earlier than planned and spent a couple of hours riding round, seeing the sights and taking in the atmosphere, before making a gentle ride over to St Pancras for my train.

An old ankle injury means that though I can ride all day, I’m not great at walking for a long time. So I have a folding walking stick that I take with me any time I suspect I’ll be on my feet a lot. I don’t use it very often, but it does bail me out occasionally. It usually lives tucked away in my bag, but as my bag was full with my weekend’s clothing, I had it pushed into the bottle holder on the outside.

So I’m wearing normal clothes – jeans, trainers, T Shirt, no helmet, no gloves – I’ve got a small but over-stuffed rucksack on, and I’ve got a folded up, wooden handled walking stick poking out the side. And I’m riding a 20″ wheeled Moulton.

Just cruising, minding my own business, I roll up steadily to a red light and this guy appears right beside me. He’s in full matching lycra, road cleats, no helmet but he’s wearing a cycling cap, fingerless mitts, the lot. He’s riding a full blown (at least to my eyes) pro-spec carbon road bike, like a full on time-trial machine with deep section carbon rims and the lot. Except, inexplicably, he’s running a pair of those stupid narrow riser bars you see the fixie boys running, with the brake levers almost touching.

Fair enough, that’s ridiculous component choice, but it’s his bike, he can do what he wants to it. I don’t care. Except he’s now arrogantly edging in front of me, and he’s angled himself to point at the bit of tarmac immediately ahead of me, as if he’s just assuming he’s going to pull in front when the lights change and leave small wheeled, little old limpy here for dead.

Now it wasn’t his narrow bars alone that were enough to turn me into Mr testosterone competitive madman. Nor was it his arrogance that could turn me into Mr testosterone competitive madman. Combine both however, and you’ve a red-rag-to-a-bull.

I’m calmly sat at the lights and I can see his leg twitching. I can see he’s poised ready to shoot off as soon as we get the amber. And I’m sat there, looking nonchalant, but inside I know my very masculinity rests on this one moment. If I don’t at least ruin the rest of this guy’s year I’ll never be able to look myself in the eye again. My girlfriend will leave me, my chest hair will thin and my taste for foaming real ale will turn into a craving for Coors Light.

Up ahead, I note the road is a slight incline. It’s only a London incline, but it’s there. These things are relative, and my rival is clearly a London rider. I’m from up North; bursting up short, sharp climbs is how we get laid up here. And I’m in lowest gear. On a Moulton.

If you’ve never ridden a Moulton I suggest you try it. Hugely misunderstood things, they are. Fast. Really fast. And they accelerate. Like, really fast. Small wheels, low rotating mass, taught frame; they fire off the line, quick.

I’m feeling confident.

The lights change. Lycra boy stands high and heaves down on the lead pedal, clipping in just in time to stomp on the other. He’s really cranking. But I stay alongside him. Sat down. Refusing to let him pull ahead, I carefully click down gears and, staying seated, I continue to crank, making it look like this is the easiest thing in the world. He cranks harder, digs deeper, and all I do is stay in the saddle, maintaining a fast but steady cadence, I keep shifting down and I keep matching his speed. All the time my face is placid, my breathing normal and my composure intact.

I start to hear him tire. Maybe he’s been out pushing hard for hours, maybe he’s just done a century. I neither know nor care. He made this happen. He asked for this, he’d held out his ass and he was begging me to hand it right back to him with a cute little bow attached. We’re now at his limit, we’re on the mild incline I consider his extreme and my comfort zone, and I’ve got fresh legs.

From my seat I turn to look at him as he’s mashing away. He’s gasping for breath, starting to show signs that he’s about to fall back. Now is my time. From my comfortable saddle and genteel position, looking for all the world like a village pastor on a sedate pootle through the parish, I catch his eye and say, with a calm but knowing smile;

“Don’t ever assume”.

At that I stood up, dumped a load of gears and sprinted off into the distance, just making the next set of lights.

I glanced back. He was a dot. I had left him for dead, and I had done it with a calm smile. With a good deal of tarmac and a set of reds between us, I turned into a side street and beyond his sight line.

He learned a valuable lesson that day. Don’t mess with people you don’t know. You never know how teh awesumz they might be. And I was teh king of awesumz that day.

How much it must have been stinging him, I thought. How much does it tear you apart to have your dignity stripped from you, I wondered, as I turned down the side of some shops and victoriously hid in a fire escape, leaning against a piss-stained door on the verge of lung failure, trying not to be sick.

I hid there among the bins, boxes and used johnnies long enough that he wouldn’t see me again. Because I was the winner.

That night I went home and had full sex with a woman.

Never fancied anything on my bars, but these look good

http://road.cc/content/review/28706-bike-eye-bike-mirror

Not just NFN – Couple of years ago I was stood having a mid-ride rest, taking in the very Yorkshire view from Wharncliffe Crags when three lads bounced past me riding machines very much like that.

The first bit, before everyone else is up.

I use these on both ends. Neater than the alternative solutions, and cost about £1.50 each.

http://www.kinesisbikes.co.uk/pro6-widget/

Twice.

Interesting graphic where frontal areas and head heights are concerned.

I know a lot of teachers. I don’t know one that isn’t looking for a way out.

Lol, are you kidding us with this? It’s like a spot the difference quiz.

Lovely bike by the way.

Give Matt a buzz at 18 – he might do it.

I leave all that kind of stuff to the busy bodies of this world, as long as i can keep a roof over my head, stay warm and get access to 1500 calories of grub a day and a few ales i’m happy as a pig in sh*t.

Your attitude is a gift to fascism.

Off the top of my head…

There’s Yorkshire Wildlife Park a short drive from The Dome, if you like lions and tigers and lemurs and that; there’s Doncaster Aeroventure a short walk from The Dome if you like planes, helicopters and bits thereof; there’s Potteric Carr nature reserve another short walk from The Dome if you like birds and nature, and there’s Conisbrough Castle a few miles down the road from The Dome if you like castles.

Does alright does Donny.

I saw the Vulcan in flight from the polar bear enclosure a few weeks ago. The bear is called Victor, amusingly. My missus didn’t get the link.

They’re probably busy sweeping up after having the 587th car crash into the shop last night.

http://www.thestar.co.uk/news/bike-store-hit-by-another-car-crash-1-688364

In a similar vein and at risk of hijack, any recommendations on a factory (not bespoke or build-yourself) fixie with discs?

This?

Does comes with a freewheel but that’s easily removed…

Professional graphic designer and frequent illustrator user here; I do everything with a mouse. Lack of tablet shouldn’t be a limiting factor for using Illo should it?

Personally I think pretty much everything that came from the 90s postmodern movement is aesthetically criminal. What a confused, dishonest and ultimately empty period in design history that was.

I reckon I’d definitely have taken the bus station with a bit of TLC over the dodgy faux-georgian facade.

Glad somebody else said this; I thought the exact same thing.

Don’t UK style modern cooker cutter modern houses grate on us because we see them everywhere?

For me it’s not the ubiquity that grates; it’s the dishonesty and vapidity. I take no issue with things being cookie cut, but cookies should taste good.

This and the millions just like it, dull, uninspiring cookie cutter architecture that makes no attempt to enhance anyones life beyond keeping the weather off them.

Glad you guys have the money to buy houses with interesting architecture.

While this is a fair statement to make, it’s a shame because interesting design isn’t necessarily expensive. The market does that, not the actual design. So much clever engineering, architecture and industrial design actually drives more efficient and cost effective production methods, but the “Designer Tax” ramps up the price, leading to a level of exclusivity that prevents them from ever making it to mass market and widespread adoption.

That ghastly cookie cutter Barratt Home nightmare pictured above represents to me a far deeper, darker dystopia than even the most grim and unapologetic brutalism ever did. At least the concrete tower blocks of the 60s and 70s were built against the backdrop of hope for a better future. This mock victorian rubbish we’ve littered our land and poisoned our culture with since the 90s is a shining example of the frankly ridiculous relationship we Brits have been convinced we should have with our houses. We don’t have homes in the UK – we have property.

Today’s housing developments don’t reflect economics as much as an idealised view of a Great Britain that never actually existed for the majority of those who lived in it. Our national obsession with viewing the past as a safe haven to which we’d like to return is a symptom of fear and uncertainty, built on a misunderstanding of history that inhibits our present and impedes our future.

Chromoplastics, if they’ll fit. Fitted 5 sets in last two years (all on different bikes, obvs, and not all for me). Love em. Fit them well and they’re near invisible.

The BBC tells us what the powers that be want it to tell us. Worse now than ever.

Actually, I prefer Philtrickebank’s suggestion. Might do that myself soon.

If I had just the one full day I’d do a big door to door loop, rather than spending time in the car.

Start Hillsborough, Beeley Woods, Wharncliffe, out along TPT, over to Cut Gate, Various Dark Peak Stuff, climb out over Stanage, drop down Wyming Brook, Rivelin and back to Hillsborough. Minimal road work involved, will keep anyone busy all day.