AN APPROPRIATE BICYCLE - Pt.16: CYCLING AS A METAPHOR FOR CAPITALISM

The 2013 London to Brighton bike ride is what I intended An Appropriate Bicycle to be all about – the opportunity to savour mass riding on clean roads and how I might approach that – and I’d always envisaged a more pronounced focus toward the actual act of cycling. Instead this project has almost developed into some sort of ‘budget cycling advice bureau’. Not only do the accoutrements of this topical sphere interest me as much as the physical endeavour, but I've come to conclude that this attitude is not actually out of keeping with the… scene.

It’s not unreasonable to suggest that I have acquired something of a feel for what motivates the cycling enthusiast, and I have concluded that consumerism appears to play its part. I'm not the sort to normally embrace or approve of such material machinations, but – if it’s to be entered into whole-heartedly – it is obvious that the pursuit of cycling requires a certain level of investment. More to the point, the tools of cycling appear to take on a significance of their own.

Check this out from the Condor Cycles blog:

The thing that most amateur cyclists, aspiring youths – and anyone else who has to buy their own cycling kit – think about when they think about pro bike riders is often, in all honesty, not how great would it be to do that race, or how cool would it be to fly around the world doing what you love: the first thing people think is, “how cool would it be to get all that kit?”

These are the words of Tom Southam, former professional cyclist with Rapha Condor Sharp (among other teams), and I assume that they’re representative of the trade.

Yet, the accumulation of cycling related paraphernalia does not appear to be motivated by the desire to display status or engage in any sort of power play. Instead, the cycling enthusiast exhibits a geek-like fondness for memorabilia and of accruing accessories, which points to an almost pathologically obsessive dedication toward their chosen past-time. It is for this reason that I think the descriptions of my dealings with mail-order companies and web-based market places are compulsively relevant.

Is it altogether healthy? Does it reduce what might ostensibly be a means of getting about, of keeping fit or earning a living, into something of a capitalist endeavour? My financial predicament has determined how I approach this, but it’s interesting to see how unnecessary a lot of this outlay might actually be: that you don’t have to part with over £100 for a “technical jacket” or 70-odd quid for a jersey. Would not doing so point to a surfeit of vanity?

But there are those who do, and therein lies the point of Carlos-Weltschmerz, of An Appropriate Bicycle, and of me. Even if I wanted to – even if I had the money – I couldn't join in the way that could be expected of me. I don’t buy the up-market cycling magazines (I've allowed myself a couple of editions of Cycle Sport, for research purposes only) and I don’t feel very comfortable in places like Sigma Sport. I don’t think I could ever bring myself to join a club, and I only intend to wear proper cycling shorts on the longer and harder rides. Yet I've enjoyed mixing with the guys at the lower end of the industry – the adventure capitalists and D’Vlo, the cottage industry that is Vintage Bike Cave, or those old-school stalwarts at Prendas selling retro jerseys. I've willingly embraced the heritage of “The Tour” and bought into its myths. I have been actively seeking to look the part.

As a corollary to all of this, I seem to have developed an obsession with my new-found hobby that is muddying the waters. EBay has a lot to answer for here: it’s too easy, and there’s so much gear out there that one’s aesthetic sensibilities become overawed and confused, so much so that I've been thinking of selling my Solo jersey – a garment of consummate fit – just to allow myself the opportunity to stalk the marketplace for the perfectly authentic vesture in which to ride from London to Brighton. This is the pernicious effect of a capitalist sensibility given a free rein (under the guise of self-improvement). A laissez faire state of mind is scarcely satisfied because it is geared towards an inexorable façade of moving forward (they call it progress).

The Carlos-Galli jersey arrived, right? But in the meantime I’d sold my Jamis after a month of commuting back to work on the thing (a temporary arrangement) and quite struggled to get to grips with the Carlos once we’d become re-acquainted. I sold the Jamis with the D-lock and the front light included (to an agreeable Australian who didn't cavil at the terms and conditions, which were not unreasonable) and treated myself to a Lezyne Femto LED front light to combat the crepuscular conditions I now faced on my ride home from my job (a new lock was to follow).

I had a day off and rode the Chiswick Circuit in the hope that Carlos and I could get back to how things were, but three weeks spent riding the Jamis now confirmed my latent fear that the Carlos had too long a reach for me. It was no longer the spectre or an errant Pinarello that was troubling me, but the real possibility that I might completely break down on the 54 mile ride from London to Brighton. And so I decided, quite ruthlessly, that the Carlos would have to go.

            In fact, I’d already been on the lookout for a predominantly white bicycle – replete with 1980s era livery, preferably – but instead came across an attractive cerulean blue Pinarello Asolo and a very minimal Vicini Cesena selling a week apart on eBay. I placed speculative bids on both but won on neither. That I’d even bothered was a reflection on the internal dialogue playing out within me, my romantic attachment for the Carlos on the one side up against a need for something nippier and more functional on the other (although I was still thinking very resolutely along the lines of steel). Maybe I distracted myself with the pursuit of jerseys to avoid this uncomfortable truth, for I'm not sure I had the stomach for indulging in yet more bicycle based trade.

The Vicini Cesena is the key here, for I took the loss of the Pinarello Asolo on the chin, despite its obvious beauty and apparently appropriate dimensions. My research led me to believe that the seller did not fully appreciate the rarity of the Vicini. I had no definitive idea either, but estimated it to be worth at least £450. I could only afford to offer £350.

I set my maximum bid for the Vicini accordingly, but was outbid to the tune of 30 pounds. I may have bid higher had my attempts to contact the seller for detailed measurements not been rebuffed by some paranoid application on eBay (either erroneously or because the seller so decreed). I’d momentarily considered doing so regardless, entitled as I was to retract my offer on the day of exchange on the grounds that the provided measurements were insufficient and vague – horribly so: blurred pictures of a tape-measure being held out in front of the top and seat tubes – but I couldn't bear to suffer the hassle, nor the conceivable disappointment.

            On investigating the activity of the winning bidder it was discovered that they sold as much as they bought, which led me to believe that the bike had not necessarily been secured with the intent of riding it. This supposition proved to be true, for not three weeks later the bike re-appeared on Gumtree – exhibiting minor, but mostly unnecessary, alterations – with an asking price of £599. I liked that the black seat-post had been replaced with a chrome variation, but was very sad that the new seller had stripped the frame of its decals. It was a silvery-grey bike that suited being pared down, but the blue text on the down-tube had not been out of keeping with this. I was also puzzled as to why one set of deep-rimmed wheels had been replaced with another of an almost exact monstrosity.

The Vicini before

 The Vicini after

Anyway, the new seller was receptive to my questions, and although the measurements provided did appear to confirm my suspicion that this bike was a little too big, they were close enough to convince that it was worth making the trip to Highgate to be sure. It occurred to me that it would do no harm, whilst up that way, to drop in at the Vintage Bike Cave and look at another bike that had struck a chord somewhere along the line. (I can’t recall when but it was probably about a month after I bought the Carlos, and I had judged it then to be too small and prohibitively expensive. To have seen it still for sale some months later obliged me to consider the subject of fate once more, now that the Carlos had established itself as being larger than I at one time thought – this lack of spatial perspective on my part still baffles me.)

The journey to Highgate took approximately one hour. On my arrival I was required to turn a right up Archway Road in the direction of East Finchley, as opposed to left towards Archway and the Vintage Bike Cave. Highgate had appeared to be an agreeable area when walking in a south-easterly direction, but this reverse north-west uphill swing presented a different perspective. When I reached the area the seller’s postcode encompassed I gave him a call and was furnished with the number of the house in which he resided.

The seller was a pleasant gentleman of central European origin, and it materialised that he had actually thought about using the bike for himself, but quite enjoyed buying bikes, mutilating them, and selling them on again if they didn't quite measure up. At six feet in height, I speculated that the Vicini Cesena was a little too small for him and that this was why he was selling it, although the 60 cm seat-tube implied otherwise.

The bike, when he revealed it to me, did not look as large as I had anticipated. Further – and this was the reason for me being tempted into seeing it in the first instance – the Pleasant Gentleman of Central European Origin had fitted a relatively short quill stem to the bike, compensating for the fact that it had roughly the same top-tube length as the Carlos, which might mean that the reach issues I’d been having would not resurface here. That was not all, for the Vicini Cesena was equipped with integrated brake and gear shifters – “brifters” as they’re otherwise known.

I took the bike for a spin across the road in the Plumb Centre’s car park – a bleak stretch of concrete that offered small room for manoeuvre. The bike rode well, and I felt very comfortable on it. However, the reduction in stem length meant that the front wheel felt too far in front of me, and the front hub – which they say should almost be in line with the handlebars when the rider looks down towards them – was clearly visible a few inches beyond. This might not make any perceivable difference to the ride, but the Vicini had a wheelbase of 1 metre (the same as Carlos), a top-tube length of 57.5 cm (also the same as Carlos) and a seat-tube measurement of 60 cm (2 cm longer than Carlos). What’s more, the Pleasant Gentleman of Central European Origin had shifted the seat forward  in an attempt to reduce the reach still further, so what felt nice to ride now might induce consequences later. And there was a little more corrosion than had been apparent from the photographs on Gumtree, and, despite some quality looking Campagnolo componentry, those horrific Athena 96 deep-rimmed wheels. I knew it wasn't worth the £599 he was asking for, but I expect so did he. I supposed he would have accepted anything over £500 for it. I’d made it clear I wasn't there to make a purchase right now but parted company offering the hint that I might in the future.

Bikes never seem to look quite as good “in the metal” as they do on one’s 14ʺ laptop screen, and the Romani Prestige Special Competition was no exception. Darker in hue, and needing some attention, the £475 asking price was perhaps a mite ambitious. It was explained to me, by The Man Who Worked On Lathes, that restoration had not yet begun – it wasn't even fit for a test-ride (their phones and internet connection had been down all week, so I had no way to forewarn them of my intended visit). But simply sitting astride the Romani gave me a good feeling for it, and it was a very good-looking bike, despite its present shabbiness.

I exited the Vintage Bike Cave with something of a dilemma on my hands, both bikes having felt immediately more comfortable to ride than the Carlos. By the time I’d reached the platform at Highgate tube station it was pretty much resolved.

AN APPROPRIATE BICYCLE - Pt. 5: CARLOS

£450 was my final offer, and it had neither matched nor exceeded the reserve. The only circumstances under which the Pinarello could now be mine was if I remained the highest bidder and that £450 was close enough to the seller’s valuation that he/she might let it go for less. By now I'm not sure I even cared.

            I left my house at 18:41 and the auction was due to reach fruition at 22:10:11. I assumed this time-scale was dependent on the exact moment the sale was floated and calculated on the basis of that – how else can you explain those extra 11 seconds of opportunity?

            When I logged on to eBay the following morning I was quite relieved to see that I had failed in my bid. But it was funny: my final offer had been the second-to-last tender of the day, before some opportunist came in with a bid of £460 at precisely 22:10:08. How’s that for taking it down to the wire?

As far as I could tell, at 22:10:04, the leading bid – my bid – was visible at £400. Somebody else then attempted to trump my bid with an offer of £422. I’d set my maximum bid at £450, so they were destined to fail, but this now placed me as the highest bidder with an offer of £430, because eBay raises the bid (in increments determined by the current value) on your behalf. Waiting in the wings, the eventual winner then submitted an offer of £460. I can only wonder what would have happened if, with the bidding set at £430 with just 3 seconds to run, the bidder had decided to chance his arm on a maximum offer of, say, £440. At least I think that's how it works...

But they still hadn't made the reserve. Had they taken a chance on my bid being close? Were they confident that the seller would acquiesce to the sellee and take whatever they could get?  Was I missing something concerning the nature of eBay? Was this a green light for the winning bidder to now enter into a personal dialogue with salesperson whereupon they’d thrash it out between them, reaching some sort of fiscal compromise? Consumed by intrigue, I sent the following email to the seller:

'Hey - are you selling your Pinarello for less than the reserve? I see that I was outbid at the last minute. If I'd known what the reserve was I might have bid higher in the first place. I don't really understand why people keep their reserve price secret - it just encouraged me to pull out of the bidding early. Anyway, if you let me know what you are prepared to take then I might still be interested.

Also, why did you buy a new saddle if you intended to sell the bike? I think you priced a lot of people out of the auction by having to cover that cost in your reserve.'

I wasn't expecting a reply to this and nor did I get one – which is a shame. It is a shame if only because it would make for more interesting reading, especially if the seller had somehow taken offence and sent me some sort of invective in return.(I never intend on being provocative or insidious, and it genuinely surprises me how irascible some folk can be when questioned via the medium of email. This rarely happens vis-à-vis, after all; people tend to take you at face value. There’s something about the email that seems to fool people into attributing a more cynical tone to the text. Maybe that says more about them than it does me. Or have I missed some sort of social convention here?) Anyway, the Pinarello was gone, the Raleigh had been long shipped and presumably received (to a disconcerting silence on the receiver’s part) and I was finally at liberty to buy that lovely looking Carlos.

And so I did. On Friday I climbed aboard the train to Waterloo, changed onto the Northern Line, vacated at Highgate and walked back down Archway Road. I felt strangely anxious as I neared the Vintage Bike Cave, so much so that I sought refuge in a delicatessen on the opposing side of the road, for a coffee to settle my nerves. This can be explained in part by a job vacancy at the Vintage Bike Cave that I had expressed a vague interest in. It seemed like it might be a nice place to work, I was unemployed, and working with bikes has to be kind of fun, no? But I was having second thoughts about that, because I’d noted the 70 minutes it had taken me to reach the Vintage Bike Cave, which was tolerable post rush-hour, but would be less so mid.

            I felt a little calmer after drinking mediocre coffee, and when I arrived through that back door the Carlos looked as impressive as I had remembered it. A ride around the block did nothing to dampen my enthusiasm and I knew that if there was any residual hesitation on my part, now would be the time for it to reveal itself to me.

And so the deal was done, the job was discussed (and left mutually open-ended), and I was on my way.

            The man who worked on the lathe – the proprietor of the Vintage Bike Cave – had scoffed at my reluctance to cycle back to Twickenham. It had been estimated that the journey – a journey that involved dicing with death on London’s very terrible roads – would take over an hour and a half, but I had already planned on riding to Gospel Oak to take the train home from there. This I attempted to do, although it was hard to know which way to go about it. At first I pushed my new bike down the Archway Road as far as Upper Holloway, because I thought it might be a good idea to see how long the walk would take, just in case I did indeed end up working at the Vintage Bike Cave. On reaching the intersection beneath Archway Tower I realised that Gospel Oak was too far from Highgate for this theory to make any sense, estimating that it would take at least 20 minutes on foot, thus negating any advantage the Silverlink Metro direct to Richmond might have to offer. I climbed onto the Carlos and started cycling in the vague direction of Gospel Oak.

            It should be pointed out that when I had ridden the Raleigh Record Ace to my courier I was struck by how comfortable it had felt. This was unexpected as I had been riding my Jamis Beatnik in order to preserve the Raleigh for sale, and had got quite used to that smaller machine. This physical amenity, then, took me by surprise, but it reassured me that the Carlos – whose dimensions I had measured to be almost exactly the same as the Raleigh – was probably of an appropriate size (the new found comfort of the Raleigh had also motivated me in continuing to bid for the Pinarello). But now I had the Carlos with me I was convinced that it was smaller than the Raleigh, although still bigger than my Jamis. This bode well for it assuaged any fears that it might be either too big or too small, but the fact that I could simultaneously consider it both left me rather perplexed.

            Meanwhile, my normally reliable sense of direction was letting me down. Meanwhile, the normally unreliable BBC weather forecast was also letting me down – or not. ‘It would remain dry for the rest of the day,’ they had told me this morning, but now it started to rain. I found myself in Kentish Town again, but knew I needed to be further west. I took a turn down a road that furthered itself in a westerly direction, but it led me straight into the bowels of an industrial estate. I retraced my steps and pushed my bike along Kentish Town Road instead, for I knew I’d get very wet if I continued cycling. This allowed me to admire the reflection of my new bicycle in the shop-windows I passed and assess its scale in proportion to my own form.

            I went too far: found a map of the area just outside Camden Gardens and saw the error of my ways, turned down Hawley Road, but on the wrong side, crossed over the road to join Castlehaven Road, which I knew would take me to onto Prince of Wales Road, allowing me to catch my train at Kentish Town West. As I got back on my new bike to ride up Castlehaven Road, I noticed that my rear tyre had a puncture.

[POST-SCRIPT: I did eventually receive a response from the Pinarello Guy, sent some weeks later and only picked up by me a few weeks after that again. He explained that he was in no hurry to sell the bicycle and that he happy to hang onto it if nobody offered what he considered to be a reasonable price. He assured me that the bicycle was not stolen (I'm not sure where that notion came from), that he wanted to sell it to someone who would appreciate it (admirable) and he intended to put it on eBay again – with a reserve in place – but if I was still interested than I was welcome to view the bicycle before bidding.

So far so very reasonable, but then he went on to explain the point of putting a reserve price in place – to keep it, in secret – and that if I didn't like this method of doing business then there were alternatives, both on eBay itself and on other websites (Gumtree, I assume). Maybe that made no sense to me but it did to him – and others too, apparently. It was obvious I’d rubbed him up the wrong way.

He confirmed that he had bought the new saddle prior to his decision to sell the bike and that it was his prerogative to change his mind. I couldn't argue with that but I got the impression that he thought that I was questioning the value he had placed on the bike itself, which was not the case. I just thought that he hadn't done a great job in trying to sell it. This was my reply:

‘Thanks for getting back to me - I only just picked this up as it wasn't sent to my email (or maybe it went to my spam?)

Everything makes a little more sense, now you've said you don't need to sell and are prepared to wait (I never for one moment thought it was stolen, by the way). It's just hard to know whether something is worth bidding on when you have no idea what the seller is holding out for. But you are right: it is a beautiful bike, and you should expect more than £460 - I was never calling into question your valuation. Unfortunately, money is tight for me right now so I ended up buying a Carlos for £295. It's no Pinarello, but it rides well and serves its purpose (and it’s sized right, which I could never be sure of with the Pinarello).

Good luck with the sale - with that saddle it's got to be worth at least £580. List it next time as a Pinarello 'Veneto' (just the one t) and hopefully someone will meet your reserve.’

I hoped he would not submit a response this second time around – what would be the point? He evidently hoped to make more than £500, but he’d only provided the bike’s measurements after I prompted him to do so, and hadn't even spelled Veneto right.]

AN APPROPRIATE BICYCLE - Pt. 2: THE JOY OF TRADE

It’s clear that if I'm to fulfil my ambition of sampling a flavour of competitive road cycling then I will need to enrol in an event. It’s also clear that I’m in no position to enter something very serious, and the most obvious avenue open to me is a charity ride, like the London to Brighton: it is 54 miles long and that feels about right. In fact, there are sportives being held all over country for much of the time, and they’re normally very accommodating, with ‘standard’ and ‘epic’ distances to suit. Which would best cater to my needs is moot: I have both a relative and a friend in mind who I hope to persuade to cycle with me, and I know they appreciate the London to Brighton, having both ridden it twice. They may well be up for a sportive at some point in time, but I wouldn't know how to go about choosing one. I’d like to get other people on board too, and the London to Brighton will incentivise in way the ‘Sussex Surrey Scramble’ cannot. One other person has indicated that he might like to partake, and I also reckon the guy who lives below me wouldn't mind giving it a go.
            All this can wait, but when the time comes to get this thing off the ground I’ll be the one doing the bulk of the work: event registration, booking hotels, arranging that people meet beforehand. It’s my project and my idea and therefore my responsibility. As Directeur Sportif I’ll be the one who names the team and describes its culture. I look forward to that.

I suppose my brush with Gumtree had been somewhat successful, for it had revealed to me that there were vintage bikes aplenty to be had (if no apparent bargains), and also – and more importantly – that there were small, independently owned businesses selling working models for reasonable prices. So I continued to purge Gumtree for road bicycles and would visit De Vlo’s website on a daily basis to see if they’d finished off the works-in-progress that they’d assured me were on the way. De Vlo’s website led to me their Facebook page, which in turn led me to a company called the Vintage Bike Cave, based in Highgate, north London. I’d already spotted the Vintage Bike Cave selling their wares on Gumtree but had been put off by the graphics employed on their website and the plethora of vintage spares they had on sale. One might have a degree of empathy with my feeling towards the former, but why should the latter hold any leeway when it came to buying a used bicycle? I suppose the recent explosion of interest in cycling – and its vintage component in particular – has made me wary of some of the newer businesses currently ploughing this rather specific furrow. I don’t know enough about bicycles to say either way, but is that Campagnolo group-set really worth that much? And is it reasonable to expect someone to pay a couple of hundred quid for a steel bicycle frame that looks like it was chanced upon in a skip? Having said that, the Vintage Bike Cave had a couple of bikes I liked the look of, not as immediately arresting as the beautifully photographed Diamant from De Vlo London, but priced along similar lines and of corresponding age. Further, they seemed to be an altogether beefier operation, and as such it occurred to me that they might be able to do me a deal on my Raleigh Record Ace – some sort of part-exchange, perhaps?

            First off, I decided to call in the specifications on the two bikes that appealed to me: a Peugeot Competition with a 531 Reynolds frame – possibly a PKN-10 dating back to the late 1970s – and a chrome Carlos 10-speed racer of indeterminate origin. They both had 700c sized wheels, which was now a prerequisite of mine, and were valued at £345 and £295 respectively. I liked the look of both.

 The Peugeot

The specs had them sized about the same as my Raleigh, but with the marginally smaller 700c wheels bringing them in at slightly under. Their wheelbases were a little shorter, too (we’re talking about a difference of 3 or 4 centimetres here). Next I enquired as to what sort of discount the Vintage Bike Cave might be able to offer me in return for my Raleigh. Not much, was the answer – or that which fell way short of my own valuation. They asked me what I was looking for, I told them about £170, and they said – based on the photographs I had emailed them – that the most they could give me in part-exchange was a discount of £100. This was not to say that they disapproved of the value I had placed on my bike, just that they would not be able to make a sufficient margin based on the amount I was asking for. They advised that I try and sell it myself, so I did.

            The prospect of selling the Raleigh on Gumtree was not one that I looked forward to. It was the logistical element that bothered me – having to meet with people and maybe haggle a bit over the price – but I decided to proceed. Here is what I wrote for my advert:

Raleigh Record Ace: size 22½"/57 cm - with 531 Reynolds double-butted lugged frame and forks, Campagnolo gear-set and Weinmann Brakes, dating back to approximately 1984.  All parts are original except for the Schwalbe Marathon tyres fitted 2 months ago.

There are the surface abrasions that one might expect (nothing terminal - just a bit scruffy) but it rides fast and well.  Could do with a new saddle and bar-tape.

Would make for a great conversion to fixed-gear/single-speed bike (if you did want to do that then you could sell the Campagnolo gear shifters for about £20 - maybe the same for the derailleurs; they are in excellent condition).

... or you can ride as it is, although I'd advise a basic service: it handles great at the front but the back wheel needs a little adjustment from when I changed the rear tyre - I'm not a great mechanic!

... or it could be restored to its former glory, which I intended to do before time and money got the better of me (I have another bike so cannot justify this).

The size would be ideal for somebody between 5 foot 9 inches and 6 foot 2 inches; the seat-post measures 57 cm and top-tube measures 57 cm too.

I am flexible with regards to times and could arrange to meet in either Richmond / Teddington / Chiswick / Hounslow / Kingston / Mortlake - otherwise I am based in Twickenham.  The more convenient for me, the more flexible I'll be with the price.

I was asking for £180, to cover the cost of the tyres and a little of my labour – the three hours I must have spent stripping down and cleaning the bike. Essentially, I was attempting to break about even.

            Interest was almost immediate but seemed rather speculative. One guy in particular appeared to be very keen however, a notion that I arrived at via the medium of text, but all other enquiries came to nothing. Then the keen guy came back with an offer of £170, which I was willing to accept. There was a problem, though: he lived in Edinburgh. It was still early days for my advert so I was quite happy to bide my time for now, but told the keen guy that I would look into the possibility of shipping the bike to the Scottish capital. The reason why I was prepared to explore this avenue of delivery was because I know someone who works in logistics, close enough to where I live for it not to be too much bother, and nice enough a guy to do me some sort of deal. Actually, when I called my contact I made it clear that I wasn't looking for any favours with regard to the price, because that was a cost I intended to pass on to the prospective buyer, but he offered me a fairly decent rate anyway. I presented the keen guy with my quote and he made me a revised offer of £190, to include postage. It was a little lower than I would have liked, given the hassle of having to find a designated box for the bike, and then the need to haul it over to my courier’s warehouse, but if I wanted to follow up on my interest in those bikes at the Vintage Bike Cave then it would certainly be of benefit to resolve the matter as soon as was possible.

            I was also starting to develop a fondness for my potential buyer. I tried to provide as much information on the bike as I could, and to be honest in doing so. Given the time I was going to have to put aside to sort all this out, I decided I would have to insist on being paid up front. I do not think I was being unreasonable in making this a condition of our transaction, but I'm not sure how willing I would have been to part with my money without knowing the person I was dealing with. The keen guy seemed to hold no such concerns, and so we came to an agreement, bank details were passed on and I set about finding a box.

            Finding a box turned out to be a breeze. I emailed Moore’s Cycles in Twickenham, who duly obliged. All I needed to do now was to wait for the money to materialise and then I could go about the actual shipping.

            In the meantime, I felt I should really get things rolling with the Vintage Bike Cave and have a look at those bikes. On checking that they were still for sale it was discovered that the Peugeot was currently reserved, pending a visit from a potential buyer who had submitted a deposit. It was still available for viewing, and the Carlos was still very much available for buying.

            I am not sure how absorbing it really is to read about a nascent cycling enthusiast attempting to sell a bike, but hopefully the acquisition of its replacement piques a little more interest. Wednesday night is bouldering night, so to save on the expense of travel I elected to visit the Vintage Bike Cave late on a Wednesday afternoon. Highgate was the destination, but I thought I’d pause for thought on the South Bank on my way, as can be my want. After drinking my coffee, I crossed the Thames to Embankment and joined the Northern Line from there.

            Highgate, when I arrived, was a far and pleasing cry from the environs of Bow that I had to trudge through on my way to see the Diamant the week prior. I had never been to Highgate before and passed the Boogaloo on Archway Road, a pub whose grand reputation precedes it and that I had one day always hoped to visit. Now was not the time but it felt like a good omen to see it there.

            The Vintage Bike Cave was smaller than I had envisaged, monopolising a cramped bunker of a room. A young man was there to let me in through the back entrance, for the cave occupied the lower floor of a building whose basements were not accessible from the front. The bikes were ready for my inspection, for I had fired off an email before I left to tell them that I was on my way. An older guy took a break from his lathe to move them onto track-stands so I might better appreciate the work that had been done on them. Like with De Vlo, the bikes were a testament to some great care and attention: they were clean and well-oiled, with new tyres, brake pads and bar-tape. Actually, the Peugeot – the more expensive of the two bikes – looked the more tired. This was probably because it was undoubtedly older than the Carlos, but maybe too because it was white, and white is a colour that doesn't tend to weather very well. It was still a nice looking bicycle, although it was the Carlos that was feeling its way under my skin.

            The older guy who had taken a break from his lathe couldn't tell me much about Carlos other than that they were a French company.  Further research established that they heralded from an area close to the Belgian border, but I uncovered nothing more than that.  This is not necessarily a bad thing and might account for the £50 price differential between; everybody’s heard of Peugeot but how many of us are aware of Carlos?

            I probably spent about 10 minutes poring over those two bikes before having a snoop around the workshop and chatting a little with the younger guy. I told him that I was very interested in the Carlos but that I could only instigate a purchase once my Raleigh had been officially sold. I added that I would be prepared to lay a deposit, should the Carlos illicit further interest, and that if all went well I’d be back in a week to take another look and, in all likelihood, hand over money. And then I walked south towards Holloway because I still had two hours to spare before I was due to boulder in London Bridge.

The Carlos

It is a pleasing experience, walking down the Archway road towards Upper Holloway. There’s a really good bit where the B540 passes over on high, and the iron bridge that supports it frames a view of the city beyond, The Shard inevitably taking centre-stage. Upper Holloway itself lies beyond that, and it’s pleasant enough – Archway Tower is the stand-out feature here. I elected then to take Junction Road south, but Holloway Road, St. John’s Way and Highgate Hill are all possibilities. The area around Holloway Tower and Junction Road differs to the approach down Archway Road. It’s a busier environment for one, and I’d dare to say a bit more cosmopolitan. It reminds me a little of Hammersmith, with a touch of Southwark thrown in for good measure. That it is to say that there’s a mix of both Victorian terracing and red-brick 1980s type developments, the sort that seem to cordon themselves from the street with high walls and indeterminate front doors. There are cafes that look like they might be kind of cool, but you can’t be entirely sure.

            One thing I become very aware of, as I continue my way down Junction Road, is the concentration of bicycles and people riding them. They’re everywhere, and with quite a substantial vintage presence – you don’t find that in West London. Then I hit Tufnell Park, but I'm not sure what to make of that.

            I have a sandwich on my person that needs to be eaten approximately two hours before I commence bouldering. It’s about 17.45 and I’d very much like to have it devoured by 18.15 – bouldering tends to commence at around 20.00 – and I am on the look-out for the appropriate seating.

            Down Fortress Road, now, and the architecture is mostly Victorian. I pass the Bike House and a red steel framed bicycle catches my eye from within. It’s your more typical sort of high-street bike shop but the owners have saw fit to sell a few second-hand steel numbers on the side. The red one’s quite nice but they want £400 for it, and I'm not sure it’s worth that.

            I make the transition into Kentish Town – a more familiar territory. There’s the Bull & Gate to my right. I went there once, when I was a student, to see some aspiring indie band – it was before Britpop had started and everything.

            I think I spot an eating opportunity on the corner of Kentish Town Road and Leighton Road, but I’d have to share with tramps. Down Kentish Town Road, I’d forgotten how vibrant this area was. I reach the confluence with Royal College Street and for the first time I hesitate as to what direction I should follow. My desert boots are not proving to be shoes made for much walking, and my heels are beginning to protest. I persevere with Royal College Street and soon pass a triangular park that looks the perfect place to pause for my sandwich. Alas, ‘College Gardens’ are locked up for the night. Or maybe it’s a private residential area?

            But Camden Road Station awaits just around the corner, and there are seats there – free from vagrants – where I can finally get stuck into that chicken sandwich I made earlier.  It’s rather dull fare but serves its purpose. It is approximately 18:15.

            It will take me about 20 minutes to arrive at London Bridge, so still too early to make my way there. I’ll wander up and down Camden High Street for half an hour or so, to kill time and review what I've been missing these last few years. Apart from the rappers and the Emo kids, not so much, but I like what they've done up by the lock where a vicious fire took hold some time ago. They have adapted old scooters for people to sit on, overlooking the canal, to eat from the many stalls selling ethnic strains of food. If our climate was only hotter it would make for a wonderful place to hang out.