AN APPROPRIATE BICYCLE - Pt. 10: THE CLUB AS CONCEPT

The Heuvel fits and thus will remain in my possession. It’s a nice jersey, especially when considering that it cost less than half its recommended retail price. But I think I prefer the Descente after all: the fabric is softer, the fit is just that little more intimate, and, practically speaking, it is one of a kind. It is also the perfect hue of blue – rather like the tint of Everton’s football kit circa 1983-1985. So despite the Belgian theme that informs The Heuvel, and the emergence of Dirk Baert as some sort of project patron saint, it could well be the Descente jersey I’ll be wearing for next year’s London to Brighton. We shall see.

Which finally brings us to the unveiling of my prospective team’s name. This is the remit: a moniker that calls to mind some of the professional outfits currently racing the grand tours. The reason for this is because these sponsor-induced sobriquets often have an amusing ring to my ear: Saxo-Bank Tinkoff; Garmin Sharp; Argos-Shimano; Orica GreenEDGE; Saur-Sojasun. Although I'm not forming an actual cycling club, whatever title I come up with will represent my own de facto organisation from here on in, even if after the London to Brighton is done it continues to exist as an affiliation of one, with myself as its only member – a mere figment of my imagination.

My confederacy might endorse competing in the odd sportive but will only occasionally meet up for training sessions – and they’ll be optional. My syndicate will not have an official team jersey but will persuade its riders to find their own sartorial niche. My coalition will applaud individuality. My club rejects the notion of a club. We’re not going to be called the Pan-Southwest London Cycling Club, or the West Thames Wheelers, or anything else that so readily suggests who we are and what it is we do. We shall ride under the curious appellation that is Carlos-Weltschmerz (observing the German pronunciation of the second word). Ostensibly, this might sound rather absurd, but I think it has a plausible ring to it. Moreover, it functions as a tribute to Dirk Baert and his loyalty to the guys at Carlos, whilst also reflecting – via the medium of phonology – the Latin/Germanic duality that defines Great Britain’s position on the European cultural spectrum, for road cycling is a very European endeavour.

Weltschmerz has a particular resonance in and of itself, this Teutonic locution roughly translating into something approximating ‘world weariness’. Dissect its meaning still further and you’re really onto something: it conveys more than to be simply jaded and articulates the realisation that the physical reality of the human condition can never conform to the idealistic demands that one’s self places upon it. This seems appropriate, given the impervious nature of the task at hand: a vain attempt to replicate the sensation of riding in a grand-tour – an exercise in futility if there ever was one. Despite embracing the concept of Weltschmerz, I'm not necessarily resigning myself to its implications. One could say that I'm seeking joy in anomie… or solace in resistance.

I can pinpoint the precise moment I finally ‘got’ road cycling. It was during Stage 5 of the 2012 Vuelta a Espana and, early on, Javier Chacón (racing for Team Andalucia) broke away from the rest of the field, built up a 12 minute lead before being chased down by the pack approximately 30 km from the finish ( in what was a 168 km race). He was rewarded with the stage’s Combativity Award for his efforts, deservedly so. Without anyone supporting him, Monsieur Chacón had little chance of pulling off this audacious stab for victory, but he gave it a go anyway.

What really left an impression was the instant he must have known it was all over, when Javier glanced back over his shoulder and saw the Argos-Shimano led peloton gradually bearing down on him. It was a singular spectacle that evoked in me both fear and humour, and I can’t think of any other sport that draws out a moment like that. In football, say, a shot on goal might hit the back of the net, veer horribly wide, or end up in the arms of the goalkeeper. Whatever the outcome, it’s resolved in a split-second. With cricket, the batsman plays the stroke and either scores a number of runs, gets caught out, misses the ball entirely and – depending on the bowler’s intention – finds his wicket smashed to pieces or lives to face another delivery. Either way, it’s pretty immediate. 

In cycling, though, the real drama (not the crashes or sprint finishes) tends to gently unfold, suspending one’s emotion to the point where you don’t quite know what to do with it. It’s like watching an explosion in slow-motion, energy dissipating – so incomprehensible that the only natural response is to laugh a little.

I hope my cadres buy into my vision of an existential cycling outfit, with no official membership, no hard rules and regulations, no sense of being part of a greater community: a sort of cycling militia, kicking against the imperial velocipedists who look down upon the rest of us.

Team Carlos-Weltschmerz Code of Conduct and Ethics

1. Always behave in a gentlemanly fashion.
2. Comedy cycling jerseys are bad and should be avoided – they’re not for you.
3. Assimilate the consumption of a static beverage on cycle rides of reasonable length.
4. Have respect and admiration for the steel bicycle, for it is a pure thing.
5. Buy Dirk Baert a beer if you ever get the chance.
6. Offer the Spanish team Caja Rural your support – they seem like a nice bunch.
7. Riding alone is good; embrace solitude.
8. Be sure to take in the view.
9. Don’t take cycling too seriously.
10. Take cycling very seriously indeed.

[POST-SCRIPT: After writing the above, I unearthed a website – and I can’t recall how – peddling a level of obstinance comparable to my own, and was left with the feeling that maybe I'm not so wide of cycling culture as I’d assumed. Velominati (Keepers of the Cog) lay down 91 rules, no less, many of which I’d gladly slip in alongside those I've devised for Carlos-Weltschmerz. For example:

Rule #16 – Respect the Jersey: Championship and race leader jerseys must only be worn if you've won the championship or led the race. 

Rule #26 – Make your bike photogenic: When photographing your bike, gussy her up properly for the camera. Some parameters are firm: valve stems at 6 o’clock; cranks never at 90 or 180 degrees. Others are at your discretion, though the accepted practices include putting the chain on the big dog, and no bidons in the cages.

Rule #80 – Always be Casually Deliberate. Waiting for others pre-ride or at the start line pre-race, you must be tranquilo (sic), resting on your top tube thusly. This may be extended to any time one is aboard the bike, but not riding it, such as at stop lights.

A picture of pro-cyclists draped over their handlebars, chewing the pre-race fat, is provided as a suitable example to illustrate that final decree. There’s also a link to an article examining the ‘delicate art’ of convincing as a Pro. It puts forward the case that cyclists are amongst the hardest sportsmen there are, but also the most vain. And if you too aspire to be Casually Deliberate, then a number of pointers are provided: 

‘A pre-ride espresso is the perfect Casually Deliberate means to prepare for a ride: fully kitted up, loyal machine leaning patiently against a nearby wall, cycling cap carefully dishevelled atop the head, sunnies perched above the brim.’

This sort of thing is right up my street. I'm not particularly hard and I'm not particularly vain, but I am hard and vain enough to elicit pleasure from an approach such as this.

It’s a tricky dividing line. When I see a gathering of cyclists wearing full pro-team kit (especially if it’s Team Sky issue), their carbon bikes sprawled all around them, I'm inclined to think they look preposterously arrogant (or arrogantly preposterous?). But were these guys to wear more low-key gear, ride older bikes and maybe relax a little, then my perception could waver.

I think the Velominati is an Australian conceit – Antipodean, at least – so maybe it’s not so much a cycling issue as much a cultural one? Let’s face it: the British cycling enthusiast does tend to be quite a middle-class beast, capable of emitting all the superciliousness that this can entail – you only have to watch them picking fights with dozy motorists to see that.

Let’s not get carried away: Carlos-Weltschmerz does not concern itself with the verisimilitude of things, and isn't interested in promoting class conflict. Really, aesthetics is what it’s all about.]

AN APPROPRIATE BICYCLE - Pt. 7: THE JERSEY(S)

I am contemplating jerseys and what to call the team I'm supposed to be putting together for the London to Brighton Bike Ride, 2013. I'm thinking about the culmination of all that has gone on since I began my search for the appropriate bicycle; the point of it all – the race. Although the British Heart Foundation is keen to point out that the L2B isn't supposed to be race at all: it’s a charity event, to be taken at a pace that feels comfortable – just a bit of fun. Which is fair enough, and if I was really serious about road-racing then I’d be better off joining a cycling club, obtaining BC and/or CTC accreditation, and finding a local sportive in which to partake. That means I’d have to wear whatever jersey my notional club decreed. ‘We naturally like members to wear club kit,’ declares one such institution local to me, but it’s a pretty brutal offering, their kit, and the club’s handle displays little in the way of imagination. So that’s not going to happen.

They can be quite expensive, can cycling jerseys. There are cheap tops on the market as well, but they’re really rather uninspiring. That said, the most visually appealing jerseys aren't necessarily the ones that cost the most. I should probably lay my cards on the table here: I like replica team jerseys and I like jerseys of a bygone era, and, ideally, I’d like a shirt that combines elements of the two. The jerseys occupying the opposing ends of the fiscal spectrum, however, share a utilitarian approach to design that doesn't interest me at all.Primary colours overbear the palette, with black and white getting quite a look in too. Logos and patterns are conspicuous by their absence, which is admirable on one level but quite dull on another.

This ‘camping and outdoor’ attitude towards cycle wear is still a credible alternative to the third strain of tunic on offer to the aspiring cyclist: that of the novelty jersey. A company trading under the name 'Foska' appears to be the leader in this particular field, and they’re responsible for some real abominations: shirts adorned with adverts for various foodstuffs – Spam, Colman’s Mustard, Cornflakes, Marmite; wholesome cartoon characters from old-school comics; tax discs, flags and maps – the cycling equivalent, all, of wearing a wacky tie to the office. These atrocities come in at about £50, which represents the middle of the range with regard to cost. Fortunately, for that price there are far worthier alternatives.

I'm currently unemployed and so would like to exploit the fact that people might want to buy me things for Christmas, and stock up on cycling gear. My first thought had been for my team to be dressed in matching shirts. I have five people down for the L2B and I'm hoping these five people will still be with me when I start asking for money to sort out our accommodation come January. So I consulted the two potential members of my as yet un-named team who had cycled the London to Brighton Bike Ride before, to ask them for their thoughts regarding team attire. I’d started to have my doubts about matching jerseys, figuring it might give off rather arrogant vibes. Ben, who was the first to respond to my line of questioning, agreed that it might not be entirely appropriate, that one might want to consider entering a sportive if one wanted to take the ‘race’ so seriously, but that the L2B couldn't really be bettered for atmosphere. My brother, Simon, followed this up to say that he couldn't justify the expense of another jersey, for he did not cycle enough and owned a few already (Simon’s thing is marathons and the occasional triathlon). And so the way was paved for me to pore over cycling jerseys at my leisure.

I’d already been doing so, in fact, but with an eye to what I thought might be financially acceptable to my fellow riders. I’d identified the Giordana Tech Silverline, reduced from £74.99 to £37.50 on-line, as having solid potential. Available in black, white, lime green, red and blue, all with a white panel covering the chest and black trim around the collar and down the shoulder – and with a small motif perched upon the left breast – it was neutral enough to satisfy a miscellany of sartorial aspirations. At that price I figured I might go for the lime green rendition, if only as a jersey to train in, for as pleasing as the Giordana is there are far prettier shirts out there on the market. For £59.99, for instance, I could buy myself a Morvelo Chasseur de Cols Alpine race jersey, whilst £63 would afford me something from the excellent Solo range, the Moretti probably being the most attractive candidate. This is what I mean when I say that cycling jerseys can be quite dear, although I saw retro-style jerseys from Le Coq Sportif that were more exorbitant still.

                                                       Solo                                                                         Morvelo

So I drew a line under the Giordana – asked my parents for that – and decided that I would wait to see what the new year’s sales might bring with respect to either the Morvelo or the Solo. Besides, there was always Prendas Ciclismo – a small independent firm based in Dorset, apparently in their 17^th year – selling retro-inspired jerseys for anything between £30 and £40. (I instinctively like this company and if I wasn't so bloody minded concerning all things aesthetic I’d have probably ordered from them already, and do not rule out doing so in the future.)

Before putting these accoutrements to one side, I thought I’d have a cruise on eBay and was instantly struck by the ineluctable presence of an organisation called eTailBar.com. I’d searched for ‘retro cycling jerseys’, not because that’s what I was specifically after but because I didn't think eBay would have anything out of the ordinary listed under any other category. In fact, eTailBar do not deal exclusively in retro or second-hand goods but in cycling and running wear in general. Their presence on eBay, then, is probably to shift their fine line in second-hand cycling apparel, for the official website makes no reference to their vintage stock.

I saw a 'vintage' jersey that I liked – really liked – manufactured by the Swiss firm Descente, but the chest was measured at 38ʺ to 40ʺ, whereas I think mine measures just over 36ʺ. The guy who modelled it looked pretty buff too, although it did cling slavishly to his torso. The thing was, this top was going for a little over £13, including the postage from… France. They were a French company, and I backed off a little, just because… because I had no experience of that. I continued to run through their stock anyway and came across another shirt, this time in my size, made of a wool and polyamide mix, and coming in at just under £16. 

Ah, what the hell…


[POST-SCRIPT: A subsequent measuring of my chest revealed it to be just over 38ʺ – good news in some respects, but I might have saved myself a lot of bother if I’d scaled it from the off.]