photo: bettiniphoto

Sad news today that two-time Paris-Roubaix winner Franco Ballerini was killed in a car rally accident.  A man who lived for the cobbles, a true legend of that particular race, and the sport.  R.I.P. Franco.

More here.

The aroma.  The taste.  The ritual of the preparation, and the anticipation.  It’s more than just a drink.

Coffee is an integral part of cycling and cyclists lifestyles.  But, like Campy versus Shimano, or white socks versus black, the way we imbibe the magic bean can be just as polarising.

We received an email from a reader with a suggestion for The Rules. Rob infers that anyone partaking in a soy-based brew, or a ‘lite’ milk additive, should be ceremonially beaten.  ”Harsh but fair” he believes, such as we always imply with The Rules.

Already I am receiving unflattering, downright tempestuous emails from my fellow Keepers regarding my soy intake confession. Yes, I unashamedly admit to this ‘foam pas’ and will accept any abuse like a man.  A soy-drinking man, dammit!

But no matter how you enjoy your bean, there’s one thing for certain;  coffee is good.  Some say it should only be consumed black, sans sugar, in a ceramic cup.  Others, like Rob, suggest it can be enhanced with a small amount of milk, i.e macchiato. While everyone has different tastes, I’m sure most of us would agree that caramel, butterscotch and excessive amounts of foam, sprinklings and flavourings have no place in any cup.

And personally, I feel that the very act of sitting in a cafe in Lycra is a little more embarrassing than drinking soy. Call me a hippy, call me lactose intolerant, call me soft, but at least I’ll never be a ‘cafe racer’.  Not in my own town anyway, maybe in Belgium…

Tan lines are to the cyclist what a drug overdose is to a rock star, or a Victoria Cross is to a returned serviceman.

It’s a badge of honour, and while neither of those comparisons are glorious in their deployment, the reward, or possibly even notoriety, is somehow noble.  

You’ve gotta earn your stripes, right? Even if it could result in sunburn, or much worse.  Will Lance save me if I get cancer? 

So this is what greeted me in the mirror on my return from a long session in the hills of Wellington yesterday.  

When I left the house in the morning, a dense fog shrouded the skyline, even delaying the arrival of one Prince William to our fine city.  

Nah, I won’t be needing sunscreen today, I thought.  Actually, I didn’t think about it at all, I just got on the bike and went, the crisp morning air not hinting at the heat to come.

Now, being follicly-challenged, my bonce is usually one of the first areas to be slathered in SPF 30.  

It’s the nearest point to the sun, after all. Like a solar panel for a sex machine.  

Now, it just looks like a stubbly template for an S-Works 2D.

And the arms and legs copped a bit too, but at least I can go out in public with no more than the usual embarassment that spindly, hairless limbs cause.  Looks like it’s hats on for the next week or so.

Followers of the Keepers may remember a while back that the Head Keeper, Frank, was having a dilemna about whether or not to run Nokon cables on his steed, and indeed which colours would suit said machine.

I’d been running them on my previous Roubaix, mainly to get the ‘Zabel-esque’ shifter cable routing, with some degree of success.  They shifted reasonably well, no better or worse than standard cables I thought, and looked pretty unique.

All was well until my front derailleur cable started to fray at the pinch bolt, necessitating a new inner cable.

Simple.

Or so you’d think.

What should have been a 5 minute job turned into an hour-long late night curse-fest, and left my bike front shifter-less and me unable to join the next day’s early morning ride.

With the Nokon’s multiple aluminium segments spread all over the floor, I decided to go back to good ol’ Shimano SP41 outers. But I wouldn’t be able to get Zabel with it.  Or would I?

Turns out that the black 4mm casing is flexible, yet stiff enough to run the bend from the lever to under the bar tape, and still shift with the precision that it’s known for.

I also routed the cables around the opposite sides of the headtube, crossing over under the downtube like I’d been doing with my mountain bikes, and how I’d seen it described over at Embrocation mag.

Tidy, functional, and dare I say it, PRO.  I’ve still got the Nokons employed for the brakes though, because everyone knows that they hardly get used anyway.

When I went to bed last night, I thought about the World Road Race Championships, and whose name I would be reading this morning as the new wearer of the rainbow stripes.

Even though I thought of this name, I didn’t really expect to see it at the very top of the tree.

But when I did, a wry smile crossed my face.  Yes, I’ve been a harsh critic of Cadel, for his riding and his bizarre antics off the bike.

Now, he’s World Champion.  And I’m happy for him. Genuinely.  I’d cheered him on in unsuccessful World and Olympic campaigns as a mountain biker, and felt his disappointment back then.  Maybe the weight of expectation, from an Australian public not versed in cycling, and which expects success as a matter of course, contributed to the manner in which Cadel reacts to the lack of a big win, be it a Grand Tour, a Classic or indeed, the Worlds.

Now, the monkey is off his back.  Maybe it’s still got its claws in, hanging on defiantly, until he can win the Tour.  But even if he never does, no-one can take away these rainbow stripes.

Chapeau, Cadel.