Functional Art – Stanton Switch9er Ti Long Term Review

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But Why?…. Why the hell do I ride a hardtail? It’s not like it’s a puritantical stance against technological advance.  If that were the case then I’d also still be on a 150mm stem, 540mm bars, 26″ wheels and those god awful tan wall tyres.  Oh, wait, those have made a comeback?!  Maybe the Flexstem and that batshit Slingshot bike with the wire for a down tube will be next, after all, fashion is cyclical. But bikes aren’t fashion (not for most of us anyway), they’re engineering, and sometime in the last three decades full-suspension frames have honed to an…

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The Bodies We Want

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I’ll let you into a wee secret; I don’t look great naked. Pigeon chest, skinny arms, freakishly out of proportion calves balanced on delicate ankles, and you definitely don’t want to see my toenails! Maybe not the most alluring of images. Now obviously this is a subjective viewpoint, and one succumbing to the prescribed narrative of accepted beauty norms; but essentially when I wander round a swimming pool, the gathered ladies (and men) aren’t often peeking over the top of their shades for an eyeful of my chiselled torso. There was a time when first discovering a previously untapped aptitude…

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Great Expectations – The 2018 Garmin Mourne Skyline MTR

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It’s 2:42am.  I can’t sleep. The unfamiliar cocktail of caffeine and sugar is still coursing through me, synapses firing and thoughts swirling.  I need to write, to understand, to analyse and for catharsis, the disappointment of yesterday’s race raw and grating.  The chemical contaminants will work themselves through my system soon but the mental anguish will undoubtedly linger, festering on my psyche, why did it go so wrong? Overriding emotions from a whirlwind of a day.  Disgust, loneliness, emptiness, dredging the depths of physical and mental reserves.  To do so for victory, be it through winning or personal achievement feels…

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Return of the ‘Real Boys’

By | Biking, Uncategorized

Breaking the Law… The heavy metallic door clanged slowly open, in stark contrast to the frantic barking from within.  Tony froze, already committed to the far side of rusted razor wire that littered the floor, whilst the rest of us quickly weighed up options and decided to talk our way out of this trouble.  A tubby soldier in sweaty fatigues exited the building, already waving a single hand in the classic dismissive Italian gesture.  Playing dumb is an art and fortunately few play dumber than our crew; spluttered words of broken Italian, vacant expressions and a rapid exit past several…

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