Old Timer

I remember a time when carbon was used to copy pages. When hubs ran on big,fat ball-bearings that needed to be greased religiously after rainy training. I remember saddles that had more leather than a tannery and lasted a lifetime. I remember handlebar stems and headsets that needed a horse-whisperer's knack to adjust correctly. I remember steel. Pounds of it. I remember 12 speed. Toe clips and leather straps that you could open as fast as anyone can clip-out now. Leather helmets that wouldn't save your life unless you fell on a mattress. Cotton or wool jerseys that sagged like a trawler's net full of cod. I remember large old socks and plastic bags underneath as overshoes. I remember shorts that were a pain in the ass. And crosso rosso spray jobs. And stainless dropouts. And clothesline brake cables. Tyre rubber wasn't wonderful, chains were thick, derailleurs were slow. So much has changed yet...not really. If you are under thirty then the above list is an alien world to you. But so much hasn't changed at all. The fastest I've ever gone on a bike was 104 km/h on the strip between the cattle grids on Mt Leinster. Twenty odd years ago. With eff all brakes, no lid, and a northerly wind. I haven't got near it since. The happiest I've ever been on a bike was in the Blackstairs 200k, away on my own for the last 20 miles, on a borrowed navy Mercian, courtesy of Adrian, out of food and drink and slowly getting sun-burned. I sat on the doorstep of the clubhouse in the Irishtown and was high as a kite on endorphins. A long time ago. No carbon or Garmin in sight. But last night I was in a training race with my clubmates and even though I'm getting old and wrinkly, I got that smile back, chasing hard and getting the the crazed race-face thing going on again. I've lost many years in the wilderness of youth but I'm still keen as mustard. I love remembering those heady days but I have no objection to carbon weaponry, the whir of deep sections, the extra speed of better training. And today I cycle in the second coming of cycling in Ireland. Whats not to like? Sometimes its good to get old.