Minx Compendium Issue Two

a girls’ cycling compendium

issue two

cover Jenn: pedal, pedal, pedal...

with thanks to Jac, James Lyon Chris Garrison, Jo, EvilGordon, Andria Davis, Jenn, Louise and the incomparable guys at Twin Six. If there are any vexing tech or riding issues you’d like us to cover, or if you have any stories of your own that you’d like to share then please drop Minx a line. mail@minx-girl.com

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his second Minx Compendium has been a long time coming. Mainly because we’ve been so busy tending to the sartorial needs of an increasing number of cycling women, but also because having produced one with more enthusiasm than technical publishing knowledge, we somehow felt we needed a plan for the second. You know, it was time to grow up...

So time passed and plans evolved from version one to version, oh, nine hundred and sixty-three. Or it felt like that. So we just went and rode our bikes. And there we found women that just wanted to talk - about what it feels like to be starting out, what it feels like to be entering a twentieth year in the saddle. How mountain bike racing is scary but exciting, how mountain bike racing sucks. And asking questions about everything from backside (and frontside) pain to the workings of waterproofs - not to mention, how to mend stuff. So we say to hell with a plan, it’s time to invoke our self-taught layout skills again and just get the words on the page so we can share.

In this issue, we speak to the Twin Six team and get to know what inspires the design duo behind some of the coolest bike jerseys ever, and keeping the industry insider theme going, demand five crucial minutes with Chris Garrison of Trek, aka the finest wrench we know and the girl that makes us embarrassed to own up to our own poor mechanical skills. On the subject of mechanicals, getting a puncture is the most common thing that’s going to go wrong with your bike, but no one ever likes to own up to not knowing how to sort it out. So on the basis that it’s hard to

constantly ride with your fingers crossed we’ve included an (only slightly tongue in cheek) guide.

The start of cooler days brings an excuse to field yet another bike - yes the cyclocross season is here. Now even with a set of feeble technical skills, Minx has tried and LOVED this type of racing - Jac Marquis explains why ‘cross really is for girls. Darker nights and colder weather also generally mean more time off the bike and searching for ways to see us through to Spring. It’s the ideal opportunity to work on your strength and flexibility and the Minx Girls pull on their yoga pants and set the mat up in front of the TV. That’s not very Zen we know, but it works. So we asked lovely bike-riding yoga teacher, Andria Davis to give us a short routine we could do to our favourite show. Just don’t make it anything too funny or you’ll fall over at a crucial moment when you do the lunges. Yes we test everything....

Remember how you rode your bike when you were a child? EvilGordon does, and even the title, ‘we rode bmx in jeans’ took Minx right back.

She’s only sorry she didn’t think of the ‘late’ trick with her digital watch.

Not everyone rode that much when they were kids of course and newbie mountain biker Louise Kidney is making up for lost time. Read the extract from her blog as she attempts to ride the length of the Leeds to Liverpool canal in four days, having previously only ridden 15 miles in one go. You’ll never moan about your knees again.

five minutes please Name: Chris Garrison Has lived: In a Volkswagen Touareg; Henniker, New Hampshire, USA; Milton Keynes.

Has worked: As a road warrior demo chick for Trek, Keith Bontrager’s occasional 24 hour race mechanic.

Now Trek UK’s Media Maven.

Rides: Singlespeeds, Gears, Road, Mountain, Fixie, just learned to dirt jump, and tried DH for the first time last summer.

five minutes please| chris garrison

5

Does it do women a horrible disservice to say that most are afraid to do their own wrenching?

I think this sort of fear falls into the ‘fear of the unknown’ category.

It’s not that we are incapable of learning how to work on our own bikes, it’s that either the men in our lives do it so we don’t need to, or because there’s no obvious place for women to go to learn such a skill. There’s also the issue of men typically being more mechanically inclined than women, so a lot of women just don’t have any desire to learn how to work on their own bike.

What can you teach us in five...?

You can open a beer bottle using the granny ring of a mountain bike. In the space between the bottom bracket and the teeth of the chainring is an opening that you can use to remove the cap on a bottle.

What’s the best way to overcome the fear?

Step one is to not be afraid to get your hands dirty! Next, get over any sort of anxiety about making a mistake. I started out as a home mechanic with a guidebook and some tools. I taught myself just enough to be dangerous. I took things apart, put them back together, and had one extra bit leftover many times. Then I got a job in a bike shop run by guys who were willing to teach me what I needed to know to be a professional mechanic. Not everyone endeavours to be a shop mechanic, but having a good teacher is perhaps the best way to learn how to work on bikes.

Teaching basic maintenance skills to women is a very fulfilling part of my job.

On a more practical note, adjustments to the rear derailleur are not as tricky as one might think. When gears start to slip, and shifting between gears is ‘clunky’ and not smooth, it’s probably an indication that the cable tension has gone a bit slack. Usually, this can be fixed with a couple of turns of the barrel adjustor on the rear derailleur. This is the black plastic piece at the back of the derailleur where the cable loops over to the bike frame.

The chain moves up and down the cassette when changing gears. The quick tip here is that you can adjust the shifting by turning the barrel adjustor in the same direction as the chain moves. In other words, if the chain hesitates to go up the cassette, turn the barrel ‘up’, or towards the wheel. If the chain won’t easily drop down the cassette, turn the adjuster ‘down’, or towards the ground. Usually, a quarter of a turn at a time will do the trick. Keep turning until the gears run smooth.

If no amount of turning makes the gears work well in both directions, then most likely it’s time for a new cable.

chris garrison| five minutes please

TWIN SIX

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tarted by Brent Gale and Ryan Carlson, Twin Six is the company everyone wishes was their idea. Jersey designs so cool they’re ice, t-shirts that are more art than shirt and fabulous collaborations, including the high profile Fat Cyclist clothing that helped to raise hundreds of thousands of dollars for Lance Armstrong’s Livestrong Foundation. The guys love to ride, they are talented designers and Minx can confirm that quite irritatingly they are also really nice people who always have time for a good long gossip either on the phone across time zones, or at trade shows where we join forces to giggle at the practice of using semi-naked girls to demonstrate folding bikes in the booth next door. But why should she keep knowledge of two top contenders to herself? This is Twin Six.

How did you two meet?

We met at a small graphic design firm Minneapolis. It was my (Brent) first super cool design gig, and Ryan was the ultra talented workhorse intern. I taught him all of my smoke and mirror design tricks. He was hired a week later and immediately started winning design awards.

Together we logged thousands of hours building brands for other people, including projects for Evel Knievel, Vanilla Ice and other big consumer accounts. The two of us were pretty competitive with each other, but also very collaborative. We were fans of each other’s skills, and kept pushing one another to try new things. When we weren’t designing, we were riding. I rode dirt almost exclusively, and Ryan was into freestyle at the time. One day I sold him on the idea of buying a mountain bike, and soon we were hitting the trails on a regular basis, hashing out ideas for life after working for the man.

the big chat| twin six

the big chat

And how did Twin Six come about?

I had some experience designing jerseys for a few local clubs. While doing some design research, I had a moment of clarity. I thought to myself “Why is it that I wouldn’t buy any of these jerseys? Oh yeah, because the graphics suck.” I knew that I could do better. I enlisted the help of the most talented and hardest working designer I knew, and Ryan was stupid enough to accept the challenge. Together we spent the next year sitting in coffee shops, talking, debating, arguing, listening, sketching and daydreaming. The nights and weekends of figuring out what we wanted Twin Six to be are probably best summed up by our Manifesto: First and foremost we are two designers who love to ride and believe that the time is overdue for better cycling jersey graphics. We are Twin Six, the graphic revolution in cycling apparel. It is our goal to be the alternative to everything else. The gear we pull on is a statement of our style, identity and self. The industry’s slow uphill grind to better graphics has turned riders into unwilling billboards, moving color explosions and unfortunate cartoon characterizations. Twin Six has seen enough.

Twin Six jerseys carry graphics with a fashion DNA. Styles that spring from real graphic trends, not the predictable regurgitation of last year’s predictable regurgitation. Twin Six is two determined graphic designers doing what we do best, so we can finally ride with pride.

It goes without saying that your stuff rocks, but what was the first thing you designed?

Thanks for thinking our stuff rocks. The first thing we designed? I think it’s safe to say that we both feel the first thing we really truly designed was Twin Six: what it is, what it stands for, what it looks like, and what it represents. Most people don’t realize that design is 90% brainstorming and research, and 10% execution. Figuring out who we are, what makes us different and better was a huge part of that 90%. By the time we started putting pencils to paper, the hard design part was already done. Everything that we do now is based on that first 90%, and done collaboratively between the two us.

And what inspires you now?

Brent: Pop culture, interesting people, art, thick music, an inspiring film, revenge, fear, a competitive spirit, pride, a great ride. My personal motto: Can’t is for losers.

Ryan: DIY culture, independent music, passionate people, the belief that change is actually possible, and riding my bike. My personal motto: Spiral out, keep going.

the big chat| twin six

Was there a moment when you realized that this crazy idea of starting your own company was actually going to work?

Beyond fame and fortune there have been many things that indicate Twin Six is working, and worth doing. The simple fact that every day we get to ride to a small studio and work for ourselves is one big reason.

Graduating from working in our basements to having the ability to get an actual space, that’s huge. We forget sometimes how far things have come, because we’re always focusing on the future: gaining more ground, improving our gear, continuing to evolve. Maybe the best indication as to whether or not this thing is working is the email we get from people. Having somebody email you just to say, “you are the mutt’s nuts” feels pretty fucking good. Even the bad emails are good.

We love the fact that we’ve put something out there that commands a reaction, that makes someone take the time to send us a remark.

Comments don’t only come from our customers. One of the biggest motivators for us is what we’ve heard from industry folk. It’s one thing to get a random email saying, “I like your style.” But it’s quite another to genuinely feel like you’ve been accepted into an inner circle the likes of which is not comparable to anything we’ve experienced before.

We can honestly say we have made friends with the good people at Crumpler, SRAM, Litespeed, HED, Raleigh, and Crank Brothers, to name a few. Their experience, advice and support has been invaluable to us.

Some of these friendships have also resulted in collaborative projects, and for that we are grateful. Definitely a sign that this thing is working.

Lastly, we don’t do any advertising really. But we do send out some product once in while to influential people, big time riders and magazines. The resulting attention and that we’ve received from these people may be another sign this thing is working. The overwhelming majority of people say “thank you”. Not only thanks for the freebie, but thank you for doing something different. Most everyone says it was only a matter of time before someone brought some style to the cycling apparel market. And it’s not only rags and bloggers that feel this way.

More and more we’re seeing the big apparel makers (you know who you are) put out stuff that seems to be more than slightly inspired by some of the stuff we’ve done. Guess that’s another sign this is working.

But competition is great, and when they zig, we’ll zag.

twin six| the big chat

M

ention cyclocross and most people think of Belgium; gnarly blokes with pointy elbows riding skittery, skinny, rigid bicycles in the harsh winter weather and even harsher heckling.

Unfortunately for me (or maybe fortunately), when I turned up at my first ‘cross race, I didn’t know any of this.

All I knew was that it was something that happened on Sundays during the winter, the laps were really short and it only lasted for one hour plus one lap.

How tough could it be? So when I pitched up at my first ‘cross race with my singlespeed mountain bike, I had no idea...

Out of a field of maybe 30 riders, there were only 3 girls (including me), so that should have made me realise. When the Starter shouted go, by the time I’d clipped into my pedals and taken a breath everybody had disappeared into the distance.

I realised then that I had got it wrong when I thought it would be a roll around the park for an hour.

The course was a real mish-mash of different things: short, sharp climbs; wiggling in and out of trees; impossibly fast tarmac stretches; steep stairs to carry my bicycle up; hopping off and on the bike to get over obstacles (unlike some of the quick blokes who just bunny hopped them); through water splashes which

try it | ‘cross is for girls

were icy round the edges; plenty of mud; plenty of crashes and absolutely no respite. After an hour I felt completely broken. I had lost count of the number of times I’d ridden the same bit of course (badly) and how many times the leaders had lapped me.

Despite all of that I was hooked.

Maybe it was that the short laps mean you never get the feeling that you’re being dropped off the back of the pack and you can always see another racer somewhere. Maybe it was that the course designers had found routes in the local park that would never usually be ridden. Maybe it was the collection of roadies, mountain bikers and runners who race, displaying skills ranging from roadie bursts of speed, mountain bike handing of an inappropriate bicycle down techie descents and lightening quick running up hills. Whatever it is, it’s not like any other sort of bicycle racing.

In fact, I was so hooked that I decided to buy a proper cyclocross bike and I haven’t regretted it for a moment. Okay, so I’m still being well and truly lapped by the winners and still not winning many races, I’m still not gnarly, but now when I hear someone heckling “You’re riding like a girl” or “Stop your crying, you need all the salt and water you can get!”, I just grin and think “Yip, but it’s only an hour. And how much can an hour hurt?”.

’cross is for girls words: jac marquis picture : james lyon

‘cross is for girls| try it

we rode bmx in jeans

words: evilgordon picture : jo burt

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e rode BMX in jeans. They tried to learn to do jumps, pull were quite tight jeans as wheelies and all the other things it was the early Eighties.1 Not a that I still cannot do! I don’t recall really good look if you are a short, discovering any walkie talkies chubby eleven year old. But or foiling any bank robbers (Q: fashion2 has rarely been that good Just how cool would that have a friend of mine. There was a lot of been? A: Very cool.) But this nylon in what I would now loosely was often the starting place recount as being my wardrobe to our adventures. The quarry and I recall owning a cagoule wasn’t just ours. It was also with some sort of vulcanized lining. frequented by older, harder kids4 It smelled of rubber bands and who went there to drink cheap was my only proper ‘outdoor’ cider, smoke and make out clothing. There were no ‘shells’ with their girlfriends (yuck!). Our and I don’t think I owned anything noisy (nosey) exuberance often that ‘breathed’. Furthermore, if resulted in being chased from I wore anything woolly you can our cool hangout by the older guarantee that it boys, what with us I don’t recall discovering having overstayed was chunky and any walkie talkies or knitted by some well our welcome or foiling any bank robbers interrupted some meaning aunt and (Q: Just how cool would not from a sheep in heavy petting. that have been? A: Very It was this sort of New Zealand. cool.) fearful dash to our We rode BMX in bikes and furious jeans and we pedaling away from would hang out at ‘the quarry’, our chasers, who generally threw a place forbidden to us by any stones and all, that only added to conscientious parent. Not that our expectations of having some this disapproval mattered much kind of Goonies-style adventure. to us as the quarry, now disused, was home to a series of mini We rode BMX in jeans. Mine was jumps, berms and puddles, all a 1982 Huffy with yellow plastic accidentally left behind by the ‘mag’ wheels. This bike had it all diggers. Even the ride there was for an eleven year old. Blue, something of an adventure with gum-walled tyres, a chain guard a rutted descent, an intimidating that was deemed to be uncool drop to the bottom of the quarry by my peers and consequently on one side and porn-and-beerremoved with the evidence of this can-laden hedging on the other. bicycle surgery hidden from my parents. I loved this bike with its Fueled by the antics in BMX bars set up all wrong (i.e. pointing Bandits3 this was the place we backwards - thanks Dad!) and a

we rode bmx in jeans| my cycling life

coaster brake. Others had Raleigh Burners and one friend even had a PK Ripper with Landing Gear forks.5

and I mean actually repaired, using those small kits consisting of French chalk, a bit of emery cloth, glue and a feathered patch! Someone’s dad had a car foot pump which I particularly coveted and my fascination with this goes some way to explaining why I asked my wife for a Silca Superpista floor pump as a wedding present.

I rode my BMX (in jeans) to the shops when my step-mum ordered more milk and bread. I rode my BMX (in jeans) back from friend’s houses, often setting off minutes after any curfew I might have had imposed on me for being late home on a previous We rode BMX in occasion.6 I even jeans and I would Dad, if you ever raced at the local see how far I wondered why you lost BMX track (in jeans). could get home or even gained tools Albeit once, when by coasting from during these years you a stripped pedal the youth or Scout need to know that it thread and a long centre, pumping was us trying to fix our push-coast-pushthe bike along bicycles coast-push home the pavement to put pay to any ideas try and maintain of repeating such a trip. My BMX enough momentum, trying to represented a kind of freedom time red lights and road junctions, that even my first car could not getting home with minimal effort. match.

Throughout my BMX years all manner of dirt, water, oil and BMX maintenance was carried dog shit would all have been out in our respective parents splattered up the backside of garages using what limited tools these jeans and onto whatever we had available. Dad, if you jumper I might have owned. With ever wondered why you lost or the exception of the dog poop even gained tools during these this didn’t seem to matter much. years you need to know that it Dog do on someone’s tyres or was us trying to fix our bicycles clothing was always something by combining what tools we that amused us greatly until it could lay our dirty hands on! happened to you. Nasty.

Mole grip spanners were used to over tighten constantly loosening Later, I even remember riding headsets, chains were oiled using home from one of my first dates 3-in-1 which was later transfered on my Huffy. But this would have to our jeans and never washed been the death toll to riding out. Punctures were repaired, like this. I started to get precious

my cycling life| we rode bmx in jeans

about my clothes, as being viewed as dirty or smelly seemed to matter to girls. At some point I started taking the bus and my Huffy, once a prized possession, slowly disappeared from view in the garage. Its tyres all flat, iron parts rusted and rubber bits perishing until eventually...

Five years later, bicycles would once again become part of my life when, in 1991, I was introduced to mountain biking. But I would rarely, if ever, ride wearing jeans.

That is until the late 1990s when things were started to change. I mostly blame Chipps for sending me a copy of Dirt Rag and the pics of the DR crew riding their back yards in jeans in the winter that have clearly had their effect.

Then there were the Surly boys and Hurl from Cars-r-Coffins at the 2001 Singlespeed Worlds with their derbying and other antics.

We may all have been too old to ride our ickle bicycles but there was nothing to stop us riding our MTBs in much the same way as we rode our BMXs back then. Now I am writing these words in jeans. I have just put BMX Bandits on DVD on my Amazon wish list and I am scouring the cable TV channels for the Goonies or, failing that, ET. I also find myself looking at the Swobo site wondering how much it would cost to post a Folsum7 over to Blighty. Does anyone have a map showing the location of One Eyed Willie’s treasure or did you just say ‘derby!’?

1. 1982-85 to be more specific.

2. I seem to recall that tall white tennis socks were quite fashionable at the time.

3. A film which I maintain is Nicole Kidman’s finest hour and twenty eight minutes.

4. Is it me or did everyone have Kiefer Sutherland characters from Stand by Me at their school?

5. Though I now suspect that this was a knock off. I mean, SE Landing Gear forks available in Doncaster in 1982? I don’t think so.

6. Ah, the irony. I used to try and fool my parents by changing the time on my digital watch so that it might appear that I wasn’t really late home at all. How transparent is that?

7. Possibly the nearest thing to my Huffy that I could ride now.

Writer, rider and damn fine bread maker, evilgordon lives in Worcestersauceshire and is flirting with the idea of skinny jeans again for the first time in more years than he cares to admit.

we rode bmx in jeans| my cycling life

anytime yoga M

inx is a long time devotee of yoga but even the enthusiast can feel the pull of The Big Bang Theory over practice from time to time.

So Andria, creator of two Yoga for Cyclists DVDs has devised a session that even the laziest of stretchers can do front of a favourite TV show.

See? There are no more excuses, pick up the remote and go - it doesn’t have to be all about incense and chanting you know....

Andria says...As a cyclist, we don’t need to do anything drastic to stretch out the overused muscles‚ these simple stretches are plenty!

1. Mountain Pose Variation Take a belt (or a strap, broomstick, etc.), hold it behind your back, shoulder width with your arms straight and your palms facing your butt; stand in Mountain Pose with your weight distributed evenly between your two legs and at the base of the big toes, the pinky toes, and the center of the back of the heels; gently draw the belly in and up without disturbing your breathing; lift up through the crown of the head; broaden your collarbones, roll your shoulders open, draw your shoulder blades down your back and the inner shoulder blades forward toward your sternum; do not let the upper arm bones roll forward and down, do not let the rib cage protrude forward, and do not lock the elbows. Do this exercise as often as possible always letting the body unfold into the pose and not forcing. Smile and breathe big!

do it| anytime yoga

2. Upward Arms Pose Begin standing in Mountain Pose with your arms by your sides. Rotate your arms so that the palms face outwards and slowly lift the arms overhead. As you lift, stretch through the arms and feel the shoulder blades rotate freely on your back. Once your arms are overhead and the palms are facing one another, draw the triceps to face forward and the biceps to face back. Keep the arm bones down in the shoulder sockets by drawing the shoulder blades down the back.

Lengthen the torso. Maintain Mountain Pose alignment, press into your feet, gently lift the belly in and up, lengthen the spine, reach through the crown of your head. Breathe big and free. Slowly bring the arms down and release.

words & pictures: andra davis

3. Lunges Move down into Tabletop Position (kneeling) on all fours. Have your hands directly under your shoulders and your knees directly under your hips and your shins parallel. Bring your right foot up between your hands so that your right knee is directly over the ankle and adjust to keep it there throughout the exercise. Lift your left front hipbone and level your pelvis. As the hips release, bring them forward and down, but do not let the pelvis tilt forward or back. Raise your torso and bring your arms to your sides. Rotate your palms outward and bring your arms out to the sides and overhead as in Upward Arms Pose. Breathe!

Exhale and release your hands down to the floor and repeat on the other side.

4. Reclining Leg Stretches You will need a strap or belt for this pose.

Lie down on your back with your legs straight. Bend your right knee and place the strap across the ball of your right foot and guide your leg up as far as you can without bending it or causing pain. Keep the hips even and slightly tilt your sit bones toward the floor to maintain the natural curve of your low back. Draw the top of the right thigh away

do it| anytime yoga

from you. Engage the muscles of both legs, but do not push into the knees. Take 5 deep breaths.

Now guide the leg to the right as far as you can without pain to stretch the inner thigh. Place your hand on your left hip and press down so that it does not lift off the floor. Take 5 deep breaths.

Inhale and bring the leg back up and exhale as you take the leg to the left slightly to stretch the outer thigh and hip. Take 5 deep breaths.

Inhale and guide the leg back up and exhale as you release the leg back down and switch legs.

5. Corpse Pose Take a few minutes to lie down in a comfortable position. Let your whole body go‚ Release all tension in your body‚ scan your body toes up to your head and release tension. Feel the breath.

This will help you recover faster!

Want more? Try one of Andria’s excellent routines devised especially for cyclists, including warm ups, cool downs and offseason strength training.

Yoga for Cyclists £18.00 Yoga for Cyclists 2 £18.00 from www.minx-girl.com

anytime yoga| do it

puncture repair 101 jenn hopkins

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ere’s a surprise, despite the attitude of grimy nailed youths in bike shops that suggest it should have been otherwise, we’re not all born knowing how to mend a puncture. Avoid supercilious stares by reading Jenn’s tutorial and then get that back wheel out and practice....

• Turn bike upside down and stand it on its saddle/bars. This saves you balancing the bike upright with one hand whilst you try and hold the chain out of the way and get the wheel out with the other two (you do have three hands, don’t you?). Mind your lights/speedo/brand-new-andvery-expensive-GPS-with-theunfeasibly-feeble-bracket, though.

• Shift into the smallest sprocket at the back to keep the chain out of the way and wrestle with the wheel for a few seconds before realising that this bike is the one with the rim brakes and you haven’t unhooked the brake yet.

Unhook brake and remove wheel.

• Lean the wheel against your shins and start to remove the tyre.

At this point it will be clear that you’re about to get a lot of black grime under your nails but don’t worry, it washes off with a little Fairy. Alternatively just leave it on there as nonchalant proof of your mechanical prowess. Nobody will mind.

practical| puncture repair 101

• Every tyre ever made can be removed without the use of tyre levers. Really. It’s just a matter of technique. Starting with both hands at the top of the wheel, work them apart down either side of the wheel picking up any slack in the tyre as they go, til they nearly meet at the bottom.

Repeat as necessary until the tyre is baggy enough that you can either pull/push the bead over the edge of the rim using your thumbs, or pop a single tyre lever into the small gap and slide it around the rim to lift it away.

• Once the tyre’s off, slip out the tube, fold it up neatly so that it looks just like an unused one floating around in your backpack and pop the knurled wotsit and valve cap in your pocket for efficient transfer to the washing machine later on. Run your fingers around the inside of the tyre to find the offending point (carefully because nasty things like broken glass and discarded hypodermic needles have been known to lurk in cycle lanes, as well as more innocuous sharps like blackthorns and pixie forks). If the tyre deflated quickly after a heavy whack then

it’s likely to have been a pinch flat but a quick check for lurking evils never goes amiss.

• Once you’re certain that the tyre is clear of any sharp objects, insert a new tube. Hopefully it’s reasonably fresh and hasn’t been sitting in your backpack perishing for years; if this turns out to be the case, then grab the glueless patches (that have not been left in the other bag, again) and fix the hole in the old tube instead.

Inflate the tube just enough to hold its shape, pop the valve through the rim and then work the tube into the tyre. Once it’s all in place (and if you’re trying to make a 26” tube fit a 29er tyre, or a 700c tube fit a mountain bike, we’ll give you a moment and some Valium...), you need to reseat the tyre.

• Inflate the tyre. Hopefully you’ve got a decent pump, because the size of the raindrops that are about to start falling will be inversely proportional to it.

Don’t be tempted to stop shy of the correct pressure because you’re bored, you’ll only end up repeating the whole process a mile down the road. Consider it your upper body workout for the week and get pumping. Refit the wheel with competent ease (because you did pay attention to which way the chain went when you removed it), stuff all the paraphenalia back in your pack and pedal off down the road feeling smug, capable and emancipated - before coming to a slithering, foot-down halt in the middle of the next junction because you forgot to re-hook the brake.

• Simply repeat the removal procedure, starting from the valve and sliding your hands around the outside of the tyre taking up as much slack as you can. The last bit of bead should drop neatly into place with a satisfying thwop.

If it’s a tight fit and doesn’t want to go back on, check that the tube isn’t trapped underneath the bead before reaching for the tyre lever. A demeanor of calm proficiency will help things along, and swearing is only permitted once you’ve trapped one or more fingers underneath the tyre bead and broken a nail in the process.

If all the above fail and you’re left standing by the side of the road or trail, in the rain with a twisted mess of inner tubes, tyres, patches and tools at your feet, resist the urge to weep. Instead draw yourself up tall, take a deep breath, and prepare to bat your eyelashes at the next passing male. A bit of grace under pressure never fails to works wonders.

puncture repair 101| practical

go go loulou k!

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ere at Minx we should probably stop being surprised at the way the simple act of riding a bike can inspire people, but we never do.

There was one blog and Twitter stream in particular that had us glued to it for a week in August this year as Louise, who had never ridden more than 15 miles straight before decided that a few days between jobs was the perfect time to ride the length of the Leeds - Liverpool canal. We loved it so much we asked if we could pinch it to share - thus saving you the agony of waiting for the daily post as it happened. But no, we’re not telling you how it ends. Make a cuppa, get the biscuits out and settle down...

My name’s Louise. I’m 33. When I was a child, I was called a tomboy but I wanted to fit in so I left the mud and the adventures behind and tried to pretend I didn’t have this little voice in my head that wanted to climb mountains, swim lakes and ride over and across everything. Last year I decided enough was enough. 18 stone, ill, with legs that sometimes work to a different agenda to my brain. Stressed, frustrated and fat.

Riding the Leeds-Liverpool canal end to end was the question mark at the end of a sentence. The answer was yes. Yes I can, yes I am, yes it’s okay to do this, yes I am a mountain biker, yes I can touch the sky if I just set my mind to it and try. So can you. So can we all. All any of us has to do is to keep pedaling.

The Day Before I am notoriously bad at identifying the emotions I’m feeling. I’m not sure what the one is I am feeling now. There’s certainty and curiosity in there, some slight fear, but mostly a really healthy dose of ‘what will I see, how will it feel, how good exactly will I still be in 6-7 hours time, what’s going to give up first.’ I suspect I will still be able to cycle long after my ability to walk in a straight line has gone for a burton. At the edges, when I push hard, that’s always the first thing to go. But it’s never been a problem on the back of a bike, a theme which runs through everything right now. So choosing to spend a long time riding my bike

first person| go go loulou k!

seems quite the sane thing to do to me. It looks different from the other side of the fence, is what I’m trying to say, some things are easier, but only because the flip is harder.

Anyway, this was supposed to be a positive post. The sky is blue. All over blue, not just little patches. That hasn’t happened for at least 3 weeks, possibly more now. It’s such a rarity that I never gave a thought to packing sun tan lotion, an essential now. I’ve also done something… ..don’t know the word. But A is going to come and ride with me the first 5 miles and that seems to me to be important somehow. But suddenly I don’t have words and this post doesn’t read right and perhaps that means it’s time to stop thinking, stop writing, and get pedaling.

Day One At the beginning, I had some company in the form of my boyfriend, who stole a morning’s leave and dropped me off, then rode with me for the first 5 miles. It was an absolute blessing. Spinning along, wind behind us, chatting, fettling, tweaking the bike’s set up and just generally remembering why I wanted to do this was bliss. Chatter full of ‘oh look at that’ & ‘did you see the yellow submarine?’ filled the first 5 miles. Then he left. Then it started raining.

The thing I noticed the most is that in 10 miles I was no longer in cityscape and was spat, somewhat abruptly out into countryside with the most amount of spinning bridges I’ve ever seen. I swung from estates to pretty little villages in the blink of an eye and it left me a little confused. Once I’d caught up, I relaxed a bit. Things clicked. But it rained and rained and rained. After 20 miles I needed to eat. And it was still raining. Eventually I found a willow tree for shelter and a reasonably dry bench next to a bridge, and forced a sandwich down.

It was a lovely sandwich, don’t get me wrong, I just wasn’t hungry, and was only eating because I knew I should do. I’d initially planned to stop for an hour and had even taken a book to try and force me to do so. It just didn’t happen. Half an hour later I set off again. Awful. Cold despite snuggling in a fleece while stopped. The terrain changed somewhere around here, from hard ground to ridiculous. It’s not hilly, of course it’s not, but it’s……imagine a ten mile stretch of narrow compacted mud, it’s been raining, puddles everywhere, bank not wide enough to wander off the line, and bumps. So many bumps. Normally I have the energy to time my pedal pushes with the dips and rises. I ran out after lunch. If it had been hard surface all the way, I think perhaps I might have got a bit further today but it just wasn’t that way at all.

go go loulou k!| first person

And then at the Rufford Branch junction I got a healthy dose of WTFU. A very small old lady, who had previously been chatting to her friend on the doorstep of a house was making her way up the bridge. It’s steep.

Steep enough to make my legs bitch at me. She was trying to get up it with a walking stick and an umbrella so I walked her over the bridge, down the other side and down some steps where she assured me she could manage. The usual and by now regular conversation ensued about riding to Leeds and was I sure?

It also transpired she was 92, didn’t get out much, hadn’t seen her friend across the bridge for 3 weeks and that she got stiff and struggled to move when she sat still for too long. I winced a little and then I muttered something about someone sticking a handrail on the bridge and surely someone somewhere could find a handrail which fitted in with the beautiful bridge and tottered off back to my bike. The bridge doesn’t look like a mountain, but it is to her.

After that, things got easier. But not so easy that when I rode, finally, to the British Waterways sign with Parbold on it, I didn’t care what the Cateye Strada told me, I was stopping. The numbers got mixed up somewhere, because I’ve only ridden 27 miles today, not 33, but I don’t care. Tomorrow is easy day, because tomorrow ends in Church and I know the last 10 miles like the back of my hand. Hopefully that means that the 37 miles I have to ride tomorrow in order to make it to halfway, should actually only mean 27 miles of unknown. And I’m discovering the numbers mean a lot because I don’t seem to be able to stop fixating on them.

I’m not going to lie though, tomorrow scares me. I hurt like hell after 27 miles, I don’t know how I’m going to cope with 37 miles. I got brain fog today. I make mistakes when that happens. Next to a canal is not the place to make any kind of mistake on the width of banks I’ve been riding today. So lets just hope knowing the last 10 makes up for that.

I also hurt. A lot. Also, the messages to @mtbgirly are saving my ass.

Just so you know. I owe every one of you a pint/a big slab of cake.

I’m going to learn to bake cakes just to say thank you. It makes a difference to someone going slightly bonkers.

Day Two So back we went to Parbold this morning for day 2. I have to admit, I didn’t feel anywhere near as terrible as I thought I would once I’d

first person| go go loulou k!

woken up – it was the waking up bit which was hard! I get a lie in tomorrow though, which I’m really looking forward to, don’t have to be out of bed until 9:30am!

Today displayed tendencies dangerously close to being a summer. A British one though, there was still grey clouds aplenty, but none of them did so much as spit at me. I took a lot of pictures of lovely views and am slowly appreciating that if more people knew how beautiful it was up here, I’d have met far more than the 10 or so bods enjoying the views on foot. All of whom were polite, and stepped out my way as I pootled very slowly up behind them and called ‘behind’ as I’ve been taught.

Today’s ride was full of contrasts, it’s why I love living here. Contrasts of mill chimneys against beautiful hills, quarries scarring one side of a hill when the other is full of trees and birdsong….. things are never quite as they seem here. I have to admit I was cracking along at this point and full of the joys of spring. I played leapfrog with a very fast runner for a bit and finally passed for the last time, calling ‘see you in Wigan’ as I rode past. I have no doubts that’s where she was heading – she was flying along.

I must confess, I tripped over Wigan. I honestly wasn’t watching the odometer thingy and to be honest, it made the ride a lot more pleasant, concentrating on views and interesting things instead of miles like yesterday. I’ve learnt a lot from yesterday actually, and suspect I whizzed through Wigan. Hit the locks. All 21 of them. You know that flat thing canals are supposed to do? Oh no they don’t. 200 feet later I’d broken a little bit of a sweat and was in sore need of a rest. Not just because of the climb either, some blooming idiot’s gone and put kissing gates next to every other lock to stop people hooning down the hill.

So 9 times I had to flip the bike onto its back wheel and manoeuvre it through a gate with a big backpack on. It wasn’t my finest hour – I was swearing by the end.

About half way up I came across 3 blokes walking abreast the canal path, taking it all up. Cool, I think. So I call ‘on the right’ and what do they do? All herd to the right of the path. So I go ‘okay, on the left then’ and get a lecture in bell usage. I refrained from a lecture in monopolising pathways and carried on laughing a little. Laughing because they have an issue with my verbal warnings, which have been serving me well on numerous commutes and during the other 90 miles I’ve ridden this month. The only people to complain? A couple of bloody bikers on foot. I despair.

go go loulou k!| first person

I trekked onwards. Through Adlington where I stopped for lunch. I hate lunch. It signals the end of the fun stuff and the beginning of the slog.

The only reason I eat is because I know I’ll pass out otherwise, given the choice I really wouldn’t bother. It happens every bloody day. I’m whizzing along, it gets to 1:30pm, I think ‘I really should eat about now’, I sit down, eat and the epic fail begins. Annoying. Suggestions welcome.

Past Adlington it started to get hard. First I stopped, put my feet on the ground and they wobbled. Not a good sign, it’s linked to the tightness – sometimes if over-warmed or relaxed, they go the other way. Figured on the bike was safer than off and carried on. Then the wrists started.

Sat down for a bit and drank lots and spotted my new favourite house.

I should perhaps add that there isn’t a cat in hell chance of me ever owning such a building but oh my days. I’d never leave.

Headed off down the canal. Except, no, I didn’t, what I actually did was head off down the dead end of the Wheelton Branch. One lovely helpful fisherman later and I was pointed in the right direction, which was a sharp right turn, right about where this house is. Then it got muddy. Sticky, claggy muddy. There was much people dodging. There were comments about whether ‘they should be riding here at all’ while I was right next to the person doing the commenting. If he’d had the grace to say it to me, I’d have explained I was doing no more than 3mph to try and minimise erosion and explained I was riding end to end but since he decided to be ignorant, I figured I was too knackered by this point for moral high ground and carried on, continuing to pedal the slowest I’ve ever pedaled and continuing to ding before every bridge and walking under some of them for the first time in the journey.

Feniscowles. Ate both the gel bars. Do you eat gel bars or drink them?

I have no idea and by this point I couldn’t have cared less. Bonked.

Seriously bonked. Cramps and spasms in muscles in arms and legs, cramps in tummy, wrists shot to hell. Absolute hell. It’s better now, but it wasn’t the problem I was expecting so I had nothing to make it better.

Tomorrow there will be compression bandages and painkillers I think.

Tomorrow also brings some entertainment in the form of road riding, something I monumentally suck at. I have to dodge a teeny tunnel in Burnley and a rather larger one at Foulridge. On looking at the map, however, it does become evident that bar the bit from Padiham to Foulridge I know the route well and so again, this will help when I am quietly dying inside.

I rode 37 miles today. I rode 27 yesterday. That’s 64 miles in two days.

first person| go go loulou k!

Before Monday, the most I’d ever ridden since I was about 18 years old was 15 miles two weeks ago. I hereby promise, seriously and wholeheartedly that I will never moan about my stupid 9 mile commute home ever ever again. I’m also not sending that goddamn iPhone 4, which is on order back. I can’t have it unless I complete, or leastways, my other half is on orders to not give it to me if I don’t get to Leeds.

But it’s not about the tech. It’s not about Leeds. It’s not even about finishing. It’s just….I didn’t think I could. I just might.

Day Three This is going to have to be brief because I didn’t stop until 6pm this evening and I’m shattered. This morning was a bit awful. Gels really don’t agree with me. A hot bath did nothing to dissipate the soreness, I was dizzy and clumsy and I had one of those pains in my head. The ones which usually lead to migraine. Got on the bike anyway, feeling sick as a dog, after downing some Kaolin in sheer desperation. Got on at Whitebirk in Blackburn which is where I disintegrated into a snivelling puddle yesterday. Hated every second of the first 4 miles. Got to Church. Halfway point. Also ‘home’ in that it’s where I come off at the end of my 9 mile commute.

Sitting on the steps next to the bridge. I had a good think. About futures and pasts, about an army of people cheering me on, about advice from a team mum whose team I don’t belong to but who cares enough to help anyway, of points already proved and the great unknown, of things which hurt, but also things which didn’t. I carried on. I am under no illusions and that was the turning point - the choice to leave the familiar behind and head off into the future, one I am creating for myself. It felt monumental, for some reason, a really big deal.

I think that perhaps in the future, I will remember that little sit and think more than all the other fabulous things I’ve seen and heard this week.

And perhaps that’s the way it should be, ultimately. The making of someone is sometimes in the briefest of moments, in the strangest of surroundings.

So. Off towards Clayton-le-Moors and beyond. Past the man in a wheelchair fishing. On to the other side of the East Lancs merge of village and town to see an unrideable tunnel, it meant that I ended up delving into Burnley’s bowels and asking directions of people who’ve likely never seen a map, to finally being saved by a scathing Lloyds

go go loulou k!| first person

Bank employee walking his dog who pointed out I’d ridden straight past the entrance to the canal at the other end (that would be because some comedian had moved the sign 180 degrees then) the whole experience was frustrating and unpleasant. 25 minutes lost. Not good.

But onwards. Things get a bit hazy around here. I nearly got attacked by a Boxer off its lead who thought jumping up and knocking a biker off was great fun. The owner felt it appropriate to get cross with the biker who’d slowed to a stop to let her get the dog under control before she rode off. Yeah. Welcome to Colne.

The other side of Burnley, Operation Canal Empty is going well. I lost something (my mind possibly) around here. I just couldn’t keep track of where I was. I was somewhere, obviously, but time just accelerated and I lost an hour. Timey Wimey Fun was a bit of a theme actually, I rode past an ice cream selling pub without being distracted before Foulridge Tunnel, rounded a corner and was met with a canal side Tardis. I’m very grateful for photographic evidence at this point because I swear my other half looked at me slightly oddly when I explained about this. I searched in vain for Matt Smith, before moving along.

Got to the end of Foulridge Tunnel. It’s about a mile I think, beautifully perfectly gorgeously signposted. I even rode on a road, a B road and everything. I dislike road riding, not because I don’t enjoy it but because I am absolutely utterly convinced I’m going to die, every second I’m moving.

first person| go go loulou k!

I didn’t die.

Instead I rode past the new Bistro at the other end of the tunnel, looking longingly into its depths where I knew a mud spattered biker would not be welcome and had a breather. It started to rain. It finished raining 120 seconds later, and that was the only rain I saw all day. Bonkers, I tell you, I was roundly informed by the not mother in law that it’s been lashing it down here. I’m obviously winning at the dodge the cloud dumps game. On I trekked, feeling surprisingly chirpy and positive. I got my miles mixed up, I thought it was only a few to Gargrave. Ha. No. Not in a headwind like that and not over rocky dippy bouncy surfaces like that with a gate handily inserted every 100 metres or so either. Drained.

More drained. No idea where I was, headphones in, a last ditch attempt at retaining some sanity.

Suddenly at Wernside what felt like all the Yorkshire Dales opened up before me. There’s no picture though. The chap on his beautiful road bike who was obviously having a ‘moment’ wouldn’t have appreciated it and it just would have been wrong. But I giggled for about 5 minutes afterwards at the beauty of that view. But anyway, it was high up, really high up, so high up that the wind was creating waves on the canal.

I’ve never seen waves on a canal before. I don’t want to see it again.

My god those were hard hard hard miles. Being overtaken by someone on a shopper with a childseat on the back with a child in the seat is not an experience I ever want to repeat either. Humiliation. Utter humiliation.

It doesn’t end that way though.

Because I came across a signpost posts the mileage to Liverpool and Blackburn in one direction and Skipton and Leeds in the other. I looked at the numbers. I grinned my stupid little face off. Those numbers are big numbers. They’re unavoidably big. And yes, it’s taken 3 days of pedalling constantly for 4-6 hours at a time for it to hit me.

I will cry my silly girly eyes out tomorrow, I suspect. I don’t make any apologies for it. I’m fighting battles this week as medication which is on a time release runs out which always causes migraines and other issues, as I try very hard not to think about the new job and whether I’m actually cut out for it, as I realise that not even pedalling 127 miles in 4 days is going to lose me any weight, as I look at the numbers of blood pressure and resting heartbeat and realise none of this should be

go go loulou k!| first person

first person| go go loulou k!

possible at all, not without going via A & E and possibly this was a stupid thing to do in the first place. I fight my battles, just like everyone does and each day is a battle won. Even more so this week.

Day Four There are no photos because of technical confusion so simple and yet so difficult that I can’t kind of be bothered. I am, finally, exhausted, but we’ll come to that. I can’t remember much of yesterday. I should have written this yesterday really, but I really couldn’t. Bits and pieces.

I started in Gargrave, one the prettiest villages I’ve come across all week. I knew I needed to get to Skipton, at the very least, because a very lovely lady who I’d never met before had offered cake and encouragement. Meet me at the park, she said, so I worried I’d miss it, worried I’d not recognise her, worried that the small offering of flapjack I was bringing wouldn’t be enough.

No need to worry. A sign proclaiming “Go Go Loulouk!” made me laugh my ass off. The natter fixed some of the agony of the previous 5 miles. The relief in speaking to someone other than my other half, face to face, who knew exactly why I was doing what I was doing and who understood the whole ‘being resolutely a girl but loving mountain biking’ thing was just bliss. I left her as she swung off towards home relieved, happier, more focused and more certain that there will be good rides with really lovely people in the future. I also fretted about forgetting to take pics and not asking about her adventure.

In my defence, I was badgered. I went to bed Wednesday night in a lot of pain, but waking up Thursday morning was worse. Hot bath couldn’t fix, painkillers weren’t touching worse. I got on my bike because of K. I kept going past Skipton because of... something. I don’t know quite what it was, but something went a bit wrong – or right depending on your perspective. Everything went black.

I stopped being chirpy at people (rules – we’ll talk about them later), I stopped slowing down past moored narrowboats, I stopped everything except focusing on the next 5 miles ticking over on my Strada. I didn’t have anything else left to spare. So I must have, somewhere in the back of my mind and entirely unconsciously, decided to go on lockdown.

That all sounds a bit dramatic. It wasn’t. It was quiet. Everything went quiet. I vaguely remember Bingley and being in awe of the locks. I remember Saltaire, the strangest village in the country. I remember a

go go loulou k!| first person

man standing outside a beautiful converted warehouse clocking me and smiling – I was covered in mud. I remember many bikers of all kinds and persuasions and managing to summon a big grin from somewhere for every one of them because it was important. I remember musing on a conversation with K about learning rules and smiling a lot because we are all learning. I remember sitting frantically rubbing my wrists, trying not to wince while the walkers strolled by, trying not to show any emotion, trying to keep it all locked in and locked down. I remember eating the cake K gave me 7 miles from the end and my body tingling and everything coming back into focus again, because I’d disappeared off by that point and not realised it, not realised it at all. I remember my lines becoming ragged on the narrow singletrack sections and talking to myself, berating myself, constantly nagging myself to focus and think of nothing but the next mile, the next mile, the next mile.

Yesterday was one of the hardest days of my life, physically. I never expected it to be so hard mentally. There were few Twitter updates because I didn’t want to admit how hard it was, didn’t want to fall apart in public, didn’t want to cause a drama. So have one sentence – yesterday I went to the edge of where I can function and remain functioning. Pain is okay, to a point. I can tolerate things, to a point. But eyes which are struggling to focus, head pains, broken quads and lats, bruised feet, badgered wrists…..they stack. They stacked and I don’t know how I did it, I really don’t, except I did. I did.

I need to thank some awesome people. Firstly, a small battalion of supporters on Twitter who, because of it being in real time, picked me up and dusted me off metaphorically more times than I can count.

Secondly, to Miss Minx for help on so many levels: from understanding why, to providing the most comfy cycling shorts ever, to nutrition advice when I was struggling badly and didn’t realise many other people do too. But more than that. Things I can’t quite quantify but are a theme of the girly mountain biking world, where support and understanding are given freely, where belief is staked when the person it’s being staked on doesn’t believe they’re worthy of it….. Finally, without being

first person| go go loulou k!

too soppy, thanks to my other half for endless patience, ferrying me to and from various points along the canal, sorting kit washing when I was too frazzled to do it, checking my bike over each night, and generally being utterly lovely. the unofficial rules

stuff i’d tell others

• No stopping at pubs or ice cream vans

• Enlist some support and friendly faces en route

• Slow down for moored boats

• Carry tools, spare tubes, tyre levers etc but also first aid kit etc

• Ding, call out ‘behind’ or ‘on your right’ to walkers

• Eat a little but often

• Chat to everyone who starts a conversation

• Sort your energy drink of preference out & stick with it

• Tell people who ask what I’m doing, but never if not

• Get a pack which is comfy

• No hooning down hills if anyone is in the way • No stopping outside the +1 or -1 of the five mile blocks

• Don’t wear underwear under your cycling shorts • Wear glasses – midges in eyes are not pleasant • Don’t expect it to all be tarmac.

• No whining • Work out regular stops • No moaning • Painkillers aren’t cheating

What do I know now? I know I can carry on past the edges. I am much happier with my own company. I am much more confident of my ability to deal with pain and keep going. I am slightly smaller but not much but don’t care very much at all. I am already planning the next mini adventure. And if my neurologist makes another comment about me needing surgery in order to be able to lose weight, I know I’m walking out of the door and not going back. I don’t need to take that shit from anyone, not any more. I earned that.

go go loulou k!| first person

cake stop because a cyclist without cake is incomplete Jenn’s Favourite Cinnamon Buns (with thanks and apologies to Nigella.)

Dough: 600g flour 100g sugar 1/2 teaspoon salt 21g/3 sachets easy blend yeast 100g melted butter 400ml milk 2 eggs Filling: 150g soft butter 150g sugar 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon Glaze: 1 beaten egg Preheat oven to gas mark 8/230 c.

Thoroughly butter the base and sides of your favourite roasting tin.

Mix flour, sugar, salt and yeast.

Whisk butter, milk and eggs together and stir into the flour to make a lovely sticky mess. Knead until the apparent disaster morphs into a smooth, elastic dough (you may need to add more flour if you ever want to see your hands again).

cake stop| cinnamon buns

Cover and leave to rise in a warm place (top oven, airing cupboard, box of kittens) for 25 minutes.

Make a cup of tea and mix together the filling ingredients.

Roll/press out one third of the dough to fit the base of the tin.

Roll/press out the remainder to be a long, thin rectangle that’s about half an inch thick.

Spread with half the filling, roll up longways to make a long, thin swiss roll and chop into twenty equal rounds.

Sit each round swirly-side up on the base in the tin.

Brush with the egg glaze and return to the warm place to rise for another 15 minutes.

Bake for 25 minutes, basking in the glow of your inner domestic goddess, before eating still warm from the oven accompanied by a pot of freshly ground Monsoon Malabar and the Sunday paper.

Š www.minx-girl.com 2010

Want to express your inner girl while kicking mountain bike ass? Like to ride into town but hate making cafe stops in Lycra? Don’t see why your bum has to look big just because you’re dressed to ride a bike?

Then you’re probably a Minx.