Sramano

It is one of the greatest conflicts of ideology of our time, standing shoulder to shoulder with the great questions - Capitalism or Socialism? Theism or Atheism? To be, or not to be?

Shimano or SRAM?

At once, a clamour arises in the Blogosphere. Whistles are blown and bells rung as the footsoldiers arise from the fortified trenches of weight, action and reliability, with the Japanese and American sides matching shot for shot. In a glittering silver-and-carbon-fibre Armoured Personnel Carrier the Italian Campagnolo forces drink espresso under cover of an impenetrable but expensive barrier of Aesthetics. Magura, Rotor and Avid fire shells randomly onto the field, disrupting all sides as they evade and adapt. An underdeveloped lad named Microshift pulls the boots from the fallen.

Without the battlefield, the unbiased customer reaps the rewards of so much bloodshed with lighter, more beautiful, better-performing products, suffering only the uncertainty of which side to back with their next purchase. Having sampled both, it is time for me to deliver a verdict.

Riding Shimano 105 5700 last year was a joy for someone used to the slightly flexy sora and tiagra, groupsets that are admittedly reliable but view inputs as suggestions more than orders.

The Shimano action is indubitably excellent. Snapping up and down at the rear is positive and near-instant, and at the front the chain is shoved aside from the ring harder and faster than a compromised sport from a Dutch bank. This absolute certainty of execution is, however, tampered by doubt in control in some conditions. In thick gloves, from the drops, it is possible to catch both the downshift and upshift lever when only aiming to upshift, and on the return it is possible to catch loose ends of glove fingers between the levers.

You might argue that this is a criticism of the gloves, not the levers. I might reply that that means nothing to me when I wish to silently attack like an unseen assassin on a frozen moorland, and then announce that desire with a rapid traversal of half a dozen gears as my numb fingers cannot distinguish between the levers.

It isn't a common occurrence, but it is definitely worth thinking about if you ride a lot in bad weather.

By direct contrast, SRAM have gone for an idiot-proof single-lever system. By which I mean that there is a single lever with which to prove that you are an idiot, not that the system is in any way infalliable.

I run last-generation SRAM Force on my race bike now. Mentally, it does take some getting used to. On the back, as you probably know, clicking the shift lever once knocks you up a gear, and pushing it further pushes you up the cassette. When I say click, I do mean click, mind. For those used to the almost damped workings of a Shimano system, the dog-chewing-on-gristle crunch of the SRAM ratchet system sounds almost broken the first time you hear it. Wincing slightly, you accept it as the price you pay for some seriously lightweight shifters. Then you take it out for a ride, and have to rewire your brain.

The concept of the action is easy. Apart from the odd attempt to swing the brake lever at the start of rides, I never struggled with thinking what action to perform for what result. The differences come with your decision-making process.

Upshifting takes almost no motion, and happens as soon as you release the paddle. Downshifting might take up to a full rotation of the wheel, but starts as you start pulling cable, similar to Shimano. Like me, then, you may be used to "pre-tensioning" the cable coming into the base of climbs, where you hold the downshift lever ready so that you can shift as soon as your cadence drops. If you're comfortable just powering over, you just release and carry on.

Except on SRAM, you've just upshifted.

It's a simple matter of keeping your fingers away from the levers until you're ready to shift, but it has caught me out once or twice. Caveat Shiftor.

On the front, we see the first big compromise of SRAM. You really do have to "force" the chain outboard, and you're up shift creek without a paddle if you've forgotten that you were in the "trim" position. A full sweep should either fully release or fully tension the cable, and with a short hold at the end of the surprisingly long arc you can usually have faith in an upshift. If you knock it halfway, though, you shift the derailleur halfway inboard and full sweeps sometimes only seem to knock it back into "trim", when they should take it fully back out. Another half-click and you're fully released and can start afresh, and it is something that you can get used to, but it did cause me much aggro before I was comfortable with it. I guess it's lucky that I don't get much use out of anything other than the big ring.

The hoods are a matter of preference. Force feel more dainty to me, and fit well without gloves. 105 probably fits my gloved hands better, especially the space between the levers and the bars which I like wrapping two fingers around. Neither offer the larger nubbins of the top-end groups and Sora, which I like pushing my palm into when I'm trying to run my forearms flat, so I guess the cheap set wins this round. Consolation prize for Sora, for providing the most comfortable aerodynamic position on bikes that probably don't care.

The brakes honestly seem much-of-a-muchness, with only a better set of after-market cables on Force changing the feel at all. That being said, the stock pads on 105 are shocking in the wet, whereas the stock pads on Force are Swissstop greens. I have to give this one to SRAM, then.

What else is there? What elephants in the room am I missing?

Ah, aesthetics. Well, since I'm on BB30 I never had to suffer the ignomy of hideous Shimano cranks, and the rest of the group pretty much just works. I should add that I think the new Dura-Ace cranks show a step in the right direction, so I'm not against Shimano per se.

If the new DA is a step in the right direction, though, the new Red was a massive flying leap to become the best looking modern groupset on the market. My Force isn't such a joy to look at by comparison, but it ties in well and doesn't rub on my heels. Definite point to Force here.

Well, that about sums it up, doesn't it? Ok, so Force is about half as expensive again as 105, but you get a better-looking chainset, equal to better performance at the back with an unmistakable shift action, worse performance at the front with an easily mistakable shift action, equal or better brakes and YMMV ergonomics. I guess I'm done, then?

Wait? Wait for what?

Oh, weight!

Alright, so this isn't like-for-like. Force is supposed to rival Ultegra, not 105, after all. But it beats it, comfortably. In the upgrade, I dropped half a kilo from my race bike, making it only a set of wheels away from being a climber's dream in aluminium. If you're looking to upgrade from 105, then, and your options are Ultegra or Force, my verdict would be:

Read my review, ignore the weight and the price, and switch "Ultegra" for "105" whenever you see it.

If you really want an answer, from a personal point of view, I can only offer you this:

If Shimano makes kit that works this well,
And SRAM is so much leaner,
No logic on Earth could ever tell,
Why gentlemen prefer Athena.

Artisan Carbon Fibre

No big post this week, just wanted to draw attention to this bikeradar tour of the Look factory, in response to my post a few weeks back that talked about making carbon fibre bikes. It makes for an interesting read, but note that, from a background dealing with fibreglass structures and with some idea of what to expect from the bike industry, Look is not typical in making its frames from individual fibres - I would expect pre-pregs to be far more common.

That being said, this is definitely the way to engineer a bike to be the best that it can be, so it's probable the Cervelo Rca is similarly hand-laid, and it seems to me that the Canucks might have the edge over the French in pure frame engineering (from what I've heard. I'd love to be speaking from experience!), but, as you can read, this level of detail takes a lot of time and effort.

And I'd still prefer something welded!

First win

What a difference a year makes.

The sleet drained the start line of the SWSCP Amstel Road Race (4th Cat) of colour as we faced the wrong way, the route diverted due to conditions. I wore a coat under my gilet to protect me from the worst of it, whilst I had embro' on under my leg warmers and gloves. I felt no concern about overheating - I knew the pace we were likely to do, and felt it was better to be comfortable than sleek but freezing like most of the others.

We rolled down and out through the neutral zone. I was concerned that a break might go and be allowed to stay away, especially as the commissaire had been particularly adamant that we weren't to cross the white line, severely limiting the mobility of the peloton, but I had found myself near to the back of the group due to where I had stood in the briefing. So it goes. I would find a way.

Perfectly sheltered on the gently rolling road to New Galloway, I found holes and slowly made my way up through the group, always with one eye on the lead car in case of a break. I was completely comfortable, following every pulse and stretch of the peloton with easy spin ups and coast downs, my aerobic conditioning meaning that I was never getting anywhere near "the red."

A sharp left over the bridge and the first break was away, but was neutralised and left to dangle a mere few yards in front of the bunch for miles. The road narrowed and became rough as we turned south along the loch, and there were no lines safe from potholes, but I was convinced that if I flatted, as many did, I would be able to chase back. Mostly by luck, I avoided the worst and waited for my chance.

Turning back to the east, a lone rider was allowed to gain more than five seconds on the bunch. A space to pass the bunch never came, so I was forced to ride the line, calling "on your right" to attack and bridge, expecting to be able to pull away with a partner. Unfortunately, I sped past him and he couldn't catch my wheel - his rear mech' was broken and he was down to one gear. Realising quickly that the game was up, I sat up and slipped into the peloton at about fourth wheel.

From there, it was a simple matter of following wheels. I knew that I would be able to hold the pace up the gentle hill to the finish, so all that was required was to follow any breaks, do no work for anyone else, and wait for the sprint.

Second wheel for the last three miles, I was blatant and cheeky, but if the rider in front wanted to continue to drive and scupper his chances, who was I to turn him down? The final corner, 250m to go - I dove in, took the shortest line, drove hard out of the corner and pushed on to the finish whilst kids yelled and marshals clapped. A check over my shoulder, and then it was hands off the bars and... well, I couldn't actually think what I wanted to do with them. My natural reaction was a fist-clenched, elbows-back pelvic thrust, but hands aloft seemed far more traditional. I think I went for somewhere in between, and then both, which, if not covering all bases, should at least require them all to be cleaned before they can be used again.

That is the story of how I won my first race. As you can tell, it was a long time coming.

Good trails!

Stop kidding yourself

Hands up if this sounds familiar: You work nine to five plus commuting, but you want to do physical training when you get home for a race, for an event, or just to feel good. You get home. You're tired.

You can't be tired though, because you need to push hard to get the most out of your training. So you go to the cupboard and grab a snack; maybe you put the kettle on. While you eat and drink, you settle down on the settee and watch some TV, or play a game, or just catch up on what's going on in the wide world of the Internet.

Two hours later, there's not much time left in the night to train, and you're still not feeling fresh. You drag yourself to your bike, or push yourself into your shoes, scrape your way out the door and go for an hour. It's only in the last half hour that you even start to wake up.

You get home, desperately try to find some food that you can shovel into yourself in the twenty minute post-exercise window, and know that you won't be able to get to sleep for hours yet, pushing back your sleep pattern and driving the whole thing round again.

This lecture isn't a parable about preparation - although it's fair to say that it's easier to get on the bike or get fed if everything you need has been organised beforehand. It's actually about that dead time after you get home.

The worst part of this whole self-perpetuating cycle is that dead time - the time that you feel that you cannot do anything, but also that you feel is wasted. Physically and psychologically, it takes "it" out of you; convinces you that you could be working harder, if only you had the energy.

You're kidding yourself.

I don't mean that you couldn't work harder. I mean that you're kidding yourself if you think that what you are actually doing is resting, that browsing websites for an hour is going to replenish your batteries for a seven o'clock assault on the roads. If you need rest, take rest. Don't be half-hearted about it.

Critical to me in this after-work window is working out what I need. If I haven't been able to snack in the afternoon, I'll probably want some carbohydrates to bring my energy levels back up, so I'll munch on some oat cakes. If I'm not alert, I'll make a cup of coffee and drink it.

Then, crucially, I'll sleep.

Not deeply and, if my flatmate has anything to do with it, often not for long, but it works better than not even trying. Caffeine takes time to affect the body. If you nap for twenty minutes immediately after taking a dose, you'll wake up as the effects begin to kick in, leaving you thoroughly refreshed and ready to go.

Accept that you do need rest if you are to train well, and target it. Don't think that sitting still and turning your brain off is enough. It takes no more time, and is far more effective, if you set aside a period and just go to bed. Just as with getting on your bike for a training ride - clothes, helmet, tyre pressures - make it a psychological event. Get undressed. Turn off the lights and set your alarm. Do the things you do to go to sleep, and wake up twenty or thirty minutes later knowing that your time was well spent and you're good to hit to road.

Enjoy your rest. You've earned it.

Good trails!

Watching Cyclocross

I'm not going to claim to be an expert on cyclocross, because I am not. However, in the matter of bad weather I can be considered at least a proficient amateur, as most of us can claim to be that live in these drizzly isles.

So, when I say that the Scottish National Cyclocross Championships were undertaken in classic cyclocross weather, take that to mean that it was that particular blend of sleet, wind and cold that one would associate with a Belgian winter, and one that, sadly, could not be ameliorated by a regular supply of that nation's beer.

We can let this organisational oversight slip, however, since the races themselves were well-organised and brutal. The championships had been delayed from earlier in the year, when frozen ground would have made the undertaking too dangerous, and a new venue had been sought, found and accepted by East Kilbride Road Club in Strathclyde Park - a mixed country park to the east of Glasgow where riders could expect gravelly chicanes in the car park, off-camber mud, a drag up a fire road and several hop-skip-jumps over steep bankings and up kerbs.

As an open championship, the range of abilities was vast, from fitness up the hill (the deciding factor in all the races) through to the technical finesse to jump onto bankings and up curbs without hanging up the rear wheel (a lack of which technique costing several riders punctures). In all races, the pack swiftly blew apart, but none more so than in the senior men's, where Rab Wardell pulled out 30s in the first lap and cruised to extend the lead from then on.

It is a good type of racing to watch, provided that you are well wrapped up, combining as it does the easily traversed courses and viewing options of a circuit race with the wide-open rider-based racing of a rough classic. (With tongue firmly in cheek), it was a lot like watching a cross-country race, with more mud and speed, but less (average) skill and terrible brakes.

For myself, though, I can't claim to be tempted to try it. It suits someone who is able to just power through anything, sprint up hills and recover in any free second - which sounds fun. It's just the mud - I wouldn't want to put my bike through that!

Good trails!

Dispatches from Berlin

I am criss-crossing the wide and quiet streets of Germany's capital in early and chilly March sun, and trying to take lessons on how to make a city friendly to cyclists.

The early cynic in me shouts out - bomb it! The wide boulevards, holding roads some fifty metres across, with pavements of a dozen more, not to mention tram lines, cannot fail to provide enough room for everyone and more besides. Rebuilding our medieval road systems to accomodate such thoroughfares would require wholesale reconstruction of our city centres. The situation seems hopeless.

And yet, there are lessons.

Simple things are done, instead of being and afterthought. Road furniture exists, and is still plentiful, but is regulated to a single strip that divides pavement from roadway. There are no surprise bins in off-road cycleways, and pedestrians only dodge each other, not the road.

Importantly, cyclists are provided for without exception. There is always a marked lane along every major road. They are given five or ten seconds explicit grace at traffic lights by their own, separate signals. The roads are well-kept, with 30kph limits on all minor roads.

Drivers can still be aggressive, but I have only seen that aggression shown toward other drivers. People feel safe. Almost the only helmets I have seen have been on Segway riders.

Establishing cause and effect here is difficult, and there are a whole host of natural componding factors - the flatness of the terrain being a primary one - that may amplify any differences. Nevertheless, it is a cause for hope. Full separation does not seem to be necessary - just full provision, with appropriate speed limits and faith in the state of the infrastructure; faith that it will be in a state fit to ride; faith that it will be treated for the conditions; faith that it will lead you to anywhere that you might want to go. Faith that it won't lead you forks-first into a flight of stairs or waste bin.

It seems simple. That is the greatest reason for hope of all.

Good trails!