Hell Yeah! Friday smiles...

want!

Oh Hai!

"What would Jens do?"

Get up, get on a bike 4 sizes too small, strap himself into the old school clips n straps and bust a gut to get back with the bunch!

Oh Hai! I'm Jens and I shall mostly be ripping your legs off today

adjusted.

How about this one Brave?

Last one.

^fixie skidder at heart

Stuey!

Another man not afraid of doing a long stint on the front.

^fixie skidder at heart

Is that the bike he used for the 2004 Giro 1km prologue time trial?

pffffffffffffffft

lol

Is that the bike he used for the 2004 Giro 1km prologue time trial?

Nope. 2005 it was.

http://autobus.cyclingnews.com/road/2005/giro05/tech/?id=wilier

Nice one.

I always admired him for doing that.

Nope. 2005 it was.

http://autobus.cyclingnews.com/road/2005/giro05/tech/?id=wilier

More importantly, does it barspin?

Dov?

Great climber in his day.

^love that one

and this

More Jens.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4WfD7lYkKqA

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3248/2967764260_49fc9f6e2a_o.jpg
I'm watching 'death on the mountain'

Both thrilling and heartbreaking.

It's still Friday, just, and Tom is smiling.

R.I.P. Monsieur Tom

I rode a charity sportif for him a few years ago, to have his Ventoux monument renovated.
We rode out from the miner's social club, where his dad used to drink, in Harworth. I was late, and the race organiser chucked my bike in the back of his car and rode me up to the peloton.

I rode with them, but couldn't stay in contact. A quarter of the bunch were professional, and I'm not in the same league.
By a long stretch.

I dropped off and soft pedalled, waiting for the next bunch.
A tight group of oldsters arrived, early sixties, all riding vintage steel.
I tucked in.
Expecting an easy ride.
No chance.
They turned the screw.
Levelled out at 26mph.

And held it.

And held it

And held it.

Mile after aching mile, through and off, with snow in the gutters and slush covering the white lines in the middle of the road.
I had fitted mudguards, and the pace rattled them loose. My computer shook free and clattered down the road.
I stayed with them for over an hour.

Then drifted off, gasping.

Again I soft pedalled, and a group of clubmen hoovered me up.

We rolled to the finish, my face caked in salt, muscles twitching with exhaustion and cramp.

I went into the working man's club and bought a half of Guinness.
I shuffled to the club's trophy room and raised my glass.

There, in the cabinet, was a Peugeot bike.
the bike he died on.

The route we rode was Tom's training route.

The fastest time didn't beat his best time.

A terrible ride, but a great ride.

He's still one of my favourites.