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[QUOTE=Eingang;1911871]we can't see anything.
but i think that it's this, a frame from a professional keirin champion, that's the reason for the price: http://njs-keirin.blogspot.com/2011/01/kamiyama-samson.html

i asked why's it 'sooo' expensive, not 'so' expensive. Chappy has had a few 3renshos allegedly owned by keirin champs over the years and they're never nearly as dear.

why's that samson sooo expensive, peeps?

[QUOTE=tom.;1861102]Truly spoken like someone whose experience of cycling is limited to having owned a "fixie" since the summer.

Clue up, or shut up.

you're a fat bummer

my bilingual flatmate has been trying to email them but the site's been down, or so he says (think he's being a bit lazy, knowing him he's binged on xmas food at his folks' and is feeling sorry for himself... i'll have 'a word' with him).

my flatmate speaks japanese, when i see him, i'll get him to translate the kiyo site, see if there's anything to be had there, and generally online.

I don't but by god I'm going to find you some! I'm going to make it my new year's resolution. I've been thinking for a long time now that i'm too selfish. Success here, or at least a good stab at it, might herald the dawn of the era of a 'new me'. I've started the hunt already. Nothing on ebay. But fear not, Luxortion, if we work together like pair-trawlers in the north sea, we can crack this. x

My Kiyo Miyazawa frame needs a repaint. Any one know where I can find new decals? blue/black.

No. No, I don't.

My father taught me how to make my own puncture repair kit when I was a young lad and, with the odd adaption down the years, it's stood me in good stead ever since. I once once asked him who'd taught him the technique and got a 'black ear' (his word for a clip round the lughole) for my troubles (he was a somewhat macho and truculent coal miner from Glyncorrwg village in deepest South Wales... they breed them to be proudly self-reliant in those parts, so my question was probably perceived by him as a slight to his self-sufficiency skillset). Anyway, he rode everywhere on Bessy, a bike he built himself, mainly from cast iron trussle rods salvaged from a Victorian bunkbed frame (it weighed a tonne!), held together with bell rope and tanner's glue (i have some photos if anyone's interested). The tyres were constructed using an incredibly durable compound made of refluxed canvas, woven coal flax and tesselated pig iron shards (no doubt pilfered from the slag heap belonging to the puddling forge in the next valley). (Interestingly Bridgestone founder Lyoto Machida, an adolescent at this time who was in Britain touring London music halls with his boarding school's production of Gilbert & Sullivan's Makido, was evacuated to Glyncorrwg on the eve of the Second World War, and I've always wondered whether he met, and swapped notes on tyre production, with my father... if so, where are his royalties, Machida!!!). The compound was so tough that his tyres rarely punctured, so when Ol' Bess "opened 'er mouth' (as he called a puncture!) it was always a bit of a special occasion on the boat (we lived on a canal barge). We didn't have electricity back then, so he'd let off a few naval flares, which created this ethereal glow all around the boat that was truly magical. Mother would cook up a batch of treacle taffy and my brother and I would sing hymns while father would winch Bessy onto the roof of the aft cabin, up-end her and lay her out on a pages torn from The Rhonda Echo. He used a pudding slice and skillet whisk to lever the tyre from the rim, then he'd hunker down on his hands and knees, take three or four huge lungfuls of air and, with the mouth of the valve clamped between his teeth, blow the tyres up like a balloon. It was me and my brother's cue to stop singing. You could hear a pin drop in the next valley as father listened intently for the tell-tale hiss of air. ("There's the snake!" he'd yell!) With the source of the leak pinched between thumb and forefinger, he'd press the hole onto a pre-prepared smear of bacon fat, bitchumen, locksmith's proofing and coal tar. This was to par-seal the hole while he readied the patch with beeswax. For the patch, father used a section of horse hide soaked in his own urin (i imagine this was cut from the corpse of a pit pony or knicked from the village slaughterhouse, but he used to tell us it was 'dragon skin', which, on reflection, was as much a reflection of his fierce nationalist pride as it was his vivid imagination). While the patch adhered itself to the drying glue, father and mother would join us in a few verses of the Welsh national anthem, with a few choice expletives about the English appended to the chorus and final verse. Then, in a final flourish worthy of the Great Soperendo, father would spin around on the spot like a dervish, then swallow dive into the canal. We'd all be screaming with excitement at this point, high on taffy mollases and - come to think of it - the calcium phosphate we'd inhaled from the debris trail left by the flares. He'd resurface, gasping for air, with a clump of canal weed in his teeth. He'd pass this to me and it was my solemn duty to 'seal the tyre proper wi' locks o' da mermaid's hair' as he called it. And that was it. Job done.All in all, it was a fascinating, almost ritualistic process, something that I think we can all learn a lot from.

Sorry, was that post serious? I am very likely to have missed something, but after cutting out everything off topic & irrelevant, this is what I'm left with........

Entirely serious, I can assure you! My work as a founder member and researcher at the Ethno-Mechanical Institute of Geo-Anthropology (EMIGA) takes me all over the world as part of a four-strong team that sources, tests and reports on new technology. We aim to demistify complicated, esoteric mechanisms, structures and devices, rephrasing and deconstructing industry jargon where possible, and ultimately putting our colated findings into the public domain via publications, websites (such as this) and, chiefly, word of mouth. Our mission as an organisation is to one day have a single global techno-ethnic language, with roots in the common vernacular, that brings communities together around a single set of linguistic and technological values and norms. Our goal, as one of the less conspicuous partners of the London Olympics, is to have a 80 per cent-plus informed, techno-savvy population by the year 2012. My work in London over the past four years has focused almost exclusively on wheeled self-propulsive devices (bicycles, to all intents and purposes, although childrens' wheeled hobby horses and 'balance bikes' that I have studied arguably fall outside of this category) and my role on this forum has been principally that of a data-harvester, although I have 'seeded' a number of my conclusions in posts over the past few years, which, I am proud to report, have become assimilated into its quotidian lingua franca. For instance, at the risk of blowing my own trumpet, the phrase 'my ride' was my work! Before I started referring to my Cannondale in this way, a large contingent of this forum habitually referred to their ride as 'my bike', or 'my wheels'. I strived to steer this forum away from this ugly and pernicious malaprop with oblique references to an anthropological database (mainly lexographic charts and pie charts) that we had compiled based on the work of numerous field trips over the spring and summer of 1996 for the Geo-mechanical Department of Bognor University's Ethno-structural Faculty to study the hunter-gatherer Malaita rainforest tribe (which subsists primarly in canopy-dense sub-tropical esturine nodes on the fringes of limestone basins). Our work here is, although the connection will perhaps seem tenuous to the layman, is of the upmost relevance to the self-specific personal transport nomenaclature used widely among London fixed-gear and single-speed riders. To whit, my colleagues and I observed the tribesfolk referring to their kapok tree bark and twine canoes as 'my ride' ('zhulan rahjan' in their primitive mother tongue). This conflation of verbal and nounal lexicographical elements into a unified adverbial form brought the whole community together in a well nang way dat's proper wicky-wicky wild-wild well-good.

Even if we liked your photography, the bike is horrid.

Titty-titty-bum-bum

Already posted many times, plus they are anti porn anyway. Please read the whole thread before posting again to avoid further embarrassment, otherwise we might take even more of a dislike to you than we already have.

Bum-titty-bum-bum

Funny you should ask, I've done some research on this subject only recently. Apparently, the idea of imposing a set of industry standards for the manufacture of bicycles was first mooted in Britain by the Earl of Somerset (Liberal MP for Maidstone East) during a Parliamentary broadcast session (one of the very first Chrystal-Ether Radio Broadcasts of the nascent BBC, which back then had the rather clumsy monicker the Wireless Telegraph Dispatch Emporium (WTDE) in April 1910 after the four-year-old step neice of one of his constituents was badly injured riding her Ipswich-built Cosworth Flying Gate through Longleat safari park (which had been established just three months earlier by Douglas Powell, the grand nephew of Lord Baden Powell, on his return from active service in the Boer War (an experience which had left him enamoured of the flora, and particulary the fauna, of Kenya's Red Centre, which was at the time known as Maku Maku). Although he'd lost his left wrist in battle, Douglas and his pygmy wife, Zwani, had hand-reared a clutch of tiger cubs, an ostrich, three pandas and a 16-strong brood of Zimbabwean rhino, which were paraded in front of the Lady Mayoress of Longleat at the opening of a local nursery, much to the dismay of a young Winston Churchill, who was apparently courting her cousin, Annabel Maudson, at the time. Churchill's monocle, as reported by the Essex Comet, fell into the goblet of porter he was drinking from (it now hangs behind the bar at the Cricketers Arms in Somer Street Dudley) when one of the park's ring-tailed vultures escaped and emitted a "bloodcurdling squak of the damned that would have set Lucifer's table afire" [sic] [Shropshire Gazette] after being startled by a Ford T with nitrous backfiring on an adjacent back alley that had been tagged by the third earl of Baconshop on Ash Wednesday a mere 11 hours after the corner shop opened that sold blackberry sherbert, which was called gobstoppers back then. I hope that answers your question!

I'm not a newbie,
I'm like a ruby,
Been around for years,
something something tears,
Bum titty bum bum,
My bedroom is a slum
In rio de janiro,
it's started to snow,
I ride very slow,
because i'm a coward,
i like frankie howard,
or is it with an e
like Dizee rascal,
or is that a bad call,
i'm sounding like a fool
bum titty bum bum
you're all nobs

all nobs except for you...x

bum titty bum bum, you're all nobs

With al these massive bikes around, Ist there a argumet for say 800c wheels?

oooh its a mountain bike with colnago written on it, it looks shit and is shit but it's made of magic metal. i'll pay a million pounds for it. he's such a craftsman that colnago

you (badly) plagiarising my user name, you young whippersnapper?

Well there's a blast from the past. I was at Nottingham High School For Boys with Jack Taylor in the 50s (he's the cheeky chap in the (spotless!! Typical! He was a tad workshy, although he'd spin in his grave to hear my say that) blue work overalls in the photograph above).The other two fellows are Cecil Dumbar (left) and the famous (to his friends back in Stolly Village, Lancashire) Simon Bavis. I'm the one holding the Kodak Brownie, hence my non-appearance in the shot!! The four of us built bicycles together from 1963 until 1983. We made bespoke gents tourers, the odd flanged racing bike and one or two tridems (triple tandems. What ever happened to them all!!??). We were quite the entrepreneur (collectively speaking) because, and do correct me if I'm wrong, we were the first British bike company to use salvaged Spitfire tires and scrap Word Word II ordnance to make our bicycles. Had Dragons' Den been on the wireless back then or had television sets been around back then a day, I'm sure we'd have been telly celebrities!!!! There's a funny story behind why we ended up calling our company Jack Taylor and not naming it Gunner Bikes (my idea, and a good one I felt, seeing as our frames were essentially made of melted down DC9s and Browning M1917s, albeit alloyed with molybdenum and Tungstun, or indeed namingit after Cecil, Simon or myself. We were at a Sheffield Wednesday vs Leyton Orient match at Selhurst Park in Otterhyde and we were all tucking into our halftime sandwiches when Jack got HP sauce all down the front of his duffel coat. Try as he might he couldn't shift it, but the funny thing was the stain that was left was noticeably similar in outline to the boundary of Nottingham Borough Council (I'd spent time after the war working for the local authority and, as a keen amateur designer I'd devised the council's logo based around its boundary delineation).. something or other etc blah blah

Sorry to hijack the thread, but can someone identify this frame's brand?

No. Sorry. I've no idea what this is.

bum titty bum bum

But you see fuck all of the bike. shame.

you mean you can't see its big decals, don't you. it's all about the downtube decals

"MILF" - mother I like to fiddle.

post it in Current Project, posting own/or relative bicycle in porn topic is like saying your wife is hot.

Don't! leave it there. this rule is ridiculous

do you have to like go to surrey quays to get the silk liners though or what? that's an hassle.

you're all massive dicks