Like any good politician I regularly make a habit of reneging upon statements made in the past. In the early days of my mountain biking career I "poo pooed" the idea of suspension forks, I can even remember the slightly tipsy argument in the Beehive. One month later, I slunk out of my garage and one the Ridgeway with a suspicious Girvin shaped bounce at the front of my bike. My next target was rear suspension, "A total and utter waste of money", I loudly proclaimed whilst steadying myself at the bar. It must only have been a matter of days before Express Cycles took my order for an East Peak, which bounced me round England and Wales for the next year or so. I've slagged off clipless pedals, carbon handlebars, disc brakes, expensive stems, energy powder, 2.1" tyres and more. Every single one of them has subsequently depleted my cash reserves and become a regular feature upon my bike.
Last month it was singlespeeds. "I can't see the point in putting yourself through the pain" "People will do anything to appear slightly different, at the end it just make them the same" "He's only doing it so he won't feel left out" "Waste of a good frame" "There's sycophants, fashion victims, attention seekers, and there's people with gears on their bikes" All of these had made it into my recent vocabulary, so I suppose the outcome was inevitable. Yesterday I rode my new singlespeed. I'd recently deconstructed my hardtail and full suspension bikes into a single, shiny all purpose titanium hardtail. The full suspension frame and nice shiny bits were dispersed to more loving garages around the county.
In a Dickensian twist I was left to look after all of the ugly, smelly bits, Deore hubs, worn Mavic rims, an old Specialized Rockhopper frame, dated Avid V brakes and some chipped and scratched old handlebars. I nearly sold the frame, but a closer inspection threw up an alarming dint in the chainstays. My conscience got the better of me and I emailed the bad news to a relieved punter. This pile of tat nagged at me daily, it had served me well and didn't deserve to be strewn around my garage like a student's soiled underwear. I gathered it up and formed my cunning plan. I'd build a singlespeed, and then I'd sell it. I'd prey upon the fashion conscious mountain biking community and their lust for non-conformity. "Singlespeed for Sale" .. that'll get ‘em, they'll be queuing up like old ladies outside of a broken lavvy, desperate to relieve themselves of their beer tokens. A probing (yet confidential) email to a friend heightened my enthusiasm. All I needed were some spacers, a new chain, a singulator and a cog at the back.
One phonecall later and a package was duly forced through the letter box by our ever caring postman. I set my ‘productivity bot' to email an inane question to my business partner every hour and disappeared into the garage clutching bits, tools and a Toffee Crisp that had mysteriously found it's way in with the bicycle parts. I was momentarily distracted by the promise of a weekend living like a pop idol emblazed across the Toffee Crisp, but couldn't be arsed to make the phone call. Tinkering commenced. I can honestly say that I've never spent "quality time" in my garage fixing my bike. The truth is I fucking hate it. Sorry for swearing, but that's really how I feel. Adjusting things made of metal is my own personal hell. If Dante lived in modern times, his "Inferno" would contain the paragraph:- "..and I descended lower into the seventh level where the inept mountain bike mechanics howled with rage and impatience as they attempted to re-assemble the freehub. Beelzebub himself sauntered into the room carrying a wheel to which was attached a Hope Mini, his smile widening as he span the wheel and pulled the lever. "Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak". I turned to my guide, "And what crime hath these god forsaken creatures committed ?", he stopped and shuddered, "Ah, these are they who posted ‘What tyre?' threads" Anyway, my point is that assembling the singlespeed was easy.
I took 2 rings off my XT chain set, stuck some shorter bolts on and affixed the 32 tooth ring. I put the 16 tooth cog and some spaces on my rear hub, lined it up with the front ring. I set the chain to the right length. I bolted the singulator on. I added the V brakes, stuck some tyres on the wheels, whacked on a few pedals, and it was all over. It only took me two hours. I lifted the bike off the floor, it was light. The angel on my left shoulder calmly asked me to walk back into the house and get it on eBay. However, it was the devil on the right who I listened to. "Ride the fucker, ride it hard man, fucking get out there and fucking stitch the fucker through some mud, get this fucker dirty boy and then get it dirty some more, just fucking ride it NOW!" And that is really what it felt like. I went back into the house and cautiously announced to my family that I was going out for a little ride.
My wife surveyed my blackened hands, stained jeans, frayed fingernails, the rain sliding down the kitchen window, the clock, the darkness and then she peeked round the corner and saw the (sort of) new bike. I fought past the knowing look, sprayed myself in lycra and waterproofs, hastily adorned the bike with lights. I pushed the bike out into the street. I furtively looked left then right, like a dirty old man walking out of a sex shop and then dived on top of it and down the road we went. To get from my house to the trails takes a mile. It starts on the road and gradually heads downhill to a sharp bend. The rider is then dragged up and over a couple of short steep hills before tarmac bleeds into bridleway. I set off at a moderate pace, but it didn't take long for me to end up spinning my legs like a cartoon character in mid-air. I couldn't keep it up and soon found myself coasting. Both hands were reaching for phantom shifters, I needed a bigger ring and wanted to go faster, but I couldn't, I was trapped at a moderate pace and no amount of leg windmilling could do anything to improve it. I nearly stopped and went home, and would have if it wasn't for the hill. The gradient ate into my cadence and as I mounted a motorway bridge, the bike was starting to make me work.
I got out of the saddle and fought back, my thumbs were still searching for shifters, but the legs and lungs ignored them as they began to concentrate upon the task in hand. I was enjoying it. The road swept me downwards as hill gave way to valley and again my legs ceased to have any useful function as the bike's speed exceeded any sensible pedalling velocity. I was ready for the next hill and attacked it, revelling in the lightness of the bike and the simplicity of the task. Just pedal, that's all you do, there's no fannying about with gears, no waiting with bated breath for an unreliable upshift of downshift, no noise, no clunks or grates, you just pedal. The task became more familiar as I left the road and wrapped myself in bridleway. The bikes gearing was close to that which I would normally have selected, however, something was different. It was the silence. Bumps and ruts simply moved the bike upwards, gone was the usual cacophony of chain banging derailleur magnified by the winter grit. It's clichéd, but the bike really did purr along the trail.
I was starting to get what it was all about. Bridleway became rutted track and I was starting to get a feel for the Zen of singlespeeding. For me it's about pace, on my geared bike my pace will change with environment, hills slow me down, roads speed me up, but on the singlespeed I seemed to want to go everywhere at roughly the same speed. (How bloody obvious is that ?) The off road hills were harder, I found myself out of the saddle much more and a few aches appeared in areas normally silent during a ride. I was waiting for the mythical exploding knee, but it failed to make an appearance. For sure the quads and calves complained a bit more than usual, however it all felt manageable. I was writing this article in my head, about 10 miles from home. I was going to sing the praises of singlespeeding, salute it's simplicity and castigate myself for having been an unbeliever for so long, and then it happened. My singulator waved "goodbye" to the cog tensioning the chain. The cog took umbrage and flew off into the dark in a seething rage and the chain gave up its tension and fell off. Oh fuck. I scoured the area for the cog and associated bolt. I looked enquiringly at passing rabbits, I renounced my atheism and pleaded with St Anthony. All to no avail.
The only option left to me was to ride the ten miles back using the cog shaft to tension the chain. It would wear the chain and the shaft, and would probably break. However, the casting vote was given to the cold and dark and I slunk my way home. That evening I brooded upon my mistake, I hadn't tightened the cog bolt hard enough and more frustrating than that, I hadn't tackled a long off road climb on the singlespeed. The next day I rushed the kids to the cinema and back and then recommenced battle in the garage. One Heath Robinson moment later and my bike was ready to go again sporting a newly bastdardised singulator along with an LX cog. This time I completed the whole loop.
Twenty miles of spinning madly downhill, gurning uphill and hacking along at a constant pace on anything flat. It normally takes me an hour and forty five to do those twenty miles. Today took one hour fifty. Not bad for a bike with only one gear. However, if we introduce cleaning time into the mix then the singlespeed took on a whole new dimension. A quick dusting with the hose and the bike was gleaming like a crown jewel. My legs are feeling it as I type this text. My body is telling me that I did something different today that it's not used to, and the question it's also asking is "Am I going to do it again?".
Well, the answer is "Yes". I'm happy to say that I can understand why people do singlespeeding and I'm not going to sell the bike. It's hard to summarise my feelings about singlespeeding without descending into tired clichés or conclusions straight from the Ministry of the Bleeding Obvious. However, the impressions made upon me are as follows:-
-
Making singlespeeds is enjoyable, quick and easy. If I were in my garage and heard the four minute warning, I'd probably make a quick singlespeed and then wait for the blast.
-
Singlespeeding downhill is crap, you can never get the bike to the speed you're used to on your geared steed and you look like a ten year old kid franticly leaving the scene of a failed scrumping mission.
-
Singlespeeding off road and uphill is great, routes need "energy planning" to make sure you have the muscles for the hills when you need them. A singlespeed will not let you off no matter how tired you are. It's committing riding and you won't catch me going out all day on the singlespeed
-
Singlespeeds, winter and night riding were made for each other. The simplicity of the drive train reduces noise and introduces the sounds of the darkness into your ride. My next ride with gears will be like having a stereo on. Also, the singlespeed will get cleaned at the end of a night ride, the geared bike will have to bloody well wait till tomorrow
-
Singlespeeding can be hard, I don't normally ache at the end of this ride, but tonight I do. However, for me this is a good thing. I can see singlespeeding entering my training program to help me develop power and cadence.
Would I recommend singlespeeding ? Would I bollocks. For me singlespeeding is something you discover, something furtive and something that you could end up regretting. From my experience I can see all sides of the singlespeed argument and like the gutless non-commiter I am, I'm sticking my feet firmly in both camps. Singlespeeding definitely has a point and I'm going to keep on doing it until I discover exactly what it is.
(c)Dave Barter November 2003
Daves Twitter Feed
