Month: June 2015

June 16th – Bottom brackets are a pain in the arse. I can’t believe that after more than a century of cycling technological innovation, they’re still so rubbish.

The bottom bracket is the spindle that the cranks mount on through the bottom of the frame, which spins freely allowing your pedals to rotate. As a mechanical component, the bottom bracket experiences the worst abuse – epicentric, unbalanced point loading, muck, water and corrosion. My bottom brackets take my full weight, plus that of the bike and load. They work hard.

Several solutions exist for bottom brackets – the component axle and loose bearings – the old way and fiddly to adjust and maintain; the ‘sealed cartridge’ (above) – a disposable insert designed for easy changing; the external – a frankly daft idea that’s gained traction in the last five years; the thoroughly insane press fit, preferred by the weekend Wigginses with plastic bikes.

All are rubbish, really.

On Sunday, I noticed the cranks on my bike had alarming play within the frame. The non-drive side bearing had collapsed in the cartridge. It’s done about 20,000 miles. Removing it is easy if you have the right tools and the person who fitted the last one did it properly. 

Cranks are removed with a special extractor, and the cartridge is removed with a special socket tool from the DRIVE SIDE. It is a left hand thread, meaning the unit is turned clockwise to unscrew it. That fact escapes many, and has led to loads of skinned knuckles and damaged frames.

The cartridge is left hand threaded to prevent it loosening in use due to precession.

There is a support bush on the other side that unscrews normally using the same tool. The threads are cleaned with a small wire brush and degreaser, dried, greased with anti-seize paste and the new one fitted. Half an hour tops.

If the threads are not greased, the unit will be very, very hard to remove in future.

A replacement is about £15-£20. I’ve tried expensive alternatives – they make no difference.

See you again in another 15-20,000 miles.

June 16th – A remarkable year for wildflowers, and the lupins in particular have been spectacular. At the wasteland at the bottom of Bentley Mill Way between Darlaston and Pleck they’re blending with gorse and other wildflowers to bring a welcome splash of colour in unexpected places.

The downy seed pods are fascinating too.

June 15th – The warmer days seem to be here at last, and out on the streets come the cats. These fair-weather flaneurs of the urban streets roll, stroll, preen and posture, but mainly just laze around languidly waiting for something interesting.

I saw this chap in the backstreets of Walsall. There’s an admirable air of relaxation and smugness there. Impressive.

June 15th – Here’s something that’s got me wondering: the Pleck swan family are back to their nest. These are the group I saw, who after hatching their eggs in the disused canal arm found themselves being intimidated by the heron. Next day, they’d gone. I never saw them again, but heard they’d scooted off to Moxley, a few miles up the canal.

Well, this morning, they were back: I was alerted by the dad patrolling the open water outside the arm, while mum was nest rebuilding with at least two little ones. When I last saw them, I counted four cygnets; if they’ve lost two, that’s sad, but no so bad.

I have no idea what they’re doing back at the nest and invite comments. Good to see them getting on, though.

June 14th – I wanted to visit Newborough to see that elegant, French-inspired Church I’d photographed across the valley the week before. This time, I went from Lichfield, up the east side of the Trent to Walton, over to Barton, and on to Tutbury. From there, Fauld, Draycott and Newborough, before returning via Far Hoar Cross, Woodmill, Yoxall and Lichfield. About 55 miles in all.

There was a punishing headwind on the way to Tutbury, but having the wind behind me on the way back was a boon. 

The church with that remarkable needle spire – All Saints – was by Oldrid Scott in 1901, and stands on the site of an old pub. It’s a remarkable building. Striking, imposing, and probably the most expressive of Scott’s churches.

It’s nice to see that Newborough – in the floor of a beautiful, quiet valley – is still busy enough to retain a pub and tea shop. It’s a lovely, virtually unknown village.

Stafforshire is a remarkable county.

June 13th – So, the Watermead cygnets are down to five – this is definitely the family, spotted today near their nest. They started with seven and have lost two, which isn’t too bad – most likely to predators of some sort. The youngsters are growing well and seemed happy and healthy (as far as I could tell, anyway).

It’s so good to watch the local wildlife mature like this. You almost develop an attachment to the birds as they get older.

June 13th – A wet, miserable day, with the weather only clearing in the early evening. I headed out on surprisingly puddle-free towpaths into a glistening, dripping wet green. 

I went out with the intention of comparing the Nikon to the Sony on the same/similar shots. The Sony may have a great interface, but the image quality in poor light can’t hold a candle to the Nikon. Interesting.

The flag irises are doing well this year – huge beds with lots of flowers all along the canal through Brownhills and up to Chasewater. After a brief break the gorse is flowering again, and the ox-eye daisies on Chasewater Dam were a delight.

After most of the day stuck indoors, a real tonic.

June 12th – The macro on the Sony doesn’t seem as good as the Nikon, but again, the light was horrid. I have a sneaking suspicion I’m not being fair here. Time will tell, I guess.

The small clump of huge poppies was a surprise near the marl quarry at Stubbers Green, as was the first foxglove of the year beyond the wire not far away.

Come on summer, it doesn’t have to be like this…

June 12th – Whilst I like the flexibility of the Sony HX90, the photos so far have left me underwhelmed. They’re not bad, they just seem to lack a bit of zing: but then, the light yesterday was very very poor on my way home, and perhaps I’m not being fair to it.

I had business in Aldridge, so hopped on the canal there and rode back along the dreaming green waterway in a curious, tense stillness that seemed to be flexing its muscles for a storm. 

The storm never came.