No, seriously, thanks Andy

How is it possible to go from feeling as fit as a fiddle (albeit a somewhat double-bass shaped one) to fit for nothing in just four days?

Thursday's night ride felt great; I set off with bags of energy and felt really strong pretty much all the way round, feeling only slightly fazed by Flaky's new found fitness on one short road stretch.

Sunday's marathon Peak perambulation was the flip side. OK, so I decided to wear knee pads for the first time in ages. I thought as we're off to Les Gets in just two weeks it might be a good idea to get used to riding with them and as Nobby is now auditioning for a role in the next Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie, I wouldn't be the only one to look an arse.

OK, more of an arse.

I think when we're talking about overweight, middle aged men in Lycra there's already quite a high starting point where looking an arse is concerned. Dressing up like a muddy Star Wars extra doesn't exactly exacerbate the problem too much.

Aesthetic considerations aside, I felt absolutely dead from the first climb onwards. They shouldn't make that much difference, surely? Should they?

Now the other teeny weeny little detail point that might have a bearing on all this is my front brake. On Saturday night I spent a good ninety minutes changing the pads. That was 5 minutes removing the old wafer thin pads and binning them, 20 minutes using two screwdrivers, a pair of long nose pliers and an adjustable spanner to try to lever the pistons out, 55 minutes of first aid and ten minutes trying to hammer the wheel in. Given that the wheel would then only "spin" for one revolution even with the heartiest of efforts I then spent a further 20 minutes rummaging through the bin trying to find the old pads "just in case".

Perhaps a new definition of an optimist might be one who forlornly hopes that 30 minutes of climbing uphill with binding disk brakes is going to "free them off". No chance. And nor is riding downhill for 10 minutes followed by a further 20 or more of rolling trail.

By the time the pads were replaced I was absolutely cabbaged and it was fortunate that we only had all of the major climbs of the ride left to do (Mount Famine, Rushup Edge, Jacobs Ladder) and that the conditions were so completely, perfectly, dry, hot and muggy and that I was wearing "protection" for the first time in ages.

Now at this point, I have a confession to make. I had already been cursing Andy, the route leader, for the majority of the ride (it's traditional) so when his rear derailleur hanger broke shortly after he rode past me (walking, naturally) on Jacobs Ladder I was secretly overjoyed on lots of levels, but principally because it meant a bloody great rest whilst everyone dicked around with it and tried to get him mobile. As I staggered, slowly, to the summit of Jacobs Ladder (Edale Cross?) looking like a confused extra from Beau Geste and ignoring the taunts of the flip flop clad morons on foot, I knew that at the top I would be greeted by the impatient elite of our B team and that for once it would not be me that was holding them up.
There's a certain pleasure in that.

The descent back was fast, frightening and incredibly rocky but fortunately incident free.

All that remained was for Shrunken Monkey Head to split the group by impatiently leading off in the wrong direction forcing Nobby and I to escort him back to the car. We could have left him to it and gone back to join the others but we decided to do the decent thing; he's not safe out on his own and it would have been irresponsible to let him come into contact with members of the public unescorted.

Arriving at the cafe in time for Nobby and I to nab the remaining bacon and sausage was the icing on the cake and even though I didn't really fancy it, I knew that it would be worthwhile just to see the expressions on the other's faces when they turned up looking hungry.

Despite knee pads, brake pads and route, it was. Just.

I was even allowed to lie in the hammock in the garden clutching a bottle of sangria and reflecting on how pleased I am not to live in London when I got home. Perfect.

Oh Dear, Oh Dear.

Of course, the real reason I'm pissed off about the hub/rattle issue is that I've just spent £50 on new front and rear 07 XT mechs in the hope that they would solve the dodgy shifting issue at the back end (clearly really caused by the wobbly block) and rattle at the front end (also clearly caused by the wobbly block). Both are now not needed - not yet anyway. Luckily they were a bargain saving of over £25 on rrp and will no doubt come into their own... eventually.

All I need now is a new rear tyre. As a Conti Vertical Pro UST is £35 at rrp, I had a quick peak at mtbr.com which is always an entertaining source of reviews/opinions from people that appear to ride in a completely different way to anyone mortal, live in perma sun, ride on hardpack and have probably never seen a puddle or wet root in their lives...

And I quote;
"The Vert Pro is useless. Running 25psi the tyre burps air over any drop over 3 feet and the sidewall shredded on sharp rocks." Erm.

Presumably this tosser weighs about 6 stone wet through cos if I so much as sit on my bike with only 25psi in the tyres the rim hits the road... and as for a 3 foot drop - let's just say it ain't gonna be a problem mate. Sharp rocks? Try putting some air in your tyres or just ride round 'em.

For the record, I've run tubeless for over 12 months now and have had minimal trouble. The bollox about being able to run low pressures is exactly that - bollox. The only time I can recall getting a puncture on a ride was when we rode the Shining Tor slabbed path before they finished it. I didn't check my pressures before the ride and the tyres were soft - the inevitable happened and the sidewall was trashed on a particularly sharp square edged slab. It was generously replaced under warranty...

With the correct pressures I haven't had a problem with pinch flats there or anywhere else since, but without gunk in them they do leak a little air over time. The front has a sealant in and hasn't had to be topped up for months, the rear hasn't and I top it up before every ride.

I reckon you can get away with about 5psi less than tubes which for me means about 35 to 40 psi. They definitely improve the performance of suspension at speed adding another level of compliance (less boinging about and rebound) and if I was fit and light enough to climb well I'm sure I could offer an opinion on that too.

Sadly I'm not.

I reckon once they're set up they're less grief than tubes, you get less punctures and they do improve ride and control - even for a bulldozer like me. Weight wise there's no real difference worth a damn.

Try 'em.

"It's been a cheap year for biking so far". Oh dear.

And with those foolish foolish words still hanging in the air as we climbed through the woods on the new Roaches ride, I was soon to discover the cause of the phantom rattling sound from the back end of my bike.

Before the ride was over I had discovered, with the Baron's help, that the cassette was incredibly loose on the freehub body and was the cause of the rattle - but it was only doing it when the chain was on the top three gears as it was the bottom end of the cassette that was loose. On top of this, the Chris Bling hub was starting to be a bit lazy on take up.

You can imagine the trepidation with which I removed the cassette (no damage to the freehub splines thank god) and then took the rest to our local friendly porsche owning bike shop for a diagnosis.

Anticipating a bill of epic proportions for a chris bling hub replacement, I sensibly waited till Fiona was away before approaching the shop. This had the benefit that the kids were running wild in the shop trashing everything so the staff were not exactly on the ball when it came to working out the cost. Somehow I managed to leave without paying a penny and was told that CK's warranty would cover it. Yippeee! The wobbly cassette was cured with the addition of the spacer ring I'd somehow managed to leave out. Oops.

Not so lucky at the counter was the grumpy roady whose titanium lightspeed road bike (apparently about £4k's worth and one of 3 he owns, all sorced from the US direct) had been brought in for some routine service work only for the nice mechanics to spot a truly horrendous crack all the way round the head tube/down tube area, so bad, even I could spot it. Apparently he'd been doing over 40mph on it the day before...

The friendly chaps at the counter pointed out that as the bike was purchased in the US it wasn't covered by a UK warranty. I'm not sure if "glee", "shardenfreude" or just general smug gittery is the right thing to describe what was going on, but you get the drift. Ouch.

As I left, the grumpy roady was on his mobile to the US whilst the helpful counter staff pointed out that it wasn't quite such a cheap bike now...