the sound of silence

paris-roubaix 2018

in my teenage years, while i still lived at home with parents and a younger sibling, my bedroom was adjacent to our sitting room. this, in the days before sky tv and bt tv gave us wall to wall football, meant that during saturday evening's edition of grandstand, while i was intent on a goodnight's sleep, my father and brother were vehemently remonstrating with several referees, on t' telly, as to the state of their eyesight. this argumentative punctuation was accompanied by wholesale dismissal of the skills of several players and any number of noises that, i presumed, indicated a near miss of the goal area.

paris-roubaix 2018

between that and the ambient noise of a football crowd, one which still sets my teeth on edge to this day, it was easy to see/hear that a soccer match compared disfavourably with chess or snooker.

around one week past, mrs washingmachinepost and i received an unexpected invitiation to the christening of the second daughter of friends of ours. this entailed attending not only the church service, but a modest repast in a local hotel afterwards. the more astute amongst you will have noted that this happy event coincided with that of the 116th running of paris-roubaix, an event i have been informing all those unfortunate enough to be within earshot, is one which i personally equate to my equivalent of a cup final. (i should point out that i have never attended or watched a cup final, so it's always possible that i'm ever so slightly wide of the mark at this point).

paris-roubaix 2018

not only that, but a fellow who is a long time friend, not only mine, but of the velo club, had indicated this as not only the first weekend of his annual visit, but of his intention to join us on the sunday morning ride. attending the christening and its aftermath would have negated any thoughts of the pleasure of his company, a day off the bike and an unfortunate avoidance of the finest bike race of the year. you will be unsurprised to learn, therefore, that i made clear my regrets at being unable to watch the splashing of water on the baby's head.

paris-roubaix 2018

thankfully, for the maintenance of the family honour, mrs washingmachinepost did, in fact, attend the cheery event, leaving me home alone to watch my cup final from the point of 171 kilometres to go.

lest you now wonder about my opening reference to the noises accompanying each saturday evening edition of bbc's grandstand, i think it only fair to point out that, even with wout van aert in the frontmost selection for much of the latter half of the race and notwithstanding peter sagan's move to the front with a mere 53km to go, i was content to sit in silence, watching in awe as the world champion kept just enough distance between himself and dillier and terpstra's chasing group. even when van aert suffered a mechanical, dropping him from the chase group, i uttered not a sound. simon and garfunkel would have been proud of me.

for those of you who regularly watch football matches and emulate my father and brother in the remonstration department, i hope you are now hanging your heads in shame.

but you probably aren't.

sincere condolences to the family of veranda's willems-crelan rider, michael goolaerts. cycling's not supposed to be like this.

monday 09 april 2018

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rouleur collection

rouleur team kit

very much to my credit, i believe, i own a push mower, one of those devices with rotating blades and a grass box that requires human intervention to push across the lawn in order to make the grass shorter. there are at least a couple of reasons for this apparent manifestation of ludditeness: for starters, given the postage-stamp size of my front lawn, there's no need for a petrol mower and the ever-present notion that i might cut through a flymo electric cable, makes me fearful of using an electric mower. aside from which, putting a bit of effort into the task of cutting grass, need surely not be accompanied by irritating noise?

rouleur team kit

however, come the summer month(s), mrs washingmachinepost is ever keen to have her young charges play outside, gulping in mouthfuls of fresh air as they destroy the bush in the middle of the garden. apparently this outdoor play should not include having to jump higher than the grass in order to find their young playmates. less than convinced of my skills (or timing) for grass-cutting, mrs post engaged the services of a local grass-cutter, thus denying me the fun (seriously) of pushing the yellow peril exactingly close to the fence.

that, however, was last year, since when, the employed grass-cutter rouleur team kit has departed for mainland pastures, opening the way for a resurgence in the art of hand-mowing. currently, i have resisted discussing the impasse, for if truth be told, the grass has not grown sufficiently to warrant taking even a pair of scissors to it. i am assuming, however, that this may not be the case in the country's more southerly climes.

you may reasonably ask quite how i have arrived at this conclusion, to which i would point my esteemed reader in the general direction of the delectable cycling kit, recently arrived from rouleur towers. though the nice people in the service of ian cleverly had the forethought to accompany shorts and jersey with both armwarmers and leg warmers, i'd be fibbing if i gave the impression that the constitution of the former was anything other than diaphanous. as the velo club peloton wavers between thermal bibs and thermal tights, the rouleur bibshorts bear no distinguishable signs of thermality. similarly, the short-sleeve jersey; let's just say that had armwarmers not been supplied, they would have had need of being invented.

rouleur team kit

not only that, but the torso is perilously, race-fit short, lessening any nook or cranny in which the odd thermal might be concealed.

i must therefore point out, before i begin, that at all times, my upper-body was shielded with either a windjacket (sadly, found wanting) or a thermal jacket (far more amenable, in my opinion). however, it would be hard to deny the skintight comfort afforded by both jersey and bibshorts, but there was an intriguing delight in noticing that the bib straps feature the word 'rouleur', subtly embossed upon their person. the only place i think others would view this artistic bonus, would be in the roubaix showers.

rouleur team kit

and while we're discussing unexpected delights, aside from the usual three rear jersey pockets and the necessary fourth zipped security instance, the rouleur jersey fields a fifth, sneaking round the leftmost corner. it may well be the first cycle jersey to assist the owner in adhering to velominati rule#29. the sleeves are hemmed with a subtle colour border which i took to be an approximation of tartan, but i believe is based on the colours employed in the iconic mapei jersey. the collar equates well with the jersey's springtime/summer aspirations, given its restricted height, but a full-length zip is the very embodiment of the professional milieu.

rouleur team kit

over the thousands of kilometres ridden (i may have slightly exaggerated that part), the bibshorts, comfortingly hard to put on, moved like a second skin, while the grey and red pad provided the comfort that a modern team kit ought truly to provide. were i to have divested myself of thermal/windproof garmentage, you would have considered me of greater importance than that of a mere domestique.

the rouleur logo'd armwarmers, if i'm totally honest, were just a smidgeon on the short side, but i do have slightly longer arms than the average domestique. perhaps i have need of moving to the larger size, despite the jersey sized at medium? the grippers at the top maintained the essence of rule#82 ("under no circumstances is there to be any exposed skin between the hems of your kit and the hems of your arm warmers"). given my relative shortness of leg, the legwarmers (which reach all the way to the ankles) were just ginger peachy, though a tad too tight at the ankle to place the socks anywhere but on the rouleur team kit outside. that said, the latter do bear a large swath of that rather attractive mapei tartan and should therefore probably be worn that way in perpetuity. the same pattern appears on the front of the matching casquette.

there is also a matching, tartan'd, sleeveless baselayer, but it was unavailable at the time of the review.

for those who subscribe to arguably the finest cycling publication on the bookshelf, the opportunity to demonstrate such literary connoiseurship while in the saddle is one to be welcomed with open musettes. and as if this in itself were insufficient to pique your interest, the economical pricing might just swing it. i eagerly await june when the hebrides will have a sneak preview of summer.

the rouleur cycling kit features a short-sleeve jersey, available in sizes small to xl at a price of £100, bibshorts in the same sizes at a cost of £135 and a similarly sized sleeveless baselayer priced at £40. the socks can be had in two sizes, either in black or white at £15 per pair. the cap costs the same. armwarmers are priced at £25 and legwarmers add another £10.

rouleur collection

sunday 08 april 2018

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going clubbing

riding in the rain

probably around twenty years ago, give or take a year or two, i was flying solo. in the mid-nineties there had been a motley aglomeration of individuals on the island that constituted the local cycling group, only two of whom were prepared with bendy bars and skinny wheels; the rest displayed an eccentric collection of velocipedinal machinery that occasionally required mid-ride fettling.

as is the nature of the islands, gradually each and every one of my pedalling companions departed for pastures new, though not all of them willingly. stalwart that i am, i continued to keep the faith, arising at the appointed hour of a sunday morning to participate in my own sunday ride, with nobody else to talk to but myself. the awkwardness of this situation rests heavily on the lack of comparison with others. few of us would be overly bothered to retrieve the bicycle from the bike shed for a mere forty kilometres and be eternally embarrassed to record an average speed of well under twenty. yet, such was the state of affairs at the end of last century.

i cringe, however, when i recall the antics of a sunday morning, particularly on wet and windy sabbath days. for i was certainly not possessed of the stoic constitution that i own nowadays. even the threat or a smir of rain would give cause for self-deluded delay, perhaps for an hour or so, just to see if the weather might clear. after the passing of that hour, assuming wind and rain had not totally abated, i would forestall an imminent departure once more in the hope that a visible improvement would be seen.

of course, often by the time that actually occurred, the day was half gone, i'd changed into civilian garb and i was then disgusted with myself that i had failed to go riding. you need only ask mrs washingmachinepost how entertaining were those afternoons.

the mighty dave t was the one that ended the speed and distance famine, used to, as he was, to ride further and faster. i don't mind saying that it took me more than just a week or two to get used to pushing a bit harder for a bit longer. and as the months and years passed by, a few others joined the merry throng, instigating a remarkable change in the behaviour not only of myself. for where once it would have been simplicity itself to find any number of reasons not to go out in the sort of weather my neighbours would scarcely have sent their dogs, i was already in the saddle and half-way to debbie's.

though the individuals who constitute g.c. ristorante debbie's (hereinafter known as the velo club), are a club only in theory and certainly not by constitution, there are vestiges of club mentality that govern our collective actions. thus, when sunday morning rolls around once again, both bragging rights and fear of barbed reproach, are likely to force each of us out in conditions that would be best left to their own devices. you can only imagine the shame poured upon a non-appearance, if subsequently met on main street later that same week. thus, accusations of being 'not wired right' are mostly accurate, but predicated on maintenance of self-esteem.

so, despite humorous asides during fine, sunny weather, that conditions are obviously insufficiently inclement in which to be out riding, it must be realised that there are forces at work beyond the ken of mere mortals. despite my protestations that club life is not for me (nor several of my cycling companions, come to that), it cannot be denied that it has its moments. it's surely also worth my pointing out that, ultimately, it's only weather and it's not going away anytime soon.

mind you, i do tend to subscribe to billy connolly's contention that scotland has only two seasons: june and winter.

saturday 07 april 2018

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softening the blow


since its inception in 2010, i have participated in rapha's festive 500, a challenge frequently made slightly more onerous by missing at least one day due to inclement weather conditions. though i succeeded well in advance of the new year's eve deadline last year, in 2016 i sadly failed to complete the distance, due to the aforementioned weather, coupled with needing to be somewhere on one of the other days. i daresay that's why they call it a challenge.

however, the secondary and perhaps less obvious obstacle to successful completion of the task at hand, would be that of fatigue. by this, i do not refer to having to rise from slumber an hour or so earlier than desired. nor, indeed, do i mean the knackering effort of riding those daily kilometres.

well, not exactly.

it doesn't seem too much of a stretch to presume that road surfaces throughout the british isles are every bit as crap as those on islay. i doubt there are any regional councils who have increased their annual roads budgets in recent times, but even if they have, it seems likely that they are being outpaced by the proliferation of potholes, squeezing the coffers to bursting point. in our case, allied to the road disintegration encouraged by ever increasing amounts of motorised traffic, is the dilapidation of singletrack roads engendered by larger and heavier tractors and trailers, while their priority on the repair scale descends ever further.

in order to accrue sufficient kilometres to become eligible for a rapha sew-on patch, it is necessary to permabulate a fair number of the latter singletrack roads. the alternative would simply be to continually rotate along those of more principal premise but, honestly, where would be the fun in that. however, the outset of riding the roads less travelled is akin to auditioning for the next james bond movie: being both shaken and stirred.

part of this ignominy is no doubt because we want to retain our roadie status, or perhaps because it's the only flavour of bicycle we own. life has become a smidgeon more bearable with the increasing width of road-going tyres; in the early years of 23mm rubber, there was greater relief when the challenge ended just before the next year commenced. but three years ago, i contrived to have a cyclocross bicycle in for review at the very time when the festive 500 was due to take place, meaning drop bars, but with 33mm knobblies.

500 kilometres in the space of eight (or more often, seven) days is still more than a cycle in the park, but the tenacity, relaxed geometry and wider, lower pressure tyres made a tangible difference to the latter days of faux purgatory. no longer did i awake each morning wondering why my arms and shoulders hurt more than my legs. additionally, when meeting audis, bmws and range rovers near kilchoman distillery, i could demonstrate my boundless courtesy, by insouciantly taking to the grass verge, no matter its muddyness. versatility, thy name is cyclocross.

or if we wish to be more modern, thy name could be construed as gravel-bike.

the logical follow-on from the above realisation, would be to extrapolate those festive riding days across the remainder of the year. it may be that a concentrated period of days can but give rise to a greater level of discomfort, mostly on the basis of our bodies not being used to such regular punishment, but if the roads continue to wear out at their current rate, and suffer from lack of repair, perhaps we ought to focus our velocipedinal desires more closely on the 'cross bikes on offer?

granted, those strava koms might suffer a reduction in speeds (which may well be one of the biggest obstacles to wholesale adoption of 33mm 'cross tyres), but i'd be inclined to take a look at the bigger picture and my future comfort. that, and the fact that there's no way i could reach the upper echelons of strava, even if i paid any attention to the numbers on my garmin.

the perceived error might be to ignore the potential comfort factor, in the mistaken notion that we have to be just like the guys in the world tour. because there's no way that's ever going to happen.

friday 06 april 2018

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soreen malt loaf

the attractions of riding 100 miles in a single sitting are many, most of which revolve round the acquisition of bragging rights, rights, i might add, that usually fall on deaf ears. though my office colleagues probably know far more about cycling than they ever thought possible (or desirable), i'm pretty sure none of them have ever actually been the ones to begin the conversation. the century, as it is known in velocipedinal circles, forms the basis of a cyclist's rite of passage; the very distance over which it is left to the individual to prove that such continued pedalling and effort is within their mettle. for those of lesser constitution, it may be more convenient to restrict the 100 to those of the kilometre.

i no longer subscribe to america's bicycling magazine, but in the days during which i did, at least once a year, around this particular point of the year, there would usually be a detailed feature entitled 'riding your first century', during which the author(s) would describe the training schedule required to prepare for a successful 100 mile ride, along with many hints and tips to ease the undertaking. from the viewpoint of yours truly, those were words that fell on deaf eyes.

though the notion had been brewing for several weeks, i awoke one sunday morning, determined to ride that first century. in taking this first step towards the undying respect of my peers (who were somewhat thin on the ground at that point in time, as i recall), i pretty much ignored all the advice available, plonking a banana in one of the three rear pockets and checking that there was a five pound note in one other and setting off into the hinterlands with only vain hope of returning before tea-time.

unfortunately, what i had not considered as an intrinsic part of the ride, was the sheer discomfort of spending that amount of time on my bicycle over a distance that was easily four times as great as had been customary. nor, indeed, had i expected to become quite so thirsty and hungry in pursuit of the magical target. the banana, though tempting, was my safety bite, so i'd stopped in the early half of the ride to purchase five pounds worth of sustenance in the mini-market at bruichladdich. imagine my serious disappointment and despair on discovering that the aforementioned fiver was, in fact, a co-op till receipt, a piece of paper that carried no monetary value whatsoever.

thankfully, islay is the place that it is and the then proprietor was willing to extend sufficient credit for a mars bar, a small packet of raisins and a can of fizz.

however, there did eventually come a time when that banana went from a last resort to a mental fixation and simply had to be consumed. disappointment once again reared its ugly head on realising that my earlier back-stretching exercises against the bridge parapet at saligo had effectively pulped the fruit to a soggy mess. i cannot deny that i still ate the darned thing, but resolved to be better prepared should i ever undertake a similar expedition in the future. this may have been in the days prior to the advent of the sport-specific energy bar, but if not, the existence of such had, in any case, completely passed me by.

our athletic existence since those times has become comprehensively bolstered by all manner of such convenient energy foods in a variety of formats, augmented by more powdered drinks than at which you can shake an inner tube. there really is no reason to be as ill-prepared as was i all those years ago, though doubtless there are those who still ignore the advice proffered by the more experienced amongst us and who head out with only a banana.

but for those of us still less than enamoured with prepackaged energy foods, most of which are seemingly designed soley to over-exercise the jaw muscles, one of the world's more easily munchable alternatives has now allied itself with cycling. makers of seriously squidgy energy, in the shape of a soreen malt loaf, are about to embark upon a marketing campaign to get more people into cycling. simultaneously, they have backed carlton reid's campaign to rediscover 500 miles of the uk's hidden cycleways, many of which originate from around the time of soreen's 1938 origins. as it happens, the present-day soreen factory is but a squidgy loaf's throw away from one of those hidden tracks.

currently, i am reaching for the last few chunks of mrs washingmachinepost's christmas cake to accompany a lunchtime froth-supping at debbie's, but when this yuletide offering has vanished, there's no doubt that a thick slice of soreen squidge is perfectly matched to a jersey rear pocket. its other advantage surely rests on the fact that any back exercises practised against a stone bridge parapet at saligo, are unlikely to squidge it any further.

something of a culinary success, you have to admit.

thursday 05 april 2018

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see you jimmy

let's be careful out there

a number of years ago, islay international airport (a soupcon of hebridean humour there) added a modestly proportioned departure lounge at the behest of greater security regulations. prior to its existence, flying from islay to glasgow had simply involved arriving slightly earlier than last minute, checking in at the loganair desk and sitting in the cafeteria or airport lounge to await the call to board. since the current aircraft features only 32 seats, there was never likely to be an onerous queue for seats. 9/11 pretty much changed all that.

travellers from islay, many of whom are islanders heading to glasgow for hospital appointments must suffer the ignominy of a phalanx of security staff, most of whom are well acquainted with the passengers, searching their hand-luggage and person prior to boarding the aircraft. given that there are a number of daily ferry sailings to the mainland on which there are few, if any, security restrictions, it would be a foolish individual indeed, who decided to transfer banned goods or substances by air, when they could do so, unchallenged, by boat.

however, shortly after the departure lounge had been officially unveiled, i was dispatched to the airport to snap a few photographs for an edition of the local newspaper. on arrival and after explaining the purpose of my visit, the lady behind the check-in desk asked if i had any valid identification about my person. unaccustomed to being quizzed in such a fashion and on the basis that there was no aircraft at the airport at the time, i pleaded my case that i was locally well-known to the airport staff and was not actually in the habit of having to carry identification.

eventually, it was decided that i did not, apparently, pose any form of terrorist threat and the head of security was summoned to take me through to the new departure lounge. the 'ordeal', however, did not end there. wearing a podium cap and carrying a copy of the comic, both were taken from me and pushed through the security scanner, while i was checked from top to toe with a hand-held scanner. bear in mind that, at this point, the aircraft was still about two hours away from leaving glasgow airport.

satisfied that all was in order and that dr hutch's weekly column was not insidious sedition, i was handed a hi-viz vest with the word visitor across the back. the task was simply to take internal photos and the only persons in the lounge at the time, were the security chief and yours truly. since that day, i have seriously wondered quite what on earth was the point of the hi-viz vest.

this is a question that has also been more seriously investigated by a psychologist at italy's bologna university. the country has long had a law requiring cyclists to wear hi-viz clothing, though i confess, i have no idea how the clothing's 'vizness' is quantified. however, by examining figures issued by the italian national institute of statistics concerning crashes recorded between 2001 and 2015 involving bicycles, the study discovered that the prescriptive wearing of such clothing had no bearing whatsoever on the crash results.

according to further anecdotal evidence, the wear-reflectives-at-night-law is scarcely enforced and thus pretty much ignored.

though i doubt this news comes as much of a surprise to those of us who ride our bicycles regularly, either in day or night-time, valediction of our narcissistic sartorial requirements comes as at least something of a comfort or victory (delete as applicable). previous studies have shown that the flawed efficacy of wearing high visibility clothing, has little to do with the clothing itself, but more that of the awareness of the motoring public. it's a travesty that afflicts the pedestrian population every bit as much as it does that of the cycling or motorcycling public.

allegedly, the average motorist most often fails to see any of the above categories, as they're socially conditioned to look out for approaching motor vehicles. cycles and motorcycles are seen in the real sense, but often subconsciously discounted as a threatening obstacle. there will always be crashes, because there will always be idiots, some of whom ride bicycles, some of whom drive motor cars. but, as witnessed by my having to wear a hi-viz vest indoors in the presence of only one other, the fluorescent vest or jacket has become so ubiquitous in modern society, that it's no longer truly highly visible.

at one time, the presence of a flashing red light attached to a bicycle at night would attract the attention of any following motorist(s), but they too have become so generic, that a surrounding ambience of flashing red often means that the wood can scarcely be seen for the trees. though easier said than done, what definitely is required, is a raised level of attention on the part of all parties. any collision between a bicycle and a motor car will always leave the former worse off and many a motorist would do well to remember that they pilot a potentially lethal weapon. however, sticking a yellow gilet and a helmet on each and every cyclist, is akin to placing a band-aid over a leaky gas pipe.

as hill street blues beseeched us on each episode "let's be careful out there..."

wednesday 04 april 2018

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assos t-equipe evo bibshorts

assos t-equipe evo bibshorts

brian smith, currently a regular pundit on british eurosport (most recently at gent-wevelgem), has had what might be accurately detailed as a somewhat stealth career. though known to many through the above mentioned cycling commentary and, at one time, for his presence at the tour of britain, the scotsman has a palmares unknown to quite a few.

assos t-equipe evo bibshorts

having followed fellow countryman, robert millar, to the infamous athletic club de boulogne-billancourt (acbb), later in his career, brian won the british national champion's jersey not only in 1991, but again in 1994, reaching the second step of the podium in the two intervening years, displaying an impressive consistency in the event. however, prior to such halcyon days, brian rode for glasgow-based dooley's cycles, an opportunity to further his career and prowess while in receipt of a modest level of sponsorship. as can be seen from the photo montage above, smith was not to be found wanting when it came to the best of clothing.

assos t-equipe evo bibshorts

"Because I had some financial backing in those days, I could afford to buy the best shorts you could get, which, at the time, were made by Assos."

coincidentally, at the time i spoke to brian, he'd just returned from a sunny but cold ride on the bike, during which he was still wearing assos, only this time, it was the modern descendant of those 1980s bibshorts. the swiss company have named these as the t-equipe evo shorts. according to assos, after a lengthy period of refinement, this latest pair "...takes a step forward from the original Assos équipe short, which has been a favourite since its creation." a statement with which mr smith would quite likely agree.

assos t-equipe evo bibshorts

eschewing the current trend for having the name writ large on at least one leg of the bibshorts, assos has retrenched to its roots. the review sample sent featured only a sole, original white 'a' on the front of the left leg, accompanied by a second on the right hip. there is further nomenclature emblazoned on a red panel across the rear of the bib section, backdropped by the company's trademark black and white, abstract pattern. but only those wearing the bibs will be aware of that bit.

the conservative touch is continued on the state-of-the-art, padded insert, still disconcertingly not stitched all around its circumference, (assos explained that this feature allows the pad to match your 'on-the-bike movement) but providing the sort of luxury your bottom would hope to get very used to. assos' seeming restraint in all matters evo extends to the silicon gloop inside the hem, resembling a widely spaced dashed line, but carrying out its task with aplomb, nonetheless.

assos t-equipe evo bibshorts

of late, assos have become renowned for their particularly odd product naming system. names such as 'habutightsmille', 'sturmprinz' and 'zegho werksmannschaft' to name but a few, but it seems that such eccentricity has been allowed to reach parts to which other bibshort purveyors can only allude. midway down the left thin, flat bib strap, can be found a strong, rubbery plastic loop, embossed with the words zegho eyewear holder. i have yet to discover what kind of cyclist hooks his/her cycling eyewear onto a strap more usually concealed 'neath a cycle jersey. perhaps that's the subject of my next conversation with brian smith.

as you would tend to expect from a well-respected cycle-clothing manaufacturer with a pedigree reaching back to mr smith's days in the junior ranks, the fit is well-nigh impeccable. as if to prove my long-held contention that a decent pair of bibs ought to be a bit of a struggle to put on, the équipe evo once in place, form the equivalent of a second (matt black), and very comfortable skin. in short (if you'll pardon the pun), the fit is impeccable.

assos t-equipe evo bibshorts

i cannot deny that a less than comfortable ambient temperature necessitated the wearing of leg warmers, but even over merino wool, those gloopy lines kept the legs just where they ought to be, even in the heat of battle. whatever the reasons for leaving the pad unstitched in places, it would appear they are valid, for the level of comfort was commensurate with raised expectations. i doubt i came even close to offering the shorts anything like the hardship mr smith gave the originals, but then, very few people ever will. for several hardy perambulations of the principality, these will do just fine, thank you very much. and should you ever have doubts as to your ability to complete the ride, that white logo on the leg ought to offer succour in the face of potential adversity.

the assos t équipe evo bibshorts are available in sizes ranging from xs to xl, xlg and tir. there is a leg band colour option of either red or silver, plus a stealth option of no logos whatsoever. retail price is £150.

assos t équipe evo bibshorts

tuesday 03 april 2018

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