Italian Passion in gloopy form

It was an impulse purchase, quite an extravagance at the time. It cost the equivalent of a few days provisions for my student existence or even the price of a text book for my course.The feeling of guilt was difficult to suppress but I managed it eventually.

But yet, thirty one years on it represents perhaps the best investment I have ever made because I still have it and at least one third of it is still there to be used.

It was the best of its kind at the time, hence its price tag compared to pale competitor products which promised the same effect but you just knew they would let you down. The brand name exudes respect and with a pedigree earned through reputation for quality, reliability and durability and not advertising images or hype.

I had of course learned the hard way about compromising and going for a cheap version. That fateful decision resulted in a complete malfunction of equipment and consequently an embarrassing and long walk home giving the impression that to the amused public at the sight of me that I, myself, had suffered a meltdown. I made the decision then to go for the best available on the market.

The product was Italian made. That does not perhaps instill the most confidence when you consider that German engineering is held in the highest regard- all of that Vorsprung durch technic stuff. Anything Italian is usually spoken about in terms of spirit, heart and passion which avoids having to answer the question "..but is it actually any good?". Take my wifes car of some years ago, a high mileage Alfa Romeo. I found it full of cuore but only from a distance which was usually with me sat in the cab of a recovery vehicle looking back at the sad and annoyingly frequent sight of it being transported back to our house or direct to the repair shop after yet another breakdown. The snapping of the timing belt was the final performance and not in very good circumstances on a busy city centre roundabout one dark and wet winters night. The Car of the Year 1999 had to be given away for nothing based on a market value of £1500 and a cost of repairs principally a new engine at considerably more. The Alfa is an example of more style than substance.

In direct contrast my acqusition was modest and unassuming and yet has proven to be of exceptional usefulness. It is a small plastic tub container. Matt white when bought but now with 31 years of fingerprints, mostly my own but including a few curious souls who handled it out of curiosity but mostly disbelief in its almost magical properties. The screw top lid in black, gloss coloured but also now worn from use. Around the container the distinctive logo of the company, one of the most iconic in the industry and intimately associated with the top echelon of the sport and its own heroes from the last five decades and perhaps longer.

The contents when I first revealed them were golden, unblemished and of a consistency that engendered confidence in its application on ball bearings, axles in bottom brackets and wheels, gear clusters, headsets, seat tubes and around the small plastic cogs that guide the chain around the drop-out positioned rear gear mechanism. It could be used sparingly because of its richness and that has been more than proven with the passage of time.

What is left in the tub is still potent and virile. There is a slight oily residue where perhaps I failed to store the material away from advised extremes in temperature. Given that I have over more than three decades moved from student digs, back to my parents, my first house purchase and a further 3 homes the environments have been quite varied and not conducive to stability and preservation.

I used the stuff today on those pesky small plastic cogs and the mountain bike became efficiently silent and smooth under pedal power. The distinctive odour of the precious remaining contents evoked many memories of using the elixir of motion. That and Swarfega which is the equivalent of Kryptonite to Superman.

I left a fresh set of grubby fingerprints on the rather battered container as I placed it carefully on a shelf in the garage. It would be a good bike ride in the knowledge that my Campagnolo Grease was carrying me effortlessly and frictionless over road, hill and dale.