Fair Trade

The most remarkable thing about the house was that it had a Nuclear Fallout Shelter.

It was not just a piece of cardboard around four legs of a kitchen table or something put together by children from blankets and a clothes horse but the real article.

It will have had to be born from an excavation deep into the chalk of the east facing slope of the late 1970's residential estate and cast around in concrete well before the conventional brick and block walls of a normal looking house emerged. Not actually stocked with survivalist rations the floor area in the shelter made an ideal bicycle shed being dry and ventilated.

After descending the stairs and standing around in a manner which suggested that I knew what I was doing, I agreed to buy from the homeowner the bright yellow Claud Butler Track Frame which stood amongst a number of cherised used bikes and just about a shop's worth of wheels, handlebars and every conceivable spare part you could possibly need to maintain a post apocalyptic hobby in cycling.

I was in that phase of well being and fitness when I felt I could apply myself to every aspect of cycle sport. Road Racing, Time Trialling and Cyclo-Cross had been attempted with more enthusiasm than ability or talent.

Track Cycling was the next logical focus but I had failed to take into account a number of key factors. 1) There was no Track within 40 miles. 2) The track just over 40 miles away was an outdoor concrete one 3) I had no experience of track riding 4) I suspected that I was scared of gradients and banked corners.

Nevertheless, a track frame would sit nicely amongst my growing collection of bikes and it would be quite straightforward to build it up to a road ready state.

That series of events and the intention to build a track bike from the Claud Butler frame was, unbelievably, 26 years ago and over that period I am ashamed to say I have done absolutely nothing.

Not that I abandoned the project altogether at any point in that time but those two ingredients necessary for progress being commitment and cash just did not coincide.

The frame moved house a few times, always being carefully packed and stored to protect it from damage. It would be hung up in the shed or garage in a prominent position to remind me to do something with it but would gradually become relegated onto a hook or padded nail on the very back wall. Other bikes arrived in the collection for the children and those that I took in to look after for my friend and fellow cycling fan, Robin after he died.  These took up time and effort for maintenance and repairs that could possibly have been lavished on the now sad and faded pale yellow frame which was rusting slightly where the enamel of the frame was thin or missing over the Reynolds 531 tubing.

Whilst a true track racing machine there were indications that it had been used as a training bike on the road, fixed gear and with mudgard fixings. Riding a fixed gear was quite a skill and involved a fitness and discipline that only a few could master. It was the sort of activity I associated with someone with a handlebar moustache, tweed jacket, plus fours, checked shirt and tie, in fact very inter war in style. Just not me though.

My eldest daughter brought my attention to the resurgence of fixed gear or fixie bikes only just last year as the craze caught the imagination of her generation. Expensive, brightly coloured, chromed, striking wheels and very much a fashion accessory. I thought immediately of the Claud Butler in the depths of the garage and how well suited it would be to a reinvention of the 21st Century youth culture. Tentatively pricing up what would be required to restore the frame for posing I was shocked when it came close to the cost of my first small car. My daughter let me down gently by pointing out that the frame was, anyway, too big for her to ever sit comfortably or safely on.

My interest and passion for cycling has remained strong in spite of the best endeavours of work and recession to the contrary. In the last 10 weeks I have covered hundreds of miles with my son on mountain bikes and have rediscovered muscles and stamina that I did not expect to see again as I approach 50. We have a good range of clothing and equipment to sustain our fitness into the autumn and winter, only lacking some wet weather gear for me.

In a conversation just last week with the local bike shop owner we were, for no apparent reason, on the subject of nuclear shelters which led by coincidence to my experience of the subterranean bike shed over a quarter of a century before. The proprietor knew that homeowner from his own track racing days even further back in the mists of time and spoke with reverence of a Claud Butler track frame, bright yellow, 531 tubing, a pedigree machine.

In a mutually acceptable piece of negotiation I traded the frame, less accumulated dust, for a very fluorescent green all weather waterproof and breathable jacket. I consider that to be a good deal not so much from the point of view of my remaining dry out on the road as in the knowledge that the frame was returning, full cycle, to its roots.

Follow up 26.10.12.  I saw the frame, built back into a full road ready bike propped up against the wall at the bike shop and for sale at £195.00 It looked great and I was happy to see it whole again