A Lasting Impression

While I was taking the bike’s portrait the other day, I noticed something.

You know my new Brooks saddle, the one I was having such a hard time making an impression on? Well, 850 or so miles later, it looks as though I might be getting there:

Which leaves only one burning question – does the impression of my bum look big in this?

Holey Moley

So, because some – well two – people have asked, I thought I’d update you on my progress in breaking in my new saddle. I’ve done almost 190 miles on it already, so I think we can say we’re past the introductory stages. It was not all plain sailing at first – and there was a moment when I thought I was going to be morally obliged to give it back, but I have bought off my conscience with a charitable donation instead. And then there was the matter of getting the rake right (i.e. how much it tilts forwards or backwards). The nose of this saddle is a little higher than my old one and that, combined with the fact that the whole set up was a little firmer, meant that … actually, you know what? I’m not going to go into any more detail on what that meant. Suffice it to say that most of the people commenting on my original post on how comfy their Brooks saddles were were men, and I’ve got the angle sorted out now thank you very much.

Unimpressed (it is, not me)

Anyway, it’s certainly different. On this one, you’re certainly aware of your sit bones and that you’re sitting on something firm, but not in a bad way. I’m definitely more upright on the bike, which is a good thing except on a really windy day. And on one long ride that both the other half and I did, he was the one wincing and pedalling standing up for the last half mile, while I was feeling fine. There’s no sign, yet, that the saddle is conforming to the shape of my bottom, so I can only conclude that I am suitably Brooks-shaped behind. That, or it’s just that there’s enough padding down there to make for a comfy ride on anything.

Oh, and as an added bonus, according to the comments here, the saddle should also contribute to the life of my jeans* (or it would do if I could actually pedal freely in my jeans any more. I’d like to think that this is due to the extra powerful thigh muscles I have developed, although I suspect it may be more to do with the power of snacks…). The wonders of a Brooks saddle will never cease.

*Although, of course according to one commenter on this related post, riding in anything but lycra is – wait for it – elitist. What riding on a Brooks amounts to, I dread to think.

Saddled Up

Pre-loved Brooks B67s in all its glory

Here’s how the internet works: one of my favourite bloggers, points her readers towards another blogger – her sister-in-law, as it happens – who, as well as writing a very fine (if somewhat infrequently updated) blog, mentions that she is decluttering. One of the things she is decluttering is a Brooks saddle. I, on the off chance, mention I would like one. She declares it is mine if I can pick it up.

Fast forward a couple of months and – two aborted rendezvous, one misidentified accosted stranger and one correctly identified accosted stranger later – I am the proud owner of a Brooks saddle. This makes me feel slightly better about having to tromp the streets of London in the BAKING HEAT* of a fine September afternoon carrying what turns out to be a substantial extra weight and seemingly the only person in London with no bicycle to put it on.

But never mind all that, for I got it home and here it is in situ, in all its glory. Now the breaking-in process begins. Opinions vary as to whether the saddle moulds itself to the exact shape of your rear end, or whether it is in fact your rear end which moulds itself to the exact shape of your saddle. Just after I’d picked it up, I stopped by for a coffee and a friend was admiring my new toy. I said I’d heard they took some breaking in. ‘It’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘You just need to go out three times a week for four months and ride 20 miles each time. After that, it’s like sitting on a sofa. Before that …’ and he didn’t exactly finish the sentence, but his expression said it all.

*The train pulled out of Euston in glorious late-afternoon sunshine. By the time I’d seen my first sheep, it was raining. I’d say that the brisk cold air that greeted me as I stepped onto the platform at Bigtown was a refreshing change, but I would be lying.