Prologue
These days, Pashley is best known as supplier of indestructible bikes to Britain’s posties. But when it started out in 1929, one of its first models was the ‘path racer’. With its drop handlebars, lightweight steel frame and 28-inch wheels, the path racer was everything the thrill-seeking Edwardian gent could wish for. Like so many things, though, it was swept away by the tide of technology and pretty much forgotten.
In 2008, Pashley resurrected this classic design, when the boss decided he wanted something a bit different for his daily commute. That they made it work is testament to their skill; that they then decided to put it into production, as The Guv’nor, was a stroke of genius.
I bought my Guv’nor in November 2008 as a fortieth birthday present to myself. On paper, it’s a ridiculous anachronism. It weighs nearly 15 kilos, and has three-speed hub gears, hub brakes and a Brooks saddle, the latter as smooth and shiny as a mahogany dining table, and about as yielding. But I love it. In eight months we (and I’m afraid I will be using the personal pronouns in these tales of derring-do) have covered almost 2,000 miles. OK, so he (told you) isn’t exactly sprightly going uphill, but thanks to the 20-tooth sprocket Ian fitted for me, we haven’t been beaten yet.
On the flat, it’s like driving a big old vintage car; smooth, sumptuous and deceptively fast (we averaged over 21 mph in a recent time trial appearance, but that’s another story). Going downhill, we quickly build up enormous momentum, a situation further enlivened by The Guv’nor’s leisurely steering and even more leisurely braking.
Ultimately, though, it isn’t about speed; it’s about creating a moment. There have been plenty of those already. And something tells me The Guv’nor’s Travels have only just begun.
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On Sunday afternoon, the Guv’nor and I were back on the road after a three-week hiatus. It was, as you can imagine, an emotional reunion. I must confess I was the guilty party in our brief separation, having run off to Brittany with a beautiful paramour (or rather, Paramount) in search of sun, sea and cycling. I knew I would be punished for throwing him over for a newer model (the Paramount is an upstart youngster designed in the 1940s) by having to manage with only three gears, and exchanging the luxury of a double-sprung Brooks B67 for an altogether more Spartan B17. The first half-mile uphill revealed how much I’d come to rely on the Paramount’s two additional gears (oh, the decadence) and that 28” wheels take a lot more effort to ‘spin up’ than these new-fangled 26” jobs. After the Paramount’s high, wide handlebars and upright riding position, The Guv’nor’s more purposeful, head-down attitude felt cramped, and the huge steps between gears sparked a slightly guilty nostalgia for the younger bike’s five-speed hub – and even, briefly, heretical musings on the feasibility of fitting a Rohloff. Once on the long straight out of town, though, I flicked up into Gear Three, the big cream tyres set up their familiar hollow rumble, and everything came alive. While he’s not fast by modern standards, The Guv’nor was built to race. As a result, he lopes along at a much livelier pace than the Paramount, which was originally designed as robust battlefield transport for airborne troops on D-Day. Within a couple of miles, we’d settled down into the familiar rhythms established over nine months and almost 2,000 miles together. The spinning spokes flashed silver in the sunshine as we romped up climbs, careened down descents and cruised along on the flat with the effortless elegance of a vintage Bentley. Even the saddle felt comfortable. So while I cherish my memories of easy, meandering rides through the Breton countryside, it’s good to be home. And getting back up to speed again. - Nick Moore Follow the fully story of the Guv’nor here
