Elite racing cyclists we do admire So we must use their size of tyre But from this thinking we should cease Because rolling resistance it does increase.
Such an idea may fly like an arrow Towards our beloved tyres so narrow But listen here and then pay heed Fatter tyres can mean higher speed.
True performance athletes are one thing For them air resistance is the sting But with a speed average below 20 miles Other physics should cause some smiles.
A narrow tyre does deform Further away from its circular norm And that can energy absorb Because the wheel is now a lesser orb.
Also too high a pressure on a normal road Simply increases your cycling load Because over irregularities you then bounce Potential traction energy absorbed by the ounce.
It also worth considering at this juncture That fatter tyres resist that puncture Because they suffer less from pinches Thanks to that smaller fraction of inches.
Fat also makes a better ride Over surfaces which you just can’t glide And the contact patch gives you greater grip To escape those gotchas on which you’d slip.
If genuine time or track athlete you may be Then continue narrow with certainty But for everyone else don’t emulate Because fatter is a better state.
So seven hundred by twenty three Probably won’t help most climb the tree If as an endurance road cyclist you do thrive Opt for at least seven hundred by twenty five.
Troll Kings now ride the wave New prophets, the world to save Deadly weapons they now wield Vicious words seed virtual-field Fracking anxieties and discontents Fuelling egos, exploiting vents Thought leaders of the virtual age Putative masters of creating rage Recruiters for intellectual bubbles Silo builders for shared troubles.
So grains of sand can feel like rocks And tiny birds pretend they’re hawks So setting out to make their kill While claiming it is the people’s will Their message is, ‘destroy the nest’ For only they know know what is best And in their silos the people hear Because their world is full of fear.
Farage tapped the English soul Claiming out was his only goal Cameron fell and so left the stage Stoking fires of increasing rage Then Boris made his leader grab But was felled by Gove’s Brutus stab Arise the saviour Come What May “Out means out” was all she’d say.
Because Ed had left his brothers’ Band His Stone of Promises failed to stand So Comrade Corbyn had come to pass Minor Troll King of the working class His disciples dug a deep deep moat On which to launch their leaky boat To hold a Party for times gone by Only true believers need apply Comrade Corbyn denied the link He as Captain would make it sink
General Elections he may not win
But he only existed to expunge the sin
Of heretics from the New Labour sect
So comrades again command respect Come What May had gold struck She just could not believe her luck How all the stars could so align Surely this was a sacred sign.
But now, even bigger kites would fly Enter true Grand Masters of the virtual lie.
Apprentice seducer makes Trumpet call Roaring promises of a mighty wall “Keep them out” became his war cry “Push them out” meant his lesser fry Irradiating patriotism until mutations form So cancerous nationalism becomes the norm And in its magnetic lies and hyperbole Attractive solutions to set them free Spawned post-truths that did so resonate Bypassing any intellectual gate Mind antibodies readied to deploy Nascent dissonance to destroy.
Putin could so rub his hands with glee As such Trumpet notes were his key His virtual missiles now had the range For targeting insecurities of global change Anxieties and prejudices that lay beneath Were nudged now into sharp relief So Clinton fell and she was no more As Trumpet blasted through the door And so the Troll Kings to their surprise Found they had won their mighty prize.
Meanwhile, on East Asia’s stage An angry Troll King paced his cage For half-brother love he had none So he knew what must now be done So Kim Jong-nam met sticky end Flyers’ VX face-cream now latest trend For projecting power and striking fear Into non-believers in leaders dear.
And in Europe too, things look tough As motley prophets strut and puff Promising Utopias by going alone As long as they ascend the throne “Keep them out” is their war cry “Push them out” means lesser fry But making ‘the other’ disappear Removes how Troll Kings focus fear And then new villains must be found “Enemy of the People” become Trumpet sound.
But such Troll Kings don’t exist to lead For it’s ego furnaces that drive their need Populist woodlands must now provide the fuel Where such wolves feed and dribble drool The populus however will prove fickle food For the Troll Kings have so misunderstood That true leaders always put others first Discarding approbation to slake ego’s thirst.
Attribution: Mark McLaren [CC BY-SA 2.0]Solar farms built in northern climes
Skyline monuments — wind turbines
But how to store the wind and sun
Not thought about as policies spun
And so we pay to Grid not feed
If wind and sun they have no need
Renewable energy going to waste
From policies made in unseemly haste.
Green power storage first must be cracked
For move from fossils to be backed
Much conversion figures in this quest
Although no solution has yet proved best.
But a certain irony has come to pass
Green electricity is turned to gas
Or it can be used to power a pump
Moving water uphill for later dump
Or compressing air can be its fate
For driving turbines at later date.
But wait …
Here come the disruptive events
For hydrocarbons now cost fewer cents
Oil’s demise has been much tracked
But now the shale is truly fracked
And the Arabs then lowered the price
So we embrace again our fossil vice.
Elite racing cyclists we do admire