Wiscombe Park Hill-Climb

Wiscombe Park Hill-Climb, Devon photographed by Andrew Butler of Exeter’s Design Credo.

Hill climbs, a gentle sport. Food, chat, a bit of a nap and a bonkers blat up a hill, frequently in rather pleasant environs.

Today’s hill climb at Wiscombe Park, Devon, was cars only but, as ever, a motley collection; generally fairly old, all interesting, cars and drivers alike.

The more esoteric of lightweight Porsches, is that on original Quattro and what on earth is that all competing side by side.

There’s probably as many pictures of chaps eating sarnies here as chaps (and chapettes) flying up the hill and I’m not going to apologise for that.

As ever an Leica M9 moment.

We have a new photography site featuring more motoring images here

London: Cycling’s Steel City

There is a boom in cycling and there is no finer expression this than in London at the moment. A couple of hours free with the old Canon Ixus 70 and time for a bit of bike spotting.

These bikes come in all shapes and sizes: delivery bikes, tricycles maybe the odd bit of carbon fibre. By and large though this isn’t about hi-tec machinery it is about steel and old steel at that. It is about the bikes that people like me wanted as a child, bikes that were superseded by better, lighter and stronger stuff, but bikes that have now found a new lease of life.

These bikes have been stripped down, many turned into London Fixies: no gears, little in the way of brakes, some almost devoid of handlebars. For the most part they have become vivd expressions of their current keeper. Some are off the peg: made to look like bikes used to but of course never actually did. Of course there are also Boris’s bikes bringing a bit of Barcelona to London, well not really but you get the idea.

A friend recently told me that she sold her motorbike when she returned to London, there is apparently little space to park one. Unlike Exeter where I can put my motorbike pretty much where I want London is no longer motorbike-freindly.

So the trusty old peddle-iron is the functional expression, taken to work then left to sulk all day tied up to a lamppost occasionally throwing a sulk by lying down on the pavement and sometimes totally disappearing (well almost anyway).