The Charge Grater 3 – not Helen Pidd's two-wheeled soul mate

Matthew Moggridge writes: Bikes are definitely getting more expensive. These days, when I walk into a bike shop to see what's on offer, even the most basic-looking machine seems to cost over £500 and sometimes I spy bikes with block brakes that are even more expensive. There are, of course, exceptions to the rule, like Apollo bikes and other lower cost brands, and while it is often said that you get what you pay for, some argue that a cheaper bike is not only better for you if fitness is your goal – heavier, lower spec machines mean you've got to put in more work – but enables you to add your own higher spec components at your own pace. Some would argue that 'a bike, is a bike, is a bike' and why spend a fortune on one?

The Charge Grater 3.

A couple of weeks ago I was wandering around Düsseldorf in Germany and while loitering outside the main railway station (on the quieter side, adjacent to the Leonardo Hotel on Ludwig Erhard Allee) I spied a rather good bike shop with some top-of-the-range machines going for 520 Euros. Now it might well be that the same bike in the UK would be far more expensive as these days you don't get much for your money if you've got just over £400 to spend. I doubt very much whether the bike I spied in the window in Düsseldorf would cost whatever 520 Euros works out to be in good old English pounds.

In this week's Guardian Weekend magazine, Helen Pidd was reviewing the Charge Grater 3 – a strange name for a bike in my opinion. Looking at the facts box at the bottom of the page I noticed that it costs a cool £549.99.

I don't know where Helen got that £549.99 price tag. Looking online this morning, they're much more expensive: £649 at Sunset Bikes; £749.99 at Cyclestore and Evans and also at Tredz Bikes, but only £467.49 from Wiggle.co.uk.

Well, at least it has disc brakes and high-spec Shimano Nexus 8 hub gears, and mudguards. I'm starting to realise the importance of the latter as avid readers of this blog will already know.

That aside, I don't think Helen was overly impressed. In fact she felt that the manufacturer spent all its money on the gears, claiming that normally a bike with Shimano Nexus hub gears would 'be significantly more expensive'. Hub gears in 'my day' – meaning my days as a kid – used to be Sturmey Archer. In fact I never had a bike with gears, just a single cog at the back. According to Helen the hub gear is ideal if you wish to ride to the office in work clothes as all the machinery is hidden away. That is a good point, although the Charge Grater 3 doesn't have a chain guard so what the manufacturer gives with one hand, it takes away with the other.

Helen says that the Charge Grater 'seems too good too to be true' and it's a little too pricey for what it is. Hub gears are a pain to fix, she says, and the bike she was given to test had faulty gears that kept slipping and the rear mudguard kept catching on the wheel – now that's annoying – and, she said, the handlebars looked cheap. Now I know what she means about that; I often take a long, hard look at a bike's handlebars and sometimes, yes, they do look kind of cheap and unimpressive and that will be enough for me to consider not buying it. Helen reckons that the manufacturer of the Charge Grater 3 spent all its money on the gears and had to settle for lower quality bars and other lesser components.

On the plus side, she said that the Charge Grater was very light, looked clean and modern and was light enough to lift on and off the Transpennine Express. The saddle was also comfortable – 'mega comfortable' – and it was a ladies' saddle (Helen says that 'far too many manufacturers think women won't notice if they whack on any old blokes' saddle'). The Charge Grater 3's saddle, she says, was shorter and wider and included a 'pressure releasing' channel 'to keep one's bits in working order'.

She wasn't keen on the 'skinny down tubes' and wasn't happy either with the wider-than-standard handlebars.

Helen summed up the Charge Grater 3 as being her 'two-wheeled soulmate' (a reference to her opening paragraph in which she compared the bike with a dating profile 'that promises more than a real-life human could ever deliver.

Helen Pidd can be followed on Twitter – @helenpidd

To read Helen's complete article, click here.

Helen Pidd on the Raleigh Gran Sport

It's been a while since Helen Pidd has contributed a cycling review in the Guardian's Weekend magazine, although I haven't been buying it every week, so I might have missed one or two.

The Raleigh Gran Sport. Photo courtesy of The Guardian

This week, she's back with a review of the new Raleigh Gran Sport, a bike that reminds her of the first new bike she ever owned, a Raleigh racer.

Helen is one of those unfortunate people who suffer from the experience of joint birthday and Christmas presents. While my birthday is on 10 December, it's just far enough away from Christmas to avoid such a fate, although I'm sure my dad would have insisted on me having both a birthday and Christmas present, so in one sense I've always been lucky.

Helen's first new bike, however, was a dreaded joint present and when she took it down the local recreation ground she discovered that racing bikes were no longer the big fashion statement they used to be. All the kids were riding brightly coloured mountain bikes with lots of gears. Oh dear!

The problem for Helen, however, was that Raleigh makes virtually indestructable bikes so Helen was stuck with her out-of-date bike throughout the nineties when everybody else was riding mountain bikes. Still, you live and learn, Helen and hey, you did alright, here you are writing about bikes for a major national newspaper. It all turned good in the end, eh?

Helen Pidd much prefered the Trek Madone (above)

Anyway, the Raleigh Gran Sport reminds Helen of her first new bike, that old Raleigh racer, except that it doesn't really cut the mustard. While, she claims, 'hipsters' buy secondhand Raleighs these days for hundreds of pounds, she doesn't seem too impressed by the new version of her old racing bike. In fact, she makes an analogy with the Wonderbra, claiming that the bike, like the bra, "promises more than it can deliver."

Pidd says the Raleigh Gran Sport is 'a decidedly average bike' with an unresponsive steel frame and an unsatisfying ride. It was, she said, 'like trying to snog someone who won't properly kiss you back'. She wasn't happy with the metal pedal cages which, she said, scraped the ground whenever her feet weren't in properly (which was often in London traffic). The gear shifters were 'being deliberately difficult' – unlike the Trek Madone which she described as 'easy and pleasurable and similar to 'stroking a friendly cat'. Changing gear on the Gran Sport, however, was an effort.

While Pidd's original Raleigh was made in Nottingham, the new Gran Sport was constructed in South East Asia now that the company is Dutch-owned (since 2003). According to Helen, the company manufactures 850,000 bikes annually, but she reckons some of the quality of the old Nottingham-built bikes has been lost in translation. "Or am I just nostalgic for my youth?" she asks.

But Pidd still believes the Gran Sport is currently a trendy ride and that her ten-year-old self would have been happy about that.

For the original article by Helen Pidd, click here.

Helen Pidd on the Pilen Sport

The big question is why? Why has Helen Pidd moved from Berlin to Hackney? Personally, I'd have stayed in Berlin. What a great city! Surely a million times better than (ahem) Hackney. Still, each to their own and I'm sure she has her reasons.

Helen's writing in the Guardian's Weekend Magazine (26 May 2012 edition) and this time she's reviewing a Swedish bike, the Pilen. It costs £995 and is made of an 'indestructible' Chromium-molybdenum, not stainless steel.

The bloke's version of the Pilen Sport. I'd love to test ride this bike.

Pidd quite rightly points out that 'it's always dangerous to advertise something as indestructible'. The Pilen, however, is a handmade bike that's supposed to last forever. One of Helen's friends, we are told, managed to snap a Le Creuset while making a moussaka (God! she must be posh, Helen's friend. I can't afford Le Creuset cookware) proving that there's always somebody around to disprove the indestructibility of anything. Good point. But can Helen succeed in destroying the Pilen?

Well, she left it out in the rain (sinful!). She abused the paintwork (bikes have rights too, you know, Helen) and she dares to admit that she treats her partner better than her bike! She even confesses that her bike has never slept in her bedroom and that she treats her bikes like workhouses, not ornaments, but secretly enjoys cleaning them.

The Pilen sounds like a great bike: expensive steel frame, zero-maintenance brakes, an Abus rear-wheel lock, a dynamo instead of battery-powered lights (now that would do me fine) and mudguards (ooh! a luxury!).

It all sounds great but Helen's not happy. Perhaps, she suggests, a Swedish bike is for Swedish terrain in the same way that a Sarah Lund sweater (who? what?) looks better in Copenhagen than Croydon. Well, at least NoVisibleLycra's hometown gets a name-check! Yes, we're based in sunny Croydon. It's not that bad, but Copenhagen's probably a little better.

Mind you, if I lived in one-bedroom flat like Helen, I too would not like to hump an 18.1kg bike up two flights of stairs. I too wouldn't fancy leaving it outside either – it might be indestructible, but that doesn't mean it's thief-proof.

I liked the sound of it. An indestructible bike with unscratchable paint and a Brooks saddle. Helen describes the bike as 'Scandy' and it probably is (I'd love to ride the bloke's version, see above). Mind you, if I bought a bike that I thought was made in Sweden and discovered that the forks were made in Taiwan, I  too would be a little pissed off...but not for long.

For more details on Pilen bikes, click here.

For Helen Pidd's article, click here.

In addition to writing regularly for The Guardian Weekend, Helen Pidd is also the author of Bicycle. For a copy, visit the Guardian Bookshop webpage by clicking here.

Helen Pidd on the Batavus Lento Deluxe

Writing in Saturday's Guardian Weekend magazine (17 December) Helen Pidd explains how she can never understand anybody who takes the bus when the option of cycling is open to them. Well, how about when it's raining, Helen? But, she argues, when she moved to a foreign country (I'm guessing Germany and Berlin) she bought a cheap bike and discovered that 'riding a rubbish bike is no fun at all'.

The male version of the Batavus Lento is available in blue and black.

Well, of course. Having spent around £700 on my Kona Scrap, I must admit that I would never trade it in for a cheap ride from Halfords (not that all Halfords bikes are cheap, they used to sell Konas there too).

Getting back to Helen: she took delivery of a Batavus Lento (click here for more details of the company behind the bike) and she described it thus: 'it was like having sex with somebody who knows how to do it after years with a blundering novice; like tasting real pesto after a lifetime eating it out of a jar'.

My pesto always comes from a jar and as for sex with a blundering novice, well, hey, I need more practice I guess.

Describing the Batavus Lento, Pidd said that turning the pedals was effortless and that 'a light tap on the brakes brought me to a firm yet peaceful stop'. She said that the front light (front light?) was powered by a dynamo (now, that's what I need) and that it was so bright she had 'enormous fun deliberately dazzling friends while pretending to be Mulder or Scully with their industrial torches'.

Just for the record, Mulder and Scully used Maglites.

According to Helen, 'a cute little pump' was built into the Lento's rear rack and was never needed.

The Batavus is a Dutch brand and while it is what Helen calls 'a traditional sit-up-and-beg' bike, it's pretty speedy too, with seven gears offering an excellent range. She never needed to dip below two and found herself 'really flying' along Berlin's Karl-Marx-Allee.

And then she went and ruined the whole article: 'The fact that it [the Lento] looks a little ploddy may be a disadvantage to some, but being underestimated by men on racing bikes is one of my favourite things'.

Hmmm...men, racing bikes. We're not all Lycra monkeys (or Mamils). 'I love swooshing past while they're fiddling with their clip-on shoes at the traffic lights'.

But is Helen ever really satisfied? No. She admits herself that she started to nit-pick. She thought the Lento was still a 'hulk of a bike' despite its aluminium frame, that the rack at the back was too chunky and the back light was not powered by a dynamo and needed batteries. She disliked the girly white or pink colour options (men, there is a male version of this bike in black or blue).

The colour options and, indeed, all her criticisms of the Lento were mere 'toothpaste squeezing/seat-up' sort of issues and not grounds for divorce (or, in the case of a bike, taking it back to the shop).

In short, Helen found the Lento a joy to ride and far better than taking the bus (although she didn't mention anything about her options when it rains).

Helen Pidd's 'smug feeling of self-sufficiency'

My pal Alan refers to my Kona as a 'butcher's bike'. I know what he means: it's a little cumbersome. For a start, there are huge tyres, then there's the hefty, box-like frame and, as Alan would say, all I need is the name of 'Dewhurst' on the side, instead of Kona, and I've got a butcher's bike. Although, butchers' bikes, as I recall, are basically normal bikes with a kind of heavy, integral rack on the front, designed to carry a huge basket full of raw meat. My bike doesn't even have mudguards (something I tend to pay for dearly as the winter months draw nearer).

Anyway, butchers' bikes aside, Helen Pidd was in last Saturday's Guardian Weekend magazine - which I read in a café in Penge - writing about a bike called a Bullitt. The thing is, it doesn't really live up to the image conveyed in the name. The Bullitt is what Pidd calls a 'freight bike' and, it seems, Pidd has realised that her cycling obsession has gone too far. Whether Pidd sleeps with her bike, I don't know, but it's clear that she is obsessed and this is evidenced by her insistence on using a frieght bike - the Bullitt - as a means of moving house.

The Bullitt - I wouldn't fancy racing with it.

The bike was supplied to Pidd by a chap called Gizmo, who, like Pidd, lives in Berlin. Pidd found it great fun to ride and claims she'd seriously think about it for trips to the supermarket (if she was richer and had somewhere to store it).

Mind you, it costs £2,170 and you could buy a half-decent van for that, so Pidd, it has to be said, is definitely obsessed with pedal power and should, perhaps, lie down in a darkened room for an hour or so and then go hire a van, rather than mess around on a cumbersome freight bike, even if it is easier to ride than many of its rivals. Rivals? What's this? She's ridden other freight bikes? What's wrong with the woman?

Still, if you are obsessed with cycling - to the extent that you'd hire a bike instead of a van to move house - then you might like to take a look at the Bullitt. It can't be all bad if it gives Helen Pidd 'a smug feeling of self-sufficiency'.

Check out http://thebullittbike.co.uk

Helen Pidd mounts an electric bike...

Helen Pidd has reviewed the Giant Twist Esprit Power W, an electric bike, in this week's Guardian Weekend magazine and I think she feels a little like I do towards them: ie, that they're not something you want to make a habit of; and she's right, of course.

Electric bikes are a bit like electronic cigarettes or coal-effect gas fires or non-alcohol beer, there's something artificial about them. Bikes have pedals for a reason in the same way that cigarettes contain tobacco for a reason and beer is alcoholic for a reason – take away the key ingredient and bang goes the whole concept.

Never trust a bike with a stand: The Giant Twist Esprit Power W.
Photo: The Guardian.co.uk

As I write this, for example, I'm only an hour or so away from riding in this summer's Black Horse Ride at Reigate. This year, it's 35 miles and not the usual 50 for some reason; it starts later too, but somehow the achievement would be hollow if I completed the route on the Giant Twist Espirit Power, what Pidd calls an e-bike.

That 'e' worries me, it's like e-books. I hope that I never own a Kindle for similar reasons because in the same way that a Kindle isn't a book, then the Giant Twist Espirit Power isn't a bike either.

In short, electric bikes are cheating, like tee-shirts that look like dinner jackets, dummy burglar alarms and Astro Turf. I'm not saying they shouldn't be allowed, but they defeat the object.

As Pidd quite rightly points out, "...if I had one, I fear I would get too lazy ever to pedal properly again."

Click here for the full article.

She's at it again! Helen Pidd on the Apollo Haze Women's Hybrid

Helen Pidd's article in the 14 May edition of the Guardian's Weekend.

I really like it when the Guardian's Weekend magazine invites journalist and writer Helen Pidd to contribute something on cycling. In this week's issue she's road testing the Apollo Haze Women's Hybrid – and isn't very complimentary about it.

In three words, she describes it as 'cheap and nasty' and goes on to recommend the Specialized Sirrus, which costs an additional £200 and, of course, bolsters the theory that in this world, you get what you pay for.

Helen lives in Berlin, as we learned from her previous review of the Velorbis Victoria Balloon, which was given the thumbs up. The Apollo, however, was on a loser from the word go. For a start, it cost only £139.99, not that Pidd had ruled it out of court because of price. She was road testing the bike in London and decided to take it up Swains Lane in Highgate, only to discover that the lowest of the bike's 18 gears wasn't working. This she put down to the way it had been assembled by Halfords staff.

"The Apollo is usually sold flatpacked, ready for customers to assemble at home (a disaster waiting to happen). Mine was allegedly set up by a professional," wrote Pidd, explaining how most independent bike shops will tell you that 'it's impossible to make a decent bike for under £300', adding that the Apollo proves the point.

Pidd describes the Apollo as 'ugly' and wonders 'how many grown women would really choose a metallic lilac number with tacky flowers transferred on to the frame?' She's right, of course, but claims that when she took the Apollo off-road, it coped well, adding that not all the components are rubbish ('the rear mech is Shimano') and there was a women-specific gel saddle.

Neither the gears nor the saddle, however, were enough to make up for the bike's malfunctioning gear and 'hideous appearance'.

Pidd recommends that if you can't afford a brand new bike for around £300, opt for a secondhand one. Now that is sensible advice. There are a load of very cheap bikes around, but the 'get what you pay for philosophy' is all too real. Best to buy secondhand. In fact, only a month or two ago, I found a Specialized Hardrock mountain bike in one of those new-fangled pawnshops (this one in Croydon) for a mere £90!

When I consider that my son has a Hardrock that needs more than £90 worth of work, he'd be better off buying another one if its only £90!