An old man feeds his racing pigeons and I repeatedly burn my lips on what may just be Ulster’s hottest cup of coffee as rain pads down on the roof of my dinky Peugeot rental car. Doagh is reminiscent of a hundred other small Northern Irish towns I spent my youth traipsing around in search of rally cars and bike races. My mission today however is different – supervise and help in the assembly of the MBUK Dream Bike.

Chain Reaction‘s warehouse is vast. We make our way through the blue neon-lit showroom and with a swipe of our newly-acquired visitor passes enter the bustling workshop. Warranties and new bike builds take place here and the smell of grease hangs reassuringly heavily.

Simon, our guide for the day, hands me a day-glo safety vest with ‘LINDZ’ scrawled on the back in thick balloon letters and we enter the holy of holies. Thousands of cardboard boxes form two floors of rows. Popular items are placed at easy to grab chest height and various sizes and versions of the same product are placed at different ends of the warehouse to avoid human error. Pickers walk purposefully around the aisles, fingers pressed to ears as product codes of order after order are read to them.

After a few hours, the bike is finished and we head to another warehouse where the larger items are stored – it’s staggeringly huge. The shelves are stories high and it’s hard to adjust your spacial awareness to fathom the scale of the place.

The sheer size of the operation makes CRC’s roots as a simple family-run bike shop all the more remarkable.

Go and check out this month’s MBUK for your chance to win one of the most sorted bikes out there in conjunction with one of the most impressive businesses in the UK today.

I’ve recently returned from Italy. Two days of riding in the baking olive groves and orange bushes surrounding Finale Ligure. Monaco buzzed and fizzled up the coast preparing for it’s annual Grand Prix and campsites bulged with a load of Germans who were there for a bank holiday. Or something.

You’ll be able to read my full synopsis on the extremely impressive E*Thirteen TRS-R range of products on this very website and in MBUK soon. In the meantime, here are some things I learnt whilst being in Italy…

1. There’s always time for espresso

My first draught of back in England franchise coffee was like sipping battery acid from a hedgehog’s scrotum. In Italy, coffee is sacrosanct and no matter where you are, or how remote the bar/restaurant is, the coffee will be better than anything in the UK. All you coffee snobs, fashionistas and bearded chancers take note – no matter how many ‘o’s you stick after it, coffee is better in Italy.

2. Let’s chat it out

Everything in Italy takes longer, mainly because there’s chatting to be done. The upshot of this chat will be that something practical needs to take place (i.e. lubing a chain, adjusting a brake), which will then warrant a further chat. The result of said secondary chat is then usually that whatever it is can be done later. Unless it’s ‘have another coffee’ (see above).

3. Driving

Driving in Italy is more akin to a state-sanctioned motor race. Non-Italian entrants are frowned upon/gesticulated at and ANY vehicle can stop safely from 100kmh in around about 6ft of space.

4. The Euros put us to shame

By ‘us’ I mean the bike journos. You’ve two days of riding? Probably best ride for a day then spend the second typing it all up by the pool. The Brits? Oh, they’re off riding again. Idiots.

5.  Panacotta can kill

IF you were to suck a panacotta off a plate in a oner in a racing scenario, it’s thick consistency can prompt choking. If this happens, simply smack yourself on the back of the head, aiming your mouth towards a plate, and the now saliva-coated lump of dessert will simply bounce out good as new.

6. Their robots are light years ahead of ours

Bomb disposal? Lunar exploration? No, the Italians have a robot which, completely unassisted, cleans swimming pools. Sounds trivial – isn’t. In it goes, looking like a couple of shoe boxes lashed together and just gets on with the task in hand – motoring about, cleaning the bottom of the pool. The future. Now.

Right then, here we go… My new long term MBUK Machine is a Transition TR250. I hate calling it a ‘park’ bike for much the same reasons I hate going out for a ride being referred to as ‘enduro’. Too many terms, most of them rubbish.

Old man grumbling aside, the 180mm Transition is all about entertainment and as always with their bikes offers a finely fettled combination of angles, adjustability and superb finishing kit.

Don’t just take my word for it though, well, do,  rather take my verbal word for it here…

Somethings just fit – this is both a good and a bad thing. Good in that when found, some bits of bike clothing fit your body like (for want of a better analogy) a glove. Bad? Well that’s the finding part…

I’ve used MET helmets for years now. Just as when it comes to picking a new motorbike helmet, riders often describe themselves as having a ‘Shoei’ or an ‘Arai’ head, I most definitely have a ‘MET’ head. The Italian crash hat purveyors seem to have my loaf catered for. I recently realised though that I’ve had more or less the same Kaos UL strapped to my head for a few years now and it’s got more impact marks than the surface of the moon. The time had come to scour the web for a new lid.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to look too far – enter the POC Trabec. Now, unusually for me, the initial decision was more or less made with the colour. I’m not much of a tart when it comes to colourful lids but the Light Blue option is a thing of beauty. The shape is… Different. My missus has even gone as far as to call me ‘Playmobil heed’ but I like it.

Rear coverage is great – ideal for 6in bike thumping, the visor works and the tab adjust helps the Trabec stay in place even through the chattery stuff.

Most importantly though – the hat fits. Straight on, no bother. So is the £139.99 price-tag justified?

Well, you can’t put a price on safety but I reckon if you’re like me and spend a minimum of two hours a day in a helmet then you know the value of the right lid lies more in how you get on with it. The Trabec is one of the best helmets I’ve used in a good while and I’m looking forward to plenty more adventures in mine.

 One of the blingest SuperBikes we’ve featured to date… Mr. J Graves’ Yeti 303 WC Carbon.

Here’s a couple of shiny extra pics that we couldn’t fit in the mag but be sure to check out our digital edition for a full bonus gallery of carbon fibrey goodness.

 I’ve got to admit it, as soon as I pulled the red Mondraker out of the box I’d a good feeling about it.

The geometry has been lifted straight from it’s bigger brother, the Factor, itself a more than talented trail animal. Swing a leg over and everything felt good – the size large was a decent length and with the Zero system and shock located low down in the frame, it all felt balanced and stable.

At £1500 you’re never going to get a lightweight machine but that said, the Tracker R isn’t exactly tubby either. Five inches of travel, fun geometry and some sturdy kit – what more could you ask for?!

Check out my full review in the new MBUK 280 (on sale 27th July) but before you pop out to the shops with a deck chair and a Thermos, here’s a video…

E*thirteen’s new TRS+ range could hardly fit a bike or place better – the trail-burying Specialized Stumpjumper Evo and the hardened slopes of Les Gets.

Only five years ago you’d have been told strictly that this was ‘DH bike only’ stuff, not for the feint of heart or single-crown of fork. After three brutal days attempting to keep up with Fabian Barel however, I can confirm that the £2.5k Evo is a force to be reckoned with.

We did have trinkets – the all-new Fox FLOAT 34 fork, a smattering of TRS+ goodies and beefy Specialized Butcher Sam Hill rubber. There was no doubting the frames sure-footedness or the back ends ability to dispatch root after root after monstrous root though.

Heal scraping around the outside of a tracked in berm, dispatching staircase-sized braking bumps or skating around off-camber ledges all whilst cackling like a Bond villain on poppers, we loved it.

You can see how Ric gets on with his Evo every month in MBUK Magazine.

“You don’t have to brake here, you don’t have to brake here, you… MUPPET!” Yet another corner fluffed, yet more time wasted and yet more head-scratching required.

I’ll hold my hands up here and say that I haven’t ridden my Morewood Izimu DH bike for a while and amidst the humid woods outside Stroud, I’m finding it difficult to re-adjust. Since the arrival of my Specialized Stumpy Evo, I’ve been spoilt. With every ride I become more and more impressed with the silver bullets abilities. The current crop of 150mm enduro/trail bikes are in fact so good that it can be all too easy to neglect the DH bike for yet another Saturday and pedal off into the woods aboard something altogether trailer.

If I’m honest, it’s that ‘pedal’ bit that is probably at the crux of this particular problem. Compared to remove from shed/disassemble/put in car/drive to woods/push up/ride/push up again/disassemble/put back in car/ drive home/reassemble/put in shed, remove from shed/ride can (rightly) seem pretty appealing.

Painful as it is to admit, I’d lost the ‘feel’ of a big bike – I was awash in a sea of grip. In corners I was massively underestimating it and when it came to sections where hard-stamping pedal charges were required I was left pumping and flicking and ultimately going slower again.

What’s the answer then? After a healthy dose of soul-searching, tea-leaf reading and crystal consulting I’ve come to a difficult conclusion… Ride more DH!

There are definitely worse problems to have!

My wifes Uncle Derek’s 60th – that’s the reason behind our little spin to the Lake District. The motorway-heavy drive is long and dull, a van has overturned on the opposite carriageway closing all three lanes. When we pass it, the cutters have already peeled its roof open like a sardine can. Cardboard boxes lie broken in a pile inside and the faces of the people stuck at a standstill for mile after mile look equally as devastated.

Finally, we arrive in Keswick and there’s no doubting the epic surroundings. Outdoor shops seem to occupy every corner (a taxi driver later tells us that they’re a nightmare as locals can’t actually buy anything ‘of use’ in town any more) and we begin to feel like the youngest people in the area .

Saturday morning and after a heavy night on the beers, I’m 20 minutes late to meet Clive Forth, my old mate from MTBSkills.eu. Going for a ride with Clive is a bit like stepping into the ring with a heavyweight boxer – you know you’re going to take a battering, it’s just a question of how long you can last. As we start the first climb chatting away, he’s more like a bantamweight, dancing along on his Transition Bandit. His eyes always scanning ahead, breathing never laboured, every motion calculated and smooth.

We reach the top of Jenkins Crag and I feel anything but. The hangover I’ve been so doggedly dodging catches up with me and as we level out I stop fearing an oncoming wave of acidic, yeasty vomit. Five minutes later though and it’s under control and we crack on. I still feel horrendous but soft-pedalling along behind Forth seems to get me through it.

The Garburn Pass is our target and after a lot more techy climbing (and some more pushing from me) we get to the top. The views below us our epic and the grey skies seem to think better of raining on our parade. Clive isn’t happy – since he was last here the pass has been filled with deep gravel. It’s technically still a road so we can understand why. The smoother surface just makes the descent faster and there’s still the odd lump of rock to launch from and drainage shelf to clear.

The wide, smooth pass quickly gives way to tight stone wall-lined lanes and coffee jar-sized rocks. It’s loose going and keeping my speed up involves locking on to Clive’s back wheel and delicately shifting my weight around the bike.

We thread our way back up the hill the way we came and after a decent road-spin we’re back at the top of Jenkins Crag. We pelt down and all the time in my head I’m trying to remember just where that really rough section is I clocked on the way up. It arrives. Typically at speed and lined by walkers. Clive is long gone and the rocks are off camber, angled and slick looking. I try and front wheel a gap, tonk into the opposite side, get a swap on and just about pull it together. Phew…

Monday morning arrives and despite consuming the majority of the areas monthly allocation of Guinness in one day, I’m off for a ride with Ka’s cousin, Jonty. His Specialized FSR, by his reckoning, hadn’t left the shed for ‘easily’ 10 years. The Judy’s could be heard streets away and the freehub was as slippery as a Vaselined-up eel but that didn’t seem to concern Jonty.

Thanks to a cheeky spot of uplifting we managed to ride Lattrigg down to Keswick then back up to tackle Watendlath down to Rosthwaite. The first was flat-out death-gripping and popping off humped over drains whilst the second was typically steep, loose, rock carnage.

Cheers to both Clive and Jonty for showing me around,  James for the lifts back up again, Charlie from the pub who was dead sound and good old Arthur Guinness for keeping everything lubricated along the way!

 In the world of lying a few things are key – believing the lie yourself, communicating it in a convincing manor and most importantly, making sure it enables you to ride your bike!

Rob Jarman is a busy professional stuntman and can usually be found leaping out of windows or jumping motorbikes over flaming lines of elephants etc. When he’s not busy risking life and limb though, he works as a personal trainer. It’s long, physical work and often involves fitting his sessions in around the needs of busy professionals.

As a former Elite racer though, bike time is important for Rob and now and again he has to bend the rules of what is strictly true to his better half to grab a quick thrash on his Voodoo Zobop!