This is basically full moto and fucking rad. Fair play to Darin Reed, that's how to ride trails like a MAYNE.

Can't wait to see this!

Not sure if you've seen this but WHAT THE FUCK!

George Marshall changed his website, added some new stuff. I like.

Jesus.

Decked it

Ladies and Gentlemen, Das Berlin Projekt is now available for you to watch at work!

Das Berlin Projekt from carvebmx on Vimeo.

MACHINE.

You! Check some of my photos of Boiski in Cologne HERE. in the news bit, a few posts down.

Could literally watch Niki ride all day. Kinda Van Homan'y, not really style or type of tricks just unafraid of the burly!

Riding boner from this.

Niki Croft / The Make from Seventies Distribution on Vimeo.

COLOGNE WAS RAD.

one of my photos is here for you to see... read etc.

Ooooh another post, aren't we good to you.

Here is a Middle Eastern Midlands video Ze put together. I filmed the Ze clips and he filmed everything else and edited it. Good stoooof!

Shkateparking from Zeyad Ahmad on Vimeo.

(click to go big!)

Istanbul, not Constantinople – Day 2

I don’t remember much of Checking-In so I presume it went by without incident. I have no idea what happened to the Hen party, they weren’t on our flight anyway. No great loss, they weren’t anything to write home about (excuse the irony). I usually get sweaty palms on take off, I’m not particularly worried about flying, but it does confuse the hell out of me if I think about how high you are during the flight and how the huge chunk of metal stays up there, some sort of magic I’m sure. The pilot must’ve been in someway related to Ze, as he needed roughly the same amount of runway to take off from, as Ze needs to do a 10ft drop. The plane gunned it and was airborne in no distance and climbing steeply, a little bumpy turbulence but I was far too tired to care.

Our previous flight to Malaga was around 2 to 2.5 hours as I remember, which was far too long to be confined to an Easyjet seat with bmxers that arguably suffer from mild ADD. This flight was 4 hours. No trip lasts 4 hours. Between us we only had 3 bmx magazines which would be read pretty much cover to cover over the course of the trip.

I doubt Apple have even noticed any sort of drop in their profits recently and can only spell ‘recession’ as there’s an app for it, I was the only one that hadn’t purchased an i-touch or i-phone. I tried to sleep whilst the others busied themselves with music, films that were squashed down to i-pod size or brightly coloured app games. After forever we landed. The pilot almost apologetically informed us of the 11-degree temperature and slight drizzle. It did look quite grey and similar to UK weather. All the same it was exciting to be doing something that felt a lot more spontaneous than what we had planned to do.

We had all previously taken out 10 English pounds as advised by Ze and Perry, who had been before, to pay for the entry visa. The Turkish boarder control man checked my passport and asked about my second name. I’d thought he asked if my family had the same name, which I’d replied yes, feeling slightly puzzled. He’d actually asked if I was related to Neil Armstrong and despite having told everyone in Junior school that I was, I told him no. He laughed and let me join the others on Turkish soil, I left feeling a little stupid and unrelated to any kind of astronaut.

Finding your bikes in the luggage reclaim area is similar to a game of hide and seek. They’re usually pushed out an unmarked door somewhere separate to all other baggage and is up to you to hunt them down. If your bike is boxed you’ve got the added chance of it having made a bid for freedom, largely helped by the baggage handlers. Robin had used one of my old boxes from a previous trip; he’d overestimated the box’s useable condition and had needed to reinforce it with a good portion of duct tape. Somehow his box soldiered on through another trip and was in fine condition, whereas my brand new box had ripped open from the base. Fortunately nothing had fallen out or fallen prey to wandering eyes and all my contents remained half in, half out the box.

Outside the airport were a number of coaches. Armed with the name of the district where the hostel was; SultanAhmet, Ze went to talk to the drivers until he found one going to the right destination. The closest we could get was Taksim and then would have to use our cunning, or at least more transport to get the rest of the way there. The coach was 13 Turkish Liras, some of the group had changed some of their Euros to the local currency already. Those that had the right currency paid for themselves and kindly, for the others that couldn’t. They received their change and after a short wait for the coach to fill up we were off!

The land was never flat, always rising and falling. We drove through hills with populated areas changing from very shanty looking to slightly less shanty looking and more densely packed. We crossed from Asia back into Europe via bridge. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it. If someone had told me I was looking at large sporadic settlements in China, I would’ve believed them.

The coach let us off in Taksim having done some hill climbs that really shouldn’t have been possible for a vehicle that size. From Taksim we had to make our way to Karakoy, cross over to Eminonu then on to SultanAhmet. We found the tram that travelled back and forth from Taksim to Karakoy and were promptly denied access. Looking on the map at the tram stop, we could see where we wanted to get to, but with no scale had no idea knowing how far it was. The only option was to walk it. Following the tram tracks we walked what Googlemaps would later reveal to be 2km down the busy street, getting confused stares from everyone. My box weighed just under 16kg. Not too much, but when spread over the awkward size of a bike box it became really heavy, really fast. Robin’s was 22kg, Rob’s bag had shoulder straps which didn’t help much more than a regular box. Once again I was left trailing behind looking longingly at Ze and Perry’s bike bags with wheels. One foot in front of the other and keep telling yourself that the box tormenting your shoulders and arms cost you nothing.

We arrived at Karakoy metro stop, went in to try and buy our one Lira ticket that would take us to Eminonu. The man at the ticket counter wouldn’t take the coins Ze was attempting to pay with. Confused, we dropped all coins on the counter and let him choose the right ones. We boarded one of the two carriages which were pointing down a steep tunnel and tried to figure out why our money hadn’t been accepted, both coins had ‘1 Lira’ stamped on them. The carriage, which felt more like a shanty theme park ride, set off underground at a crazy angle with a jolt. There was only the one stop before the carriage would make the return journey back to the top. We stepped out of the station and made our way to the nearest tram stop that took us to our destination of SultanAhmet.

Leaving the tram, a girl, appearing to be a back packer came up to us trying to get us to stay at a particular hostel (that she was presumably working for). During the conversation, one choice phrase she said to Robin was ‘I’m easy and ready to go’, we weren’t quite sure what she meant by this and Robin repeatedly explained that we already had a hostel booked and walked off. What Robin had said must’ve translated to ‘help me carry my box, keep talking and I’ll consider it’. She continued trying to persuade us as she directed us to our hostel all whilst carrying one end of Robin’s box… Probably not the best sales tactic on her part but it worked for us!

The hostel was paid for in Euros and we made ourselves at home in the ground floor room we were given. It comprised of 3 bunk beds, leaving one bed potentially free for a traveller. Through the course of our stay it was just the five of us in the room, which was probably for the best as I would’ve felt so sorry for an unfortunate customer’s lungs had they been put with us. On one particular morning I swear Perry actually transcended the need for vocal speech and could answer any given question with a bowel movement. Whilst incredibly entertaining for everyone’s ears it could’ve been considered GBH with intent to kill for everyone’s nostrils (each of us were guilty of this on the trip but Perry went the extra mile and took the brown medal).

Before heading to the bar upstairs to get some food (it was late afternoon when we reached the hostel and most of us hadn’t eaten since the 5am flight), we asked the hostel staff why our coins hadn’t been taken. We discovered that the coach driver from the airport had given us change in the form of out-dated Turkish currency. The new Liras had a silver centre and gold outer ring whereas the old coins were the reverse. Teşekkür mate.

At the bar everyone ordered a pizza and those that wanted one got an Efes - Turkish lager, 68ml less than a pint, but who’s counting. Having seen the prices of the pizzas advertised around the hostel at 12 Lira we knew we were about to get ripped off. The bar didn’t serve any other food and everyone was too tired and hungry to care about the cost, besides we’d already been ripped off once that day so another time couldn’t hurt. Turns out it could still hurt. Hurt was delivered on a plate in the form of a small expensive pizza with less toppings than I’d hoped for. I’d ordered the pizza with most meat on it as I figured if I was going to get ripped off, I may as well get ripped off but with as many different animals on my plate. Its worth mentioning that pork is not Halal (food that is allowed and has been slaughtered in the correct way) under Islamic law. My pepperoni, which at some restaurants was referred to as ‘Turkish Pepperoni’, was made from Turkey. I guess the clue was in the title. I was unconvinced by the pig substitute, but when in Rome do as the Romans do and when in Istanbul suppress bacon sandwich cravings.

We built the bikes in the room and decided to go have a roll around to get a feel for the city. The roads and steps/ledge setups close to our hostel were all cobbled, not a perfect start but by no means a right off. Robin and I quickly discovered that Istanbul was more suited to those with brakes. At the end of a twisty but smooth hill bomb down to the ferry port following tram tracks (praying there wasn’t a stationary tram round the next corner) the smell of burnt rubber from shoes and tyres rose from our bikes. The quayside was still very busy, Ze had told me the estimated population of Istanbul, which was many millions. I believed him, I had lost count after just 23 people and there were loads more packed into this small area.

We carried on and dodged more than 23 Turkish people, less than a million, until we found some staggered step sets. Now, coming from Derby, interesting step and curb setups will always be worth at least a short session. We rode there for a while, attracting quite a bit of attention despite not doing anything remarkable, except maybe Rob, with his Kevin Porter like style and lines. Once everyone had had their fill of steps and curbs it was decided that a foreign exchange bureau was needed to swap people’s Euros into Turkish Lira.

We found oneas we walked back up the hill. By now we’d realised that we drew attention wherever we went. Regular bikes were surprisingly scarce around the city so a group of ‘tourists’ on kids’ bikes would naturally draw a lot of curiosity. The man from the currency exchange came out and started asking us about the bikes, joking that the bikes were too small for us and was genuinely amazed to find out that we just rode around for fun and not to ‘put on shows’ collecting money from the crowd afterwards. He was extremely amused to learn that we had packed our bikes and bought them all the way from the UK with us. This was the first, but wouldn’t be the last time, that a local would basically piss themselves with laughter in our faces when we told them the story, the concept seemed so alien and ridiculous to them. Robin had explained that his bike was raw metal with no paint because he had gone so fast that it fell off, the man returned with ‘pull the other one, its got a belt on it!’ It was a fantastic effort at an English expression and was certainly better than my attempts at Turkish.

We continued back to the hostel where I, and I think everyone else, slept like babies, completely exhausted from the long day of travelling and first night of exploration.

There's a webvideo at the moment of an trails comp with some clips of Aitken riding trails at the end, YES Aitken! Stephen Murray was also spectating. Think how long, or how short ago, we were sat round the table in Malaga hearing what had happened to Aitken.

Stay Strong.

Got a "head cam" for christmas which I finally put to use down 4a trails yesterday. Really wanted to 3 the last set cos it would have looked shit hot on the camera but I was complete fag and bottled it. I think you'll find for £50 its not too bad really, I was surprised.

Looks like Cam (Hardy) got a bit taller and has been working on nose-manuals.

Link.

Oh Halal Istanbul!

If you click on the image below you can download a zip file of some photos from our trip. Just a selection really. Please don't put any online, on facebook or whatever... I don't want people to have seen them before the article comes out. Safe. Yes, I know there are some stupid photographer errors on a couple of these. Guilty. Let me know what you think though.

McConnell. Epic.

Wrote this for an email to my parents. Day 1 of the 5 day excursion. I don't know how I ended up writing so much...

Wait by the car and we'll go, we'll go!
But Oh Valencia, With your blood still warm on the ground, Valencia,
And I swear to the stars, I'll burn this whole city down. – O’Valencia by The Decemberists

Planes, Trains and Automobiles – Day 1

Nick and Ze’s adventure started at 9 o’clock when we left rainy (obviously) Derby for Ze’s parents’ house somewhere in London. Got there, refuelled on multibean soup, stowed the car in the car hole (commonly referred to as garage) and left carrying backpacks and bike boxes to the bus stop. One rammo bus ride later and we were at a London train station, don’t ask me which one, I didn’t know. Luckily Ze had a handle on the whole route planning game and we soon arrived at Gatwick.

One important thing to note is that only one of the terminals has a Burger King – the one we were not flying from. To say I was distraught would be an understatement, I filled my Burger Kingless sorrow with a Boots meal deal. Rob had gone straight to the airport from his half day at work and the three of us checked in along with a 12 strong hen party also headed for Valencia, we headed through to the airside part of Gatwick. Robin and Perry were still MIA as the end of Check-In time drew closer, a phone call found that they were en route and had an ETA of ‘We should just make it… We think’.

They did make it, but needn’t have bothered with the rush as the Easyjet screen added a two hour delay to our flight departure shortly after we met up. Obligatory complaining ensued and we went off in search of more food that wasn’t Burger King.

An announcement came on directing passengers of our flight to the Easyjet information desk, we were led without explanation down to the arrivals lounge. Our previously checked-in luggage was curiously awaiting us when it should have been expectantly awaiting us on the plane.

I was surprised how calmly our group reacted to the piece of news that was delivered to us by a rather ‘rugged’ looking/acting female Easyjet employee. I believe she got her job for just these qualities as they set her in good stead for the reactions of the majority of passengers upon hearing that the flight was cancelled. To be fair, some of the passengers had legitimate reason to be angry or upset, some were flying to see family members or had important events to attend, and to be fair to Easyjet it wasn’t their fault at all. France air traffic control weren’t playing ball and were only allowing a limited number of flights to pass over their cheese infested country.

I put our calm handling of the situation down to being a bmxer living in the UK, we are constantly let down by the weather and spots being destroyed so a little inconvenience such as our flight not happening was almost to be expected. We found that Easyjet would either refund the flight or we could swap for another flight. Ze queued whilst we all studied the map of Europe displaying airports Sleazyjet flew to. The criteria wasn’t too much to ask; good weather, potential stuff to ride and cheap beer. This pretty much ruled out anything but southern destinations, most of which appeared to be island holiday resorts which would have been ideal if we all had shaved heads, wife beaters and a combined IQ of around 52.

All Spanish flights were understandably snatched up pretty quick by other flyers leaving us with flights the next morning to Sharm El Sheikh (Egypt), Marrakech (Morocco) and Istanbul (Turkey). If Ze had been playing cards at this time he would’ve lost, horribly. A poker face he did not have. You could see how excited he was that we wouldn’t be going to Spain (its no secret that Ze feels that we’ve been to Spain a lot and that we should go somewhere else) and instead had the choice of three more exotic, culturally different cities.

Coincidentally there was a Marrakech trip article in the newest Ride magazine that Perry had a copy of, we flicked through the photos but Robin was unconvinced having been there on holiday before. “It’s a cool place, loads going on, but really we’d just be riding up mud roads – not fun”. Ze was doing a fine sales pitch on Sharm El Sheikh, which was promptly renamed to Camel Shake for the rest of us that couldn’t pronounce it. It was sounding promising until we heard from an Egyptian lady in the queue, that the police and security there would not take kindly to us riding on their buildings. My preconceptions of Egyptian security (based on no facts whatsoever) figured losing a hand for doing a wallride on a Sphinx would not be a fair exchange, I was put off as were the other 3 for whatever reason.

This left Istanbul (not Constantinople) as the only alternative to sullenly going back to a wet Derby for 4 days. We used the ever increasingly useful i-phone to check the weather forecast for Istanbul. It didn’t look ideal, warm enough but threatened showers on and off over the next 4 days, we rolled the metaphorical dice and changed our flight destination to Turkey (a place which joined the ever lengthening list of countries that eluded my GCSE A grade geography qualification).

Easyjet stumped up for a hotel where we could stay until the flight early next morning, they did not stump up for cost of the bus ride to the hotel. Our group stuck out like a sore thumb in the very nice hotel, 5 ratty bmxers in the lobby with bike boxes complaining at the 5 pound pint prices were probably not their usual clientele. Dinner was rustled up for Easyjet customers, afterwards Ze did his best Aladdin impression and liberated some bread rolls for our breakfast. We booked Istanbul’s ‘No.1 hostel’ via the hotel’s internet and Perry got a round in, nice one! I hadn’t packed a towel for the trip so thought it only polite to permanently borrow a medium hand towel rather than a large bath towel. I had actually not seen the larger sized towels and mine left me with a fetching gap to flash a bit of leg or other body parts. Damn.

An uncomfortable sleep was interrupted by the early morning alarm signalling 15 minutes until the bus to the airport would arrive. Naturally we stayed in bed for a further 10 minutes and got to the bus stop as the bus pulled up. By now we had very little UK currency left and at 3 pounds a bus ticket we fell far short. We got a little haggling practice in and bargained 5 pounds for the lot us to the airport.

Yo! The time has come for my little bike to make way for the big bike. Basically I want a bigger DH frame and the only way I can raise the cashish is to sell my BMX. So, anyone want to buy it / bits of it? Or, anyone know how much I should be selling it for?

I'd like to see about £500 for it I guess.. Does that sound about right?

dang dang goes high and fast! 3.5 inch your fault

This is pretty damn good. Stricker clip, BF clips, and John Heaton somehow avoiding epic death.