composite ft160116uk 1106 wkd - electric mountain bikes · 6 ★ ftweekend 16 january/17 january...

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6 FTWeekend 16 January/17 January 2016 Travel POSTCARD FROM . . . ZAMBIA O bjectively it is the merest pimple of a mountain, but for cyclists in London and south-east England, Box Hill in Surrey looms large. I had climbed it hundreds of times, so often that every subtle change in gradi- ent, every pothole, drain and blemish in the tarmac was agonisingly familiar. But this time something was very different. I was overtaking Graham, my longtime cycling partner and rival, then leaving him far behind. I was flying up the hill, having to lean the bike right over so as not to overshoot the corners. I felt like Lance Armstrong or Marco Pantani. Which is to say, I felt like a great climber but also something of a fraud. They both used performance-enhanc- ing drugs; I was benefiting from a new type of cheating, something that has become known in the professional cycling world as “mechanical doping” — the use of small but powerful electric motors, entirely concealed from view. Allegations of their use in professional cycling first emerged in 2010, when an online video featuring Italian former professional cyclist Davide Cassani became a viral sensation. It appeared to show a bike whose pedals turned on their own, and went on to suggest that the Swiss cyclist Fabian Cancellara might have used a motor to speed away from the peloton before winning that year’s Paris-Roubaix race. Most cyclists dismissed the video as a paranoid conspiracy theory. “It’s so stu- pid, I’m speechless,” said Cancellara (whose innocence was confirmed by the sports authorities). And while the rumours and insinuations about mechanical doping have continued to circulate — one television commentator during last summer’s Tour de France said Chris Froome’s bike “seemed to be pedalling itself” — many fans still treat the whole idea as a bit of a joke. When Brian Cookson, president of the sport’s governing body, revealed that it was testing bikes for hidden motors during the Tour de France, he sounded almost embarrassed: “Although this subject sometimes causes amusement and deri- sion, we know that the technology is available.” That tiny, high-tech, hidden motors could be available to amateur riders seems even more far-fetched — none of the keen cyclists I spoke to in London knew anything about them. So arriving at Box Hill, on a recent overcast morn- ing, I was dubious. The bike I had come to try is the first concealed-motor racing bike from a UK manufacturer. Built by Somerset-based Electric Mountain Bikes, it will be launched this month under the com- pany’s new brand, Goat Bikes, and will sell for £4,049. With a magnesium alloy frame, carbon fork and Shimano Ulte- gra gears, it looks just like any other mid-range racing bike. The slim, cylin- drical motor is concealed in the lower part of the seat tube (the vertical piece of the frame which runs down from sad- dle to the bottom bracket) and connects with the crank axle. While early electric bikes had heavy, cumbersome lead-acid batteries, the use of lithium means the battery can be hidden within what looks like a conven- tional water bottle. A tiny black rubber switch, on the end of the drop handle- bars, turns the power on; stop pedalling and it turns off. Tutorial over, I set off to test it, on multiple ascents of the hill. First impressions were of a very gen- tle boost (in time-honoured fashion, Graham still thrashed me to the top). But then Steve Punchard, founder of From top: Tom Robbins, right, rides the motor- assisted bike on Box Hill; the Goat bike; the motor and battery are hidden in the frame and bottle Tom Jamieson to the weight of the bike, but its han- dling remains unchanged. As I dropped Graham and accelerated up the hill, my mind began racing with the implications of the modest-looking machine beneath me. Ageing riders will be able to keep going later in life; cycle holidays touring the great Alpine passes will no longer be restricted to the super- fit; couples of differing abilities will be able to ride together. Nervous novices will be able to join club rides without fear of holding others back, and on bikes that look like any other and don’t mark them out as rookies. “It is democratising access to the bik- ing experience,” says Norman Howe, chief executive of Butterfield & Robin- son, which already offers electric bikes on its worldwide bike tours, though not yet with concealed motors. “There’s that ego-anxiety around this stuff — of not wanting to admit you need the help — but the more discreet the systems get, the less that issue plays out.” Equally clear, as I whipped past other riders on expensive-looking bikes, is that there will be controversy. Much amateur riding and cycle travel is geared towards timed, mass-participa- tion events known as sportives or gran fondos. Officially they are just for fun, but many riders take their time and their final ranking extremely seriously, training all year to better their results. “You’d be very naive to think that peo- ple aren’t going to use them in spor- tives,” says Michael Hutchinson, a former international racer and author of Faster: The Obsession, Science and Luck Behind the World’s Fastest Cyclists. “At this point the technology isn’t that readily available, but when that changes, some- one will argue, ‘Oh, well it will help me with my training, I’ll get to work faster’. Then it becomes a much smaller step to I felt like Lance Armstrong or Marco Pantani, which is to say, a great climber but also something of a fraud The hidden helping hand Cycling | Bikes with concealed electric motors could transform cycling events and holidays over the next decade. Tom Robbins tests the first to be launched in the UK be in a sportive and think, ‘Well I’ll just use it up this bit here . . . ” In fact, though no mainstream bike manufacturer sells such bikes and the concept remains little-known in the English-speaking world, the motors and batteries, manufactured by an Austrian company called Vivax, can already be bought through numerous dealers in Germany, Austria and the Netherlands. In those countries, where cycling has tra- ditionally been a means of everyday transport as well as a sport, electric bikes are far more common. “But I think Brit- ish people still tend to regard them as just not quite cricket,” says Hutchinson. Though the invisibility of the Goat bike’s system will remove any stigma, one giveaway remains — a distinct whir- ring noise when the motor is switched on. Future versions are likely to be qui- eter, but even the current system could be used while alone on a long climb, or to catch up if dropped by the peloton. “There are always going to be some peo- ple who are keen to cut corners,” says Ian Holt, founder of specialist tour oper- ator La Fuga, which takes hundreds of cyclists to ride in European sportives each year. “People will be super-suspi- cious of each other.” As I turned the final corner on Box Hill, I checked my time. At the peak of my cycling enthusiasm, I would climb Box Hill in seven minutes. Then, two years ago, a baby arrived and my weekly training mileage abruptly dropped from 200 to precisely zero. But here I was, arriving at the hilltop café with a new personal best of just over six minutes. In a world where many amateurs are happy to spend fortunes on the lightest carbon wheels or most aerodynamic frame, just to shave off a few seconds, that kind of performance enhancement might prove too hard to resist. i / DETAILS For information on visiting Zambia’s Luangwa Valley, see zambiatourism.com; Expert Africa (expertafrica.com) can arrange trips to both North and South Luangwa National Parks Simon Barnes’s book about the Luanga Valley, The Sacred Combe, was published this week by Bloomsbury B y January the place is unrecognisable. It’s as shocking a change as happens to any landscape on earth: a harsh and vicious desert that becomes a soft, benign wetland. The Luangwa Valley in Zambia provides the finest game-viewing in Africa. At least, it did a few months back. Before it started raining. Before the place went berserk, before the place exploded into greenness. Right now it’s hard to see a single large mammal because all that glorious lushness gets in the way. They even lost the elephants — thousands of them. It was the accepted truth that in the wet months the elephants left the valley entirely and ascended into the Nchideni hills to amuse themselves until the dry times were back again. That turned out to be a rural myth. In the middle of the rainy season, I took a flight over the valley in a microlight and, from this unexpected angle, I could see great grey shapes moving softly through great green spaces. The elephants had been here all along: it’s just that the wet abundant vegetation hid them from observers on the ground. It’s hard to travel across the valley at this time of year. All but a few of the roads are impassable, even to the expert Land-Cruiser pilots who abound here. Walking isn’t at all easy: in many places the ground is treacherous. And not just the ground. When the vegetation is thick, you can’t see through it. That’s a problem if you want to take a nice picture of an elephant: it’s also a problem if you want to stay alive. This is the most fabulous place on earth, but it does tend to be rather full of animals that can kill you. Right now you could walk into any one of them round any corner, no matter how good your bush-skills. The most obvious change is in the river itself: in the mad, rambling, winding, untamed Luangwa. A couple of months ago it was a narrow sluggish ditch. You could have waded it without getting your knees wet. Now it’s as wide as the Thames at Westminster and fast as a millrace, eroding its own banks, creating oxbows, adopting new courses and abandoning old ones, taking up trees and playing with them before dumping them in midstream as perches for kingfishers. This river has been thrashing about like a wounded snake for uncountable millennia, lashing itself from one side of the valley to the other: bringing life as it does so. The valley doesn’t seem like a different place at this time of year. It is a different place. The colours have changed entirely: the lion-coloured land has taken on the impossibly rich greens you find on the wings of white- fronted bee-eaters. The papyrus swamps turn an especially violent green, and a dull brown bird called the red bishop changes colour to become a living flame. You can find water anywhere you look: puddles, ephemeral ponds, brooks, rivulets, along with turbulent tributaries to the Luangwa that at the other end of the year flow with nothing but sand. It’s a kind land. Most of the visitors come here when it’s cruel. When there’s no water to be found away from the Luangwa river so every large mammal must stay within easy commuting distance of it. The land either side of the banks becomes crowded, to a staggering degree. Two kinds of animals love this: human visitors and big carnivores. Lions loaf around the river, gorging on the buffaloes that come down to drink. Leopards hunt for antelope in the ebony glades at night; you can track their hunts with a spotlight. Hyenas revel in the times of plenty. In the river the crocodiles make whiplash-quick assaults on drinking animals; I once saw a crocodile taking a baby elephant, to the appalling grief of its mother. This is a frightening time: and that’s what makes the Luangwa Valley the best wildlife experience in Africa — perhaps the world. But as intense womanising sometimes leads people to specialised sexual tastes, so my own glorious visits in the dry times have given me a special affection for the rains, for the soft times when you see much less, and have much less excitement. To understand the dry you have to experience the wet. To understand the ferocity you have to understand the gentle. For after all, there really is nothing quite like a land that can lose 5,000 elephants. Simon Barnes The show: No corners have been cut in the BBC’s six-part serialisation of Leo Tolstoy’s epic. The big-budget production, on screen this month in the UK and US, has opulent costumes, authentic locations and a cast that includes Lily James, Paul Dano, Gillian Anderson, Jim Broadbent and Greta Scacchi. On location: In the novel, the action switches between St Petersburg and Moscow but, with a few notable exceptions, most filming took place in Lithuania and Latvia. The first episode opens at the St Petersburg salon of society hostess Anna Pavlovna (Gillian Anderson). These scenes were shot in the Golden Room of the Rundale Palace in Bauska, Latvia, the work of the same architect, Bartolomeo Rastrelli, who designed St Petersburg’s Winter Palace and Catherine Palace. So convincingly Russian are the palace’s interiors and façades that they appear in several scenes as the family home of the Rostovs, central to the novel’s plot. The palace and its gardens can be visited on a day trip from Latvia’s capital Riga (rundale.net/en). For the tsar’s New Year’s Eve ball — one of the most memorable set pieces — location scouts managed to go one better, securing permission to film in the Catherine Palace, which was built outside St Petersburg as a summer residence for the tsars in 1717. It’s here that Anna Rostova (Lily James) first dances with Prince Andrei Bolkonsky (James Norton) in the mirror-lined and candlelit ballroom (eng.tzar.ru). Other St Petersburg locations are the façade of the Winter Palace, now part of the Hermitage (hermitagemuseum. org) and the Yusupov Palace (yusupov-palace.ru/en), where Rasputin was killed in 1916. In Lithuania, the old town of Vilnius was shut for two days while the crew transformed the high street into 19th-century Moscow. Many of the battle scenes took place on farmland outside Vilnius, while the open-air museum at Rumsiskes, near the city of Kaunas, was the location for scenes depicting the officers’ quarters during the campaign. (llbm.lt/eng). Where to stay: The Astoria Hotel in St Petersburg (roccofortehotels.com) hosted cast members. In Latvia, Mezotnes Pils (mezotnespils.lv) is a hotel housed in a stately home that has catered to tsars and empresses and is walking distance from the Rundale Palace. Baltic Holidays (balticholidays.com) is offering a week’s tour of Lithuania and Latvia visiting some locations, from £790. Joanne O’Connor In the UK, ‘War and Peace’ continues on BBC1 until February 7. In the US, it airs on A&E, Lifetime, and the History Channel as four two-hour episodes, beginning on January 18 ON LOCATION WAR AND PEACE Electric Mountain Bikes, adjusted the motor to increase the cadence and eve- rything changed. There was a marked boost in speed but, perhaps more importantly, the power felt completely natural. It was not like sitting on a moped just watching the scenery pass (what would be the point?). You still need to pedal, your heart rate is still raised; it still feels like you are engaged in an active, physical sport. Unlike conventional electric bikes, whose large batteries can give a powerful boost for several hours, the concealed one lasts for just an hour, making it suitable for getting over the toughest summit on a ride, or helping an exhausted rider over the final few miles. The motor and battery add about 1.8kg Filming in the Catherine Palace The Luangwa Valley is the most fabulous place on earth, but it does tend to be rather full of animals that can kill you i / DETAILS The Goat Race bike costs £4,049. See electricmountain bikes.com and goatbikes.com; tel: 01458 550304 Pedal power For a video of the system in action, see ft.com/travel Matthew Cook

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6 ★ FTWeekend 16 January/17 January 2016

Travel

POSTCARD

FROM . . .

ZAMBIA

O bjectively it is the merestpimple of a mountain, butfor cyclists in London andsouth-east England, BoxHill inSurrey loomslarge. I

had climbed it hundreds of times, sooften that every subtle change in gradi-ent, every pothole, drain and blemish inthe tarmac was agonisingly familiar. Butthis timesomethingwasverydifferent. Iwas overtaking Graham, my longtimecycling partner and rival, then leavinghim far behind. I was flying up the hill,having to lean the bike right over so asnot to overshoot the corners. I felt likeLanceArmstrongorMarcoPantani.

Which is to say, I felt like a greatclimber but also something of a fraud.They both used performance-enhanc-ing drugs; I was benefiting from a newtype of cheating, something that hasbecome known in the professionalcycling world as “mechanical doping” —the use of small but powerful electricmotors,entirelyconcealedfromview.

Allegationsof theiruse inprofessionalcycling first emerged in 2010, when anonline video featuring Italian formerprofessional cyclist Davide Cassanibecame a viral sensation. It appeared toshow a bike whose pedals turned ontheir own, and went on to suggest thatthe Swiss cyclist Fabian Cancellaramight have used a motor to speed awayfrom the peloton before winning thatyear’sParis-Roubaixrace.

Most cyclists dismissed the video as aparanoid conspiracy theory. “It’s so stu-pid, I’m speechless,” said Cancellara(whose innocence was confirmed by thesports authorities). And while therumours and insinuations aboutmechanical doping have continued tocirculate — one television commentatorduring last summer’s Tour de Francesaid Chris Froome’s bike “seemed to bepedalling itself” — many fans still treatthe whole idea as a bit of a joke. WhenBrian Cookson, president of the sport’sgoverning body, revealed that it wastesting bikes for hidden motors duringthe Tour de France, he sounded almostembarrassed: “Although this subject

sometimes causes amusement and deri-sion, we know that the technology isavailable.”

That tiny, high-tech, hidden motorscould be available to amateur ridersseems even more far-fetched — none ofthe keen cyclists I spoke to in Londonknew anything about them. So arrivingat Box Hill, on a recent overcast morn-ing, Iwasdubious.

The bike I had come to try is the firstconcealed-motor racing bike from a UKmanufacturer. Built by Somerset-basedElectric Mountain Bikes, it will belaunched this month under the com-pany’s new brand, Goat Bikes, and willsell for £4,049. With a magnesium alloyframe, carbon fork and Shimano Ulte-gra gears, it looks just like any othermid-range racing bike. The slim, cylin-drical motor is concealed in the lowerpart of the seat tube (the vertical pieceof the frame which runs down from sad-dle to the bottom bracket) and connectswiththecrankaxle.

While early electric bikes had heavy,cumbersome lead-acid batteries, theuse of lithium means the battery can behidden within what looks like a conven-tional water bottle. A tiny black rubberswitch, on the end of the drop handle-bars, turns the power on; stop pedallingand it turns off. Tutorial over, I set off totest it,onmultipleascentsof thehill.

First impressions were of a very gen-tle boost (in time-honoured fashion,Graham still thrashed me to the top).But then Steve Punchard, founder of

From top: TomRobbins, right,rides the motor-assisted bike onBox Hill; the Goatbike; the motorand battery arehidden in theframe and bottleTom Jamieson

to the weight of the bike, but its han-dlingremainsunchanged.

As IdroppedGrahamandacceleratedup the hill, my mind began racing withthe implications of the modest-lookingmachine beneath me. Ageing riders willbe able to keep going later in life; cycleholidays touring the great Alpine passeswill no longer be restricted to the super-fit; couples of differing abilities will beable to ride together. Nervous noviceswill be able to join club rides withoutfearofholdingothersback,andonbikesthat look like any other and don’t markthemoutasrookies.

“It is democratising access to the bik-ing experience,” says Norman Howe,chief executive of Butterfield & Robin-son, which already offers electric bikeson its worldwide bike tours, though notyetwithconcealedmotors.“There’s thatego-anxiety around this stuff — of notwanting to admit you need the help —but the more discreet the systems get,the less that issueplaysout.”

Equally clear, as I whipped past otherriders on expensive-looking bikes, isthat there will be controversy. Muchamateur riding and cycle travel isgeared towards timed, mass-participa-tion events known as sportives or granfondos. Officially they are just for fun,but many riders take their time andtheir final ranking extremely seriously,trainingallyear tobetter theirresults.

“You’dbeverynaiveto thinkthatpeo-ple aren’t going to use them in spor-tives,” says Michael Hutchinson, aformerinternationalracerandauthorofFaster: The Obsession, Science and LuckBehind the World’s Fastest Cyclists. “At thispoint the technology isn’t that readilyavailable, but when that changes, some-one will argue, ‘Oh, well it will help mewith my training, I’ll get to work faster’.Then it becomes a much smaller step to

I felt like Lance Armstrongor Marco Pantani, which isto say, a great climber butalso something of a fraud

The hidden helping handCycling | Bikes with concealed electric motors could transform cycling events and

holidays over the next decade. Tom Robbins tests the first to be launched in the UK

be in a sportive and think, ‘Well I’ll justuse itupthisbithere . . . ”

In fact, though no mainstream bikemanufacturer sells such bikes and theconcept remains little-known in theEnglish-speaking world, the motors andbatteries, manufactured by an Austriancompany called Vivax, can already bebought through numerous dealers inGermany, Austria and the Netherlands.Inthosecountries,wherecyclinghastra-ditionally been a means of everydaytransportaswellasasport,electricbikesare far more common. “But I think Brit-ish people still tend to regard them asjustnotquitecricket,”saysHutchinson.

Though the invisibility of the Goatbike’s system will remove any stigma,one giveaway remains — a distinct whir-ring noise when the motor is switchedon. Future versions are likely to be qui-eter, but even the current system couldbe used while alone on a long climb, orto catch up if dropped by the peloton.“There are always going to be some peo-ple who are keen to cut corners,” saysIan Holt, founder of specialist tour oper-ator La Fuga, which takes hundreds ofcyclists to ride in European sportiveseach year. “People will be super-suspi-ciousofeachother.”

As I turned the final corner on BoxHill, I checked my time. At the peak ofmy cycling enthusiasm, I would climbBox Hill in seven minutes. Then, twoyears ago, a baby arrived and my weeklytraining mileage abruptly dropped from200 to precisely zero. But here I was,arriving at the hilltop café with a newpersonal best of just over six minutes. Ina world where many amateurs arehappy to spend fortunes on the lightestcarbon wheels or most aerodynamicframe, just to shave off a few seconds,that kind of performance enhancementmightprovetoohardtoresist.

i / DETAILS

For information on visiting Zambia’s LuangwaValley, see zambiatourism.com; Expert Africa(expertafrica.com) can arrange trips to bothNorth and South Luangwa National Parks

Simon Barnes’s book about the Luanga Valley,The Sacred Combe, was published this week byBloomsbury

B y January the place isunrecognisable. It’s asshocking a change ashappens to any landscapeon earth: a harsh and

vicious desert that becomes a soft,benign wetland.

The Luangwa Valley in Zambiaprovides the finest game-viewing inAfrica. At least, it did a few monthsback. Before it started raining. Beforethe place went berserk, before theplace exploded into greenness. Rightnow it’s hard to see a single largemammal because all that gloriouslushness gets in the way.

They even lost the elephants —thousands of them. It was the acceptedtruth that in the wet months theelephants left the valley entirely andascended into the Nchideni hills toamuse themselves until the dry timeswere back again. That turned out to bea rural myth. In the middle of the rainyseason, I took a flight over the valley ina microlight and, from this unexpectedangle, I could see great grey shapesmoving softly through great greenspaces. The elephants had been hereall along: it’s just that the wet abundantvegetation hid them from observerson the ground.

It’s hard to travel across the valley atthis time of year. All but a few of theroads are impassable, even to the

expert Land-Cruiserpilots who aboundhere. Walking isn’t atall easy: in many placesthe ground is treacherous.

And not just the ground. When thevegetation is thick, you can’t seethrough it. That’s a problem if youwant to take a nice picture of anelephant: it’s also a problem if you wantto stay alive. This is the most fabulousplace on earth, but it does tend to berather full of animals that can kill you.Right now you could walk into any oneof them round any corner, no matterhow good your bush-skills.

The most obvious change is in theriver itself: in the mad, rambling,

winding, untamed Luangwa. A coupleof months ago it was a narrow sluggishditch. You could have waded it withoutgetting your knees wet.

Now it’s as wide as the Thames atWestminster and fast as a millrace,eroding its own banks, creatingoxbows, adopting new courses andabandoning old ones, taking up treesand playing with them before dumpingthem in midstream as perches forkingfishers. This river has beenthrashing about like a wounded snakefor uncountable millennia, lashingitself from one side of the valley to theother: bringing life as it does so.

The valley doesn’t seem like adifferent place at this time of year.It is a different place. The colours havechanged entirely: the lion-colouredland has taken on the impossibly richgreens you find on the wings of white-fronted bee-eaters. The papyrusswamps turn an especially violentgreen, and a dull brown bird called thered bishop changes colour to become aliving flame.

You can find water anywhere youlook: puddles, ephemeral ponds,brooks, rivulets, along with turbulenttributaries to the Luangwa that at theother end of the year flow with nothingbut sand. It’s a kind land.

Most of the visitors come here whenit’s cruel. When there’s no water to be

found away from the Luangwa river soevery large mammal must stay withineasy commuting distance of it. Theland either side of the banks becomescrowded, to a staggering degree.

Two kinds of animals love this:human visitors and big carnivores.Lions loaf around the river, gorging onthe buffaloes that come down to drink.Leopards hunt for antelope in theebony glades at night; you can tracktheir hunts with a spotlight.

Hyenas revel in the times of plenty.In the river the crocodiles makewhiplash-quick assaults on drinkinganimals; I once saw a crocodile taking ababy elephant, to the appalling grief ofits mother. This is a frightening time:and that’s what makes the LuangwaValley the best wildlife experience inAfrica — perhaps the world.

But as intense womanisingsometimes leads people to specialisedsexual tastes, so my own glorious visitsin the dry times have given me a specialaffection for the rains, for the soft timeswhen you see much less, and havemuch less excitement. To understandthe dry you have to experience the wet.To understand the ferocity you have tounderstand the gentle.

For after all, there really is nothingquite like a land that can lose 5,000elephants.

Simon Barnes

The show: Nocorners havebeen cut in theBBC’s six-partserialisation of Leo Tolstoy’s epic. Thebig-budget production, on screen thismonth in the UK and US, has opulentcostumes, authentic locations and acast that includes Lily James, PaulDano, Gillian Anderson, JimBroadbent and Greta Scacchi.

On location: In the novel, the actionswitches between St Petersburg andMoscow but, with a few notableexceptions, most filming took place inLithuania and Latvia. The firstepisode opens at the St Petersburgsalon of society hostess AnnaPavlovna (Gillian Anderson). Thesescenes were shot in the Golden Roomof the Rundale Palace in Bauska,Latvia, the work of the same architect,Bartolomeo Rastrelli, who designedSt Petersburg’s Winter Palace andCatherine Palace. So convincinglyRussian are the palace’s interiors andfaçades that they appear in severalscenes as the family home of theRostovs, central to the novel’s plot.The palace and its gardens can bevisited on a day trip from Latvia’scapital Riga (rundale.net/en).

For the tsar’s New Year’s Eve ball —one of the most memorable set pieces— location scouts managed to go onebetter, securing permission to film inthe Catherine Palace, which was builtoutside St Petersburg as a summerresidence for the tsars in 1717. It’s herethat Anna Rostova (Lily James) firstdances with Prince Andrei Bolkonsky(James Norton) in the mirror-linedand candlelit ballroom (eng.tzar.ru).Other St Petersburg locations are the

façade of the Winter Palace, now partof the Hermitage (hermitagemuseum.org) and the Yusupov Palace(yusupov-palace.ru/en), whereRasputin was killed in 1916.

In Lithuania, the old town of Vilniuswas shut for two days while the crewtransformed the high street into19th-century Moscow. Many of thebattle scenes took place on farmlandoutside Vilnius, while the open-airmuseum at Rumsiskes, near the cityof Kaunas, was the location for scenesdepicting the officers’ quarters duringthe campaign. (llbm.lt/eng).

Where to stay: The Astoria Hotel inSt Petersburg (roccofortehotels.com)hosted cast members. In Latvia,Mezotnes Pils (mezotnespils.lv) is ahotel housed in a stately home thathas catered to tsars and empressesand is walking distance from theRundale Palace. Baltic Holidays(balticholidays.com) is offering aweek’s tour of Lithuania and Latviavisiting some locations, from £790.

Joanne O’Connor

In the UK, ‘War and Peace’ continueson BBC1 until February 7. In the US,it airs on A&E, Lifetime, and theHistory Channel as four two-hourepisodes, beginning on January 18

ON LOCATION

WAR AND PEACE

Electric Mountain Bikes, adjusted themotor to increase the cadence and eve-rythingchanged.

There was a marked boost in speedbut, perhaps more importantly, thepowerfeltcompletelynatural. Itwasnotlike sitting on a moped just watching thescenery pass (what would be thepoint?). You still need to pedal, yourheart rate is still raised; it still feels likeyou are engaged in an active, physicalsport. Unlike conventional electricbikes, whose large batteries can give apowerful boost for several hours, theconcealed one lasts for just an hour,making it suitable for getting over thetoughest summitonaride,orhelpinganexhausted rider over the final few miles.The motor and battery add about 1.8kg

Filming in the Catherine Palace

The Luangwa Valley

is the most fabulous place

on earth, but it does tend

to be rather full of animals

that can kill you

i / DETAILS

The Goat Race bikecosts £4,049. Seeelectricmountainbikes.com andgoatbikes.com;tel: 01458 550304

Pedal powerFor a video ofthe system inaction, seeft.com/travel

Mat

thew

Cook

JANUARY 16 2016 Section:Weekend Time: 14/1/2016 - 17:13 User: raikess Page Name: WKD6, Part,Page,Edition: WKD, 6, 1