I use the pimple gloves that are made for horse riders if it's cold and wet
.
I've also found I can slide a soft handle bar grip down over the twister. Once on I cut it to the correct length. The added diameter and rougher surface help to give me a better grip. Once it gets worn very smooth so my grip suffers, I can cut it off and replace it.

...and just for you, Anto, may all roads lead downhill.

I've attended the York Cycle Rally many times. It's a great event where the focus is very much on cycle touring. I live nearer to Driffield than to York but I'm sad to see that the venue has moved (for whatever reason) I really like York and I always made a weekend of it, to include a visit to the Cycle Heaven emporium - they sell weird and wonderful bikes/cargo bikes that I never see anywhere else.

The Driffield site MIGHT provide a better location for the ride outs. The roads around the show site should be quieter than those at the York site plus the town centre is just a few minutes away.

Shame it had to move but I will still attend. Looks like there's still plenty to do and the sun usually shines. Good luck to the event and many thanks to all the people (volunteers) who organise it.

Can't wait !!

Even Electric Thorns ?

What, or where, or who with, is your moment of nostalgia, now that I've set you off?

Good question, Andre, one that prompted some fond reflections.  These cover a 15-year span, from 2010 to early November 2025, and range geographically from the Gaspé Peninsula in Québec to the Ottawa River just a few minutes ride from home; and there's a final anecdote from Remagen on the Rhine, from the years in between:

A few photos:

#1 below is taken at Forillon National Park on the south shore of the Gaspé in Aug 2010, at 04h17.  (The tip of the Gaspé is a looong way east, poking into what would otherwise be the Atlantic time zone.)  You've seen this, I know, but other readers may have not.

The sheer beauty of the sky accounts for my fond memory.

Jumping forward 15 years, here are two photos from our neighbourhood, taken on the afternoon of Nov 4 this year:

#2 is a weeping willow on the south shore of the Ottawa, a km or so from downtown.  There's a very brisk westerly blowing -- a nice tailwind for me and Freddie, my Mercury.

#3 is the sunset an hour-plus later, on the homeward leg of a 90-minute ride across the river and into the hills.  This is taken from a little overlook on our neighbourhood beach, about 6-7 minutes' ride from home.

These latter two qualify as "nostalgic", 'cos I had just returned home from a 6-month checkup on my left eye, following my surgery in April, and I'd received an "all OK".  And, this turned out to be my last ride of 2025:  a few days later, the weather closed in -- snow and cold.  We've had a lot of both since, plus freezing rain, wild swings of temperatures (from -25 to +10), etc.

Some people do ride bikes in such conditions, but I'm not one of them. After half a century-plus on motorcycles, and coming off only once (at slow speed on a gravel road in the summer of 1967, dodging a kid on his bike), I'm obsessive about traction.  (Same goes for 4-wheels: I have a 60-year no-claims bonus on my car insurance, so I don't drive on icy roads.)

And one other memory, for which I don't have a specific photo.  This one also involves a big river:  In Sept 2012, I was cycling from Amsterdam to Vienna via the Rhine & Danube.  At Remagen, site of a famous bridge across the Rhine, there was a plaque honouring the great Rudolf Caracciola, who won championships in the colossal M-B W125.  Of the bridge itself, only ruined pillars remain. 

This was one of a few a sobering moments on an otherwise hugely enjoyable solo journey alongside two splendid historical rivers.

There's a recent addendum that adds another layer to this memory:  A colleague in our bike-recycling organization was born into a family of German immigrants to Canada.  His dad had been conscripted into the Wehrmacht at the beginning of WW II.  Against the odds, he had survived the Eastern Front, and after the Allied invasion of Normandy, was sent to the Western Front.  (Obviously he survived that too, as otherwise my mate wouldn't have been able to tell me his story.) 

This is the story he told me:  His dad's platoon, about 30 young and hardened men in their 20s, had been camped on the eastern bank of the Rhine, just north of the bridge at Remagen.  After the US troops and armour had moved eastwards across the bridge, the platoon's sergeant noticed that the US forces, encountering no resistance, had not posted sentries on the bridge. He ordered his men to cross westwards under cover of darkness, and cause whatever havoc they could, behind the US' lines. My colleague's dad talked with his mates, and said, "This bugger's nuts. We survived the Eastern Front, and there's no way we're going to die doing something stupid now.  We go across the river before dawn, and surrender."

That's what they did: They slipped across silently in the hour before dawn, and surrounded a small encampment of US personnel.  As dawn came, they called out, "You are surrounded.  We are armed German troops, and we want to surrender.  Come out with your hands up, and no-one will get hurt."

That's what happened, according to my colleague's dad.

I think it's worth a footnote, or even a separate plaque. 

Safe riding in 2026, Andre!