Sometimes the season ratchet cranks slowly. Not the meteorological season, no the solemn switcheroo of bikes in the shed. Needy multi pivoted, bearing heavy engineering marvels are sadly backgrounded by multiple mudguards seeking a willing host.
I have two of those for reasons probably best filed under “let us never speak of this again“. The senior bike and big dog is the steely eyelet’d BfE campaigning it’s fourth winter season.* Not much has changed other than some fork jigapokery and Matt beating the dropper post back into an operating mode not requiring a hammer to make the magic happen.
Late October, there’s normally some hand scale judgement bike selection. “Yeah rained a bit, but ground was pretty dry, reckon I can risk a pivot” or “if we’re riding that trail, sod the collapsed bearings, I’m going to need all the skill compensation I can get“. Not this year, world’s gone to shit, and the weather vectored hard in that direction. It started raining so much I’ve had the Noah movie on hard repeat, and it’s not stopped since.
It’s filthy out there. Going out is hard enough, going sideways is mandatory. I’ve blathered on for years regarding the questionable mental state of my fellow riders who relish Hardtail season in very much the same way that Druids lustily lick Stonehenge. They look kind of normal*** but no person within a moonshot of reality can enjoy this level of filth. Embrace it sure, if you must. Enjoy it… they walk amongst us. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.
Under stiff cross examination, I would grudgingly admit it’s not all terrible. More so early season when the ground hasn’t completely given up on solidity, while temperatures are on the right side of freezing. Pick your fights, choose your trails and fun times can emerge from the filth. But all day death marches on energy sapping wheel slipping misery? Nah you can keep that.
Displacement activity is a better option. Forestry harvesting transformed a much loved trail – from sinewy singletrack barely scratched out from pine-y dirt to a stumpy apocalypse with the original lines buried deeply under anything discarded as non profitable. Eight of us equipped with one rusty trail saw and a few sticks spent a happy two hours clearing the brash to create something both familiar and new.
Excellent community effort and it rides great. But there’s plenty more trail maintenance backed up by winter wetness. Digging out the main climb falls to Matt, H and I, so I expect a visit to the chiropractor will be a priority calendar entry early in 2026. Sometimes tho you just need to kick winging to the curb and ride whatever the conditions, because we’re not in California anymore Dorothy.
So I pulled the spare**** hardtail off the wall to pit those summer hard XC tyres against the softness of hardtail season. Not ridden this bike since my collarbone made nice with both ends speaking to each other again – so abandoning it as a dusty relic in the shed. A single ride this week and that dust is gone, now a filth pig as was I returning shaken and somewhat stirred by ninety minutes of heading in random directions not obviously commanded by the meatbag desperately sawing at the bars.
Reverting back to the designated winter hardtail, a local ride demonstrated how well the trails hold up at this time of year. Until they don’t. Roll forward five minutes from that photo to geolocate yourself at not one but two “how I am not reviewing recent kinetic events from the shrubbery” incidents.
The first manifested itself after a small gap jump landing into a massive braking rut. So violent was the experience I found myself pinged out into grip-less slop before a desperate bar wrench deposited me back into a line of dirt based cobbles apparently designed to apply breaking strain to that recently healed collarbone.
Two minutes later, and barely ten beats down on the HRM, Kai – the rider in front of me – made a brave decision to leave his bike so as to perform an impromptu analysis of the local sub soil. Obviously I laughed and pointed. Just as obviously a hundred yards down the trail, I entered a root infested bomb hole mostly sideways and failed to exit. Took a while to get out. Wasn’t sure we weren’t going to need to hire a crane.
Still keep sending him up and all that. Matt and I picked great trails last weekend. Other than the last one, but by this time we’d earned our “mud legs” so happily slithered about in a parody of forward motion. The previous two hours however had reestablished my cautious approach to questionable grip and rain polished roots.
No crashes tho, a few enduro tripods and some spiking of heart rate once passenger mode was engaged. At some point that day, the solstice wandered up and pointed towards spring. It can’t come soon enough for me.
But no point wishing your life away. Still got at least two more months of hardtail season. Every time I wonder if I can be arsed, the turbo trainer gives me the side eye. And I am so done with that.
Right then, where did I leave those waterproofs?
* so flying in the face of baseless rumours insinuating my strategic** approach to bike rotation is now so far advanced, it’s basically quantum.
**Full transparency suggests other opinions are available when soberly analysing my bike collection.
*** “kind of” is doing some heavy lifting here.
****We will get to the “beige adventurer” soon. I’d like to say I’ve been busy, but honestly I’ve just been lazy 😉