It was one of those nights…

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike RidingLeave a comment

… when you turn out the lights at which point song lyrics and riding reality diverge. While AC/DC rock on with “while everything comes into view”, my personal world was essentially pitch black and silent. Except for the horrible sound of tyres sliding on wet roots and some associated whimpering.

This was a day which had started badly, then spiralled ever downwards leaving me desperate to crush the unenlightened in a pedal revolution. But it is hard to unwind your mind and plot vindictive revenge when the first obstacle acts as an organic off switch.

The trails were in that transitional state between grippy and slippy, while the trees were still resolutely bone breaking hard. I caressed the first with a shoulder before juddering to a desperate stop. Some cable fiddling later convinced me my darkened days were behind me – which as a belief system lasted about as long as a wine gum.

When the lights died again, so nearly did I – this time bouncing off a tree which at least had the beneficial effect of slowing my progress to a somewhat larger drop to my left. When the going gets tough, the terminally cheesed off go home and that was my strategy, until Martin generously halved his own lumen count by insisting I took temporary ownership of his helmet light.

Funky little Exposure Joystick thing with a buddy attached. The dead weight on the bars was at least twice as bright but since it wasn’t working, I wasn’t complaining. Well not more than usual anyway. Martin’s reward for his selfless sacrifice was a flat tyre which split the pack, and led to some comedy communication failures due entirely to only one person actually having a phone about their person.*

My enlightened status was dependant on a tiny battery Martin admitted he’d never tested to destruction. So most of my riding was spent with a well focussed torch on my head and absolutely no idea what was going on left or right of that. Or whether it was about to get permanently dark again.

Which puts the whole Lumen Arms Race into perspective. Most of us started riding with 2/3rds of bugger all fading to yellow after less than an hour, after which we navigated by memory and bruising. So while Tail End Charlie was the only option, if I didn’t want to be thrown into a megawatt shadow, there was a certain nostalgic rush riding at the limit of an ickle light. Slower it may have been, but less fun?

I’m not sure that’s right because one much loved section of singletrack felt so different with sufficient illumination to enjoy it, but not enough to turn it into daylight. And taking it easy was absolutely the right approach since my entire evening seemed to suggest a better way to spend my time would be programming A&E on speed-dial.

Really it was if I couldn’t quite decide where to crash; “ooooh nearly, no let’s go a bit further, no that doesn’t count you’re still on the bike, hang on slamming testicles is merely a coping technique, sorry you’ll need to try harder“. I was trying pretty hard discovering helmet lights are ace for showing you where you’re pointing, but not entirely stable on a head wobbling about on wibbly trails.

The final descent probably had my name on it, so – if proof were needed that God Loves me sometimes – when my chain snapped in a way suggesting it only had a future for harvesting powerlinks, I gave up and dug out my pumping skills** to roadie it home. Martin punctured again, which if karma means anything would suggest I’d have been medi-vac’d off that hill with a spatula had my mechanical not saved me.

I’ve bought one of those Exposure jobbies mostly for being able to find my way round the Forest in darkness, but also because some old school/anti nightsun riding may call. Look at it this way; shitty, cold winter night, force yourself out, might as well throw in some naked terror because misery works better in threes.

Ask me how I know.

* That’d be the one doing the texting. I’m sure Alexander Graham Bell felt the same way before he’d shed’d the second unit.

** The bike ones I learned from Tony Doyle, the dogging area is on the other side of the Malverns. So I’ve been told.

Three things..

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, PhotographyLeave a comment

ST4 - New Linkage

… I lost after coming back from the Pyrenees. Firstly my motivation to ride, secondly the feeling in one of my toes and finally the ST4. Let’s take those in turn shall we?

Local trails didn’t really cut it for a couple of weeks when compared to being high up in the mountains. I trudged round, not enjoying any extra alpine fitness, not really enjoying being back on the hardtail, so spending the entire ride looking for my mojo, or a new place to crash.

A day walking in SPD’s reduced a previously frost-nipped toe to not-terribly-amusingly wooliness making walking a bit of a chore. It’s mostly back to life now, which is comforting considering I’ve been eyeing up a sharp knife in a Randolph Fiennes “Hack Your Own Extremities off” kind of way.

The ST4 tho was more than a little broken. Frankly it’s been a proper Marmite bike from the start; firstly the BB shells needed cleaning out, then I had no end of issues with chainsuck which may have been causal to the shock failing and taking the pivot bearings with it. Like a high maintenance girlfriend, it was awesome when it was good, but God could it piss you off during the many and varied drama queen moments.

And while it was obvious that all was not well with the bike while hauling aged carcass up proper mountains, the full horror wasn’t revealed until I removed the cranks and the bottom bracket kind of fell out at the same time. The threads, responsible for preventing such an event, were now wispy shadows of their former selves.

I was understandably upset. 750 miles, 9 months and the frame was both knackered internally and seriously cosmetically scared on the outside. Disregarding the warranty protocol involving form filling and original dealers, I rang Orange, spoke to their main man in Warranty and whined. At length.

He stopped me by offering a new 2011 frame, entirely re-designed and available in a couple of weeks after the Eurobike launch. I shut up then other than to say thanks. True to their word, Orange have painted one in my preferred colour*, recycled the shock and headset off the previous frame remains before shipping it back today.

All within three weeks, and all without a hint of trying to pull a fast one or looking for some plausible deniability.

So there we are. In fact there ^^^ it is. And once I’d spoken to Orange, suddenly riding became an official fun thing to do again. Come Sunday with a following wind, and a firm hand on the spanners, mark 2 ST4 shall be committed to the Malvern trails of lumps and bumpiness. Hopefully this time without the histrionics.

After all, that’s my job.

* and I’m shallowly happy that there will be no other Red frame only deals until 2011.

Beer or Bike?

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike RidingLeave a comment

Not so much a quandary, more of a life decision. Many times I’ve moodily watched expensive vegetation being drowned or whooshed horizon-wards by tornado winds thinking “I’m good at excuses, this would seem an ideal time to make one”, before bearing down on the sofa waypointing at beer fridge and crisp cupboard. The consequences of such an easy choice are bigger trousers, unreconstructed feelings of guilt and entirely missing the point.

Before moving here, riding rarely ended without beer. Some started that way as well although inevitably finished in a heap of limbs making giggling noises half way up a tree. Only when the shock of failing to recognise your riding buddies in civvies after two years of sharing trails, do you realise how much things have changed. All the good bits are still there; like minded people, gentle piss taking, hidden competitiveness, schadenfreude, pain, suffering, lucky escapes, joy, pain and scars. But post ride is a quick go on the hose pipe* and away to general duties.

This week we invited the Forest crowd over to sample some proper hills not bounded by bar spinning trees. This was – for most of them – a first experience of the geological oddity that are the Malvern Hills. Powered by volcanic activity, they rise from a flat alluvial plane with unrelenting steepness to multiple jaggety peaks. We set off up the North end which is busier, rockier, higher and criss-crossed with plunging trails and bastard climbs.

First up we had hoards of riders to escape giving the poor FoD crew an experience similar to dropping Robinson Crusoe into Central London. To spare them from having to explain where all those extra fingers came from, we dropped into the shadow of the Worcester Beacon and kept it right side and looming on the approach to the last proper Malvern Peak. North Hill brackets the end of the ridge, and offers many secret delights down into the town itself.

First tho a stiff pull*** skywards before a cheeky cut back on moist grass enlivened with tyre stopping rock. Everyone got down but not without some wide eyed stares. The perception seemed to be that the ride would mostly be on soft grass with a few rocks thrown in. This end of the hills is exactly like that only entirely the other way round. Crash in the forest and you’ll be picking teeth out of ancient oak roots, lunch it here on something steep and they’ll be using those teeth for identification.

We skirted the worst of the grassy climbs before summitting high on the ridge end, stopping only to enjoy the popping sound of cooling singlespeeder knees. Yes, Adam was back on a bike lacking 26 out of 27 important mechanical parts, but the bugger did stunningly well to get up everything. Confirms my hypothesis: Alien. Good times tho playing to Al’s first rule of riding “50{45ac9c3234d371044e23e276755ef3a4dde8f1068375defba7d385ca3cd4deb2} of what’s good is where you are, the rest is who you’re with”

And where we were was topside of a rocky horror switching to mad steep dirt abbreviated by vertical granite sleeping policemen keen to make a tyre arrest. Riding it at dusk on the hardtail was reasonably involving, but my mind was distracted by the general carnage in front of me. Nobody died which seem to spur the boys on to tackle a nasty set of steps incongruously located in the middle of bloody nowhere.

I gave them a miss but liked to think earned a few man points with a brisk clearance of a much loved rock step accompanied by a silent “glad I didn’t fuck that up“. Now we’re in Malvern proper and that’s the low point of the ride. Elevation wise we’re a big hill from home, and it’s a 25 minute climb to get there. No point rushing I offered, I’ve tried that in the past and while the hill doesn’t care, you’ll end up spatchcocked over the bars making the kind of gestures un-bowled goldfish are known for.

There’s a cheaty, easy way round the Beacon to crest the final climb. It seemed a shame to share that what with a few of the boys showing such enthusiasm for the steep and unforgiving front face. Those buggers have had it over me enough time in the deep, dark woods and it’s important to restore karma. Not that I was in any way counting. Oh no.

Much nudging regarding quality of the view from the top. Not surprising since riding in the Forest is brilliant but visually merely slightly different coloured bark. No time to linger though, with a straight mile of lumpy descent unencumbered by corners but fast enough to promise breakfast through a straw should liberties be taken. Martin (proper guide and reason we didn’t spend the entire night going “er, this way not sorry that way, er anyone got a compass, or a rabbit’s foot?“) is a man who does indeed take liberties on this trail, and raced off with the Forest boys in determined pursuit.

I was sweeping at the back, and nearly had to sweep myself up after a rather vigorous if unwise pace was applied to a part of the trail where the ground drops away and tyres scrabble desperately for grip. I slowed down a bit after that which was fine as I wasn’t catching anyone anyway.

A quick loop back over the top of the wyche so we could finish fast and loose on big steppy rocks and then just big steps found us at 8:45pm having climbed 2,300 feet in a lot less than ten miles – the result was a bit of cheek blowing democracy on what we should next.

We went to the pub. Obviously. And it reminded me what a great natural high dopamine mixed with decent beer will give you. So now Al’s rules of riding runs to three, the one up there, an assertion that “riding is always better than not riding” and now “A proper ride only ends when stumbling tiredness is mixed with conversational bollocks and decent beer“. I reckon there’s a book in here somewhere.

So it’s not beer or bike. It’s beer AND bike.

I know what some of you are thinking. And I know how old you are. You should be ashamed of yourself. Really. Next thing you’ll tell me farting is still funny**

** Okay I accept that.

*** There you go again. Not role models for your children really.

“Hit the brakes and he’ll fly right by”

On By AlexIn Other stuff1 Comment

Another cracker from the “80s film random quote generator” much loved by the hedgehog. Until inconveniently corrected by authoritative references, I used to couple it with “Your ass is grass and I’m a lawnmower”, but that is from an entirely different movie. And someone deep in my withery cortex lies the title, the retrieval of which shall make for a happy day sometime in the future.

I’m sure there is a cheating short cut to the answer, and while that would be entirely wrong for something ready to be winkled from analogue memory, it would – had it been available – have been invaluable during, or for preference just before, a crashette on my morning commute.

Car not bike. Five ton tractor ballasted by four mighty hay bales, not a clear road. Narrowing bridge barriered by armco, not forgiving ditch. Too much speed, not enough time. Too fast for the road, too slow when you’re late.

It was a moment of perfect irony as idle wonderment at the almost total lack of traffic on this unlined, twisty backroad morphed into wide eyed terror as my world was filled with high tyred immovable tonnage and not much else. No way I was stopping in time – unless your definition of “in time” includes frontal impacts and mighty airbag action.

A small slither of blacktop looked too narrow an option for the mini-truck to squeeze through, but it was the only option presenting itself before Insurance and Hospitals became involved.

“Hit the brakes and he’ll fly right by” came unbidden to a mind with far more pressing issues to deal with including steering into the tiniest of gaps, bracing for impact and offering a small prayer to the God of Collisions*.

I nearly made it too, missed the tractor wheel by the width of a badger’s todger at the expense of carressing the barrier with the front wheel arch. Inch either side and I was deep in the cacky.**

I had – conveniently – shuddered to a noisy halt at the window of the impossibly sanguine farmer who offered me this from on high “You might want to take it a bit easy lad, third one I has this year and we had to remove the last daft bugger with a fork lift“. He was joking. Probably.

It occurred to me some fifteen shaken miles later that it wasn’t just speed that nearly lunched the X-Trail, more than that this is the route I’ve commuted on about fifty times which is sometimes enlivened playing chicken with wheeled agricultural machinery. Because there is always room for a bike, and if there really isn’t a ditch works almost as well.

So some important consumer advice here; “Cars are wider than bikes“. I expect the armco scrapings will probably polish out, but nothing short of H2S04 steamed through an industrial pressure washer will do the same for my pants.

Proper bottom clenching it was. More on this theme when I’m left alone long enough to tell great lies through the medium of photography and self serving text documenting our mountain trip.

And in case you’re still struggling to identify the film “Screw this up and you’ll be flying rubber dogshit out of Hong Kong“. I find such missives comforting at times like this.

* “C’mon cut me some slack here. You KNOW how many times I’ve rammed trees on a mountain bike. I’m bloody well in credit”

** We’ve all been there lads. Easy mistake to make in the dark.

Can I ride my bike tomorrow?

On By AlexIn Bikes, Other stuff3 Comments

Not me. These rather nattily animated cartoons. Brilliant. And clever too, all done through text to speech which is a shed load harder that it sounds.

Only slightly less amusing was the extremely young Doctor apparently looking up my symptoms on Google this morning. Honestly, get the old fella and you’ll be up to you earlobes in leeches but be nicely ignored by the Young ‘uns and it’s two clicks away from terminal cancer. I wasn’t sure whether to be aghast or hysterical when she openly admitted not being able to pronounce the name of a drug she was on the point of subscribing.

This all for a swollen finger that has has the lumpy misshapenness normally associated with a hammer blow. I’d ignore it as long as I could but once my gloves didn’t fit felt it was time to get the might of the medical profession involved. Not sure I should have bothered now.

Anyone know a good source of leeches? Or should I just hack the bloody thing off?

Lessons.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography2 Comments

Learned a few. Probably not enough. Best get back there then.

After ten years of perceived progression – be that in bike technology, fitness, riding ability*, people and places – it appears this is nothing but barely adequate preparation for proper Mountain Biking. Capital Letters Fully Deserved.

There will be more of course; more pictures, more stories, many more words, some lies, some things left untold but until my world has settled a little this will have to do.

First damage report; apart from an arse that feels it may have spent a number of long nights in prison, a twitchy abductor muscle, pock-marked knees, skinned ankles and the odd bit of random missing skin, all is good. I’m properly shagged in many varied and interesting ways except for the one pertaining to my bum cheeks. Pretty sure that was the saddle, but honestly it’s all a bit of a blur.

Bike? That’s properly broken. It’s always been a bit fragile, and exposure to high peaks has finished it off. It survived long enough to limp me home but now it’s off to the great Warranty Repair Centre in the sky and shall – hopefully – be replaced with a slightly less high maintenance example. Still lasted nearly eight months, which in terms of “Al Ownership” is a bloody lifetime.

So physically mostly fine, mentally fairly confused. Found out all sorts of things about how far into dark places you can reach when their are no crowd pleasing choices left. Discovered some traits previously hidden under a veneer of civility; some good, some less so. Realised how important your friends are, and how much richer shared experiences are than anything in your head.

It’s not some kind of spiritual surf-shit I’m pedalling here. It is how you feel when layers of stuff you thought might be important are stripped away. We got away with more than we really should have – mountains are harsh and brutal environments that will test and inspire, switchback despair and joy, first caress then bully, but after all that leave you with a sense of peace that only truly high places can truly deliver.

We never got close to finishing what we started. But that’s fine, because I’ll be going back.

* Coming from a low base obviously.

Emergency Bladder Replacement

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding1 Comment

That’s not a phrase you’ll want to utter as you finally finish the packing task started a number of days ago. But all my careful planning, spreadsheeted lists and epic dithering were brought low by a leaking end to my much loved hose.

Thankfully it was just the Camelbak suffering a last minute dose of incontinence. I dunno tho, it’s suspicious timing and I cannot help thinking that maybe the entire pack is currently shitting itself. Certainly the humper is caught between being really quite excited and not entirely unterrified.

The bike bag weighs 20ks and the Camelbak 8. This is almost a complete turnaround from where we came in, but now I’m fingernail bitingly concerned I may have stripped back the pack a bit too far. At one point I clearly remember wondering “is one arm warmer nearly as useful as two?”

Too late now, everything is in the car ready for a 3:30am start tomorrow. Except me who shall be spending between now and then wide awake worrying that the dog may have eaten my passport/the bloke on plane maintenance has left his thermos is a vital engine bay and the nagging feeling that I’ve forgotten something really important isn’t just pre-game nerves – I really bloody have. Honestly sorting my kit out has burned more hours that I’ll every spend riding with it.

Today – for example – I nearly bought a nice new camera for the trip – agonising for 30 minutes while Carol didn’t buy a fridge before weepingly handing it back under the eye of the fiscal oracle. Quite right too, because that time could have been better spent not forgetting to pack a head torch. There’s even some space left in the bag which had me muttering darkly until I realised it was, if course, reserved for 70 degree proof race fuel.

I’ve rambled enough. Some* would say too much. Unless I find that 4am and navigating to Brum airport is beyond my tired and elderly little brain, I shall be back with stories of heroism, and photographic lies to back those stories up middle of next week. Until then I shall be entirely unplugged from the world which sounds rather brilliant, except can someone please text me the cricket score every few hours 😉

* okay all

What’s in the bag?

On By PhotoIn Bikes, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography1 Comment

Everything really, and then again not much. Plan A was to have all this packed up and finished by lunchtime so I could spend pre-abandonment time with my family. Plan B was quickly enacted once Plan A had gone the way of losing the entire morning to work. And yes, I was booked on holiday although the only person this seemed to make a difference to was me.

Plan C stumbled closely behind Plan B once some ludicrously simple maintenance somehow ended with an attempt to un-cast the fork lockout. A quick trip the Nic @ the bike shop proved once again I am a spannering numpy, and the fix wasn’t in fact to place it carefully in the vice to make it easier to beat vigorously with a sledgehammer.

Ruthless selection of a biking only holiday wardrobe has kept the pack weight below 9kg and that’s including h20 at half of that. Okay I’ll smell a bit (more) and my evening pulling wardrobe of lycra and leg warmers is possibly a target for parody, but at least I shall not ‘go turtle’ each time an attempt is made to heft the pack skywards.

Somehow a trip to the camping shop for a£2 item ended in the purchase of a superbly technical garment that can – according to the marketing blurb here – act as a base layer, or a mid layer, or a “showerproof”* outer – in fact I wouldn’t be surprised to see it dispensing wine and fish once we reach the top of the mountain. Downside it wasn’t cheap. Still you can never have too much shit can you? Certainly seems to work for the kids.

The bike is now in the bag. Every time I face this much hated task I pretend that THIS TIME I will take my time, pursue a logical approach, create a safe cocoon for expensive parts by cunning use of pipe lagging and a small sample of sticky tape. And, in line with previous attempts, the bag looks like a botched kidnapping or an explosion in a masking tape factory. It’s all pointless anyway as the baggage handlers seem to take great pleasure in skimming the bag across the tarmac having launched it from their little truck.

I have not the strength to start on the Camelbak. There’ll be lots of time for that tomorrow because with a 3:30am start come Friday, not a huge amount of point going to bed.

* Beware that word. Someone stole the “for about 2 seconds” from the end of it.

Not just me then..

On By AlexIn Bikes, Mountain Bike RidingLeave a comment

Fresh in on the wibbly bush telegraph from our guide and host Si:

“I just did a test run with the pack at about 14kg to Tor de Baterre, that’s our first stop for lunch about a 800m climb did it in 2hrs 18mins including stopping for 2 punctures and quite a few breathers!

The descent was fucking interesting, having a heavy pack really affected balance and braking ability, I completely lunched it twice, but no permanent damage, apart from my rear cage now puts the chain over into the spokes – nice!”

Well that’s really selling it Si!

This, ladies and gentlemen, is less than half of the climbing for the first day. It’ll be a bloody miracle if there are any survivors by Day 3, and their chances of making it back alive will be severely reduced by having various body parts of their riding pals strapped to an already overweight pack.

Radical re-packing plan to be implemented. I’m going to sneak all my heavy stuff into someone else’s larger rucksack, leaving me to carry only my hip flash and mobile triage unit.

Probably be alright. Possibly. Maybe I’ll not start any long books eh?