Last day. Final trail. Fin. Relief was just one of a maelstrom of emotions crashing through my brain, before leaking out into a landscape juxtaposing an azure Mediterranean seascape against fractal sky reaching volcanic rock.

Let’s start there. La Palma should be considered less of an island and more a science experiment of shifting geography mostly on fire.  It nestles between European and African continents low on landmass but high on towering peaks. Glued to the window of the uplift van tho, it mostly presents like really shit CGI. Nothing real should look like this.

But it does and for keen Mountain Biker that offers a smorgasbord of riding opportunities easily differentiated by compass points. West and east are black landscapes clearly remodelled by the 2021 eruption of Cumbre Vieja. That volcano does not mess about, EIGHTY FIVE days of lava flow, 3000 buildings destroyed, 850 million Euro damage and relocating approximately 10% of the island population.

Still on the upside, pretty amazing place to ride 😉 North offers geology not entirely black and spiky whereas heading south has at least four different surface types on a single run from high spine to rocky coast.  With the odd bike park thrown in. It’s rather full on especially for the more mature rider with my abiding memory of the first day being “buffer overload” as my (very) nervous system attempted to triangulate a confusion of fairly pointy geography into stiff muscle movements priority configured to keep me rubber side up.

Jeez, this again Al? Overwrought hand ringing amplified by perceived danger. Haven’t we been here before? Certainly have but not for two years what with the “splatterbone incident” stuffing a slow healing fracture into my travel plans. Missed two riding trips and wasn’t sure about this one.

Slumped in the back of the van, a plethora of brilliant bikes rattling on the trailer behind, I fell back into my standard imposter refrain: “what the hell am I doing here? I don’t even want to be here. I’m definitely going to be useless, potentially miserable and probably injured“. I’m not sure how other people motivate themselves when faced with possible adversity, but this has always worked for me 😉

Or not. Spoiler alert, it was fine. More than fine. Bloody fantastic most of the time. And that’s against a backdrop of nothing being easy. The volcanic rock is fantastically grippy and terrifyingly abrasive. The gravel version is just terrifying. Hang off the back and hope for the best. The worst being a skin graft. Do not touch the front brake and really only attempt to steer if all other alternatives have been exhausted.

Hence this exchange at the bottom of a trail: “Alex, you appear to be bleeding copiously from your nose” / “Yes, well that’s because I rode through a tree” / “Why would you do that” / “The alternative was considerably worse. Do you have a dressing to hand? And maybe a restorative brandy?”

Oh but it’s all so good. Especially on one of those days when you focus only on what’s happening, not what might happen if one is at home to Mr Fuck Up. Do not associate with that man, he has no place here. Because this place is just magical.

Rodrigo – our guide – would often laconically describe the next trail as “a bit tricky” or – and it’s important to pay attention here – ‘ride the right of the rock garden, because the left side…. well just ride the right side“, Right, right it is then, fucking hell is that boulder strewn dry waterfall the right line? How bloody bad is the left? Don’t look, just ride and follow. Do not stop, do not prevaricate, do not allocate ever decreasingly brain capacity to uncertain futures. Just get in the tow and out of the way of your bike.

Steep and technical, harder to split than electrons and protons, it never got much easier but the probability machine in my brain tilted the odds as we rode deep into the week*. Top of an obstacle, deep breath in, whisper the mantra “not had a proper crash yet, do not break the streak“, Hit go, collect 200 dopamine points, do not collect spare body parts. Breathe out, repeat.

Keep landing on black. With two riders having – thankfully brief – A&E visits, red was not a colour you’d be betting the (F)arm on. Crash anywhere here and there are consequences**, mostly of the “oh where did all my skin go” kind. So don’t think like that, don’t look at what scares you, lift your gaze, raise your hips, rotate forward and tune your senses to the trail mix. Rock strikes on the bash guard, buzzing tyres hunting for grip, rotors squealing in protest and maybe an involuntary “fucking hell, what just happened?” from the rider.

Mostly good things. On and off the trail. It’s been my long held maxim that half the utter joy of riding mountain bikes are the amazing places we get to do it, while the other 50% are those other riders you do it with. Having ridden an epic trail which dropped nearly 1500m to the coastal lighthouse, we incautiously leaned bikes against the sea wall before trying to explain just how fucking brilliant the last 90 minutes had been.

Right then the van rocks up proffering beers distributed from a carrier bag. Toasting your riding crew with that look in your eye. Yeah we get it, we’re not like everyone else because they don’t do this. They don’t get to see what we see, feel what we feel, overcome whatever comes. And every one of us is desperately trying to bottle that feeling for all those grey days ahead.

Sure it’s affirmation bullshit but I’ll take it every time. The knowledge I can still do this, and – other than the first uplift – absolutely love doing this feels so damn important. Best not to dwell on what happens when I can’t.

Back to those emotions. Relief yes, but also sadness, melancholy even. Standing apart and looking out to sea I tried to make sense of  the last seven days. Was still trying when someone gave me a beer and a hug and asked if I was okay. Oh yeah, more than okay.

Where do we go next? Still alive and desperate for more.

*Except the last day. When after lunch I went for a lovely walk with my bicycle 😉

**Unless you’re Steve “Leaky” Lewis who appears to have around 900 cat lives. I have no idea how he is still alive to be honest. Bravest man I’ve ever known 😉