Hazy Summer Memories Part Deux (Evolution)

A Note before I start...
I gotta say, this isn't a definitive list, more the stuff which have been important to me, if you've been around biking for a little while, check out the links for some "Oh Yeah!" moments, if you haven't, take a look to see how things used to be.. either way let me know what you think.

I remember thinking I was a little strange when I was younger, and not for a lot of the normal reasons typically associated with teen angst (although I had my fair share of that too).  Regardless of my age, I remained obsessed with all things pedal, friends started leaving bikes in respective sheds for longer and longer and then, when cars replaced bikes as the main method for geting around many were finally shelved for good.

Not mine, instead of saving for expensive stereos and bucket seats for xr2i's I was dreaming of things like this..



The Girvin Flexi-stem... ahh.

It's worth mentioning at this point I was about 14 when this came out and that everything is relative...

When I wasn't looking through magazines for expensive add ons I was watching rather grainy biking videos in an attempt to get a biking fix.. MBUK used to give videos out with their magazine, including the rather fantastic Dirt Video.  This was great for the teenage me, when I wasn't able to get out and ride I was able to sit in my room and watch other people do it instead.

These first videos were simple things, riders hooning down fields, poking out their tongues at the camera and wearing typical early 90's oversized tshirts, the bloke behind the lense appeared to be attempting to keep everything in focus whilst being repeatedly kicked in the nuts with a heavy pair of workboots.


Then there was the racing (rare and hardly ever seen on tv) showing the early heroes, Tim Gould, Caroline Alexander, John Tomac, Missy Giove and of course, the legendary JMC The sight of a MTB race in the tv listings had me excited and glued to the tv.. Check the out the colours  1990's bike race


Fast forward to the era of the Playstation and, in my mind came the export from Australia which did something to make up for  Rolf Harris. Mud Cows  This, although still grainy, contained both substance and style.. it was still seemingly filmed by a bunch of mates there was a range of camera shots, humour and bike skills that made me watch over and over, all alongside a soundtrack that I lapped up.

Now, in a pre-ride ritual I could either watch crazy Aussies injure themselves for my amusement or fire up the PS2 and play this... No Fear Downhill Racer

 And now we hit the You Tube generation, biking has gone mainstream and big name companies are making lots of cash, sponsored riders get familiar brands into houses up and down the country through their increasingly mind blowing riding and now mates are able to make professional quality videos with a laptop and a camera costing a few hundred quid.  A favourite of mine these days is The Collective Seasons

Incredible riding, beautiful scenery and big budget camera shots are now the order of the day and some that I've seen in the last few days are dropping my jaw in the way that Mud Cows once did. Life Cycles   La Palma - Dusty Days
 
Regardless, to me the effect is the same as it was back in the early 90's to keep the desire for riding going when my bike is out of reach and long may the film makers continue.

Hazy Summer Memories

Mountain Bikes have formed part of who I am for the best part of 2 decades, bikes though, have always been there.  Growing up, I took the usual 80’s childhood route of bmx, road bike and then, finally, my first mountain bike. 

All of my bikes hold special memories, be it the bike that I learnt to ride without stabilisers, the Raleigh Striker that was so heavy I could barely lift but could somehow jump, the BMX that was retired shortly after a spectacular brake failure on a steep hill saw me ploughing headfirst into a stream, injuring me and mortally wounding the bike and then, my racer. 

I remember that bike well, it was a silver and red 10sp road bike with a plastic saddle, the first time I changed gear, I fell off, what felt like moments later, the chain fell off.. my initial impressions of gears were not promising, less than a mile from home, I was bloodied, bruised and covered in oil from fighting with a gear system I had no understanding of.  I persevered though and was soon covering countless miles at every opportunity, it was my first ‘new’ bike, others being hand-me-downs from the children of parent’s friends, as such, my dad impressed on me the importance of looking after it.  Cleaning became a task I almost feared, when I thought I had finished, I had to fetch him,  and he would come and inspect it, drill instructor style, searching for any sign of dirt that would mean having to start again, the ripples of this still remain, I can happily lose several hours stripping and cleaning any of the bikes in the house. 

My first encounter with mountain bikes though was when a mate had a 15spd Peugeot as a birthday present, still at primary school, he did his cycling proficiency on it and I remember thinking how incredibly old fashioned the other bikes in the yard suddenly seemed.  Whilst I duly took my turn at riding it round the school yard I couldn’t see myself owning such a thing.. it wasn’t a proper bike, more an oversized bmx.. my racer would be all I ever wanted

As I entered secondary school our riding changed, we started venturing off road and into the Forest, I was still happily using my racer, but its impracticalities on the Forest’s gravel tracks quickly became obvious, the thin tyres so suited to eating road miles bounced and skittered over stones and the plastic seat made me wince continually.  One trail in particular highlighted my issues, a stony descent had a sharp right hand corner that had me spinning into the undergrowth on numerous occasions, although unknown at the time, the death knell for my road bike had sounded. 

Now earning money each week through a paper round, I decided that an upgrade was order of the day.  A bike caught my eye, I sent off for a brochure and cut out its picture, owning that bike became an obsession, every penny I got went into a pot and a year of hard saving later, I had the money for it.  Going to the local bike shop, I stood before it, hardly believing the day had come when I would get the bike I’d dreamed about for so long.  Dad did the talking and I remember how I felt when the salesman refused to let me have a test ride as it would mean the bike would be ‘used’.. angrily, my dad dragged me from the shop, I was fighting back tears as we headed to the car, but dad was heading for another bike shop.  They didn’t have the bike I wanted, but did have the next model up, I was devastated, it was another £50, a huge sum for me then, considering my paper round gave me £6.00 a week.  Unfazed, dad handed over the extra money and my first mountain bike was bought.

I still remember fondly my first summer of owning that bike.. each morning during the summer break I would, in the company of a friend ride the same route around the forest, we’d return to his house for lunch and then head out again, in the opposite direction, looking for places that to us were previously unseen. 

Road miles were replaced with trail miles, a bike hire centre opened locally, I did the 10 mile charity ride on it’s opening day and, for a short while owned the fastest lap.  I rode with new people, learning skills and routes, I became braver and started aiming my bike off the top of the local mining works, long steep drops that terrified but captivated me all in one go. 

Whilst saving, I had become a voracious reader of mountain bike magazines, my parents initial scepticism of this new fad were overcome by the sheer quantity of magazines that soon filled my bedroom.  All of the pictures seemed to show riders on bikes descending dusty, rooty tracks, in my head mountain bikes involved a continual summer.  Those images remain strong and the reason I love dusty summer trails is the direct link they give to those childhood idealised images of riding.

Sitting here now, 20 years later,  my childhood memories come to me like snapshots, the crashes, the smells and the youthful awe of those riders gracing the covers of magazines.  I still ride to that lake, dipping onto part of the same track for posterity and I smile each time I lean into the gravel strewn corner that was the downfall of a 10 year old on a silver and red racer who had aspirations of owning a mountain bike.

Dusk Til Dawn Race Report

Except it wasn't really a race.

More and extended period of disappointment and enough rain to make me seriously consider heading for high ground*

I've struggled to write this post for a few days, a blow by blow account would not only bore anyone who happens to stay longer than the first paragraph to tears, but I think I can safely say that you could drive a horse and cart through any claim I make of completing the event.

I'll get this in early, I was really looking forward to this race.. I even trained for it, my mileage in the month leading up to it was around 100 miles a week and I was feeling good, especially following the forest enduro.  I arrived home the weekend before the event to find a family with a joint cold.  By Sunday I had the makings of my own, stubbornness saw me stick to my planned mileage Monday and Tuesday despite an increasingly annoying cough and sore throat.

Dusk Til Dawn, for those who have only heard of the rather fine film by the same name is an 12 hour enduro held during October each year at Thetford Forest. The concept is the same as countless other multi hour races that are so popular these days, except this one takes place solely during the hours of darkness.

Thetford plays host to a couple of race series during the year and I can imagine the races are full on flat out sprints from start to finish.  Coming from the Forest of Dean where everything involves hills,  a course which contained only 'inclines' took some getting used to.  I wasn't convinced for the first five miles or so of our spotting lap but the course started making sense and, although the cold I was fighting left my legs feeling weaker than I wanted I started enjoying the pump track feel.  A thought did enter my head though, Thetford is all about the size of the thighs.. a couple of riders proudly stated that although flat, Thetford was a relentless course.. that's southern for it's as boring as fuck and you need to pedal like a twat to gain any sense of fun out of it.

Last year it started raining 15 minutes before the start, this year, it started raining 4 hours before the start.  Great.

The area is sandy and, with the rain the course soon turned into a cutting paste capable of destroying chainsets and brakes in only a matter of miles.  Jim went through his pads in 2 laps, My bike seized itself only slightly slower than my body did and Rex's bike fared little better.  It's taken him the best part of the week to get it clean.

So, a mere 6 laps between the 3 of us and jacking it with 5 hours to go, not our best performance but to be honest, a few hours of quitters guilt on sunday soon disappeared when I realised that my cold was made worse from riding in constant rain, I'd been cold for 2 days straight and I hadn't actually enjoyed the feel of the event anywhere near as much as I'd expected.

Things I Enjoyed
1) Nic agreeing to us having his whole range of shop Exposure Demo lights about 2 grands worth. 

2) Having Kate with me, in other races she's stayed at home, there's generally a point during a race when I become a miserable bastard and want nothing more than to go home, she has the ability to cheer me up.

3) Spending a weekend with Rex and Jim, one my brother in law and one a mate of long standing, both more laid back and easy going than I believe possible.

4) Feeling fit, even though a nagging cold got worse from constant rain, and left me with a cough that is still hanging around and, if anything, getting worse.

5) Getting in from my final lap, chucking the gas stove on and sitting with a hot cup of tea in my hand, happy in the knowledge that the next thing I'd need to do was climb into my sleeping bag.

Things that pissed me off
1) Miserable locals that hate the race, gladly tell anyone that will listen that they hate the race, but turn up anyway, obviously to remind themselves that yes, the race is still shit and they still hate it.  We were told that D2D has a unique attitude, hugely friendly and a great sense of camaraderie on the course.  Bollocks, riders were head down and introverted (probably from the weather).

2) The organisers not providing showers.  Sounds petty, but being told at check in that there was no need for showers because it was only a 12 hour race really pissed me off, the race was 12 hours, but we were camping there for 3 days, the race was in October and last year was widely acknowledged as being 'damp'.


3) The first lap where, from my position towards the back of the pack, I saw nothing but 8 miles of wheel to wheel stop start crapness where riders were unable to stay on the bike and actually ride when faced with roots, stones, sand, mud, grass, trees or puddles.  I got increasingly more pissed off and made some rather aggressive passings to just stop myself from having to kill the very next person that stalled on a bump in the trail.

So, safe to say I won't be back, I'm going to get rid of this bloody cold and start getting the miles in again ready for Wentwood.


*which, given that we were in Norfolk at the time could been an issue

Forest Of Dean Enduro Race Report

Sunday 25th September has, in the ABR diary been marked down as a day for waving the FKK flag of support for the various riders of our team.
Birdie, Chris, Rex and Fruity were all planning to return this year to deal yet more devastation on the field that saw us take 7th, 9th 11th and 12th last year.  Me, on the other hand, well, I've been busy making noises for the last 6 months or so about not training and having a year off.
That was my plan, and I defended my increasingly weak argument of monumental unfitness stoically up until last week.
Driving home friday afternoon I received a text from Bird, in it he offered me his ride if I wanted it, he's been suffering a chest infection for the thick end of a month, then, as he had his first week off this year he came down with a sickness bug.  Losing a stone when you weigh what Bird does is not the best prep for a rather tough little course like is usually on offer in the Forest of Dean.
I held off making a decision until I spoke to Kate, she told me to stop being a big girl and to get on with it.
Sunday dawned... wet. Very wet in fact.
I stopped worrying about the rain and biking years ago.. and after my last post about finding the flow in the pouring rain I was actually relishing the chance to get out and put my new attitude to the test.
I hadn't had the ideal run up to the event, doing over 70 miles in the three days leading up to it, that was my excuse anyway and i stuck with it.
We had to be lined up at the start 20 minutes before the start. Heading to the line something happened.  Something bad. My rear shifter broke, changing gear it stuck and steadfastly refused to move again. Urging Rex to go on and believing my race to be over before it started i headed to Pedalabikeaway's shop in the vain hope they would be able to work some magic. 
They couldn't.  SRAM had let me down, they had an X7 on the shelf and offered to fit it for me. Jake assured me that fitting it would take him no more than 5 minutes and whilst he worked with mechanical speed normally saved for f1 pit lanes i practiced pretending it didn't matter.  With two minutes to spare he dropped the bike out of the stand and i pedalled furiously up to the start line. A few deep breaths and the gun went.. Talk about close.
Off the line i ride aggressively, destroying slower riders in my mind as i pass them, i knew from a quick pre ride of the first piece of singletrack the day before that getting here behind anyone likely to 'mince' would mean losing huge amounts of time.
The first lap was tough but fun, i knew Chris was long gone, Jamer was behind me but probably riding outside himself to catch me and I hadn't seen Fruity since my first attempt at getting to the line. Passing riders I felt strong and each miserable sounding answer to a comment from me made me feel that bit better.
More than once I silently thanked the awesome grip provided by the mud x tyres as the rain continued turning the course into a mud bath. 
Exiting a track the marshall tells me the rider in front is 10 seconds ahead.. '10 seconds.. Nothing.. I'll get him in no time'  I'm enjoying the combination of rediscovered fitness and a newly found attitude.
The final descent is a monster.. Steep and greasy in the rain with a loamy surface that falls away from tyres as they pass over. Riders in front fall but i swerve and avoid becoming a casualty. A mile of join up track and i arrive at the start finish line for lap 2. A few gels to see me through and i power on, a rider I've been tusseling with moves ahead as I stop by Kate for a fresh bottle.. Rewind a year and at this point my head was down, Rex had passed and disappeared and I wanted to stop there and then. 2011 is different, Kate is as suprised as me that its not Rex who has gone by first.  I move off and arrive at the tight first singletrack, I recognise the rider from earlier battles, he's behind a string of riders. As soon as i can I duck up the inside of them and he's dropped for good.
Halfway into lap two I finally remove my glasses, they've been steamed up and covered in rain and mud for miles now anyway.
I start feeling nerves.. Rex hasn't passed me and although I'm not slowing I'm started to feel hunted. It doesn't bother me if he finishes ahead of me.. Not really, he's family and i just enjoy us both sharing such a fantastic past time. But deep down being passed by him means another place lost so I dig deep and push on.
The final descent again.. This time i know that the last mile is all i need to do. I throw caution to the wind.. Now is a time to catch those in front whilst staying ahead of the riders behind. I jump a rocky drop.. Laughing as i do.. Nearly there.
I enter the finishing chute, I just run out of time to catch one last rider but now it doesn't matter. I get a small cheer from Kate and Sam and then drop my bike to run back up the course to cheer Rex home.
He's had a bad one.. The mud have forced him to take off his glasses but without them he struggles to see.  I know that 2012 will see him quicker than ever.
So, I didn't do Bird too much of a disservice but i know he would of gone quicker.. Probably even finishing around Chris who was 5th in cat and 10th overall. I was 14th in cat and 26th overall, Rex 36th and 52nd respectively and Fruity decided one lap was enough for him.
Not bad really.. And now, to Thetford.