Final scores on the doors are as follows:

1) me
2) http://oldbag.blogspot.com/2009/06/fat-lads-meme.html
3) http://mikeonhisbike.blogspot.com/2009/06/cycling-meme.html
4) http://331miles.blogspot.com/2009/06/tagged.html
5) http://bikingtolive.com/tag-youre-it/
6) http://www.weiland.net/post.cfm/tag-no-tag-backs
7) http://roadrashblog.blogspot.com/2009/06/99100ready-or-not-here-i-come.html

And the last guy… nah no link backs for him. I was in the process of working out some stats: average purchase, most popular items, whether road or MTB spent more but I’ve had the joy sucked from me too many times now. On the plus side I’ve found 5 awesome blogs to my feed reader

Have fun guys, to those who got involved and had a bit of fun with this:

Cheers

Fat Lad

When I was a young lad, we used to play a word and memory game called: “My old mother went to market” it went a little something like this:

Little Bobby: “My old mother went to market and all she bought was: Tomatoes”

Little Jimmy: “My old mother went to market and all she bought was tomatoes… and some potatoes” until it had traversed the circle of children to me:

Little Fat Lad: “My old mother went to market and all she bought was tomatoes and some potatoes and some carrots and some lettuce and … ” already the witty one ” a rocket powered cyber ninja weasel”  

So the meme procedes as follows:

You nominate a blogger who you know will respond and ask them to add to the list of things they have bought only in June that are cycling related. 

So I’ll start: 

Fat Lad went to the bike shop in June and all he bought was: A new PC971 Sram Chain and a Cassete Spanner and a chain wear tool.

So now I’m going to ask TOB to do the same then pass the meme on:

Come the end of June I’m going to try and track it’s course and see what we’ve all purchased in June

Let see if this works

Fat Lad

On Sunday’s Ladybower not supposed to be an epic the outer running to the front mech split leaving me for pretty much all ride on granny ring alone. To be honest it was that bloody hilly I didn’t notice so much. This left me all Bank Holiday Monday to get it fixed. However as Mrs Fat Lad used me as unpaid muscle to slave in the garden I completely forgot about it until I was too sunburned and nettle stung that evening to care.

Fast forward to Tuesday it means I have to get home from the day job, download Sunday’s GPS log, give the bike a rinse**, then fit a new cable outer. Oh, then get to the other side of Wakefield for the ride. For a man of my calibre? Piece of proverbial.  With the stars aligned and the wind blowing the right way the rarest of rare events occurred:

A five minute job took five minutes.

I was chuffed.I was ready. I loaded the car then set of for the trailhead***. Arriving early, plenty of time to get ready then this happened:

Have another look.

Can you spot the schoolboy error?

No?

No?

I brought a not-at-all matching pair of disco slippers. One side with completely worn and deathtrap worthy cleat and the other side with still new and tight deathtrap worthy cleat. It made pedalling interesting. To quote Carol:

“At least you brought a left and a right!”

Fat Lad

** Calling it a wash is far too generous…

*** We don’t really have trailheads here, we usually call them Pubs

On last nights very slippy but quite frankly more-fun-than-grown-men-and-women-should-be-allowed-to-have-whilst-clothed ride I splashed through the stream crossing and while putting out the enormous power of my thighs there was a satisfyingly loud crack as the folowing happened:

Now, we’d not been riding long and I didn’t fancy going back home standing all the way so it was time to root through the Camelbak to see what I had to hand:

Pump - nope

Shock Pump - oooh I’ve got a shock pump, I wondered where that had gone

Inner Tube - Yet to be sold on tubeless

Inner Tube 2 - We’ll, I’ve got two Wheels

Inner Tube 3 - Can’t be too careful

Granola Bar - Tasty but not useful

Saddle - Useful

Zip Ties - Ahh those might work…

“Hang on a minute. A saddle!” One of my fellow pootlers cried…

“Oh yeah that’ll do it…” 

Now, my camelback does have a reputation for having everything but the kitchen sink in there, but even I normally don’t carry a saddle with me. The specialized one had started to creak and groan a bit a few rides previous and I didn’t want to risk the CVMBC on it, so I stuck the stock granite one in

I’m thinking about folding frames now for some strange reason though…

Fat Lad

Riders Writing Cycle:

ghettoisation of riders:

for the mtb’ers trail centres, the perfect answer to all weather all year riding or the macdonalds of off roading?

for our road/commuters:

dedicated bike lanes protecting you from cagers or traeting cyclist as 2nd class road users?

The mass trespass of Kinder Scout was a notable act of willful trespass by ramblers. It was undertaken at Kinder Scout, in the Peak District of England, on 24 April 1932, to highlight weaknesses in English law of the time. This denied walkers in England or Wales access to areas of open country, and to public footpaths which, in previous ages (and today), formed public rights of way.

The peculiarities of rights of way and land access across the world is whole post in it’s own right. But here in blighty we have enshrined in law the rights of way system. Any bridleway, green lane or permissive bridleway you and your push iron are legally allowed to crank on. Footpaths (otherwise know as “cheeky” or night time bridleways) are out of bounds. Again this is a subject for a whole other post. All this waffling means that here in the UK mountain bikers are blessed with trails quite literally on the doorstep. Obviously these will vary incredibly due to local geography but isn’t that the whole fun of it?

Starting with (I believe) Coed Y Brenin the Red Bull Trail quickly got a reputation for being the quick hit trail of choice in the UK. The Forestry Commision soon wised up and started promoting vast swathes of fireroad across managed woodlands UK wide. They are a great thing boosting local economies with passing trade and tourism. In quite a lot of these places heavy industry has long gone and the trail centres are a good source of sustainable employment. Lastly they are a great way of introducing new riders to the buzz of the sport in a more risk-aware environment…

And I think, that maybe, the problem. Be honest, Mountain Biking is dangerous. Would you get the same buzz from it if it wasn’t. Some of the best rides I have ever been on we’ve sometimes wondered, atop a fog shrouded peak how the hell we’re getting back home.  To me Trail Centres are like Fast Food. Great as a treat but not to be consumed exclusive to the your greens. I get the same adrenaline fuelled buzz as the next guy tearing down a red route descent of Dalby Forest but what do you see but trees and hard pack?

Lastly, (admittedly I first was turned on to this thought by Jo Burt) is the potential ghettoisation of Mountain Biking:

“What are you lycra louts doing in the busy Peaks when you have dedicated areas set aside for bicycles?”

We need to be encouraging more discussion between trail users. There are perfectly good paths all around where I live that would cascade whole new possibilities should they be opened to all.

My first ride was not about cadence, heart rates or miles covered. To me Mountain Bikes summoned up a spirit of adventure. Getting out there, getting dirty, getting lost, just getting it. This summer I’m hoping to do my first bivvywith the bike.  I want to be in the hills under a starry sky green ground below me and not a routemarker in sight.

Fat Lad

Colne Valley Mountain Bike Challenge

With a very large bowl of porridge washed down with a hot cup of tea I managed to just about leave the house on time with the car loaded up for the short journey to Golcar for my first go at the Colne Valley Mountain Bike Challenge. 30 odd miles in some of the hilliest terrain in West Yorkshire. The tagline of the event is “Are you tough enough?” well maybe… organised enough… erm maybe not. I got so lost on the way to the event navigating the back streets of Huddersfield badly. At 9:00 on the dot I got my number and hammered the cranks to the start straight. Luckily for me they were running late, always nice to start right at the back of the pack…

In thinking about the event and my recent less than stellar form I was aiming for a sub 4hr finish and in the few minutes standing round waiting for the hooter to go signalling the start of the suffering. A very very short downhill roll 90 degree’d into a steep cobbled climb; the perfect opportunity for the chain to drop off the top of the cassette and into the spokes. Marvellous. So at the back, malfunctioning bicycle and a very flustered Fat Lad remounted and cracked on.

The initial tarmac climb dragged on and on the first of many seemingly eternal climbs. At the first relief of a downhill section the pack was still well and truly bunched up, backmarkers as far as the eye could see… Not especially technical I passed a good handful of riders mincing their ways to the bottom. The next climb whilst not long was another cobble run this time saturated with running water. I think even with an unobstructed run I’d have struggled with it. So for not the last time that day I was pushing Elvis towards a summit. Before remounting I ditched the base layer to climb, climb and climb some more.

And so it went, some awesome descents more than outweighed by the evil bastard sons of hateful geographical climbs. I got to mile 10 seemingly without issue and cracked on after chatting bikes with a thoroughly nice bloke about my pace. At the first feed station I grabbed a banana as one of the trailside angels refilled my first empty energy drink bottle with lemon SIS. At mile 14, pushing up a soul sucking wheel dragging grass monstrosity with neither sight of rider in front or behind I had the only moment where I could have given in. There and then halfway up a field somewhere near Huddersfield I felt the lowest I think I’ve ever been whilst out on the bike. Pushing on, calves screaming I “had a word” with myself and at the summit I cruised through the farm to the next feed station.

“How you feeling kid?” asked the next trailside angel. I think my weary smile said more than words and helpfully offered up “This is your last chance to turn back” the clack clack of SPDs was my only reply. I’d just clicked over 15miles and there was no way I was giving up now. A 35mph belter greeted me on farewell form the feed station but it soon turned into more beast like ascent. All I needed to do was get to mile 20…

More short ups and downs see-sawed us along. One guy I had chatted earlier with having done this ride the year previous gave me warning for the climb up from the reservoir. Those words contained many an uneasy truth and I settled in turning the cranks always at the top of the cassette yet changing the key of the cranks from low to middle where strength and spirit allowed. Weather gods had not smiled upon the day, and the fantastically and quintessentially British word of Muggy has never been more apt. Somewhere along the 3.9 mile climb it started to rain. Gentle, caressing, welcome cooling earth bound droplets. I was blessed by the constant grey sky and was truly thankful. Nearing Wessenden Head I passed a smooth body of water, the mirror surface penetrated a million times over, nature pock marking the perfect glass finish as I turned my back desperate for some respite. With a heavy heart and heavier legs I had to get off and push with the last big summit of the day.

More energy drink inhaled I had a moment of recognition, deja vu informed me of a long tarmac descent ahead and after stretching out my hamstrings for as long as I dare the lightweight lurid rain jacket clammily stuck to my rain and sweat soaked forearms.  Another high speed road descent propelled me towards the eventual goal.  A very sharp left hander onto the trail greeted me with the smell of many cooked brakes. The wide many lined downhill was reward worthy of the feet earned previous and with the terrain allowing every rock became a kicker and I whooped, laughed and launched my the whole way down. Post stream crossing I removed the fluorescent boil in the bag layer and with a very saddle sore behind remounted. Four hours was coming up and I still had over seven miles to go. Four hours was a distant dream and I was in this purely to finish now. Every climb now was an affair for Granny and I; winching my self up all but the most gentle of climbs.

The best description of body and mind coming to the last sixth of the course could have euphemistically been called survival. At mile 25 there was the last feed station, refusing simple sugars all day I wolfed down the offered Club biscuit.* The smiling face of the trail angel told me I didn’t have far to go and shouted energy fuelling words of encouragement as I pedaled away.  More tarmac ingested through the knobblies fired me on and after one more sharp left it was the last off road climb of the day. My legs were gone, but I knew I could do nothing more but finish. The trail gave way to road and even that now was beyond my pedalling ability. Even the descents were now wearying.  Past the Golcar Lily pub spinning on the flat a gaggle of children dressed for wedding reception cheered me on and even mock pushed me along as I struggled on.

The last off road of the days was a narrow lane descent rutted and worn rugged with passings of generations of trail users before me. Burning brake pads cooling off post steepness the despair inducing site of another climb was all I needed to turn the air blue with the sheer volume and ferociousness of my foul language.  That was it, all but done the GPS ticked down the last few markers.

29.4 … Just

29.5 … a

29.6 … few

29.7 … pedal

29.8 … turns

29.9 … more

I saw the finish sign and rolled past the cricket club to the finishing tent. the digital clock displayed my pain numerically; 4hr 58min.  Despite the elation of finishing I couldn’t help feel disappointed. I know I can be faster, I know I can be a better rider…

And then I dig through Mrs Fat Lad’s pictorial history of our life together. I remember how big I’ve been, I understand how slow I was, and I know damn well I ain’t ever going back. 4491ft of climbing in 30.15 miles, the man above would only have ever answered “aye, alright…”

Finally time for some thanks:

• Pete for installing my Chris King headset Mrs Fat Lad bought for me in New York a little while ago…
• Bike Shed in Scisset for whilst-I-waited shock bush replacement making the back of the bike lovely and rattle free again
• TF Tuned for servicing my Fox forks making them as supple and awesome as when they were new  and of course
• CVMBC for hosting the event. the money raised from the event goes to support the 39th Parkwood Scout Group and Leymoor Cricket Club, Golcar.

Fat Lad

*What my Mum would describe as a fridge biscuit.

Just a teensy weensy bit frustrated with life…

But still alive and still riding

I’ll be back with more tales of pies miles and smiles very soon indeed

Fat Lad

With the end of February rapidly approaching I’d not got a ride planned for the “not-a-new-years-resolution-honest” big ride a month. Local legend and all round nice chap Ackworth Dave stepped in and volunteered to lead us astray round the hills on the North Yorkshire moors. So 28th February arrived and so did quite-fit-for-the-new-guy  JT with his van to take us to the hills.  With Dave picked up, bikes loaded and seemingly enough kit for scaling Everest between us we took to the motorway.  On the drive over it turned out that JT had also grown up around North Yorkshire too and it was my turn to listen as my compatriots reminisced the trailhead commute away.

Pulling up outside Kepwick Village hall, the familiar site of a Bad Brains Jersey swung into view behind the steering column of the approaching car as Emsworth Steve arrived too. There was surprisingly little faff and very quickly we mounted up and headed off. The day before my anticipation was high and my prep included fettling the bike and eating an absolute ton of shit food. The perfect set up for a long day in the hills…

We rolled through the road of the village the tyres buzzing loudly in our ears. Very soon the climbing began and it was up, up, UP! I cleared the first section through much gratuitous use of the granny ring already Dave, Steve and JT were ahead of me and we regrouped at the first gate. Stopping to empty my bladder, Dave’s camelbak bladder had done exactly the same too. Barely a mile done and he had already lost half his water for a long day ahead. We remounted and set off , barely a few yards pedalled and Dave’s chain snapped. Steve rooted about in his Camelbak for a power link while Dave set about getting the dead link out. JT is a come back to the sport so he hovered over Dave’s shoulder whilst the drivetrain operation was performed to learn something new. In the saddle it was climb climb climb again eventually reaching our first summit of 659 feet in 1.6 miles.

Breather done with the trail finally headed back towards sea level the track a touch muddy in places but not at all bad considering the time of year. Running the descent with the dry stone wall parallel to us the trail got steep and narrow using Carol’s mantra of “Be brave!” I had a go at the track that had defeated me all the other times before. Still defeated I dismounted after a near AOT* moment. I’ll be brave next time. Catching up to the other more confident riders in quite literally the valley floor. Rolling over the wet flat path JT pitched himself over the bars exiting one of the stream crossings. We all delved deep into camelbaks to grab a quick bite of energy bar and then it was another brief but steep climb for us.

JT’s somersault turned out not to be without incident, the mech hanger was no longer as true as it had been in it’s best days so adjusting it best we could trailside we were going again soon enough. That is, until his chain snapped. This was not turning out to be our day. We all snapped to the repair installing a power link as quickly as four blokes can and we headed out for our first screaming descent. The never-dry-even-in-August woods were, unsurprisingly, a little sloppy; sucking the speed from our wheels in sporadic bursts. Overcoming these pockets of filth with quick out of the saddle sprints we got to the screamer. Fast, steep, technical but oh so rideable the speedo on the GPS spat out numbers that would make me grin on the skinny tyred steed. Sadly it couldn’t last for ever and the buzz of trail gave way to the hum of tarmac. Not long on the road we cut left to cross the new wooden bridge. Over the arch Dave and I braved the stream crossing whilst JT and Steve decided to try and keep there feet dry. Wimps.

The height lost on the screamer had to be re-earned. Heading out to the porridge soft field climb we found a sheep skull upon the ground. With the club leader and his unhealthy obsession with all things boney not present I handed the soul stealer over to Dave to take this tasteful shot with the remains of one of natures humble creatures.

Laughter finished with we ground our way up the soft slog. Dave and Ste steamed ahead as JT and I had to admit defeat and push from about halfway up. With such a lead on us tail end charlies he had stopped to get a shot of me and JT forcing the handlebars up the grass. Unfortunately for the speedy one I spied his intentions and mounted back up before he could get the photographic evidence of my lack of fitness. However once we all stopped I got this shot instead:

My legs were really feeling the worst of the height gained and I grimaced just a little as we set off again. Crossing the moor we crossed the worlds least travelled road and headed out towards the mast. The climb that takes you past the mast is long and one of those ascents that never actually going uphill it just feels like a rear flat.  On the tops the mist had rolled in and even when the long drag had finished and we were less than a few hundred feet form the tower it was still to all intents invisible.  At the summit of the moor we stopped for lunch in possibly coldest wettest place on ride,with sated appetites but cold limbs we remounted and started the next descent. Each path was a rain worn maze of tough lines and football sized rocks, with each foot of trail getting steeper and more technical still. It was at this time that my rear caliper decided that this was the opportune moment to stop working completely and with every desperate squeeze of the lever to push more fluid out onto the rear rotor. I caught up with guys soon enough and we squelched over the moors to the next section of grateful solid ground.  Catching a breather we stopped for a fettle with the rear of my bike to find that despite there being a distinct lack of any fluid in my braking system the rear brake was binding quite badly. So,with fecked legs and brakes we were only a few yards from the best descent of the day. Fairly wide with yet only a few line choices it was long fast and fun. Dave had been given the head start and my camera to get some action shots of us riding like the bike gods we are. *ahem*

The endorphins of descent soon metamorphosed into lactic suffering ascent too soon as we swapped the dirt divine for a road grueller . I realised by now that my legs were completely cooked and all I could do was settle in and watch the gap between my front wheel and the guys steadily widen. Ste dropped back like the all round fantastic chap that he is and chatted with me to the eventual summit.

The snaking climb back to nirvana relinquished it’s hold on my aching limbs and we stopped for the briefest of moments, time only enough for me to inhale a gel. Then it was onto the trickiest climb of the day. The climb in itself starts of fairly inconspicuous, reasonably steep not all that technical but lurking round a bend it gets steeper yet and then it gets rocky. Starting with baby heads graduating all the way up to slabs of jagged steps that will defeat all but the strongest and most skilled rider. Suffice to say as the the other three lads shot away, I didn’t clear it. At the summit of this stone soul killer there was only one more long climb up the unforgiving moor path. Dave pointed out a parked 4×4 about a third of the way to the horizon promising us all this was the cut off for the last descent and our eventual way home. Long after we had passed said vehicle and the end point becoming my very own Sisyphean task I started to doubt Dave’s parents marital status around the time of his birth. With a huge sigh of “thank feck for that…” we reached the last top of the day we cut left rolling down a boggy path interspersed with the odd section of rocky outcrops.

The Kepwick Killer is club favourite now and I’ve suffered through it a few times now and the path we were following was unfamiliar to me. It turned out it was also unfamiliar to Dave too as with a shout and squeal of sharply pulled brake levers he stopped just before the path disappeared down a cliff face. Turning round we found the correct last piece of descending brilliance and with speed and smiles we shot out back to our awaiting cars. We climbed a total of 3034 feet burning 1803 calories in the process and boy did I feel each and every one. JT legend that he is had brought quite possibly the world’s most moist cake and with no manners required or requested in devoured it as I sat on the village hall step my legs buzzing and aching with the disappointments and achievements of the day already gone.

Fat Lad

* That would be Arse Over Tit moment…

]]> http://www.bigalsplace.co.uk/fatlad/?feed=rss2&p=244 http://www.bigalsplace.co.uk/fatlad/?p=244 http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/co/fatladrides/~3/AX1ObKOx0pA/ http://www.bigalsplace.co.uk/fatlad/?p=252#comments Fri, 03 Apr 2009 22:08:29 +0000 Fat Lad http://www.bigalsplace.co.uk/fatlad/?p=252 ** 56K Warning Image Heavy Post Ahead **

***Also all these images (and most in the posts I put up) have alt text (hover your mouse pointer over a piccie and see) so it might be worth coming to read this out of RSS if that’s how you usually read these ***

With a shocking day at work over, rock solid trails begging to be ridden and the spare two hours of daylight a sneaky ride had to be bagged.

Work clothes to be rapidly discarded across our boudoir…

There that’s better

Very quick bite before I head out, sadly no coffee in the pot to go with it…

Helmet, gloves, buff, helmet, gloves, buff, helmet, gloves, buff…

Elvis ready to go…

All zeros, and yes I couldn’t be arsed to dig out the heart rate monitor.

Hey, is that a Florida Bike shop jersey? I think my Bikechain one is in the post or something…

The tarmac killer to the trailhead

First taste of dirt, and it was very very good.

The Better Climb Than Descent™ It really is…

Suffering up to the ruins…

That reads 405ft…

This reads 201ft… I think the Bike Chain one is in the post or something

Picture here for posterity as in a few weeks it will be so overgrown it will be unrideable…

Zooooooooom, on a climb no less. Check out the new disco slippers too

The play woods, I was half expecting kids on really cheap bikes flying over the doubles and drops.

The sun dropping away…

To be quenched in the Reservoir.

Pootle Crew rules… don’t clean it you don’t get to play at the bombhole.

Radioing in home…. “FEED ME!!”

My home town in all it’s former Mill industry glory.

Back, hmm not too bad considering all the photo stops.

Oh Yes I deserve that…

Fun, fun, fun….

Fat Lad

]]> http://www.bigalsplace.co.uk/fatlad/?feed=rss2&p=252 http://www.bigalsplace.co.uk/fatlad/?p=252 http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/co/fatladrides/~3/FBnGresDMFg/ http://www.bigalsplace.co.uk/fatlad/?p=248#comments Tue, 24 Mar 2009 18:07:19 +0000 Fat Lad http://www.bigalsplace.co.uk/fatlad/?p=248 A better nights sleep had us ready for the day ahead and once the big breakfasts had been devoured by all over yet more bike chat we headed into the coach house for the last classroom session. The day was to concentrate on shot composition initially and the rest of the afternoon daylight on whatever was suggested by the group. I was just hoping to finish the day with vaguely dry feet…

Once again Sarah took the option to drive to the start point where I had spent the previous afternoon crashing through running water. The guys had decided before departure that they fancied having a go at shooting slow technical stuff. Seb knew of a rooty point that would be ideal and having ridden past it to get to the stream the day before he was right. Sarah and I got there as the other guys rode out to us from the B & B. Approaching the section in question I knew that it was beyond my abilities, the torch would have to be carried by Mike. Whilst we waited for the others Mrs Fat Lad had me ride the other side of the stream at our backs:

The lads arrived as Sarah was still turning light to pixels of my mincing attempts at off camber. Everyone back to the roots Mike was eyeing up the roots. On his first attempt he didn’t have the speed to crash over and through and dismounted without incident. Second attempt ready he gathered speed and with dedication and gusto attacked the roots. The trails gods were not happy this day however and pitched Mike straight over the bars. Uninjured Mike remounted but before he could go for a third Seb took the executive decision to move us to another location instead.

Back down the trail Seb spotted an animal track running tight through the trees and this was to be the first spot of the day. The single track was loamy, slippery, tight and deceptively difficult to ride on. Mike and I got our heads down and cracked on regardless running the trail over and over as the guys put two days of tuition to good use. It turned out to be a classic example of an average trail coming out great in images yet the tyres told a different tale. At some point during the runs I felt my elbow twinge a bit and on deciding to not risk it any further I took a breather whilst ever the professional Mike carried on and on… For the last few runs of the morning I got back on and soon enough Seb made the call for us to move on.

A short pedal to the other side of the valley and after a quick bite to eat the guys split up into pairs to play with their new found skills. As I munched down on my chicken baguette Sarah scouted out various runs in the tight birch for me to roll down. Still chewing I was instructed up the hill to the first run. Over the next 45 minutes I pedalled and dropped in where my lovely wife told me too whilst her shutter finger worked overtime.

Seb came over to offer advice and see what Sarah was trying to achieve and as they talked I had to interrupt them both as a herd of deer bounded across the valley crest only just visible through the tree top camouflage. With the day rapidly and sadly drawing to a close Seb rounded everyone up to head back. Sarah was confident of the route back to the car and so I was to finish my weekend in the saddle with the ride back to the B & B.

Following the valley floor the climb started out gently enough. Twice in the first few hundred yards we had to dismount to limbo under or clamber over fallen trees and there was shouting to set about them with the Leatherman again. The trail kept gaining height easing us up the vertical feet until we turned right. Steepening up quickly Mike dropping to his granny ring forewarning me of it’s sudden change.  I was pedalling hard and feeling goo, unlike the other guys this was my first attack on these hills. The warm air was beautiful on my skin but starting to cook me as well on the outside as my core was doing the the other way. The climb turned a hard left and coming out of the corner the dreaded but inevitable front wheel lift slow motion action began. Too late to shift any weight forward I’d lost it and was off pushing for the last few hundred yards. It turned out that the last section to the crest was unrideable anyway but that didn’t fit too well with my guilty “should have bloody made it” attitude.

We followed the ridge of the crest climbing just that little bit more and my lack of riding in the weeks previous started to tell as I lagged up the slog to the eventual summit. Reaching the top Seb shot off down the direct path whilst Mike was taking us the extended-all grins-cut to home. It started as gently as the climb up but getting steeper as we rolled on. My speed increased and even with the bike in fun mode I loosned up the pro-elbows in anticpation.  The run kept rewarding me with grin after grin, twisting turning, a kicker here, a lip there on the almost Dales like surface. Wheels drifting in some of the turns I scrubbed the speed back where necessary. I splashed through the first stream corssing of the weekend and was secretly glad not to have to ride it again and again. Before long the trails ran out and the final miles of the weekend were on metalled roads back to the B & B.  Showered and changed I joined the rest in the coachhouse for the last session of critique. All done we said our goodbyes and Sarah and I headed off for another week of glorious sunshien in Somerset.

So all that’s left to say is thanks.

First up to Seb for offering a great weekend and making it a great Christmas present for my wife: www.sebrogers.co.uk & http://sebrogers.typepad.com/

Next to Mike for giving the guys “Pro-Elbows” all weekend, being the Duracell bunny for the shooters and putting up with my inanity… www.bikemagic.com

To Mary for the fantastic cakes and breakfast and making us all feel very welcome indeed: clicky

and Lastly to the guys for putting up with my gurning, lack of “Pro-Elbows”, distcinctly un-cyclist phisique and for making me look a damns sight faster than I actually am:

Andy:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/ginja_andy/ & here for his course write up: http://andy-matthews.co.uk/blog/

Guy: www.guyparry.com

Vince: www.chaney.co.uk

Malcolm: Doesn’t have anywhere online yet but I’ll update this once he does

Sarah: www.sarahshawphotography.co.uk of course…

Fat Lad