Grump, grump, grump

I’ve been feeling a bit of an old grumpy bugger this last week. The impending winter is a big part of it, I’m sure. Although I claim to love the cold weather, what I hate is the lack of light. Monday to Friday I hardly see daylight at all, leaving for work at 6:30am and getting back at 6pm. Jostling for road space with tired and stupid car drivers doesn’t help either. Not that I have been on the bike this week, I’ve been suffering with a bad back, nothing serious. Enough to keep me off the bike though, and to disturb my sleep so that I inhabit a weary shell of a body these days.

I have had opportunities for two good days out on the bike in the last two weeks, both of which were ruined by Dan being a bit of an nob and turning up with a crocked bike, so that was a pile of disappointment heaped onto my anticipation. We’re off to North Yorkshire tonight for a long weekend, staying in a cottage with some friends. It should be a great chance to chill out and relax, but I was hoping to take the singlespeed ‘cos we’re right on the edge of some fine riding in the North York Moors. I can’t though; my back is still giving me some grief. I think I need to give myself a kick up the arse.

When will I ever learn?

I must be a sucker for punishment.

I arranged to meet Dan (he of the Cut Gate debacle, see last post) on Saturday, for an all day ride in the Peak. He was coming down with a few of his friends from Leeds, and I foolishly invited a couple of my friends along.

Dan is a nightmare when it comes to looking afte bikes. I'm no angel, but he is in a different class entirely, I'm Vauxhall Conference compared to his Premier League. I asked him to make sure his bike was working for this ride...

I got to the car park to find him struggling with replacing his rear v-brake pads, as usual I end up doing it for him until I realise and back off. Then we wait 40 minutes for everyone else to get sorted, it's about 2 degrees C and I'm getting pretty cold. 15 riders set off up the hill. Chatting to Dan I find that he's put on a new Shimano chain, without using one of the special joining pins you need for these chains. The singlespeed bike I'm riding means I have to pull away up the hill, no sitting and spinning for me. I open the gate to a steady stream of riders, but no Dan. He is somewhere down the hill with a snapped chain. He gets to us eventually, with his chain about to go again. One of the group gives him a joining pin. Eventually we get going again.

The main part of the group explain that they are heading off up a footpath over Alport Castles way. I explain that I don't have any problems with footpath riding, but tend to avoid doing it on a sunny and busy Saturday in the Peak, with a group of 15. I got all the 'you'll be alright mate, never had a problem' stuff. They are a bunch of gnarly looking dudes, with the right sort of beards and long travel forks (the sort we chase down on descents, and outclimb on ups...) Me, Dan and a few other enlightened types head off on a bridleway, leaving them to it (making a mental note to try the route out one evening).

We have another extended stop whilst some other sucker sorts out Dan's gears. Oh, and then his back brake. At this point the gnarly dudes turn up. They met the farmer on their trail, so had to turn back. The mountain biker rating took a nose dive that day with the local landowners.

The rest of the day was pretty nice actually. I managed to ride for more than 5 minutes without having to stop and wait, result.

At the end of the ride, me and Dan visited the caff in Hope. I tried to explain how it was pretty shitty to turn up on a ride with a borked bike and make 14 other riders wait half the day whilst you (and your helpful fellow riders) sorted it out. His response was 'these things happen' along with a shrug of the shoulders.

Cut Gate Debacle

The Cut Gate path is a true Peak classic. It’s one of the few routes that’s worth doing as an out and back ride, and unless you want to make it a long day out, it’s the only way to ride Cut Gate.

Sunday afternoon saw me rolling into the car park at Langsett, to meet my friend MrX from Leeds. He’s a ‘proper’ cyclist, having toured from Norway to Italy, England to Israel and across India. The trouble is, he seems almost entirely clueless about maintaining a mountain bike. He’s well known amongst his friends for riding a barely functioning bike, and making frequent demands on anyone with an ounce of mechanical nous to fix his brakes/adjust his gears/scratch his arse. Sunday saw him with a brand new (that morning) chainset and rear mech, no front mech (cos he'd taken the old one off and the new one 'didn't look right somehow', and an old chain and cassette. He told me how he'd just bought a chain wear measurer which told him his chain was worn out, but didn't think it worth getting a new chain and cassette.

We set off into the woods and MrX's chain fell off on the first bump, having no front mech to hold it on. His drivetrain made an alarming random clicking and scraping sound, so he asked me to ride behind him to see if it was the old chain slipping on the new chainset, or the rear mech not being adjusted right. It was both. I did my usual and tried to adjust his gears, the adjusters needed winding in a few turns. Unfortunately, they were all completely wound in, so I just stepped back and left him to it. I didn't want to start faffing around with his bike (again) on a cold and damp November day. He admitted that he had just 'slapped' the new rear mech on, without setting it up. Fercrissakes...

We ploughed on up Cut Gate, or rather he walked and I rode. Part way up Mickleden edge we gave up and rolled back to the car park. What a waste of frickin' time.

I drove home feeling grouchy. Not a good day.

Oh, and the authorities are thinking of
improving Cut Gate :o(

Wyre Forest

Last weekend was a trip down to Kidderminster, visiting my mum. I had a choice of doing a cyclocross race over in Droitwich on Sunday morning, or getting out for a ride. I’ve been enjoying riding the mountain bike so much lately that it wasn’t a hard decision. Grunting and sweating my way round a muddy field for an hour with a bunch of other riders trying to get past me, or a few hours cruising through leafy singletrack in Wyre forest?

Sunday morning saw me pedalling off to the visitor centre in Wyre Forest. The Wyre is about 5 miles across, mixed natural woodland and plantation, cut through with some deep stream valleys, all perched on a rising hillside above the river Severn. There is the usual network of fire roads which make fast and dull riding, but the main deal is the spiders web of singletrack, a fine mesh of trails that seems to extend to all corners of the forest.

My problem is that none of the good stuff is signposted or mapped, and being a moorland riding northerner, woodland is an alien habitat for me. Take me 50m into a wood, spin me round, and I’m completely lost. This woodland dyslexia means that although I have ridden in Wyre Forest 4 or 5 times, I’m still clueless about where the good stuff is, stuff that I rediscover each time I ride.

I found lots of stuff I recognised from before, plus a few new areas. I tagged along with a chap on an FSR for a bit and he showed me some beautiful trails, including a long snaky descent with a perfect scattering of steep dips, fallen trees and rocky steps. The Wyre singletrack is some of the finest I’ve ridden, better than those follow-my-leader trail centres which leave you strangely unsated and needing more. These are natural trails (yes, I know they are all man made really) in deciduous woodland, not manicured or predictable, where you are as likely to see a deer as another rider. I don’t want to get all misty eyed about the beauty of nature, but there were some moments where I had to just stop and stare. The sight of a narrow strip of trail twisting down through the trees, the ground carpeted with leaves, and not knowing what lies ahead is a potent combination. If that doesn’t stir you, you should put your bike away and get out your pipe and slippers.

Oh, and here's something else. Samuri is an angry singlespeeder, and well worth a look. Just don't get in his way, or beat him up a hill.

Fireworks!

The usual Thursday night ride was a special one this week. Out of the 6 of us setting off from Fairholmes, 2 were carrying a payload of rockets. Others were carrying chocolate and parkin. It was our Bonfire nightride.

The skies were clear and starry, the moon was almost full and the temperature was a sharp -2C. We climbed up through the woods at Lockerbrook, pinballed our way down past Hagg farm, crossed the Snake set off along the side of the reservoir. Derek was suffering with the cold having ridden over from Chesterfield wearing one layer of clothes and some fancy thin Rapha leather gloves. He couldn't feel his fingers, which can be a problem when you've got bars to grip and brake levers to pull. As a result, the first descent was done in a kind of grim slow motion with a deathgrip on the bars. We swapped gloves so he could have some warmth and ward off hypothermia.

Crossing the A57 again, we stomped our way up onto the lovely climb to the back of Whinstonelee Tor. This is one of my favourite climbs in the Peak, it has that rare mix of interesting and tough, steep and rocky sections, an awkward stream crossing, narrow singletrack and beautiful flowing moorland climbing. It is the long steady climb that is the jewel though. The climb is easy, but matches a fast singlespeed cadence perfectly, there are plenty of rocks and dips to keep you alert especially at night, and it tops out at a perfect knoll with a view over the Derwent valley. It’s impossible to ride this climb on a one geared bike without hammering it.

This time though, the silence of the rocky knoll was split by the sound of rockets, followed by cheers and giggling. We sent them arcing up and over the valley, the finest backdrop to fireworks I have ever seen. A couple of the rockets were pushed a bit far into the ground, so they just flared madly then exploded, showering us in colourful sparks.

Still laughing, we chased each other down the front of the Tor to the valley. I took a place near the back, letting the other guys test out the depth of the bogholes and mud pits on the way. Great ride.

Hayfield - Edale

Not my picture by the way...
Sunday morning saw me out on one of the classic Peak district loops, the Hayfield-Edale. It’s based around a double crossing of the ridge of hills between the two villages, using the Roych Clough track and Jacob’s Ladder as the two crossing routes. You can add on bits either end to extend it if you like.

The big question is – which way do you do it, clockwise or anticlockwise? Every one has an opinion on this. My preferred route is anticlockwise, it being a bit more singlespeed friendly that way. Also, I don’t mind a bit of walking up Jacob’s because you follow it with the superb rubbley rockery down towards Hayfield. Of course, if you do it the other way, you get the descent down the Rushup trench which is also a bit of a corker.

Sunday was glorious, sunny and mild. Roll on global warming :o) I was riding well; mind, body and bike seemed to be getting along fine, in contrast to Thursday’s night ride round Ladybower. The swooping drop to the double Roych ford was perfect, drifting the gravel turns and hopping the water bars. I sat in the sun at the bottom munching fig rolls and wondering whether to have a bash at the first rock steppy part of the climb. I did try it and got just about nowhere, I rode the rest of the climb though, apart from the other steppy bit.

Rather than drop down Chapel Gate, I stayed high and took the singletrack around Mam Tor to Hollins Cross, then sharp left down to Edale. A group of riders at Hollins warned me about the tricky descent to come, so I let them go and then caught and passed them. Childish, but fun.

I had a chat with a couple of riders on the long drag up towards the start of Jacob’s. One told me that he had a singlespeed but wouldn’t dream of riding it in the Peak. He wouldn’t accept that it is so much easier than most people think. We all walked the steep bits together, and I managed to clean a few sections that sometimes defeat me, in particular the last little climb before the descent starts.

They left me behind on the boulder bumpy descent on their long travel FS bikes, and I resisted the urge to try and stay with them, deciding it would only end in pain and blood loss, mine that is.

We joined up for the boggy single track over the moor (best left alone until spring, unless it freezes up) and the fast grass descent to the reservoir. More hopping fun and swooping about.

I spun back home along the Sett Valley Trail and got back before lunch. Fab ride, lucky me.

More night riding

I’m getting back into this nightriding thing. In fact, it’s the only mountain biking I’m doing the last few weeks.

The way it works with me is like this. Summer draws to a close, and we finish some of our midweek evening rides in the dusk. A few weeks on, we are enjoying sunsets during the rides and switching on the lights for the last hour or so. By the end of October, it’s lights on from the start, but we still get some mild evenings and the trails are still nice and dry and fast. The mood is good; we can still stop and chat on top of the moors without hunkering down to get out of the weather. The dark trails have novelty value, and we are enjoying the different feel of familiar terrain under darkness. This is where I am at the moment.

As the winter wears on, the weather gets a bit nastier, the trails get gloopier and the novelty wears off a little. The urge to drag myself out on a wintry night is sometimes weak, the deciding factor is often the group of mates who will be expecting me to turn up, and the ribbing I’ll get if I wimp out. I’ll turn out for a ride most weeks and quite a few of them will be rather grim muddy trudges around the hills in unfriendly weather, head down into the wind.

Still, there are a lot of reasons to keep nightriding right through the winter. Most of the time it is just plain old muddy, silly, childish fun. Puddle splashing, mud sliding, hot aches, cloudy breath in your lights, teetering around on ice, moonlit hills, fitness, snow, good banter. The foul weather rides are like money in the bank, store up enough and you’ll get payback on a crisp and sharp frozen midwinter night.

Winterised

I've winterised my bike. As it's a single speed, that means I just put mudguards on it....

Guilty m'lud

The alarm went off this morning at 6 and I woke to the sound of rain on the window. It had been a bad night – the kids have had a stomach bug for a few days which we thought was finished, but it wasn’t, so we had a disturbed night, and another load of puke covered bedding to wash.

More tired than usual, I dragged myself out of bed and into my riding kit, shaved, brushed teeth and stumbled out into the rain to collect my bike from the garage. Christ it’s got dark in the mornings, autumn is definitely here. Hunched over my bars, face screwed up against the weather, I decided to roll down to the station and get the train to work. I bought a single ticket, planning to ride home this evening.

Now this is sensible behaviour in most people’s eyes, but sat here at my desk I feel guilty. I’ve got all that nice gear – waterproof jacket, overshoes, warm gloves and mudguards on the bike. As soon as I wake to a rainy day, I wuss out and get the train to work. What a wimp.

Old and tired

What a palaver. I had two and a half hours spare on Saturday, between stripping wallpaper and picking up Sam from a party, so I wheel out the Inbred for a quick hilly blast. I remembered that the rear disc pads were getting a bit low, and after Wednesday night’s muddy trudge I thought I’d better check. Yep, they were on their last gasp. I whipped them out, binned em and set off for my ride via the local shop down the road, intending to put some new ones in on the trailside.

The shop had the right pads, but not the usual Hope brand, so they came without the spring and pin, which I’d chucked in the wheely bin with the old pads. Back home it is then, foraging around in a stinking bin looking for some tiny metal bits. I finally found them, put them in and set off smelling like an old tramp.

I’d only got an hour an a half left, just enough to snatch a ride from jaws of defeat. Down onto the Sett Valley trail I went, a mile on the flat before grinding up onto the moors. The slight headwind made my legs ache, until I’m standing up to pedal, on the flat. I realise the fatigue that I thought would drop away once I got moving is not going to shift. I felt absolutely shattered.

So I turned round and went home, defeated. Sleep, that’s what I need most.

I feel old and tired, and that's not a nice feeling.

Feeling

I was reading a book about sailing the other night, and the writer was talking about how, over time, you develop an instinctive feel for how a boat handles. When you are at the wheel, you can sense the surge and pull of the current or the shifting wind through the wheel and your fingertips, and learn to make instinctive tiny adjustments to counter all the external forces acting on the boat.

The odd alchemy of frame, tyres, forks and brakes creates the feel of a bike, the way it will skip or slide on loose rocks, the solid surge of acceleration or the springy flex of steel when you stamp down on the pedals. But there’s also the intuitive feel for the bike you get when you’ve spent plenty of hours on it. The way you can tune into the texture and drag of the ground below your tyres, and the way you learn how to pick faster rolling lines. There’s a clenching in the pit of your stomach as you sense the suspension fork beginning to get out of its depth and you ease onto a better line just by thinking it. A singlespeed rider will know the spring of his steel frame as he thrutches his way up a steppy climb, and the rasp of a rear tyre on the very edge of traction as he finds the balance between leg wrenching force and finesse. All these calculations of balance, force, speed and momentum are done without thinking. A good rider has forged the links between nerves, muscle and brain with hours on the bike, until the neural pathways flow clear and fast, uninterrupted by thoughts of falling or failing.

For me though, some days I'm back to square one. I fight my way through a ride, the understanding gone, replaced by only awkwardness and embarrassment. Like last night, a wet night ride from Fox House, round Redmires, down Stanage Causeway, and finished off by diving over the handlebars on the Green Track below Burbage.

I guess that’s the difference between me and a good rider.

Hope Valley MTB Challenge

I had a great day. The Hope MTB Challenge is an ‘enduro’ type event from Bamford in the Peak District. It’s organised by a local school as a money raiser, and for £10 you get a choice of 20 or 38 miles of some of the best Peak riding, 3 feed stations with free drink and cakes and free tea and soup at the finish. A real bargain.

The whole feel of the event is relaxed. The start was somewhere up a narrow lane on Shatton Moor. 150 riders squeezed into the narrow space, a marshall up at the front, somebody shouts ‘Are we started yet?’, the marshall replies ‘I suppose so,’ and off we trundle.

My mate Derek is up ahead of me and I get held up by someone having a wobbly episode, so he pulls away. I have decided to do the 38 mile route provided my still sore thumb holds up. You can decide part way through the figure-of-eight route which one you do. I take it pretty easy on the first climb upto Shatton Mast, not wanting to burn out my singlespeeding legs too early. Plodding along though, I try to reel in Derek who is somewhere ahead, not in sight. A fast blast down off the moor, passing a few riders on full suspension bikes (always nice when on a shonky hardtail singlespeed), followed by a yomp up and over Win Hill via Hope Brinks.

The Racing Ralph rear tyre is hooking up amazingly well in the slightly muddy conditions, I was worried about it being too slick for the ride, but it was fine. You just have to remember you’ve got something fast and light on when you are heading for rocky stuff.

A speedy and sketchy descent to Jaggers Clough, tyres twitching sideways on the off camber gravel near the bottom was quickly followed by the climb and another drop down to the Edale road. I caught a couple more riders on this descent, but they pulled away on the road, my 32:16 gear proving a bit too spinny.

I gave my number in at the feed stop in Edale, but didn’t linger as I had been munching fig rolls and drinking plenty of water. Jacobs Ladder was next. The long drag up the valley is lovely on a singlespeed if you’re feeling strong, and I passed a few more riders here. It isn’t a race (at least ‘officially’) but I guess most riders are trying to get round in a good time, and that was my aim. From the bridge it’s mostly walking, unless you are some sort of trials rider, so I enjoyed the breather and a chat with some fellow riders. I was surprised at how few hardtails there were, most people around me were on FS bikes. All they guys I ride with regularly use hardtails. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I didn’t see any other singlespeeds.

Over Jacobs and hold on tight for the rubble strewn and technical descent. I tried to catch a guy on an Enduro but failed, and I was trying not to pop my light tyres on the rocks, so I was happy to get down reasonably quickly without any incidents. I had a chat with the marshall at the Hayfield feed station and asked if Derek had come through, he said he thought he was the first rider through, 15 minutes ahead of me, and I was in 5th. Surprised at this (me being in 5th that is), I decided to press on. Climbing out of Hayfield towards Roych Clough, I caught the guy on the Enduro and after a chat, I pushed ahead. This set a pattern, I passed him on the climbs; he passed me on the descents. After Roych came Rushup and a descent down Chapel Gate. I held my own down Chapel Gate until he passed me near the bottom, then pulled away on the last section and the road. The climb from Edale to Hollins Cross was hard and marked by cramp. I managed to pedal through it, with much gurning and grunting, and passed Enduro man before the top. Of course, he passed me on the descent and rode away from me on the tarmac section back to Bamford.

Chuffed at finishing 5th, in 4:13, I looked around for Derek. He hadn’t finished, the marshall had got it wrong. When he got in a bit later, he said I had passed him when he stopped to take a layer off on the first climb. I’d been chasing him all the way round, and he was behind me for the whole ride.

Overall it was a great event, well organised, friendly and good value. Obviously I’m biased because I had a good day and rode well.

It made me think we could organise a similar event from New Mills, for my son’s school…. hmmm.

Wet fun in the dark

Well, I did drag myself out into the rainy Peak district night. It all started badly though - I've got 3 lumicycle lights, and I usually use one as a helmet mounted light and one on the bars (the bar mounted one is a 40w thing for use on technical stuff, the helmet light is 14w and is used all the time). The third one is my commuter light. I knew two of them weren't working - the wiring looms had gone after a couple of years hard use, I was 'just getting round' to replacing them, but one helmet mounted 40w spot is more than adequate.

Just about to set off and I find that my final working light is goosed. Quick call to Gavin and he brings over a home made SLED light, made to Robdeanhove's specification (he is the master of home made super bright SLEDs).

I chase Gavin down the Sett Valley trail to our meet up point in Hayfield. Gavin has 2 settings - 'stop' and 'flat-out', he is frighteningly fit and should really stay in more and eat pies. Amazingly, 2 more have turned out on this wet and windy night, so the 4 of us set off up into the cloud and rain. Even better, we're all on singlespeeds, so that makes the ride flow nicely. I find that I have got a broken saddle - the rails have cracked giving the saddle a jaunty tilt and an odd saggy feeling. I'll just have to stand up a bit more.

Despite the amount of rain, the trails are still pretty dry. I guess the dry summer means the Peak is still a big sponge soaking up the water. The streams are swollen though, and Rich manages to plunge his leg into one well over the top of his winter boots filling them up. Apparently they hold water really well. As always, the rain is much worse when you're contemplating it than when you are out in it.

I'm doing the Hope Valley MTB Challenge tomorrow.

Pishing it down

Looking out of the window from my office in Manchester, I can see the rain lashing down. It has been doing that for most of the day. I'm supposed to be going out riding tonight with the usual guys. I can sense them all looking out of their windows and thinking the same as me. The forum where we organise our rides has gone rather quiet this afternoon, are they all waiting for the first person to capitulate? If I admit weakness, will there be a flood of emails saying "okay, I'll give it a miss too"?

Having said all that, a good splashy ride through loads of hub deep puddles is a laugh. It makes me feel a bit like I did when I was a kid jumping in puddles and getting my duffle coat all muddy.

Commuter

I'm a bike commuter. I usually do 3 days a week commuting on my bike, that's a 30 mile round trip, 90 miles a week. It's mostly on traffic clogged roads, full of frustrated, distracted, half asleep mobile phone using drivers, and that's about the best thing I can say about them. The best way to radicalise a cyclist, to turn a laid back, happy-go-lucky rider into a foaming mouthed, angry, car hating biker is to get them to commute into a city a few days a week. Take a look at Crazybikerchick's blog for a letter to motorists. She's obviously done plenty of commuting and is far more reasonable than I would be in the same situation.

Last night's commute was straight into the teeth of a rainstorm. By the time I got home I was cold and had rain running out of my shoes. Winter is on its way. Time to pull out the overshoes and warm gloves. Anyway, too much good weather makes you soft...

Thumbs Up!

A definite improvement in my bad thumb - last night I did a night ride from Hope (Mam Tor -Rushup - Pindale). I was gritting my teeth a bit towards the end on the rocky descent down Pindale but overall a big improvement. No lasting effects today either.

The night ride was plagued by mechanicals - lights problems and ripped tubeless tyres - butwas still a fun ride. The trails are still dry, the temperatures balmy, and the overall group vibe is pretty chilled and laid back. Out of 6 riders, 4 were on singlespeeds, for a change I was not one of them. I took the Rocky Ridge with its big tyres and 130mm Marzocchis to cushion my injured hand. It was strange to be the sat down whilst the others heaved and grunted their way up the hills. I just can't get my head round using really spinny gears though. It feels all wrong to sit back and spin easy gears, I feel much better clicking into a harder ratio hurting a bit.

Not the 3 Peaks

I mentioned earlier about my injured thumb, nothing serious really, just a badly druised (or maybe cracked) knuckle. It meant that I couldn't brake from the drops without wincing. A very minor problem for most people, but for someone planning to do the 3 Peaks, a show stopper.

I rested it a week, then last Friday evening (2 days before the race) I took the cross bike out for a spin round the local trails. The first descent, a fairly tame rocky track down the side of the golf course, had my eyes watering with the pain in my knuckle. At least I didn't have to agonise over whether or not I should do the race - it was a clear 'no way'. Disappointed, I trudged back home and put the bike away. No 3 Peaks for me this year.

My friend Dan did compete though, he managed 4:44, a good result. I usually beat him by a good margin, so this was even more galling. I read a few accounts of the race on singletrackworld today and felt even more gutted. I missed a good 'un it seems.

There's always next year...

The last few years, nearly all of my mountainbiking has been on a singlespeed Inbred. Inbreds are made by a British company called On One, based in a garden shed in Todmorden (well, actually they are made in Taiwan, but we won't go into that). Brant Richards is the guy behind the company, have a look at his entertaining website, and see if you are tempted. It used to be the source of all things singlespeedy and eclectic, but is now a bit more mainstream. There's still plenty of interest on there though.

The Inbred is a modern classic in my view, I'll write more about it another time. Where else could you buy a fantastic steel frame that'll see you through almost anything you can throw it at, for around 250 quid? Go and check it out.

Update

I fell off the bike on Thursday last week. Apart from the usual bruises and scrapes, I hurt my right thumb. At first I thought I might have broken it, but the swelling has gone down a bit now. I tried a ride on the cross bike yesterday, taking in some of the tamer of the stoney and lumpy trails round my way. Descending using the drops was pretty bad, the bars nestle in the crook of your hand just next to the big thumb joint, the one I injured. Bumps were eye-watering. I couldn’t brake with my right hand, which is something of a problem.

I’m hoping it’ll heal up over the next few days, or the 3 Peaks could be off.

Palimpsest

What is it? It's a manuscript that has been erased and rewritten, but where the original text can still be traced. The word is sometimes used to describe something where many layers of something have been laid down, one top of the other, each new layer only partly concealing the last. What's this got to do with bikes eh?

I've been accused a many times of not looking after my bikes. Of being 'the world's laziest mechanic', and best of all, of 'neglecting that singlespeed to within an inch of its rusty life.' None of this is true of course. I'm not a bike geek, I'd much rather spend an hour riding than fettling in the garage and this shows. I don't have that fascination with new bling bike bits that most of my riding buddies thrive on. Superlight wheel sets, tyres for every conceivable type of mud, lights that turn night into day, forks that have more knobs than a Boeing 747? No thanks.

I've got my old singlespeed. It's only 4 years old, but looks older. The frame is scuffed, scratched and dented. Every mark on it tells a story, from the big rock dent on the downtube to the bare metal on the chainstays caused by my wonky pedalling style. Some parts of the frame have hardly any paint left at all, like the dropouts in the picture. I could get it resprayed, but then I'd be covering up the layers of memories trapped in all those scratches, it is my palimpsest after all.

Ouch!

I ride to work a few days a week. It’s 15 miles each way, mostly on busy roads, so it’s not my idea of a great ride, but it’s loads better than not riding at all. In fact, sometimes it’s the only riding I get to do, what with busy work life, busy family life and busy weekends.

Yesterday it rained all the way in, and after 15 miles of safely weaving my way round lunatic car drivers, I managed to fall off just outside work. The entrance to our basement car park is down a cobbled street. The cobbles are polished to a beautiful slippery shine by the tyres of our director’s Mercs and BMWs and become decidedly glassy when wet. Although I took it nice and carefully, my front wheel washed out and I went down like a bag of bricks. I managed to scrape and bruise my hip and knee and somehow hurt my thumb.

When I rode home that evening, I found I couldn’t really grip the bars, and had to call off my planned mountain bike ride (we were meeting up at Mam Tor, and it was looking like a nice evening…).

Today the thumb is a bit purple and swollen, like something off a Tom and Jerry cartoon. I don’t think it is broken. I hope not – the 3 Peaks is only a week away.

3 Peaks Blogs

Have a look over on the 3 Peaks cyclocross blog. He's a top ten finisher so I guess I won't see much of him. His comment about me singlespeeding the 'Peaks is wrong though, my Cross bike is geared ... maybe next year eh?

‘Cross Rider

What with it being the 3 Peaks Cyclocross Race in a couple of weeks, it was time to try riding the ‘cross bike offroad. Saturday afternoon I had a clear 3 hour slot, so I stripped the mudguards off, put some teeny knobbly tyres on, pumped ‘em up to 90psi, and headed out for the hills.

Some cyclocross bikes are built around a comfy steel frame with plenty of flex to take the sting out of the bumps (like a Surly Crosscheck for instance), but mines a Giant TCX race frame. This means it is aluminium, has fat tubes and is as stiff as very stiff thing. You can feel every individual blade of grass you ride over, well almost. What I am doing with such a frame I’m not sure, but I did get a special deal on it, and its day job is as a commuter bike, which it does just fine.

I took it on a regular mountain bike route, with one or two of the rockier descents avoided. It’s more than a year since I have taken it on a ride like this, like I said, it’s mainly a road commuter, with the occasional off road commute on some tame stuff and the odd winter cross race.

The bike was brilliant. Climbing was tough and sort of ‘singlespeedy’, no really low gears and a good chance of tyres spitting traction if you don’t keep your weight back. Pretty fast though. Descending is best done on the drops, which puts you in a nose down position which can be a bit alarming at first, especially on the steeper stuff. You soon get used to it and the bike feels very planted and controllable. Loose stuff is best taken at speed, false teeth removed in advance. I got a bit of backache and sore hands, but got down everything and climbed just about everything including some rock-steppy stuff. I covered quite a lot of ground in my 3 hours too. I’d better do another ride on it before the Peaks, if only to get my back and hands accustomed to it.

If I lived in a less rocky area, I’d spend a lot of time on a crosser. But I don’t, so there’s more smiles in riding the Inbred.

Full Moon Night Ride

It feels like all my mountainbiking is night rides lately, and these are only once a week. Last Thursday’s was a corker though. I had another ‘shall I/shan’t I’ dilemma over the singlespeed/geared bike, with usual dad-with-young-children fatigue hanging over me like a grey cloud. I took the line of most resistance and wheeled out the singlespeed, telling myself ‘just walk if the hills are too tough’. Yeah, right.

We met up in Hayfield, 4 of us, just me on the singlespud Inbred, the others on a Giant Reign (borrowed from WhatMTB), an Orange Sub 5 with silly big forks and a rigid Tinbred. Quite an eccentric mix then.

We did a relaxed two hour loop over Ollersett, Coldwell Clough and the Shooting Cabin. We had blue skies, a gaudy polluted sunset over Manchester and then a full moon bright enough to cast shadows on the heather. My legs remembered how to turn a 32:16 on the climbs, and I actually got into a groove on the technical descents, flowing over the rocks instead of my usual ricocheting from one to the next. The recent rains have spruced up the moors nicely, bringing out rich greens and purples, even the sheep looked like they’d had a good shampooing. The guys were on good form and it was a pleasure to be out.

I rode home along the Sett Valley Trail on my own, and saw two badgers, one had a good look over his shoulder at me, his eyes reflecting my lights. He seemed pretty nonchalant and trotted down the trail ahead of me until he got to his turn off. A minor event, but it gave me a buzz, and I said 'thanks' to badger when I passed.

Just back from holiday in Cornwall. Plenty of fun time with the family, bad food and too many cakes. There was only a little bit of bike riding, the best being a jaunt down the Camel Trail from Wadebridge to Padstow (now known as the Rick Stein Corporate Theme Park), Sam (4) went on a tagalong bike, towed by mum, and Beth (2) went in the Burley trailer (towed by me). It's only about 7 miles, flat and traffic free, but pretty full of numpty bike riding hazards on hire bikes, swerving in a random manner, so it's not without interest.

The scenery is gorgeous, the trail is flanked by the Camel estuary all the way, and although this was the 3rd time we've done this ride, we were blown away by how beautiful it is. Definitely a recommended family day out, and Rick Stein's chippy does the best fish and chips ever.

I did get out for a few hours on the road bike one morning, slogging my way around some of the precipitous lanes of the north Cornwall coast. These roads are steep. The hills might be short, a few hundred feet climbed at most, but 1 in 5 is pretty common, and gravel, potholes and grass growing down the middle is the norm. Great riding if you must ride on the road. No appreciable mountain biking nearby as far as I could tell.

Night Ride

Thursdays are good days, especially when the weather’s fine. I usually get out Thursday night for a mountain bike ride in the Peak with some friends, if I can fit it round all the other claims on my time.

Tonight we’re meeting at Ladybower for some variations on the classic trails that loop over the hills there. Some people drive for hours to get to this place, so it’s always a thrill to know I can ride those trails on an evening after work, and more so when I look out of the window and see blue skies waiting for me. Riding into work this morning my legs were like wet noodles though, so it may have to be the geared bike tonight, or maybe I'll just grit my teeth and hurt a bit on the singlespeed. I’ll need to take lights too, for the first time since spring.

3 Peaks Cyclocross

I’ve entered the 3 Peaks, it’s a cyclocross race in Yorkshire.

When I say ‘it’s a cyclocross race in yorkshire’, I’m not giving the whole story. Your average CX race is an hour or less, round a park or woodland or some similarly friendly terrain, with a few small sharp hills, lots of mud and sometimes the odd barrier to leap over. You do a bit of it on foot usually, with the bike on your shoulder. The races are full of skinny roadies on skinny cross bikes, riding offroad much faster than you’d expect roadies to do. If you are a tough old mountainbiker, who thinks he can show those roadrats a thing or two about riding in the dirt, prepare to wake up. That was my experience anyway.

I’ve got a cross bike (it’s my commuter). I’ve done a few cross races, badly. I can hold my own off road with most mountainbikers, which must be qualification enough for the 3 Peaks. The ‘Peaks’ however is 60 odd km, covers 3 mountains over 700m high on rough moorland , and is patently unsuitable for cross bikes. The rules don’t allow mountainbikes. It’s the toughest race of its kind in the UK, and I’m frankly nervous as hell about it.

‘Training’ is something that I just don’t do these days, mainly because I’m short on time and large on other priorities, so my preparation so far comprises putting wider drop bars on the commuter last night. It’s a month away now and I’m regretting entering it and excited in equal measures. I need to order some tyres. The maximum width allowed is 35mm, which hardly a tyre at all in my view, more like a rubbery hoola hoop. More later.

Sleepless in the Saddle

A few weekends ago ago it was SitS, a 24 hour MTB race at Catton Park. We did it as a mixed team. Very mixed in fact, 3 on singlespeeds, two on gears, and the girly member was on her first ever 24. I haven't done a team 24 for a couple of years, and this was a great way to get back into it.

The course was rolling, fast (early on), with some great twisty singletrack that was deep in dust. It was just technical enough for decent riders to have a blast riding it flat out and easy enough for everyone else. I'd just got used to two wheel drifts on dusty bends when I set out on a dusk lap and it started drizzling. It got very slick very soon, and the dust started to get very sticky. I got back and handed over to my team mate before things got too bad, but a few hours later I had a lap from hell. Big 2.3" tyres and not much clearance on a Reba fork meant I was pushing lots and at worst, my wheels were locking up with claggy mud every 10 metres. Trudge, stop, clear tyres, trudge, stop clear tyres .... it was a long long lap, but I kept a smile on my face.

The team held it together really well, and kept going all through the night. Lots of teams gave up, the handover area was almost deserted at one point. Pathetic really. It was a pretty chilled out effort, we even stopped using the handover area for the last 12 hours and just rode back to the campsite to pass on the baton, but we still got 18th out 94. Either we were pretty quick or the opposition were really poor.

We all had a cat on the handlebars, not live ones (at least not by the end). It's something to do with the murky virtual world that our team captain inhabits on Bikemagic and his twisted wit, and I'm not sure I understand it. At least it gave me someone to talk to in the grimmest parts of my hell lap. Some hallucinating soloist shouted 'Hey, nice bear' at one point.

SitS - great event, good course, fab team, all very lovely really. And I passed shit loads of other riders on my laps. It makes me feel fast and fit, but really it's just them that are slow and a bit rubbish.

I don’t know why I’ve started this thing, and I’m even more puzzled as to why you are reading it. If it turns into something, it’ll mostly be about riding bikes, and in particular singlespeed mountainbikes. If you aren’t bothered about stuff like that, then you’d be advised to blogout.

If you’re still here, welcome to my cosy little world of riding my lovely (but pretty shonky) one geared bike around the gorgeously fantastic trails near home (and sometimes other places).