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...