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.