VeloCake Panda*

Took the new singlespeed to the Leisure Lakes winter series XC races yesterday for an hour of fast, twisty, singletrack fun and pain. These races used to be hugely popular, but just 25 of us turned up yesterday. Three XC whippets**, and two of those in vets, three kids on jumpy bikes and full face lids, the rest middle-aged but not yet veteran IT managers on expensive full suspension trail bikes and piss-pot lids arguing the toss about – I kid you not – shock pressures and pro-pedal settings for what is possibly the flattest XC course outside of Belgium.

Laps short and sweet and tight twisty wooded singletrack with just a few short sections of doubletrack for passing.

Balls out for 7 laps – perfect distance to keep lungs and legs burning all the way, but without slowing down with fatigue by the end.

Bike was perfect. Subtle change in riding style with a more-forward weight shift going into tight corners means I don’t run wide coming out so could ride much of it brakeless and I managed a couple of laps fairly zoned out just properly flowing and carrying speed.

Remember the DCD? This beat me.

Only the rider let the bike down. I didn’t start as fast as the eventual winner and despite starting to catch him later in the race the distance was a couple of laps short to affect the result. So I was beaten by an old roadie on a ’92 KHS with era-matching kit. In his case retro wasn’t retro, it was just like a bloke who keeps an old Ford Sierra going because it works.

Best of all for this vain old-git though, as I came through the finish I heard the jumpy kids saying that mine was a nice bike.

Stick that in your 5″ travel pipe and smoke it.

** Yes, I do include myself in that number.

Whippet Slippers

I’ve only had my Specialized whippet slippers for three months and, ta da!, they’ve broken already.

It’s not a functional break, just, just the non-buckle end of the strap anchor that has cracked where it’s sewn into the shoe. So they’re usable, but the offending piece of plastic hits the crank every pedal revolution.

That’s the third pair of Specialized MTB Pro shoes that I’ve had quality issues with. The treads fell off the first pair, the tops split at the toebox on the second pair, and now this.

Pinkies

I love the stiffness and above all the fit of Specialized shoes – I can now race 24 hours without losing my big toenails – but the build quality still leaves a bit to be desired.

Fortunately the dealer is doing a replacement under warranty, but at this rate I’m going to be on the look out for an alternative stiff race shoe with roomy toebox.

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Please note that your choice says as much about your cultural references as it does about my ‘tache.

The month formerly known as November.

The Week Before

Arrange a group ride with friends. Venue and time sorted by internet, phone and text. Weather looks dodgy, and on Friday night it is howling winds and pissing rain, but we’ve arranged and committed, so it’s on.

Saturday Morning

Alarm goes off.

Damn, time to get up. Please, just another half an hour under the duvet. Is the weather bad enough to sack it off?

No.

Crawl out of bed. Shower feels horrible on tingling skin. Tea restores mood.

Get shit together. Why is something always lost until the last moment? Turns up cleverly hidden where it wouldn’t be forgotten. That worked then.

Meeting in a pub car park. Not everyone’s here yet so there’s time for a quick snifter while people arrive.

Thirty or so eventually turn up. It’s going to be nearly as busy as a Bogtrotters*, except these hardy few who have turned up are the regulars who have the skills.

Time To Ride

Eventually the clock reaches the allotted time and we saddle up. If you’re late, you’re left behind.

What follows is two hours of tech riding, with friends, port, hipflasks, gate stops, crossing country at speed, enjoying the obstacles.

The shitty weather eventually calls a halt to proceedings and we regroup and ride back together to the pub.

Sort out mounts then into warm dry clothes. Pile into pub for beer and hot soup and chips and post-ride natter.

So far so Calderdale group ride.

Except this is in the Vale of Lune near Lancaster, and we’re on horseback.

My Other Hunter [image copyright and courtesy Hooves-R-Us]

Ever since I started going out on horse I’ve noticed the similarities, and the differences, between the two hobbies.

Socially it’s very similar, as I hope the tale above has shown. A group of friends out to enjoy an adrenalin sport together accompanied by booze and banter.

However when it comes to suffering those with “all the gear and no idea” many mountain bike group rides lack a certain ruthless streak.

This is Not The Bogtrotters

When it comes to skills, the horse riders take no prisoners.

Going out in groups of thirty would quickly deteriorate into a Bogtrotters ride – a large group ride where everyone pads up to ride off kerbs, and pushes up them – if the hunters weren’t ruthless about skills. If you can’t keep up then tough shit, you’re left for dead (quite possibly) to find you own way round then try and catch up.

It’s not snobbery or elitism, just the practicality that if you had to wait for the tail-end charlie at 24 gates you’d not get anywhere. And I speak as a tail end charlie wherever fitness is concerned.

When I started horse-riding I was one of those who was left behind. The incentive to not have to find alternatives, get off, open a gate, close the gate, get back on, try catching up, wonder where the fuck they’d gone (which is quite often out of sight by now) then try jumping in now slippy boots, then miss 10 minutes of hipflask time was what I needed.

Learning a few skills goes a long way. If you’re going to blow thousands of pounds on a mountain bike – and considerably more than I did on the horse above – then you might want to consider investing in some training rather than relying on technology and gadgetry to compensate. Throw yourself into black runs and ride with people who are better than you. Maybe even try racing. It’s not “real mountain biking”, but then neither is pushing up everything.

Don’t be satisfied with mediocrity on your bike.

Immerse yourself and learn some skills.

* If you don’t know them ‘Bogtrotters’ has become a dirty byword for large group rides of incapable mountain bikers who need to pad up to push the ups. Quantity over quality is their byword.

Well lookee here.

Who cares about shopping days to Xmas? It’s days to get 100 miles off-road fit that matter now.

H is for Hunter
Headbadge by Jen Green

Designed by Todd Ingermanson at Black Cat Bicycles
Fabricated by Super Rat Machine

Components and build by Sideways Cycles