Gisburn Forest trails have been hard hit by a cold wet winter, but the black run is still fab.

Unable to find time to ride at the weekend or yesterday I wasn’t going to let that spoil the opportunity for a rare snowy ride. Clear skies and the extra light from snowy surfaces meant that I rode most of the way with no lights, using them only on road sections. Which I kept to a minimum due to black ice.

A Buffalo pile fleece kept me toasty warm in minus quite a bit, and the faithful Burner felt instantly familiar and capable.

Here’s hoping for some time in daylight hours for a repeat performance.

It started with a forum wind-up…

The Trigger

Posted by: tim
Date: September 2, 2009

FWIW, narrow bars suck

The Off The Cuff Response

Posted by: nick
Date: September 3, 2009

FWIW wide bars are skill compensators.

The Aftermath

It all kicked off.

Frankly it was amazing how many people bit.

It was even funnier that some of the biggest fish on the line were those who have ridden with me when I’ve been on a 5″ travel full suspension bike with, yes, skill compensating wide bars.

I don’t know where on earth they got the impression that I was some narrow-bar wielding, skin-suit wearing, XC jey boy…

Not Rad. Not Even in 1993.

No-one noticed that I never said that compensating was actually bad.

Self Improvement

I consider myself to be an above average XC rider, and when the course turns downwards and there’s enough gravity to overcome the effects of my asthma I can show many pro-elite riders a clean pair of heels. In fact passing those racers on the descents who have just passed me on the climb rather amuses me. There probably aren’t many other XC racers who would complain that the Specialized FSR Epic Marathon could do with bigger brakes. At the recent Kielder 100 race, and although I was at the back right from the off I always caught people on the descents. Only to be passed in turn on the climbs. So it has gone for over 15 years of racing.

Kielder was also my first experience of trail grading. Not having ridden at a trail centre since we did Wales In A Day the concept of blue, red and black has just blipped right over me. So at Kielder I was surprised to find when I reached the bottom of the descent of Deadwater that the trail was considered a red run.

I know that my riding is not as good as it could be, but even so I had thought that a red route might be a bit more challenging than that, even if I was riding with, yes, skill-compensating wide bars.

So, in order to learn some ‘rad’ skills and overcome the narrow bar stereotypes I booked some training with Ed at Great Rock, and dug out my old DH gloves and Hard Nox pads. Old habits die hard however, so the clipless pedals stayed.

There were originally two of us booked onto ‘Achievable Rad’ day at Gisburn Forest, scene of much late 90s XC racing, (early 90s too – see above) and after work rides, mainly remembered for secret wooded singletrack, much peaty mud, and a pringled wheel attempting to ride the downhill course on a singlespeed. A singlespeed with wide bars.

Sadly Barney couldn’t make it, but on the plus side it meant that the tuition would be one-to-one. Ed listened patiently to the skills I wanted to improve by the end of the day, namely the ‘flow’ and a desire to either clear a double or manage a decent sized drop off.

Then we headed into the woods.

We’re Gonna Get Real Speedy

This is the three R’s
The three R’s
Repetition, Repetition, Repetition
The Fall, Repetition

We headed up the red route, which I discovered was very popular, to the black run by Whelpstone crag. This section of trail proved to be a lot less popular and Ed and I (grammer) pretty much had it to ourselves.

Unlike when you’re riding on a day out, and you just write off the ‘ten minutes of numptiness’ that you get on all rides, but continue nevertheless, under the watchful eye of Ed, who continually critiqued my position and gave advice on where I could improve, and most importantly, how it should feel, I rode the same section of trail again and again, and again. And Again.

And.

Again.

Black! Black!* [image copyright and courtesy Ed Oxley]

The time just flew by, and it was soon time to head back to The Dog & Partridge for lunch. By now I was riding the black run much smoother, faster, and with much less pedalling. Less braking too. Just a subtle shift in position, and a change in technique over the rollers was having a big effect.

Riding blind down the red run to the pub was much smoother than it would have been.

Riding with more flow.

Achieved.

Flight! Fright! Get Uptight!

For the afternoon session we headed to the downhill course, scene of past pringled wheels.

Ed started me off small, demonstrated how it should be done, and once more spent time patiently pointing out the changes I needed to make to my technique, as I rode a small jump again, and again and, well, you get the picture.

Then we moved onto my aim for the day – a decent sized jump. Ed showed me where to start up the trail so that I could freewheel down to it without having to pedal, and just, just!, ride off it.

After watching Ed clear it effortlessly I rode to the lip and stopped for a look. Now, this was no taller than the sort of thing I’d tackle on horseback, though in those circumstances the brakes are in the hands of my equine teammate not under my own direct control. It’s all in the head.

So I pushed back up the trail. Clipped in, rode to the release point, and – this was the kicker – moved my fingers from the brake levers to the bars as a sign of commitment.

And launched.

This is no joke
The thing could go up in smoke
Or plummet to the ground
As the g-force pulls us down
Pop Will Eat Itself, Nightmare at 20,000 ft

My shock at not nose-diving into the ground meant that I completely failed to take the next corner and used that mornings new skills to ride over several roots and stumps before falling gently off sideways.

I couldn’t care less that I’d bollocksed up the corner. I’d cleared the jump.

I repeated the jump a couple more times to times to satisfy myself that it wasn’t a fluke, and once I’d managed to make it down the next section of trail smoothly I resisted the urge for the always fatal “one last time”.

Rad.

Achieved.

Rad. Achieved. [image copyright and courtesy Ed Oxley]

The XC jey-boy stereotype may take longer to overcome.**

* Black! Black! You lock me in the cellar and feed me pins!

** I’m proud of it anyway.

I have just been reminded that I need to add the most excellent XXC magazine to my delicious bookmarks.

Issue 4 is out now and includes articles on the Three Peaks and the Kielder 100.

Southport Airshow is local to us and always a popular event. This year with the apperance of the Vulcan it was going to be even more popular than ever – typically gates increase by 20% when the cold-war bomber makes an appearance.

Knowing that the traffic would be bad there was no other alternative than the Langster to get there. Even by mid-afternoon when people were already too late to see early acts such as the Red Arrows, the queues were ten miles long*. Fortunately the dual carriageway has a cycle lane (note to the Council – it needs a good sweep), and I could ride past the fraught families. Motorcyclists had no such luck as bored drivers are too stupid/lazy to check their mirrors and leave room for filtering.

Once there I didn’t need to pay for or stress about parking either. Southport has a woeful lack of cycle parking, but I was able to clamber over the sea wall and lock it to the rainings by the flightline.

It was worth it though, as I was able to get right up to the flightline. All afternoon different aircraft would come in and start their display from the left hand of the beach.

Then at 4.20 pm the commentators announced the Vulcan was airborne and just 6 miles away, 2 minutes flying time. All eyes scanned the sky to the left.

The sneaky Vulcan pilot though flew round the back of Southport and came in fast and low over the pier to the right. No photograph can do justice to the sight of this amazing delta flying in that close. It still set off less car alarms than the Typhoon though.

Once the Vulcan had done it’s thing I leisurely packed up my camera, unlocked my bike and rode past the well-established queues along Marine Drive. I must have been back home before some folk even managed to get off the car park.

* Lancashire Constabulary have used, against my wishes, their inability to attend my RTA on 12th July due to the weight of Manchester-Blackpool charity cyclists in a report complaining to the organisers of the traffic problems caused by the do-gooding cyclists.

In the interests of even handedness I can no doubt rest assured that Lancashire Constabulary will be submitting a similar report to the organisers of Southport Airshow in respect to the traffic chaos they cause.

Can’t I?