Bike: Il Pompino
Distance: Just over an hour
Playlist: Rawk – iPod went Motörhead

There’s something satisfying about hitting a milestone at the last minute, especially when you only realised just before an arbitrary deadline that the milestone was within your grasp.

Yesterday was a birthday blowout evening meal which included beer. And boy could I tell that I had had beer as I mucked out the horses this morning. It felt like it was sweating out of every pore. So I wasn’t looking forward to getting out for the last few miles needed to hit the 1,000 miles. I even looked at the route profile from yesterday to try and work out which way round to do it to ease aching legs. The conclusion was to get the climbing and suffering over in the first three miles and enjoy the gradual descent of the remaining miles.

Wanker socks. Incongruous shoes**

I also set the endomondo app to beat yesterdays target so that if I was slow I’d have something to chase. Bit of a bummer hitting the traffic lights across the M1 then. Up the hill, thighs not feeling quite so bad as yesterday. On every descent I nail it out of the saddle to try and make up speed and time. It worked. By the time I reach the bestest roundabout in the world ever* I was over three minutes ahead, and just one climb to go.

Got the camera out at about where I figured 1,000 miles would be, then hammered home.

Gives me inspiration to try and do better next year. I’m making no resolutions though***.

* It’s a perfect radius and surface for scraping the inside pedal. Half an hour on a sportsbike there could be some knee-down fun.

** But you do get lots more nods from roadies when wearing white shoes.

*** Geek joke. My resolution for next year? 1920 x 1280.

Having realised yesterday that I was close to 1,000 miles for the year I had to get a ride in today. Kirsty went to do the horses and after a lie in I went out on the bike. I wore incongruous shoes – white whippet slippers on an Il Pompino, and I swear that for the first few minutes I was faster. Then the road went up, and the effects of yesterday and 44:16 gear kicked in.

Il Pompino

I was knackered heading West, but once I reached the halfway point the wind was behind me, the iPod had kicked into SOAD and I flew home.

Just a dozen miles tomorrow, rain or shine, to do.

Bike: Il Pompino
Distance: Just shy of two hours
Playlist: Rawk – iPod got a classic 80s metal theme into it’s mind

Just as Monster needs to let off steam I can’t sit at home during the Christmas break lamenting the size of my gut as I feed myself with the contents of the traditional box of Quality Streets*. We had planned a group hack this morning, four horses in Polite jackets riding through the village causing the local youth to stare at their feet and kick the tyres of their hot hatches**. Inclement weather of the wet and windy variety put paid to that. Did I want to risk more punctures and mud to go out? Did I heck.

Cross-processed suicide panda

So pump up the tyres on the Pompino to 110 psi and spend two hours exploring local lanes between all the local villages. Most of which have names ending in, er, End. Including the Witts End of the title. The weather held fair. The riding was uneventful, except for the serious camber on the stretch of road I chose for the obligatory ride photo. Hence the look of fear in my eyes above.

Update: I need to fit in another 29 miles before the end of the year to make a round thousand miles for the year. That’s a pathetic total. Twenty years ago I used to make that distance in five weeks of commuting. I was a stone lighter and eating 5,000 calories a day, mind.

* Other over-large tins of low cocoa content, high fat, chocolate confectionary are available.

** Yes, really. It’s quite funny to see.

OK, so one puncture was the slow puncture I fixed before I set off. Thorn removed. The ride itself was just from home to the stables, but it involves a climb to get the lungs working and a descent to finish off.

Braking for the corner at the bottom of the descent told me it was time to fit new pads to the rear which I did. By which time I noticed that the rear tyre was going soft again. Find and fix another thorn puncture.

I had intended on getting out on the 4th, but come back to the bike in the morning and find another flat. This one took a bucket of water to find, semi-frozen in this weather. By the time I’d done and ridden horses, been to buy a new and necessary rug for one of them it was 2 o’clock. I had hoped to get out for an hour before daylight faded, but then we were called upon to go for a family meal. Still, it’s ready for the next weekend.

It took me ten years of racing before I finally achieved a podium place. That was back in 2002, getting 3rd place on the Dusk til Dawn podium in mixed pairs, achieved in no small part to having a wife that was a similar speed as I was on a bike.

We repeated the feat in 2003. Since then Dusk til Dawn has been one of those races that occurs miles away. This year, having moved, we live a whole lot nearer, and this was definitely on my to-do list. Kirsty now has priorities, so I was going to have to do this all by myself.

The BBC weather forecast was for a dry night with patchy rain. Could they have been more wrong. It was raining with two hours to go, and continued to rain throughout. I joke about liking bad conditions because more people will quit. Was I about to be hoist by my own petard?

Let the chaos begin

The lead out was fast, but relaxed. Then into lap one. The trail was still nice and dry in places, especially in the trees. I didn’t remember Thetford being this flat. We used to joke it had a thousand feet of climbing per lap, in six inch whoops. Sure there were some climbs, but they didn’t feel steep. Some sections of trail I definitely remembered as uphill from years gone by, but they were definitely easier this year. Home run I’m thinking of in particular. I spent much of the first two laps drafting other solo riders, then once I had my breath back overtaking and sprinting to the next glow-stick.

My game plan was to go out with the NiteRiders and an awesome 10 watts of power then switch to my Lumicycles and their all night staying power, but only 5 watts, once I knew the course. Unfortunately due to a slipping USE alien seatpost clamp which I was having to fettle after each lap I completely forgot to switch lights after lap two. Cue brown out after two miles into lap three. Arse biscuits. My backup light, a Blackburn Voyager 3.3 pushes out a nice white light, but a very narrow beam. Not good for seeing round Thetfords corners. Still, there were plenty of people who had such bright lights I could hold their wheel and see where I was going. Thanks to the guys with the skulls who got me to Tom’s pit.

It was also very apparent as the course started to get wet that some of the team riders were out of their depth already. After holding the wheel of one guy in full waterproofs on the section between Helter Skelter and Howes Pit, with quite a queue building up behind us I might add, we finally reached a section long and wide enough for me to get past safely avoiding his wobbles. “On your right” I warned him. I was gobsmacked at both his response and the tone. A sarcastic, “If you’re fast enough”. Well, frankly. Fuck you Very Much. Thank goodness for riders like him that the trail still known as the Beast of the East* was replaced by the tamer Double Shock for this race.

One niggle on these early laps was a continually slipping seatpost head, a years old Alien from USE. By the end of this lap it was practically off the rails at the back, and either it had to be fixed or I was out. There was an Exposure tent in the main arena. Was it too much to hope they’d be carrying Alien spares? When I came in from the lap, I told Kirsty where I was going, and headed straight for the Exposure tent. The blokes behind the desk answered my query about Alien spares by slapping a new 3mm single bolt design onto the desk and sending me to the bike wash. Once I was back they even fitted the new clamp. Now that’s what I call service. No more excuses for long pit stops though!

By this time I was definitely detecting some climbs on the course. I settled into more of a long haul ride rather than race pace. There were less wheels to chase, and early leaders were now starting to lap me. The solo tent was getting emptier every time I returned. Either riders had had enough and fucked it off, or were in some kind of dazed and confused “what the fuck am I doing to myself/my bike” camaraderie. Food, drinks and tips for survival were being shared about. What had to be beaten was the course not your comrades. Finishing was a goal in itself.

Lap six was my last lap in darkness. By now there was definitely uphill on the course, and entire sections I was having to stand for. New lakes had appeared, which I definitely would have noticed if they’d been there earlier seeing as they were pedals deep. Riding lap seven I was finally able to place the sections of course relative to my old reference point of Mayday Meadow. Quite without intending to I finally finished at three minutes past 8. No lurking required.

My forks didn’t work. My brake pads were down to the metal. My bottom bracket was making horrible noises that I am hoping is a graunchy chain and not new bearings required. I’m fairly sure that if I’d had gears they’d have broken.

There were 191 entries in solo male.

156 started, or at least completed one lap. I managed 26th.

21 completed the 12 hours. Out of these I managed 12th.

There is no category for niche wanky singlespeed old giffers. I’m hoping I’d have had a podium place if there were.

12 years older in just 12 hours

* If you’ve ridden the beast of the east you’ll know that the beast in question is a mildly annoyed squirrel.

Bike: Hunter
Distance: 1 hour 20 minutes

When Velocake offered their tops in Giro pink I misread the Pantone 189 specification as Pantani 1998.

Wow. Nearly as pink as the infamous “Canada, Bitch” t-shirts from SSWC 2001.

Pink panda

No-one had a sticker saying “Silly”

Now, whenever I’ve pre-entered a race and then either not been able to turn up, I’ve never bothered the organiser for a refund. I’ve either found someone willing to stump up something, anything, and have my place, or written it off.

While Aidan made a very generous offer I think that the gentlemanly thing for anyone who cancelled and hasn’t yet received or asked for a refund would be to write it off.

Foggy morning, but I have places to be. I was decamped before everyone else was up and on the road. No chainless race for me.

Morning campers

Sussex was a new experience. Death by a thousand cuts. No long or particularly steep climbs, but definitely lacking in flat bits. Up or down all the way to Haywards Heath and the station. From there it’s train all the way with a brief sojourn across London – preparing for the Tour of Britain, plenty of team cars to overtake in the early morning traffic – and at the end.

I really enjoyed my first multi-night stop out with all the lightweight kit. It helped that there was food on-site at the race – top notch food too, from the Drop Off cafe’s mobile catering Leyland Bus. More adventures are due.

Off to Pippingford Park for SSUK 2011. TMBMITW was having a birthday this weekend which fortunately kept the more annoying Cheeky Trails cocks well away. *

I am a number not a name

Turns out that the johnny come lately Nick Wallis had also entered, and the organisers had assumed this was a mistake when it came to printing the name boards. That meant I got a chance to make my own customised number board. “I am a number not a name”.

Once registration was sorted it was time to re-acquaint with friends such as Singular Sam, Mel & Shaggy etc. It has to be said that i know less and less people at these events each year. And introducing yourself by your Singletrack forum name means absolutely nothing to me.

Anyway, enough of that. Beer, food from the Drop Off cafe** and chat till the wee small hours. Yes, that was us with the megaphone. What, you’ve got to race tomorrow? So do we. And don’t you do know you risk the wrath of Sheldon for daring to be competitive?

Man make fire. Ug.

* Specifically anti-racer DaveA who overcompensates for his inferiority complex at being shit at racing by unfunny heckling and generally making an arse of himself.

** The Leyland bus caused proper flashbacks to my first days at secondary school. “Do not stand forward of this sign or distract the driver”.

Tonight was just a quick local singletrack loop. The onset of the weather rather spurred me on. The first time since I’ve moved down South that it’s rained on me during a ride. Proper heavy rain after a sunny day, smell of dust rain. I must confess that I think my tanned calves looked rather spiffing all glistening and wet. I was so intent on finishing the ride I didn’t even bother with the camera and have had to resort to a picture from Friday.

If it’s not wet, it wasn’t taken today

The front tyre was was making proper tearing noises even as I weighted the front and ragged it to get back home. I don’t normally ride that fast unless I’m on a race course and know that no-ones coming.