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

From this…

Raw Metal by Rick
[image copyright and courtesy Rick Hunter]

To this…

Ghost Flames by Sampson
[image copyright and courtesy Rick Hunter]

Nice work by Sampson.

[image copyright and courtesy Philip Diprose]

Several friends have completed the Dunwhich Dynamo and always have epic tales of, well, chafing mainly.

I suspect that some of them are suspects in setting up this exhibition of photographs by Joe McGorty. Nip along – ha, Lahndoners only, provincials need not apply – to the Pebbledash Gallery and you also get to pick up an early copy of The Ride Journal, Issue #3.

The rest of us will have to make do with the post or visits to stockists such as Sideways Cycles.

Don’t Believe Everything You Read

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.

Spot The Bike

The Guardian Camera Club assignment for September is cycling related.

Show them what you can do.

Avro Vulcan, XH558

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?

Finish Start [image courtesy Andy Armstrong]

It started in Kielder. Again

Kielder.

Spring, 2006.

A Dawes tandem hurtles through the start/finish area of the Polaris Challenge past ace mountain photographer Steve Behr. Steve is there because the tandem captain is Chipps Chippendale, writing about the tenth running of the event for MTB World.

We’re not stopping, somewhere in the forest there’s a checkpoint with our name on it, and there’s two hours left to bag it.

That night night we huddle round a fire that, I swear, is floating on a raft. Technically that would make it a pyre. There is then a small award ceremony for those who have done all ten Polaris Challenge events so far. Their achievementinspired me to finish the first ten Mountain Mayhem races. Which, in 2007, I achieved.

Since then I’ve been looking for a new goal.

In the years since I last rode at Kielder Scotchland has developed into a world famous mountain bike destination, especially the Seven Stanes. Their cousins across the border in Kielder looked at the Scots and thought “we fancy a bit o’ that”, and have been developing and promoting mountain biking in Kielder forest, especially the red and black routes at Deadwater.

How to publicise your efforts and attract more people to your new trails?

Both our problems were about to be solved.

Enter the Kielder 100.

Literally.

One Lap.

One Rider.

One Adventure.

100 miles.

To say I was underprepared would be talking up my efforts. A 70 mile singlespeed ride – on the road – and some new shoes to replace my almost toeless ones. Frankly the shoes are writing cheques my talent has no way of cashing, still, I figured it would go.

In preparation I retrieved the original Polaris 1:50,000 map to review the terrain. I marvel at what we must have been thinking that day as we hurtled through the start/finish desparate to bag another checkpoint – there isn’t one round for bloody miles.

Free-Range Mountain Bikers

Following the lead of othes we quickly booked into Kielder campsite in the two-man/one-dog tent. If only I’d known about the acorn-esque ‘pods’. They’re like overgrown chicken huts with free-range mountain bikers scrabbling around in the dirt outside. Still, a tarp under the tent will see us right and save us from sinking into the morass. Parking conditions are “challenging”. I wouldn’t want to be driving a two wheel drive car.

Rider sign-on and briefing is a chance to meet up with old friends and acquaintances. The familiar faces are most welcome and there is confidence to be gained knowing that everyone else has the same trepidation about the distance.

iPod Memoire

Probably come to die in this town
Big Black, Kerosene

Just before 6 and a pair of disembodied white shoes trit-trots around a darkened campsite like some bad art-school mime, heading off to breakfast for porridge accompanied by audio inspiration and much needed wake-up from Big Black.

6.45am

I’m going out for a while
Feeder, High

The start line is full of more familiar faces. There are people I haven’t seen for ‘ahem’ years, also looking for the next challenge after Polaris and 24 hour races. Others look like they’re out for a day at a trailcentre, just for rather longer. There are 29er rigid singlespeeds, stripped to the bone XC race bikes, and freeride machines with fat tyres and lots of travel. I don’t envy any of them 100 miles.

In contrast to dR j0n and his meticulous preparation mine own has simply been to steal my wifes Turner Flux (a Horst link model Turner nerds), and put my preferred tyres on it. Once again the tyres I buy for myself end up on her bikes – not as cast-offs, but before I get a chance to use them myself! I can be found still setting up the fork and shock pressures on the start line. 1psi for each pound of rider weight was bang on. I pack the pump away just before the folk at the head of the field start the roll out.

As the pack rides slowly, but slightly too quickly for comfort at this early hour, along a neutralised start section behind the pace car the sun creeps over the Cheviots. I insert headphones into ears, and set the iPod to “stun”. This should help counter the monotony of the inevitable fire-road climbs. As much as anything I need it right now to drown out the sound of the dragging disc brakes of the guy just behind me. At first I keep wondering if it’s my own brakes dragging, but when I see him on a climb, visibly slowing at the end of each power stroke I predict him as first man out. I offer him a spanner to bleed his brakes, but he assures me that it’s just new thicker pads and he’ll be okay. I leave him on the first climb and never see him again.

Having oh so confidently predicted first man out I’m surprised as we reach the end of the first descent, still behind the neutral pace-car, that the dubious honour of first non-finisher in the first UK 100 mile MTB race looks like it will be Marty Savalas, of Velo Club Moulin. Poor Marty is stood by the side of the road, head resting in his hands on his saddle with an obvious mechanical, breathing deeply, and, is that a midge in each eye? I almost stop, but surely the Tail End Charlies just behind me will sort him out?

7.05am

Fall on your face in those bad shoes
The Pixies,Tame

30 minutes into the race I hit the first section of ‘singletrack’, a 6″ ribbon of landrover rut entered at full tilt straight from a big ring fireroad descent. Touch the rut walls carrying this much speed and you’re tank-slapping like mad to recover…

7.22am

It’s a time we love to hate, I can give you
New Order, Hurt

The meat of the day; some granny ring climbing. Already my middle-ring is almost unused as the sawtooth race profile has me alternately winching uphill in granny, or flying downhill in the big ring. I’m running out of gears at either end of the range. On the climbs I keep being distracted by the incredible whiteness of my feet, startling myself.

7.41am

I hear you laugh and I hear you scream
Tackhead feat. Gary Clail, Reality

The middle ring is finally getting some use, perfect for sections of whoopy man made singletrack. This one features a perfect roll in to a jump. My bike choice is being vindicated on every one of these sections – the suspension allows me to attack the whoops with more speed. Heck I nearly cleared a set of doubles back there. I may be left behind on the climbs but I’m reclaiming it on these sections. Sadly there aren’t enough of them to stop me being so far back.

8.19am

That split into fractions in front of your eyes
Curve, Split Into Fractions

Remember that Dawes tandem from 1996? Well, guess which couple didn’t take any chain lube to that first Polaris.

The chain was ‘a bit dry’ after day one, and we briefly, very briefly, considered using some of the pesto we’d carried for tea as a lube. Instead we ate it all. Needs must and all that. Climbing out from Wainhope there was a spang and the chain snapped. I recognise the spot as I descend towards the marshall point.

8.27am

Blood on the streets, blood on the rocks, blood in the gutter, every last drop
AC/DC, If You Want Blood (You Got It)

The man in front of me has just cleared a climb and sat up to relieve an obviously aching back. I don’t hold out much hope for him finishing.

8.41am

Now I’m kinda lethal on the dance floor, Check it, tight pants!
Eagles of Death Metal, (I Used To Couldn’t Dance) Tight Pants

Two hours in and my tennis elbow is starting to play up. I’m under doctors order to suppress it with ibuprofen. Quick stop just before the current climb finishes to grab some. I always figure that if you have to stop you lose less time making your stop on a climb as you’re not losing well-earned momentum. I take the opportunity to grab some jelly babies out the Camelbak. As I clip back in the iPod decides now is a good time to rock out and, singing along to EODM I test the limits of the tyres on the corners. It’s downhill again!

9.31am

I’ve lived my life in the valleys, I’ve lived my life on the hills
New Order, Thieves Like Us

Dave from Joolze Dymond photography snaps me climbing a corner. I’m sucking on my Camelbak, so hardly going to be photogenic, but I could care less.

For my iPod has died.

The long, lonely fireroad climbs are going to be no fun now, riding alone. The slight differences in speed are being slowly exaggerated by time and distance now, no riders in sight either in front of or behind me.

The Loneliness of The Long Distance Rider

11.20am

Don’t you dare scratch my bike!
Kirsty, Marshall Point 12

I’ve been sighting the bloke in front of me up the climbs on Deadwater, and I finally catch him as we exit a great section of new singletrack. What he must think as the marshall shouts strange instructions at the rider behind him I don’t know. I don’t suppose he’s noticed the pink brakes and flowery discs. But then he does have pink cables on his Bionicon – men are comfortable with pastels these days.

I’m informed that the leaders came through here almost two hours ago. I’m 1/3 of the way in and already it’s looking like I’ll not reach the cut off at 2pm and 54 miles. I’m updated on Marty and it turns out his freehub exploded. Still, better two miles out than 80.

I top up my carb/ribose mix with full-fat Coke, clip in, and rejoin, for the ascent of Deadwater, from where we have been promised 360 degree views. Not in this cloud there won’t be.

11.50am

Don’t go through the puddle!
Unkown Rider, Deadwater climb

My left shoe is back to nice shiny whiteness as it keeps getting powerwashed by the long deep puddles. For some reason my right foot seems to be escaping the washing, so I’m now only ever distracted by my left foot. Approaching yet another small lake the rider in front, stood at the far side, yells a frantic warning at me. My kidneys are hurting like hell now and I realise I must not have been drinking enough.

12.30pm

Rider 202 retiring.
Me, Marshall Point 14

Mental arithmetic.

Ride 15 miles to the cut-off in 1 and a half hours, then be eliminated and ride 15 miles back. Even if I am not forced to retire at this rate I will not finish until 9.30pm

Or, ride 1 mile downhill to the campsite.

Go straight back to the start. Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200. Do. Not. Finish.

Face it, I would have taken so long to get to Feed Station 4 that the sandwiches waiting for me would have passed their sell by date.

Aftermath

Kirsty will be marshalling the finish line this afternoon from 2pm, so I might as well make myself useful. So I clean the bike, at least the Kielder mud washes off easily, and grab a hot shower at Kielder campsite before the masses return, and head off to lend a hand.

2:58pm

Where were you between Led Zeppelin and War Of The Worlds
overheard at the finish

I never reached War Of The Worlds

Pressed into remote-flash duties for Joolze Dymond. Neal Crampton crosses the finish line to be met by a small crowd and a dog.

I spend a couple of hours fetching coffee and tiffin for the marshalls before taking over from stopwatch duties. Then out come the midges. These are not just any midges. This is definitely a cross-border raiding party of Scottish midges, recognisable by the tiny tartan and ferocious wee bite. We beg, borrow and steal Avon Skin-So-Soft yet still the only respite is to actually walk around. My hand holding the timing clipboard is literally black with dead midges. I think I lose just less than an armful.

Just after 8.30pm

Congratulations, youve finished.
Kirsty, Finish Line

Illuminated by the lights of a trail bike riding Tail End Charlie Mike crosses the line in DFL.

That’s it. Our part in the day is done.

42 miles.

6 hours riding.

18 hours marshalling between us (not counting the dog).

1 new goal…

It Isn’t Over Yet

Organisation wise this was one of the best organised events I’ve ever done.

You could tell that Paul and Sara at SIP Events have previous as organisers, racers, and marshalls. To convinve sponsors to come on board with a predicted 80-100 field is amazing. To then get 200 is fantastic. The support from the loacls in Newcastleton and Kielder was much appreciated too.

Despite an attrition rate approaching 50% the feedback on the Singletrackworld forum says lots about the organisation of this event. It is overwhelmingly positive.

So, that new goal then. Kielder 100, 2010. Make the distance. Bring on the training miles.

Whippet Slippers

My old whippet slippers have been shot for a while, and on Monday as we rode out my wife asked if maybe I shouldn’t get some new shoes for the forthcoming Kielder 100. Not one to miss an opportunity new shoes were duly ordered. I’ve never considered going back to Sidi ever since we were supplied with Specialized body geometry shoes by Sideways Cycles back in 2001.

I’m not sure that I can live up to the expectations the shoes will rase, and they certainly won’t be that colour after 100 miles.