falling off bikes since 1975

I heard today that John North has Parkinson’s Disease. For someone I rarely see and wouldn’t only dare to call a brief acquaintance rather than a friend I am deeply affected. That someone so naturally talented at climbing and endurance sports, seemingly made of wire and sinew, should be dealt such a bum hand with his health just doesn’t seem fair. I guess my feelings are a measure of my respect for him.

I first met John racing NEMBA years ago. At first John seemed a curmudgeon, but I soon learnt that he had little time for fools and was one of life’s straight talkers. The trick with John is to get him reminiscing. Those of us who know him will, I am sure, all have our favourite John tales. I’ve heard tales of winning the Karrimor International Mountain Marathon in the worst ever conditions recorder. The story of setting British tandem records that aren’t recognised because he wasn’t a member of the BTTC at the time fills a good ten minutes. And it gave rise to the “It’s In” catchphrase used whenever we select big rng on our tandem. The one where he demanded a credit card check on a wealthy venture capitalist before selling him something from the company shop is jaw-dropping and pure John North. Let’s just say that it earned him respect and a personal chef at the MTB Worlds rather than got him into trouble.

Even back in the mid ’90s John had cancer, and at one point was the long term test subject for some of the cancer drugs, the only person to last more than a couple of years on them.

But treatment kept knocking him back. I remember a conversation with him before one race, as he was describing how the treatment was working and he could ride his bike again.

“You’re still racing though?”

“Yes, but I can’t ride too hard or I black out”.

One hour later in the woods as I wheezed around near the back of the pack I heard a familiar voice.

“On your left”.

I couldn’t help wondering as he breezed past me how hard he had to go to actually faint. Though John could be more polite as he passed you in a race than if you pissed him off at the tea tent later.

John was the stuff of legend to a young impressionable racer. I didn’t know then that I had my own health problems (the lungs of an 80 year old), and I put my poor performance down to just not trying hard enough - not riding until I fainted - and not being built of the wire and sinew obligatory to be a decent XC whippet.

When, in 1997, I first entered the Three Peaks Cyclo-Cross race, that foolish Yorkshire epic raced on totally unsuitable bikes over Ingleborough, Whernside and Pen-Y-Ghent, it was only natural to ask John for advice. John, some other back of the field Sports class racers and a handful of die-hard race fans and NEMBA organisers were the only people left in Wilf’s tea tent at the end of a rainy weekend of racing in Bingley.

“Pump your tyres up to 120psi to stop pinch punctures on the descents”.

I can assure you that I took Johns advice then and it’s the only advice I give it to anyone else fancying this race. But you don’t half need to be a bike handler to cope.

More advice was not forthcoming, but John started reminiscing. He started telling us about his exploits in the race ovver the years. He saved his tale of the Swiss CX champion who was coming over one year until last. John had a plan to retain his title as winner.

“I’ll run up Ingleborough”.

Now those of you who don’t know the Three Peaks need only to know that Ingleborough is the first and steepest of the three hills on this 36 mile skinny tyred off-road epic. There is no option but to shoulder your bike and grunt your way up most of this one. The climb to Lords Seat, only halfway to the top, is so steep that it is impossible - for most of us mortals at least - to climb up without using the fence alongside the path as a handrail to stop you falling backwards arse over tit for a good 300 feet.

So John ran up Ingleborough.

“And when I got to t’summit I looked round and ‘e were still there. So I thought I’d better try Plan B.”

“Plan B?”, those of us sat or stood enraptured about John asked.

“Yep, run up Whernside”.

John went on to win.

Although I only infrequently see or speak to John he’s always cheerful, even when delivering bad news about his health. And, if I have time, which I didn’t last time because I was due out on another lap, there’s always a tale of his younger exploits. I must remember this and learn never to grumble about the hand I’ve been dealt in life next time something trivial pisses me off.
My wife, who met John for the first time last year in the pits at the Karrimor Enduro, says he’ll deal with it in precisely the same way that he’s dealt with everything else in life. Which, if I know John, is to get on with living life as fast and hard as he can. Just like his women, he proclaimed only last year. Any man that specs a carbon fibre hip replacement just doesn’t know how to do things by halves.

Unfortunately my wife goes on to say that she can absolutely guarantee that it will in no way change my misery bum attitude to life ;-)

But she hopes that it does.