January 12th, 2006
Strathpuffer 0.1
Some of us hardened(?) veterans(?) of 24 hour racing(?) have, for some time now - lulled into a false sense of pride by our efforts in the middle of summer - been jesting about running a 24 hour race in the middle of winter. In Scotland.
Well, our bluff has well and truly been called. And many of those erstwhile boaster have made their excuses. Not many have stepped up to the crease*. Less than a month after the shortest day (and a mere week after the latest dawn) I’m off to Strathpeffer** for the, erm, Strathpuffer. As 2005 was a complete washout so far as I was concerned for 24 hour racing, and having ridden a bike, just, ahem, once so far this year I will not be soloing. Instead I am the only sassenach on a team of brave hardy and far more rugged than me Scotsmen. Frankly I’m honoured, if a little scared. Any chance of wimping out and using gears has been well and truly scotched (sorry) as we will be entering the fray under the team moniker of ‘Naegears’. It’s another language I tell you.
Never mind the weather, predictably wet, cold and dark, but blissfully at this time of year midge free, the only forecast I’m interested in is trail conditions. Rather unsurprisingly the current predictions are for mud. Lots of mud. The term mudbath has been bandied about by those with loose tongues. As a victim of the previous endurance race mud at Drumlanrig - I had grip but lost the will to live as the drivetrain clogged up - and SSMM 2004 - I had no grip and the state of the drivetrain was moot as I slogged on foot for hours through the night threatening to arson the organisers tent - I know what to expect.
Preparation tomorrow before I make the several hundred mile drive North will undoubtedly consist of much swearing as I reclaim my mud tyres from my wifes bike and put them on my race bike. Rather more worryingly my race bike is my Spot, currently equipped with a light as a sparrows fart Californian bottom bracket with the sealing of a colander. I may need to take a spare.
Notes for the colonials across the Atlantic
* you would say “up to the plate”. We call that game ’rounders’ and it is usually only played by girls or children at picnics.
**about as far North as Juneau, Alaska.
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January 13th, 2006 at 12:40 am
Ach… it’ll be fine…
Until it gets dark… and six hours later (about 11pm) we wonder why it is not dawn yet…
: )