The Real Ale Wobble 2012

I've been running the Wobble for quite a few years now after taking up the baton from Mick Heath. I like to think I've made it my own, introducing a few twists over the years and having a new route every time. The basic premise is always the same - an on/off road ride visiting several local (ish) pubs and, most importantly, good company.
I always agonise over the route and still worry that people aren't going to turn up. This year I was up against it because not only was heavy rain forecast but England were playing too. As KO time neared the crying off texts began. Never mind, the show must go on.
At 6.30pm I was at the Sunnyhurst for the start. Jonathan B kindly bought me a pint and so I was in the mood from the get go. A few others joined us and I knew we'd be meeting more at the first stop so at 6.45pm we set off. Reaching the A666 the heavens opened. It was like a monsoon. I'd already decided to cut one bit of off road for the sake of speed and now as we regrouped at Greens Arms I opted to ride straight to the Cheethams Arms. Already we were pretty much drenched but it wasn't cold. Always a bonus!
A quick soggy blast down the road and we reached the Cheethams. Budge, Phil and Jase (aka Team JMC) had all ridden over from Rammy/Prestwich to meet us there. It was Budge and Phil's first time on the Wobble. I had a feeling that they'd enjoy it. A few more stragglers and late comers arrived too and we were up to full strength - about 16 or 17 if memory serves.

We necked a pint here and then shot off through Chapeltown and across the dam to the Black Bull at Edgeworth. It wasn't far but I like to get the first few pints in early doors to get everybody in the mood. The footy was on here and so we crammed into the bar to crane over people's heads to watch a bit. I'd got my finger out by now and sorted the traditional kitty for ale - tenner in and drink whatever pint is put in front of you. Budge and Jase seemed a bit reticent at first but Phil had a bit of a word. I think it was 'Pussies'! So, for the rest of the evening pretty much it was a case of bar staff doing a double take when I ordered about 9 pints at a go. Glasses drained and back on the bikes. The booze was just starting to have a bit of an effect - not enough to make you reckless but a warm fuzziness. It certainly didn't slow us down as we shot through Wayoh and onto the road across the dam and up the steep climb to the Strawbury Duck.
Another big round in and a throng formed in front of the telly to watch some more of the game. It was 1 -1 when we left the Bull but Sweden got in front while we were in the Duck. Was this going to put a dampener on the evening? We drank on. Suddenly cheers as Walcott equalised! Game on! And so we jumped on our bikes and headed for the penultimate pub - the Greenfield back in Darwen. I was feeling pretty good now and was putting the hammer down a bit. There was a line of merry riders in pursuit, their tongues flapping as we charged along Edge Lane. I stopped for a regroup and while I was explaining to somebody that if 24 hr races had compulsory drinking then I'd win 'em (ahem) word came through that England were winning.

Down the A666, off through Dog Shit Woods, cheeky singletrack at the back of the Cemetary, through Jacks Key and down Cranberry to the pub. I figured that everybody knew where we were going so they'd either keep up or catch up. The Greenfield was absolutely rammed. I managed to elbow my way to the bar just as the final whistle blew. Sweden 2 - Engerland 3! That'll be 9  pints of 'England's Glory' then. Outside again into the damp darkness as riders were still coming in. I think the only one who had a light on was Pete Murphy and he couldn't switch it off! It was quite a happy (if grubby) mob spread out in front of the pub. It had reached the stage where tales were just starting to get a bit tall, voices raised, gestures a bit more extravagant. Excellent!

'Right, you buggers - sup up!' We were heading for a (tired and) emotional re-union with the Black Horse as finishing venue for the Wobble. Mick and Andy had only recently got back into the pub and it was good to be getting back to the spititual home of the Wobble. The usual Banzai charge down Sough Rd and the familiar funny-but-a-bit-weird sensation of wheeling muddy bikes through a busy pub to lock 'em up on the beer garden. And then it was time to get stuck into some more drinkies... I managed to briefly lose the kitty but fortunately discovered it again after everybody had gone seperate. A quick count up and I found we were just shy of enough to get another round in. Phil was stood next to me at the bar and just gave me a fiver to make it up. What a proper chap!

From this point on it gets a little hazy. Mick and Andy had put on a brilliant spread of sandwiches for us so it went quiet for a short while as we hoovered them down. And then drink followed drink. Oh dear...
Gradually people began to disperse. The JMC boys set off on their long ride home. Jonathan B was picked up by his Mrs and amused passers-by by dropping his bike off the roof rack... Eventually (and inevitably) there was just the hard core 4 of us left - Dave Billi, Livsey, Will and me.

It was getting pretty late and so I figured it was 'Jack Daniels' o'clock. Dave came back with it from the bar and had bought everybody else some God awful concoction of port and lemonade which, he assured everyone was his 'favouritisht drink'...

As stools were being stacked around us we eventually took the hint and left. Unusually I didn't have to drag Dave out of a bush on the ride home and I didn't smack into any wing mirrors.
By 2 o'clock I was showered and tucked up in bed, grinning to myself as events from the evening came back to me. Oh yes, I was pissed.
Thanks to everybody who turned up despite the weather. I don't need to say I hope you had a good time - I know you did! Bring on next year!

Some more Wobbly pics here.

Horwich CC Hill Climb 13th June 2012

                   Pic by Martin Holden Photography http://www.martinholdenphotography.co.uk/

The second hill climb of Horwich CC's mini series was the Matchmoor Lane one. After working out where the route went I opted to use the 'cross bike rather than the Singlespeed. Too much spinny stuff on the roads on this one. Plus the SS needed some attention. I'd mentioned the event to Paul Livsey the night before but he'd sent me a text earlier in the day saying that he probably wouldn't go as a. he'd cycled to work in Preston and b. it was lashing it down. And so it came as a bit of a nice surprise when he rolled up as I was getting my act together before registration. Also in attendance was Alison Mitchelmore who is the other half of a friend from various bike events. We three seemed to be the 'odd ones out' to a certain extent as the rest were club riders from various local clubs.

In a way these low key events are a bit like fell races in that there is no snobbery and you can talk to anyone and have a laugh no matter what level you are.
Anyway, soon it was time to get lined up. I'd decided not to be as keen as last time and so got a number quite low down the start order. I was 14, Livsey 15 and Ali 16. The guy in front of me set off. He looked the part - properly muscley calves and shaved and tanned legs. He went off like a rocket. Now, although I was on a bike that was a lot more appropriate than last time I was still on a pretty hefty device compared to the carbon and titanium road bikes I was up against. Also my Landcruisers were probably twice  as wide as everybody elses tyres! I do enjoy a challenge (yes, I am an idiot)...
5,4,3,2,1 and I was off. Head down and hammering with the front wheel popping little wheelies as I charged up the road.

Since doing the first event I knew what to expect. Pain, basically! I experienced the wierd and rather nauseating effect of staring straight down at the road and not being able to focus on it as it shot by beneath me. I couldn't keep that up and so had to look up. Bad move, it just seemed like I had barely moved. Reaching the turning for Georges Lane I swung left cheered on by the marshals. I was quite surprised to see a rider up ahead. My poor oxygen starved brain convinced me briefy that I must be riding like a God and it was 'Muscley Legs' ahead. Silly boy! I thrashed on and made the turn for Matchmoor Lane finally catching the bike ahead. It was actually a young lad of 11 who was doing his first bike event. I mustered enough breath to give him some encouragment as I passed. He just looked a bit bewildered.
Stood up and the pedals and ekeing out the last of my energy to crest the rise before a sitting down spin to the finish line. Again I had to have a bit of a moment to compose myself. My chest was burning and the asthmatic cough had started up again.
I trundled down to the line to cheer the young lad in and then spotted Ali heading home with Paul just behind.

We had a bit of fun at Ali's expense as she laid her bike down carefully before prostrating herself on the floor whilst panting dramatically. Offering no sympathy whatsoever we had a bit of a chat standing over her. When she realised that we weren't taking her on she asked me to take a pic on her phone of her sprawled out on the deck. I fired a few shots off and then managed to get quite a good one of Livsey mooning. Obviously I wouldn't condone this sort of behaviour myself...
When we'd all pulled ourselves together and decided that it had been a good do, Paul set off to ride home (!) and I went back to the start to pick photographer Will up and head home myself. We  drove back over the route of the race so Will could have a look at it and then went over Belmont Rd back to Darwen. I was quite amazed when we'd got virtually all the way home before we caught Paul up!
I got the results off the Horwich CC site the next day and was very pleased to see that I was 9th out of 19. I thought that I'd have been maybe ahead of Livsey, Ali and the young lad so this was a real bonus for me. All being well I will do the last event in the series next month.

Big up to the Horwich club for organising it.

Results:
1 John Findley Bill Nickson R.T 6.16
2 Adam Newall Horwich CC 6.30
3 Rob Richardson Bolton Hot Wheels 6.43
4 Jason Wiltshire Lancs RC 6.54
5 Dave Headon Horwich CC 7.00
6 Luke Dearden Chorley CC 7.05
7 Robert Armstrong Bill Nickson RT 7.08
8 Denis Mason Horwich CC 7.14
9 Simon Fox Here Come The Belgians 7.39
10 Neil Pope Lancs RC 7.47
11 Steven Horrocks Lancs RC 7.50
12 Dave Bateson Horwich CC 7.53
13 Tim Kelly Horwich CC 7.55
13 Mark Potts Lancs RC 7.55
14 Alan Gibson Manchester Wh 8.03
15 Shaun Taylor Horwich CC 8.17
16 Alison Mitchelmore Velocake 8.48 Lady
17 Paul Livsey Darwen C 9.16
18 Jordan Stanworth 11.20 Junior

Pics by Martin Holden Photography here

Horwich CC Hill Climb 6th June 2012

I spotted a tweet by @DaveHeadon1 advertising a Hill Climb run by Horwich CC. I've known Dave for a few years now as our paths have crossed at the Three Peaks cyclocross race and he's a pretty sound bloke so I thought I'd turn up for his event. It was open to anyone, only £3 and it's always good to support local events. The route was up at Rivington and climbed Sheep house Lane. It's a steep bugger but one I quite enjoy, especially when out on the mtb and I get chance to race roadies on it on a Sunday morning! With this thought in mind I decided to do the event on the Singlepeed mountain bike for the 'comedic' value. My reasoning being that I knew I could get up the hill on that gearing and nobody would be expecting me to do particularly well at it so there was no pressure. Plus it'd be a good hard work out. Right then, that was decided then.
Taking Will with me to take photographic evidence and give moral support, we arrived at the car park by the reservoir dam. As I dragged the bike out a bloke in the car next to me said in a joky voice 'There's a hill climb on here tonight. You should be having a go!' 'I am.' I answered. 'What, on that??' 'Er, yes.'
I soon found myself on the startline ready for the off. I was so keen to get registered that I ended up number 1. At least it gave all the club lads on their sexy road bikes something to look at as we all got devoured by the swarms of bloodthirtsy midges that thickened the air.

"5.4.3.2.1. Go." and I was away and spinning like a hamster in a wheel on the initial flat section. Whizzing past the first marshals I then got onto the initial climb, heading up towards the turn off for the ICR car park. I'd had a brief warm up but the shock to my heart and lungs from this redline assault was pretty severe. Stood up on the pedals and pushing hard now I reached the next marshals and my mouth was set in an 'O' like a silent scream as I sucked in the air. A flat section and then a slight descent. I had to have a brief coast as I just spun out my gear. No concious decision making now, everything had gone beyond that. Bend to the right and onto the 'meat' of the course - Sheep house Lane. This was never going to be anything other than a proper suffer-fest. Stood up again and forcing the pedals round, lactic acid coursing through my legs. So, so hard. I glanced up and saw how far I had yet to go. Subconciously I must have decided to not do that again due to the demoralising effect it had.
The climb kicks up as it nears the top and by now I was feeling something akin to a panic attack. This had to end soon or I would surely collapse. Then the cruel trick of a sharp turn at the top and still a steep climb. Later I remembered hearing someone there saying 'No, it is him!' which I thought was quite funny. Finally I was off the agonising climb and I could at last sit. I forced myself into an 'aero' tuck and clamped my hands on the bars as close to the stem as I could. Head down and spinning fast. The road curves sinuously here past a small lay by before another climb. It looks so innocent when you drive along it, but not now. At the top of the short rise I could see the finish line marshals opposite the end of Georges Lane. Spin, spin, spin, knees a blur. I crossed the line and coasted a short distance before literally dumping the bike on the grass verge and standing, back bent, with my head down towards my knees. My field of vision was going a bit black round the edges, my lungs on fire. After a short while to compose myself I tottered unsteadily to the finish line for a brief chat with the marshals as the next rider came in.
I tried to work out how far he was behind me, given that he'd set off a minute behind. My brain was still oxygen starved and just wasn't up to the task so I just thought 'At least I didn't get caught.' I rode back down to the start and shouted encouragement to riders coming through. I got the impression from their expressions that this wasn't the done thing in hill climbs. Ah well.
A day or so later the results were posted on the Horwich CC forum. I wasn't last! In fact I was 10th out of 13 competitors. I know that sounds a bit lame but believe me I was bloody pleased with that. I had deliberately made it hard for myself by doing it on a completely unsuitable bike and I'd pretty much held my own. Now that the memory of the total pain and suffering has faded slightly and my asthmatic cough has abated a bit, I am thinking about doing the other 2 events in the mini series. I went through absolute brutal, masochistic hell on the first one so why deprive myself of the 'fun' of more of the same?
Big thanks to Horwich CC for putting the event on and to all the marshals for risking death by midges.

 Details of Horwich CC events here.

Results:
Adam Newall 9.35 Horwich C.C

Rob Richardson 9.45 Bolton Hot Wheels
Dave Headon 9.52 Horwich C.C
Luke Dearden 10.00 Chorley C.C
Paul Ashcroft 10.35 Lancs R.C
Simon Moore 10.47 Horwich C.C
Guy Mckenzie 10.53 Horwich C.C
N Pope 11.10 Lancs R.C
Dave Bateson 11.12 Horwich C.C
Simon Fox 11.17 Here Come The Belgians
Gareth Prosser 11.54 Horwich C.C
Shaun Taylor 11.55 Horwich C.C
Alan Sweatman 13.12 Horwich C.C

Photos by our Will (who must have been pissed).

Helvellyn & the Dodds fell race

At 15 miles and over 4,500' of ascent this race was going to be a test. With a month of Strava 'strive for the summit' inspired hill bashing and a few longer runs behind me I felt like I was in as good a shape as I could realistically be in. There was a reasonable turnout of Dashers for this. It's another counter in our fell race Championship but it isn't exactly on the doorstep. Chatting to Mark Walsh before the start we both shared the opinion that the race seemed to be something of a secret. Not much info on the 'net, certainly no map, and no thread about it on the FRA forum. Weird. I parted with £3.50 to Pete Bland for one of the excellent Harveys waterproof maps of the race course. A quick scan of it before the off confirmed what I expected - a steep climb to start followed by a pretty much linear course picking off summit checkpoints along the way to Helvellyn and then turn and back the same way.
Just shy of 80 runners on the line gave me a moments pause. What if I went wrong at some point and I wasn't in sight of anyone else - would my rusty (and pretty poor) navigating skills be enough to bail me out? I pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind as we set off. I have a good idea of a sustainable pace for distance now and so I got my head down and just tapped it out regardless of what anybody else was doing. Mark Walsh was away with the leaders and Jonathan B was a bit in front. I'd been with Kev Smith at the start so I knew he wouldn't be too far behind. The ascent of Clough Head was pretty huge but not as severe as Robinson, for example. I kept my steady pace up and by the top I was with Jonathan. I was a bit narked to notice that some runners had taken a line away to our right as they ascended. I didn't know if this gave them an advantage or not but as the course was still marked by flags at this point I felt that they shouldn't be doing it, 'Bob Graham line' or not.
Along the tops in a small pack of runners. Usual pattern of pushing a bit on the climbs and dropping slightly on the descents. I felt pretty comfortable as we bombed along, ticking off the checkpoint at Great Dodd as we went. My recent efforts in training must have paid off as I found myself having a chat to Jonathan on one of the climbs rather than the usual breathless and pained silence. I was quite surprised to see a few mounatin bikers up here in the wilderness. Most of them were pushing pretty beefy looking DH or Freeride rigs and were heading up to Helvellyn. 'Good effort' I thought to myself.
By the last but one checkpoint on the outward leg, Raise, I decided to stretch my legs a little and took off after a guy a short distance in front. The checkpoint itself was atop a rocky outcrop that was almost a scramble to get to. The clag was coming down here and I lost sight of the runner ahead and at times struggled to see the path. A sign of things to come as it turned out.
Only Helvellyn summit to go. The wind picked up massively here and was blasting in from my left. I staggered in the force of it and peered through the gloom. The leading runners appeared and sprinted by. I spotted Mark W amongst them and gave him an encouraging shout. The thought flitted through my head that I wasn't actually that far behind him. Blimey! Reaching the checkpoint I was clinging onto my race number to prevent it being torn from my vest. The cold on my head and face was pretty intense as I turned and headed back the way I came. Scittering across the rocks on the summit and heading back towards White Side was where it all went wrong. I lost some time after deciding that I needed to put my hat on. My hands wouldn't work due to the cold and I struggled getting it out of my bumbag and onto my head and then couldn't zip it shut. I was on the path and , although I couldn't always see it, I could make out the mini cairns along its way. Glancing to my right I saw a line of runners including Jonathan. I thought 'That's not right.' I continued on my line until self doubt led me to cut across towards them. Even then I knew it felt wrong., I shouted to the guy at the front and indicated the direction I'd just come from but he kept going. He looked so sure of himself that stupidly I believed him. Onto a wider reddish earth path and descending fast. It suddenly veered way off to the right and I skidded to a halt. This definitely wasn't the way we came. The mystery lead runner had disappeared from view and there was a group of  four of us left scratching our heads. Jonathan, myself, a Preston Harrier and a guy from a Lakeland club, I think. We all knew we were wrong and did a bit of communal swearing before acting. We could see a lake below us and after ruling out the daft suggestion that it could be Thirlmere by pointing out what the compass was saying we continued bearing hard West, contouring round the hills. After a while we spotted a hut and a ski lift. I didn't even know that there was a ski lift on Helvellyn! We dodged across the grassy piste and scambled on. I was massively pissed off as I had been having a decent run until that point and I had visions of all the Dashers flooding by while we floundered. Suddenly we saw the path and runners descending fast. Some shouted questions and we ascertained that we had missed the Raise checkpoint. Bollocks! There was no way on God's earth that I was going to get a DNF after all that work so I set about charging back up to the summit to get checked. I shouted encouragement to Jonathan but he seemed quite disillusioned by now and said something about seeing me at the finish.
I was totally fired up at the embarrasment of going wrong and I set about beasting myself to try to make up as many places as possible. I saw Rebecca and Chris and thought 'I've gone from 2nd Dasher to last!' It turned out that they had reached Raise after the 2 hour cut off and had been send back. That must have been pretty soul destroying although Rebecca was certainly in good spirits as we exchanged a joke when I sprinted by. The long open stretch across the tops skirting Stybarrow Dodd revealed a long spread out straggle of runners. Any style I might have had was long gone as I pushed hard to catch up. I wasn't entirely sure who was in front from Dashers although I knew that Kevin was. I'd spotted him wearing a reflective windproof top as I turned back to Raise earlier. That was my marker. I could see a flourescent top way, way ahead of me in the distance. I knuckled down. Onwards and onwards I thrashed. Back towards the Great Dodd checkpoint. Finally I spotted Kev. He'd taken his windproof off now and was running with someone else. He was part way up a climb and now walking. I tried to run as much as I could before being forced into the fell runners walk, hands on knees, back bent. Still I passed people. Kev glanced back and saw me and started to run again. As did I. The sting of pride stronger than my flagging body. I caught him just by the checkpoint at Clough Head. Genial as ever, Kev actually seemed quite pleased to see me and we had a bit of a chat about what had gone wrong for me. Soon we were on the steep descent of Clough Fold and my battered quads and blistered heels slowed me massively. Kev's superior descending skills would have been a delight to watch in different circumstances as he shot off and put a massive gap in.
Was all my work in vain? Had I come so far to be let down by my lack of prowess going downhill? No, I thought. I'm not bloody giving up that easily. After the main drop there was a rough field to cross as we headed home. This wasn't anywhere near as steep and I could see Kev ahead of 2 other runners. Back up to red lining again. Arms and legs pumping furiously now as I knew this was the only chance I had. The gap narrowed. A photographer popped up out of the heather. I gave him 'the grin' .

Then we were onto the singletrack strip of tarmac which led to the finish at Threlkeld Cricket club. My feet slapped the ground as I pounded along. I shot by one of the runners ahead on a bend and then reeled in the next on a short straight. The little bridge that gave onto the field was in sight. Kevin was part way across it when he turned and saw me. Just a few hundred yards to go. No use saving anything. The tarmac gave way to grass and finally I was on his shoulder entering the field 'Well done, Simon. go on.' he said. The red mist was still flooding through my head as I sprinted for the line, mouth agape. And. Finish. My God, what a race!
Later on after seeing the results I reflected on the way it had gone. A stupid mistake and lack of self belief had cost me maybe 15 - 20 minutes or so. This could have possibly given me a top ten finish. Ok, the field seemed a little depleted, possibly clashing with other races, but even so a top ten finish in ANY race would have been a pretty big deal to me, let alone a 15 mile tough Lakeland fell race. So was I disappointed? Actually no, in fact I was pretty pleased with myself. Yes, I'd messed up but I had been running pretty well up to that point and I hadn't given up. I'd got stuck in and worked bloody hard to make up all the places I'd lost. In the process I'd had a really great contest with Kevin. This was one race I won't forget in a hurry.
26th out of 71 finishers 3:13:07
Results on this page: http://www.keswick-ac.org.uk/
Photos by Paul Dobson. More here: Paul Dobson's pics
Strava: lumpy

Brownbacks round 1

As part of my highly organised, not in any way just making it up as I go along, 'training' I decided to have a crack at doing the Brownbacks mtb series. I've raced at Lee Quarry before, a few years ago, even winning a prize in the Singlespeed category once, and so I thought I might come out of mtb retirement and have a dabble.
I took Will with me so that he could marshal and also so he could see what it was all about with a view to maybe doing it himself at some point. Slinging bike, gear and Will in the car we blatted off to Stacksteads. It was a glorious day, the sun really did have it's hat on. Once I'd registered and got Will packed off with the reflective jacket crew I sashayed back to the car to get my dancing trousers on ready for the balloon going up. I was quite disappointed to spot somebody else on a Singlespeed. And worse, it was a very racy looking 29 er with a racing snake pilot on board. Rats. There went my chance of unopposed glory!
I sulked off to have a mosey round the course. I knew that some of the JMC crew would be there, Terrahawk was riding over, Twinkly Dave was racing as was Jacqui - Phil's missus, so it wasn't a surprise to bump into head honcho and all round good guy Budge, knocking about. Whilst chatting to him and commiserating with him about his grip falling off I got his views on the course (he'd already ridden some of it). There was a bit of teeth sucking and elaborate arm gestures to demonstrate the numerous steep, rocky and generally life threatening bits which apparently littered the course. Gulp! I went to see.
Following the route markings I did indeed find some steep, rocky technical bits which did give me pause for thought. Hmm. Tricky.
Soon it was time to rack up on the start line. I realised that I hadn't brought a gel with me as I'd intended to and I must say that I am indebted to Jacqs and Budge for providing me with what turned out to be very neccessary sustenance. The start is naturally up a bloody big steep hill covered in loose stones. I remembered being caught here before, trapped in the midst off a lot of people frantically changing gear and faffing about whilst I tried to keep forward motion pushing 2:1 gearing on the SS. I know, I'll run to start, I thought. Brilliant idea. Not. I looked on as the majority of the amusingly titled 'silverbacks' (V40 & V50) riders buggered off into the distance. Bollocks. I jumped on and started thrutching. I managed to catch up with Budge after a while and sat in for a bit so I could shovel my lungs back in. Recovering I managed to nip past him on a chute that he opted to run while I rode it. He had the grace to cheer me on.
Still smarting at being so far back I put the hammer down (it's all relative) and actually manged to pass a few. The course was actually a belter. Tricky technical bits and really fun swoopy berms a plenty. These made up for the painful (on a SS) climbs. A quick whiz down some whoop de doops and a 90 degree right and we're into lap 2. The first one seemed to have taken FOREVER. Proper pedalling through treacle stuff. Now I'd got a sighting lap in and my breathing was fairly settled I got on with racing. There were 2 guys that I seemed to be quite close to so they became the target men. One was a shortish guy with a red and black shirt and t'other a great big long fella on a Scandal.
The heat and the 8 mile hill rep fell run the day before inevitably started to take it's toll and I had to dismount and push up a couple of the climbs including the one to the finish. Bizarrely the laps seemed to pass quicker now (they weren't, of course) despite me getting a bit shagged now. I remembered the gel that Budge had given me and, as I tucked in behind someone on a flattish section I managed to get it down before overtaking. It might have been placebo effect or the gel might have worked its magic but I felt a lot better very soon after. I could tell we hadn't got long to go so I pressed on. There was one bit that had a short sharp and loose climb, a short level and then up again. Only about 20' or so but if somebody slowed on it in front of me I was screwed on the SS. Coming up to it this time there was a guy right in front who obviously changed down as he came up to it. 'Come on, pal. let's get up this!' I yelled. He was that surprised that he charged at it and then faltered a bit on the second climb 'GO ON!!' Fortunately he did. I then shot past him before getting to the bit of the course that I cocked up every time. It was a sharp right hand switchback at slow speed and I just couldn't do it. Finally I ended up jumping off and running round it, shouting 'I think I've mastered it!' to the laughing marshal.
Onto the whoops and round the switchback before reaching one of the (for me) unrideable short climbs. The Scandal guy was just in front. I jumped on and went after him. There was another short loose climb before the straight to the finish line but I just couldn't ride it. I pushed up as quickly as I could to see Scandal crossing the finish line ahead as the chequered flag was waved. Noooo!! If I'd realised we were finishing I would have beasted myself to ride that last little climb. Ah well.
Then there was that bit in a race where it's all over and there's that 'love in'. Everybody is mates and is congratulating everybody else and it's 'How did you go on?' and 'Good race, fella' and 'Did you see that bit...?' I rode down to the car park, got changed and hung around for the presentation. I found out earlier that the other singlespeeder was a guy I follow on twitter - @singlespeedmatt - and we chatted as Will got his free dogburger for marshalling. As there were only 2 of us on SS I knew I'd be on the podium despite Matt racing in Racer and me in Owd Codgers. The presentation went on. And on. And on. And then suddenly it was over. No Singlepeed presentation??!! Matt went and had a word and I tagged along as back up. They'd forgotten the prize and had managed to forget to do the charade of sticking us on the podium. Doh. They quickly humoured us and gave us our moment of 'glory' and took a snap despite everybody buggering off by now. Hey ho. I'm pretty sure they won't be so shonky next time...
So, in summary a pretty good day's racing. I was a bit rusty but that was to be expected. 32:16 was pretty tall for the course so that might need looking at. Brownbacks have a pretty good set up and the course was fun. The competetive element is definitely still in me and I'll be looking to do a bit better than 9th V40 out of 17 next time.
Results here: Brownbacks

Pic by our Will.

Cranking it up

The year has done it's usual trick of suddenly getting nearly half over before I'm ready for it. For a change I've been getting my finger out a bit on the fitness front and I'm pretty happy so far. My goals are to complete, and do well at, the Dashers fell race series and to get in shape for the 3 Peaks Cyclocross race (presuming I get in). So, given all that its reached the time of year when there's some event or other on every weekend. In the last couple of weeks I've managed to get a couple of fell races in and a mtb challenge ride.
The first was the 'Cake Race' in Diggle, Saddleworth.

This was a championship race so was pretty well attended by Dashers. In the car park I couldn't help but think 'Oh, there's Jamie. That's a place lost. Mark Walsh, that's another gone. And Des. Smashing.' I knew that I had no chance against Mark and Des but maybe I could stay in sight of Jamie over the 9 and a bit mile course. That was my game plan. From the start Mark and Des shot off and I dug in on the steady climb. I caught Jamie and passed him. A longish drag across the moor and then down. Jamie shot by me, legs and arms flailing. He got away. I settled in but kept looking ahead to see how far he was in front. Steady away. Eventually we reached the turnaround point at a reservoir. Although he was a good few hundred yards in front I could see him glancing back. Aha. Another longish flat drag and then down a long flight of steps to a dam. Jamie hadn't extended his lead and I knew we were coming to more steps going up this time. Great! I dug in and ran all the 167 steps where everyone else walked. I passed lots of people and reeled Jamie in. By the top I was about 5 behind him. Another look back. Along the side of a Golf course and I did a quick overtake so that I was right behind him. As he crossed a stile he did a big doubletake when he saw me right behind. 'Where did you come from? ' he said. I explained about running the steps. I think his head went a bit then. The next bit of the race is a grind uphill. I knuckled down and concentrated on keeping going. I figured that if I could put a gap in here I stood a chance of holding him off on the descent to the finish. To my delight this actually worked. I think Jamie got a bit disheartened and gave up a little as I was a minute and a half in front of him at the finish. I was bloody pleased with 3rd Dasher and Jamie and I both agreed it had been a good race between us.

Next up was Belmont Winter Hill fell race. I think the last time I did this race was 2007 and although it's only a short 'un - 4.5 miles - it packs a lot in. It wasn't a championship race and I cadged a lift off 'young' Jonathan Bruton and took Dave the Builder with us as I thought he might like to have a run out. George Thompson was already there as we arrived and we saw Des Reilly at registration. A quick warm up and a slash in the bushes and I discovered that Gary 'incognito' Taylor was also taking part. Blimey, a decent turnout of Dashers for a non-championship race! Jonathan and Des were always going to beat me in this but that was ok. In a way it was more of a training run with a load of other people taking part. There's a real brutal start to the race. You run past the Blue Lagoon on the road and it just feels like you aren't moving but your lungs are burning. Somehow it's a massive relief to finally turn off onto the moor. And then you climb. Steep but runnable. Head down and dig it in. Jonathan behind me and Des still in sight ahead. It levels out briefly and then the real climb begins, up the side of Winter Hill. I managed to keep jogging it out for quite a while before settling into the 'fell runners walk', hands pushing my knees down, back bent. Near the top I discovered Dave Woodhead, the organiser of many Yorkshire fell races lying on his side in the grass taking photo's of us all. I had a brief word with one of fell running's good guys and he took a decent pic of me.

Right behind Des by the time we topped out I gave him an encouraging 'Go on Des!' which worked really well as he then took off like a scalded cat! Jonathan passed me soon after and flew down Noone Hill and onto Georges Lane. He was just about in sight by the time we had run along the bumpy track and then begun the nasty climb back up the side of Winter Hill. Along the fence at the top and back the way we came. By the time I was descending I could see Jonathan was a little yellow dot way ahead. A plummet off the moor and then a leg killing run around the paths by the Blue Lagoon. I could hear somebody right on my tail and I was dying. I held him off untill we got near the road and then he got by. A Horwich runner of about my age. Onto the playing field and I thought I might as well go for it. I sprinted. His head went. I beat him. Result! We shook hands. Jonathan has finished about 30 odd seconds ahead of me. Des was well in front. We saw Dave the Builder have his own battle at the finish. George came in later, a bit unhappy.
I had decided to run home as I need to get some miles in. I thought it was quite a way home, it certainly felt it. Strava told me it was only 5 and a bit miles. It was a nice run in the sunshine though and a decent warm down!
The day after I had an early start for a 30 mile mountain bike challenge in Golcar, Huddersfield. I'd encouraged a guy I know to do it on his cross bike as a bit of early training for the 3 Peaks. Laughing Dave was also dead keen on doing it. I was on the Singlespeed, natch. I'd done the event a few years ago with D t B and remembered that it was pretty darned hilly. It was going to be a challenge in more ways than one. Virtually from the off you are climbing a cobbly hill and blowing. The route is a good mix of off road descents and largely on road steep climbs. For the first ten miles or so I rode in complete silence. Everybody around me looked serious and looked like they were in a race. The group I ended up riding with seemed like a binch of miserable gits so I made so witty comment (hard to believe, I know) and that broke the ice. There was a shortish fella on a blue hardtail in his early 50's and he started talking to me then. Trouble was every time he told me about the course it was 'Oh, big climb coming up' or 'Bit of a dangerous descent here.' I started laughing and said 'Bloody hell, it's always bad news from you!' we rode on as a group for quite a while and worked together at times. I dropped them a bit on one of the mahoosive steep climbs and heard one of them saying 'He's doing well on that singlespeed.' which did my ego a bit of good!
Eventually we reached a climb through a valley. I remembered it from the last time I'd done it but given that it still seemed quite familiar. It was only later I realised I'd been there going the opposite way on the fell race the previous weekend. Anyway we ground our way upwards. A bloke I was with said 'Oh are we going to get a tailwind along here?' I said 'I doubt it, its been headwind all the way so far!' And sure enough we got a headwind as soon as we got out of the shelter of the hillside. Doh! Part way along here I came across the Sport Sunday crew. This gave me a boost as they are really good folk who do a great service for so many events. As usual I was snapped whilst flashing my pearly whites. I must say in my defence that I was really enjoying myself and was feeling slightly euphoric.

At the head of the valley we turned off onto the road. Finally there was a headwind. Blimey it got fast! I spun out in no time and got into an aero tuck, the tyres were making a fantastic buzz on the tarmac and my eyes were streaming. Must have been getting on for 45mph I reckon. after a few minutes of this adrenalin fix I was directed back off road by marshalls. This next bit was hard going. I could see the group I'd been with a little further ahead but I could feel my energy levels dropping after so long stood up pushing 32:16 against the wind. I had to stop and get a gel down my neck. I lost time but there was little choice. I had no idea how far we had gone but my Spider senses picked up that vibe in the air, that slight picking up of the average speed that makes you feel you are nearing the end. I think the caffeine in the gel had worked its magic as I began to wind it up. Into a small town and there were 2 riders ahead. I put it in to get on them but as I neared the front one carried on whizzing down the road whilst the other took a left at the route marker. When I caught up he said 'I shouted after him but he just kept going.' Ah well. I bet he'd be upset when he realised. The pace was now nearing frantic and I was glancing over my shoulder at someone coming up fast. He just nipped past as we got to a road junction. We turned left and he got stuck behind a stopping Tranny van as I whizzed past it. 'Unlucky.' I said, trying to keep the glee out of my voice. Hammertime now as the finish line neared. My little legs were going 19 to the dozen as I spun the SS into sprint mode. A turn onto the finish field and the line was in view. I just held him off. The clock gave 2:51. Not bad for a hilly 30 miles even if there was plenty of road. I got changed and grabbed a bacon butty and a brew. Craig on his 'crosser arrived soon and I had a good chat with him about the event and mutual acquaintances. I hung around for a while for Laughing Dave but there was no sign and I had to go. He got 3:37 I found out later but to be fair he had been ill and had hardly ridden his bike for about a month. I was fairly happy with my performance until I found my certificate from last time I did it and discovered I was 11 minutes slower this time! A good day out and a fun ride with some tough bits. These challenge rides are a good work out.
Results here: http://cvmbc.co.uk/2012-results/ 37th/266 finishers will do me.
So, in summary a busy couple of weekends and it seems that giving the old body a battering seems to work ok for me. Can it last? Watch this space.

Singlespeed European Championships 2012

Floressas, France.

This was a roadtrip. Me and Will, the bikes and all the camping stuff off to the Pyrenees to meet, ride and party with like minded loons from all over Europe and beyond. So much happened that I am going to resort to a Gonzo journalism style stream of conciousness info blurt to give just a flavour of what went on. Plus it seems appropriate for a tale that takes in Stone age monuments and cross-dressing Belgians.
 Motorwaying for hours through the brow furrowing, headache inducing spray. On the fly decision to take in Stonehenge as it's only half an hour out of our way. Park. Out. Snap. Snap. In. Go.

Outskirts of Winchester for a kebab van tea. On to Portsmouth followed by a Porsche the colour of a '70's toilet suite. Why the sudden fashion for sticking hazards on when boarding a ferry? I can see, you know! Pint in the bar. Traditional French school trip kids on the dancefloor. Bed. Aaand time to get up. Blimey, Caen already. Next stage on the trip - pilgrimage to Le Mans. First place I ever went abroad, twin town with Bolton. Discussion on places with more than one twin town. How does that work then? Pics of the footy ground and the 24hr circuit.

On, on. Destination Cahors. We'd hoped to meet some Belgies that we met at last year's SSEC who were cycling there from Maredsous. Will had been 'talking' on FB to some Norn Irish lads who were driving down with a caravan and said they might stop there too. Got there. Dead quiet. No other SSers in sight. Into town over the river in search of grub. Impressive old buildings. Finally we find a restaurant that actually had people in. Steak and chips for 2, s'il vous plait. 8E50 each. Bloody superb it was too. Back to the tent for a kip. Early up for me. Lazy arse stayed in his pit while I ran over the river and followed it to the bridge the town is famous for. Pretty cool.

Up and away for the last small part of the trip to the village (hamlet?) of Floressas. it felt familiar as we'd seen the pics on the website. Found the Irish lads, introduced ourselves and pitched tents on the village green near their caravan.

There was a Belgian enclave nearby and a large posse of Catalunyans arrived soon after. Up to the chateau, register, get tickets for bread and croissants and bought a book of beer tickets. Familiar faces all around. some we actually knew - Sheldon Attwood, Ringo, Charlie the fishmonger, Le Dav and Bruno from the Belgians, large contingent of Godiva Trails from Coventry too, including the very gorgeous Lea. In the aftenoon a ride was proposed. That'll do we thought as the night ride wasn't due to go until 10.30pm and we figured we'd be tucked into booze by then. The locals led us off into the countryside, shrouded in mist at first but clearing. Varied trails - clayey fields, rooty woods, technical rocky bits. Not many steep climbs but we must have been high already as it was hard work and sweaty. I crashed. Clattered my knees and managed to knock the back brake. Damn thing started sticking on for the rest of the trip. Bugger. The riders mamaged to get split up. Was a bit worried as Will disappeared with the missing group. Rode back. They had taken the short route.

That night was the traditional pre race piss up. We had taken our own supplies - Will on the cider me on the bitter but soon I was tucking into beer from the beer tent. It seemed to go down very well. best thing about these do's is the people. We talked to loads of interesting characters. I was really pleased to see a really nice French girl that I met last time in Belgium and I spent a lot of time massacring the French language with her and her boyfriend. Usual stupidity. Us wearing Lancashire flat caps. Will riding somebodies mini bike.

Beer flowed as it does and I suddenly realised I was on my last beer token (of 10), therefore I must be bladdered. Bed. Will was happily talking to the Irish Trailbadger guys in their caravan and told me in the morning that I was snoring by the time he went to bed.

BONG!!!! It's surprising how a really, really loud and unexpected noise can come close to inducing cardiac arrest. Or maybe it isn't. BONG!!!! Following 9 bongs the church bells a few feet away then proceeded to go off on a riff of slightly quieter strikes. I was quite surprised. Mostly because it was seven o' clock rather than 9. Must be a French thing. I got up and breakfasted feeling pretty ruined after the night before. Mind you I think I was in better shape than in Belgium last year.

More to come...