Red Kite Events Frozen Devil 55km: A day of extremes

Star date: 4 January 2015
Location: Irfon Forest, Mid Wales
Event: Red Kite Events Frozen Devil 55km challenge
Weapon of choice: 29er hardtail with 30 gears at times
Greatest weakness: Stopping at the Drover's Rest 
Greatest strength: Leaving the Drover's Rest
Result: 2nd, 3rd and 4th

It was always going to be on the extreme side, riding 35 miles up and down big hills in the wildest wilds of Wales in the midst of winter, plastered with mud, soaked to the skin, chilled to the bone, cramping all over and begging for mercy.

And as usual Red Kite Events had thrown in some pretty hostile terrain along the way that seemed hell-bent on killing you. Assuming you managed to avoid dying of boredom on the world's longest fire road climbs or drowning in the world's coldest puddles, the alternately muddy/icy/rooty/loggy descents then did their damnedest to fling you into the abyss - and that was even before you got to the malaria-infested swamps with their giant mutant leaches and man-eating crocodiles.

Now while all this dicing with death was of course hugely enjoyable, somehow I don't think it's what this event will mainly be remembered for.

Near the start at Coed Trallwm. Photo courtesy of The Valley Photographer, who somehow contrived to get cold and wet despite never venturing more than 30 feet from the café...
Another 450 photos here.

Red Kite Events have long claimed to have the best feed stations around thanks to their partnership with the award-winning Drover's Rest restaurant in Llanwrtyd Wells. And with some justification, although A Cycling's home-made cakes and soup could definitely also stake a claim after the feast they laid on at Cross Mountain.

The problem with feed stations, though, whatever the quality and variety of the food, is that they are never going to be more than a couple of grub-laden tables perched in the middle of nowhere, generally the bleakest and most inhospitable point on the whole course, so you just don’t want to hang around. You quickly stuff a couple of flapjacks in your mouth, furtively shove a few more in your pockets that you then forget to eat (I once found a feed-station banana in a coat pocket when I got my kit out of the washing machine… and ate it), quickly top up your water and ride straight off again into the sunset before the wind-chill freezes you into Iceland party food.

Drover's Rest proprietor, award-winning chef and all-round good guy Peter James, a man with more letters after his name than in his name thanks to his services to tourism, came up with a solution. Why not invite riders into his nice warm restaurant conveniently situated halfway round the course – and, what’s more, feed them a proper dinner?

Peter James about to prepare dinner.

Let’s just get this straight. On a rare day when he was not up at Buckingham Palace collecting another MBE, Peter

• closed his restaurant to the public for Sunday lunch
• welcomed in over 100 muddy-as-**** mountain bikers

Just to make it absolutely clear, he took this:

and filled it with people looking like this:

Because after riding 30 km up hill and down dale through mud, puddles and the odd patch of snow, we weren't exactly dressed for dinner. OK, the restaurant has a stone floor, so all he had to do was go all feng shui and stack the tables out of the way, pop a buffet along one wall, and get busy with the mop afterwards.

But no. We arrived to find tables laid, napkins origamified, the works. Peter was offering us a proper sit-down meal… And all that protected his lovely restaurant from our muddy behinds was a sheet of newspaper on each upholstered chair (rather aptly, it was the Daily Mail, which is, of course, only fit to wipe your arse with).

Apart from the best china, Peter also laid on his hottest waitresses:

Oops, wrong pic. How did that get out of my private collection? No, I'm sure this is the one who served me:

It might as well have been one of the first bunch, though. After 30 km in wintry conditions, let's just say every extremity was verging on frostbitten...

It was all a bit surreal. “Tea or coffee?” asks one waitress. A cafetière magically materialises. We sit down, gingerly, as though we all had piles. We sip from proper cups, with saucers, and genteelly crook slowly thawing little fingers. “Fresh parmesan on your pasta?” asks another waitress. “Warm ciabatta roll and butter?”

We are, of course, ravenous and the food soon disappears. And then comes the big decision: to stay or not to stay. Leaving the welcoming bosoms of the Drover's Rest was not going to be easy. Baby, it was cold outside.

But then Jon Roberts announced he wanted to leave before his legs (at least I think it was his legs) stiffened up. So I had to go too. And so did Jared Linden and Nick Reese. Strange as it might seem, and it seemed very strange at the time, the four of us were halfway through a keenly fought race, you know. It was all rather like that Christmas Day truce in World War One when the two armies downed arms to play football.

And it must have looked like the Somme too by the time the other 100 riders had been through. I think everyone’s favourite restaurateur will have to scratch Cleanest Restaurant Furniture of the Year off his list for 2015... and settle for another trip to see Ma’am, this time maybe finally bagging that elusive knighthood for services to hungry mountain bikers.

St Peter James after we’d finished. (I know, wrong war, but hey ho.)

I think everyone loved the idea of a proper sit-down meal as part of the event – it’s great to catch up and swap war stories over a decent bite to eat - and everyone enjoyed it. But the consensus even among the more casual riders is that it would’ve been better to have it at the end after we’d cleaned up. I know for a fact that some of the riders doing the event are complete animals - you know who you are - but even they felt a little sheepish sitting there in a sea of mud and sweat fumes.

Meanwhile, the truce was off and it was back over the top. Young Jared soon disappeared off ahead; Jon, Nick and I were together for ages, but on the last big fire road climb I started to drop back due to cramp. Although I caught them up on a mad technical dash up what is normally a wild descent, packed with monster puddles and rocky steps and no end of mud and roots and all the other things I love about mountain biking, I then lost them again to reach the finish a couple of minutes adrift.

So in the end I was second on the morning’s official timed section; third before lunch; and fourth after lunch. Confused? I’m still pretty dazed as well.

The event was extremely tough. Too tough for many, with half the starters failing to complete the whole course. The descents were all pretty wild and a lot of fun, but in the Irfon Forest you do really have to earn them; it's not as compact as the Crychan Forest down the road, but then it does get you that much more "out there".

The event attracted every kind of rider. Photo courtesy of The Valley Photographer.

Red Kite Events supremo Neil Delafield tells me he wants to be known for extreme events where merely finishing is an achievement. And I have to say he’s doing a good job. I’m pretty fit these days, but I hurt every bit as much as anyone else out there by the end. I finished smiling but absolutely drained and riddled with cramp. I haven't been that knackered for ages. Nice one.

So I’m looking forward to the similar Little Devil event on 29 March starting from Bwlch Nant yr Arian near Aberystwyth.

Top 10 on the timed section (I only came second because Jon fell off):

1	Linden	Jared	00:43:31
2	Schroder	Chris	00:44:57
3	Roberts	Jon	00:45:08
4	Reese	Nick	00:47:20
5	Hawthorne	Lewis	00:49:27
6	Chapman	Shuan	00:50:15
7	Pritchard	Charlie	00:52:56
8	Brewer	Stephen	00:53:08
9	Jones	Nicholas	00:53:09
10	Allen	David	00:53:13

Strava:

Red Kite Winter XC Series Round 2: Shoulda taken the singlespeed

Star date: 14 December 2014
Location: Coed Trallwm, Mid Wales
Event: Red Kite Winter XC Series Round 2
Weapon of choice: Loadsagears 29" hardtail
Greatest strength: Finishing
Greatest weakness: Chain
Result: 7th

A forecast of wet and windy weather sorted the men from the boyos even before the infamous first climb. Most of the Valleys crowd cried off to go Xmas shoplifting instead, leaving it to a select bunch of hardier mountain men (and woman) from Welshie Wales and Hereford, home of the SAS, to step up to the plate - and smash it.

And a right mountain man I was too, not having shaved for a month and starting to look a little like a cross between Kenny Rogers and a bearded collie:

Kenny Rogers

Bearded collie

I mention this not out of vanity (cough) but because it dictated my choice of steed for this race. As you know, singlespeeds and beards go together like gin and tonic, Hale and Pace, priest and choirboy, Robson and Jerome. So, being the contrary sod I am, I took the geared bike.

And I really wish I hadn't, because if I'd taken the singlespeed I wouldn't have lost half an hour to a mechanical...

Squelch.

Photo courtesy of the newly rebranded Carol Cobbett. RIP CAC Photography; world domination awaits for The Valley Photographer. Another 507 photos of the event here.

The course was a longer version of the previous round's loop, chopped and changed quite a bit to break up the long climb (except on the first mini-lap) and extended to include the top of the black descent and a tricky where's-my-line-dude boggy section. The rough-cut rooty sections were in and riding better and better. Fun but testing.

I finished the first climb clear in second behind the Enduracell Bunny, Rob Williams, but then made a mess of the bog (so that's where my kids get it from) and first descent, allowing Jon Roberts to catch me. But Mr Enduro was still only 150 yards ahead, so as Jon and I headed down the second descent together I started thinking maybe we could have him this time. Which is when my pedals suddenly stopped working.

Suspecting a dropped chain, I pulled over to find ... no chain at all. The bugger had snapped and fallen off somewhere. Trudging back up the trail to look for it, I actually managed to walk straight past the damned thing despite its sparkly shininess, but luckily an eagle-eyed Nick Reese spotted it on his way through to catch and pass Jon and finish a strong second in the race. So then I just had to run/walk/scoot/coast half a mile back to the toolbox in the car and set about repairing said chain.

First I pushed the pin out of the wrong end of the chain, so I had to take another link out. My sausage fingers then struggled for about three months to get the PowerLink chain connector to engage. At which point I found I'd wound the chain the wrong way round the rear derailleur and had to start again. Disconnect, wind round, reconnect. Only to find I'd done exactly the same thing again. Turns out I was the weakest link...

Random fact: Anne Robinson is disturbingly like my mother, which may explain a lot.

By the time I finished and returned to where I'd left the course, I'd lost the best part of a lap on the leaders. While there was no chance now of getting a result, there was still the small matter of whether I could avoid the further humiliation of being lapped. It was a close-run thing, with Mr Enduro closing me down rapidly on the last descent, but I was damned if I was going to let him catch me, and he didn't.

My reward was an utterly miserable final lap. It was now raining properly and very windy in places, I was cold and tired and unmotivated, and the climbs were a punishing ordeal. Still, I made up half a dozen places by the finish and even scraped onto the vets podium (yes, at my suggestion Red Kite Events have invested in an actual proper mahoosive podium to help boost my self-worth) and got to take home a can of shiny spray to go with my can of degreasy spray and can of oily spray from round 1, so I guess it was worth plodding on.

Tramp chic.
Photo courtesy of The Valley Photographer.

I now totally get why beards and singlespeeds go together. It's that whole back-to-basics crusty Paleo thing. Simple, lazy, easy, natural.

• Beard: No farting around at the start of the day. You just get up and go. 
• Singlespeed: No farting around at the end of the day. You just chuck it in the shed. 
• Beard: No worrying about a power cut when you've only done one side. 
• Singlespeed: No worrying about snapping a chain, derailleur or cable.
• Both: You feel inexplicably drawn to real ales. 

On the other hand, there is that nagging fear of errant sesame seeds taking root, and the various females in my life wasted no time in informing me that not only did I look like a tramp but I felt like a hedgehog. Which reminded me all too clearly of my horror as a teenager when I first discovered that ladies' nether regions aren't at all soft and downy like their feline namesakes. So, with regret, I've now gone back to the full Brazilian.

But I still plan to singlespeed the next round of the XC series. See you at Coed Trallwm on 18 January.

THE TOP 10:

Pos	Last Name	First Name	Category	Time	Lap 1	Lap 2	Lap 3	Lap 4
1	WILLIAMS	Robert	Expert	1:45:22	7:38	31:25	32:59	33:18
2	REESE	Nick	Senior	1:47:43	8:55	32:53	32:54	32:59
3	ROBERTS	Jon	Vet	1:51:47	8:19	33:26	33:57	36:04
4	PRITCHARD	Charlie	Senior	2:01:41	10:31	35:47	36:18	39:04
5	FIRMAN	Andy	Vet	2:08:40	13:29	37:29	38:04	39:37
6	SMART	Andrew	Senior	2:20:14	15:04	39:23	41:49	43:57
7	SCHRODER	Chris	Vet	2:20:30	8:15	62:18	34:11	35:36
8	LLOYD	Tom	Senior	2:21:07	14:51	40:10	42:10	43:55
9	BUSBY	Jos	Senior	2:23:57	13:52	40:24	41:50	47:48
10	BUCHANAN	James	Senior	2:26:22	15:20	41:21	43:24	46:16

Strava:

Cross Mountain 55km: Lost for words

Star date: 9 November 2014
Location: Llandovery, Wales
Event: Cross Mountain 55km challenge
Weapon of choice: Geared 29er MTB
Result: 4th overall, 2nd veteran

The latest in a series of imaginative events from professional endurance racer Matt Page, Cross Mountain was designed to be equally well suited to cyclocross and mountain bikes, hence the name.

The weather gods had other ideas, however, November traditionally being monsoon season in Wales, and although the day itself was dry, the ground was wetter than a haddock's bathing costume. The cross riders were soon reaching for snorkles and even us MTBers frequently got bogged down and had to walk long sections.

Ultimately it was very like an MTB Marathon event: well organised, lots of scenic open moorland, nothing scary, just steady old-skool cross-country riding - thrill-seekers need not apply. That said, after all the rain, the first descent down to Myddfai was a rather kerrazy water slide and the final rocky descent off the moor was pretty wild in places with a very wet sting in the tail. Against expectations, I enjoyed it.

And for once I had a perfect race. I had my best result of the year, beating some very quick riders, and absolutely nothing went wrong. Which leaves me rather short of a story...

Luckily this guy stepped into the breach and took one for the team. Read it and weep:

http://singlespeedmatt.com/2014/11/11/cross-mountain-2014/

The first five:
Ben Wadey 2:34:32
Gareth Payne 2:34:35
Ben Eardley 2:35:46
Chris Schroder 2:36:31
Carwyn Davies 2:38:26

Red Kite Winter XC Series Round 1: Better than ever

Star date: 30 November 2014
Location: Coed Trallwm, Mid Wales
Event: Red Kite Winter XC Series Round 1
Weapon of choice: Carbon 26" singlespeed
Greatest strength: Determination
Greatest weakness: Legs
Result: 2nd

Conditions were perfect for the return of Britain's most laid-back race series. Dry, mild and sunny. In Wales. On the last day of November.

One obvious cloud on the horizon, though, was the presence of Rob Williams - no chance of a win then! Since leaving me for dead on both the climbs and the descents last time he was up this way in January (see here), the former World Cup downhiller has been busy setting KOMs at Bike Park Wales and getting himself crowned winner of the 2014 European Enduro Series. Respect - we were in the presence of royalty. Otherwise, though, it was the usual rag-tag bunch of around 50 amateur racers and weekend warriors.

Letting the boy racers sprint off ahead at the start, I settled into the usual steady rhythm up the usual 20-mile fireroad climb and soon started picking off the overambitious, hitting the top clear in second place with Rob Williams way off in the distance. Which is how it stayed for the whole five laps.

Auditioning for Planet of the Apes.

Photo courtesy of Carol Cobbett at CAC Photography. Another 1,057 photos of the event here.

With no other riders ever close enough to worry about, the only real battle was with my mind. Am I the only one who goes through a stage several times every race where I ask why on Earth I'm putting myself through this hell and decide to give up racing for good? I felt terrible on all the subsequent climbs and put it down to the usual scapegoats (too much geared riding, stupid choice of bike, old age, general decrepitude) but in hindsight I probably just went out a bit fast. Although I could barely turn the pedals on the last two climbs, turn those pedals I did. For some reason my oxygen-starved brain decided I owed it to the various lappees I was still passing not to hop off and walk. But trust me, I wanted to.

The highlight of the day (apart from beating Jon Roberts for the first time this year) was the first descent: a fun new line through the trees (all roots, moss and loam) followed by the top section of the sketchy old-skool enduro descent (see here) and rounded off with a blast down the rough surfaced tracks of the trail centre's black descent. A really uplifting mix of tricky 'n' techy and fast 'n' furious that made all the climbing worthwhile. All told, the course was very well balanced and I really enjoyed it.

Apparently a tweaked version of the same course will feature at round 2 on 14 December. And I hear whispers that the long fireroad climb might soon be broken up with some sweet new technical singletrack...

Mildly apprehensive at times but not scared witless throughout. Progress.

Photo courtesy of Carol Cobbett at CAC Photography.

THE TOP 6:

Pos			Total	Lap 1	Lap 2	Lap 3	Lap 4	Lap 5
1	WILLIAMS	Robert	1:58:43	21:43	24:05	23:45	24:06	25:03
2	SCHRODER	Chris	2:06:54	23:06	24:52	25:23	26:36	26:55
3	JOYCE	James	2:09:54	23:59	25:30	26:13	26:19	27:50
4	REESE	NIck	2:10:16	24:18	25:49	26:02	26:53	27:11
5	ROBERTS	Jon	2:11:08	23:46	25:26	26:27	26:59	28:28
6	PRITCHARD	James	2:12:39	23:56	26:21	27:11	27:28	27:41

Strava:

Empire Cycles Enduro Round 3: Wolf in sheep's clothing

Star date: 25-26 October 2014
Location: Coed Trallwm, Mid Wales
Event: Empire Cycles Enduro Round 3
Weapons of necessity: 26" XC hardtail on day 1, 29" XC hardtail on day 2
Greatest achievement: Trying
Greatest weakness: Failing
Result: Mid-table, again

Once upon a time there was a national downhill racer called Neil. Like anyone who gets their kicks riding bikes off cliffs, he must have had a screw loose to start with, but after one face-plant too many he tragically had to hang up his Lycra and spend the next 15 years muzzled and under constant sedation in an institution (contrary to popular belief, not actually the Drover's Rest).

Eventually released as part of Care in the Community, an ostensibly cooler, calmer Neil began organising grass-roots MTB events - but with a difference. Events with an unusually chilled and welcoming vibe but with a lurking menace and an undeniable sadistic streak. Yes, behind that urbane and amiable facade, there still skulks the mentalist of yesteryear.

First came a series of relaxed XC events peppered with the odd totally demented descent - and now, many beers later, a series of relaxed enduro events also peppered with the odd totally demented descent. Like the family Rottweiler - tickle my tummy then watch me savage your baby.

This event is very much a case in point. On the one hand, it was chill-out central. All five stages were within spitting distance of the Coed Trallwm trail centre café rather than dotted around a big loop, so it was a case of ride what you want, when you want, making things even more sociable and relaxed than ever. Timing was suitably old-skool in the form of synchronised Casios, and I particularly liked how the only sponsorship presence, a rail of (highly recommended super-soft organic bamboo) T-shirts, was largely left unattended because Trail 42 were taking part themselves.

Most of the stages presented little to worry about either, lightly spiced-up versions of the centre's existing descents that were well within the average rider's comfort zone. While competition was fierce at the sharp end with plenty of intimidating Transformers-style body armour floating around, the majority of us were indeed average riders there for the challenge, for the craic. Desperately hoping to put in some good times, of course, but not overly surprised or bothered when we didn't.

All of which made for a bong-tastic weekend of coffee, chat, ride, cake, repeat. And check out the views:

 

On the other hand, there was the utterly bonkers demolition derby of a first stage. That Neil just can't help himself. Talk about a baptism of fire. An insanely full-on steep muddy rootfest that belonged in a downhill race and so-like-totally sorted the men from the boys, with even the best riders taking the odd tumble and us lesser mortals being batted around and spat out the bottom as though caught in a giant pinball machine. I make no apologies for focusing on this stage. It was the daddy of the descents, completely overshadowing the rest, and was all anyone talked about all weekend.

Big kudos to Steven Sproat for daring to share this chest cam footage of stage 1 (Sunday's version), as I suspect that, like me, he will never trouble the podium at the World Enduro Series.

Warning: Contains bad language (but not nearly as much as I used).

Before I give the wrong impression, let me stress that the stage was mental-fun, not mental-dangerous. More Insane in the Brain than Killed by Death. Yes, it was very steep in places, but there were no kamikaze road gaps. Everything was rollable. You could always just stick out a foot or two (and now and again a hand or a head) or hop off the bike and run/scramble. What made it so challenging, and so much fun, was that it was just so unpredictable. A never-ending succession of off-camber roots, sketchy drops, steep/tight slidey turns and just plain ol' mud meant that you never really knew what was going to happen next. One minute you were slithering over/round/down said trail features without any major problems; the next, you suddenly found yourself pointing back where you came from - or up at the sky - and wondering just how you got there. And as error piled upon error, initial four-letter frustration morphed into a kind of giggly hysteria. I finished my first practice run declaring it the best descent ever.

Sliding down the "easy" top section.

Photo courtesy of Carol Cobbett at CAC Photography.

Although parts of it had appeared previously in XC races and the first round of the enduro series back in April, the trail pixies had clearly been dropping acid all summer, adding some wild new features and extending the track right down the hill to create an absolute monster of a run that felt completely fresh.

The top section had undergone a major makeover to make it more durable in wet conditions with some strategically positioned mini rock gardens and chicken-wired timber offcut steps, plus a few extra little ups and downs to make it a full 3D experience. I first described it in February 2013 as "a twisty, turny beast of a section, all stumps and roots and steps down onto a deeply corrugated traverse which was rather like riding on oval wheels" - and that still pretty much sums it up.

Looking up the middle section. It was steeper than it looks.

The middle section was where it got steep. Really steep. And slippery. Really slippery. Imagine a series of tight switchbacks, some rutted or bermed and some with no support at all, down a 1-in-3 ice rink. It was mental. I mean, what sane person would choose to slalom down a ski jump on a f******* bicycle?! Ultimately there were still sufficient traces of the lush loamy leafmould of summer to offer a modicum of grip on the steepest parts, but the super-techy entry down a drop and straight over a big lump into a tight bermed-right-to-flat-left zigzag was pure clay, freshly buffed into a leap of faith. The coaching manuals tell you that if you point your eyes, hips and front wheel where you want to go, that's where you'll go. Well, whoever wrote that had clearly never ridden this track! Despite repeated attempts, I could never quite flick my body round fast enough for the second turn, with the result that the bike wanted to carry straight on down the hill - backwards. The natural, indeed the only, response was to send out an urgent steadying foot or two. But pride was restored only temporarily, because in these conditions my shoes were like superpowered mud magnets and instantly doubled in size, so it was then like trying to ride in a pair of these:

Struggling to clip back into your pedals while navigating tricky off-camber roots is the last thing you need at the best of times - and certainly not when it's just about to get properly steep:

Looking down part of the middle section at the one ski-turn that didn't cause me any problems. It really was steeper than it looks.

If only it had been straight down the hill. That way you could just cling on and pray. And on the Sunday it was. But Neil the mentalist had other ideas on the Saturday, cruel ones, adding in an extra zig-zag round a tree over a ten-inch root that was desperate to grab your chain ring and catapult you into the air. Again, I never made the second turn. Logic and physics told me I was going to carry straight on and crash into a tree, and I don't like to disappoint, so that's exactly what I did. The bit pictured above, though, was more straightforward, at least at a snail's pace, and I managed to slide down with a degree of control and even dodge the trolls to get onto and over the bridge at the bottom unscathed.

See, I said it was steeper than it looked. This was the 180° Turn from Hell. Unfortunately the Root of All Evil is partially obscured here. #DavidBailey

They thought it was all over - but there was more. Brand new for this event, the bottom section began with a couple of really big man-made features...

OK, not actually Kim Kardashian's bootilicious buttocks, but a huge speed-scrubbing "bus-stop" up and down a pretty sheer 10-foot bank, followed by a 20-foot loose stony drop that did its damnedest to send you into a tree stump.

... before going all natural along a muddy, rooty, mossy, puddly straight section full of boggy wheel-grabbing holes to the finish.

What an absolutely mental, brilliant, exhilarating descent! It's amazing what mountain biking can do to your brain chemistry - I can't believe any drug could deliver that kind of high. Depending on how much of a pickle you got yourself into, it offered somewhere between three and five minutes of 100% wholegrain downhill goodness, and for my first one-and-a-bit runs it was pure magic.

Then came the hiccup. I'm not sure what happened. Somehow this:

Turned into this: 

 Both shots courtesy of the cannily but cruelly positioned Carol Cobbett from CAC Photography.

And before I knew it, I was lying on my side with a tree stump poking me in the kidneys and ribs and threatening to do this:

I exaggerate, of course, but it still hurts a fortnight later, and I'm still struggling to put down any real power through the pedals. That said, I'm not sure the physical injury slowed me down that much in the enduro. A timed run is a bit like sex: your mind is on other things and temporarily switches off any aches and pains you might have. The mental wound was a different story. I eventually limped down the rest of the descent, legs akimbo, balance awry, never expecting to make it round the corners or up the bus-stop or miss the stump after the big drop - and I didn't. I arrived back at the café a quivering, nervous, simpering wreck. I had completely lost my bottle, my marbles were threatening to go the same way, and I just wanted to go home.

Regular readers will know I'm no stranger to a bit of a wobble at the top of an unfamiliar steep drop, and I like to think that's an entirely normal and natural response. But this was more serious, not so much "I'd rather not" as "I can't". I still had to do two timed runs of that descent, though, so I desperately needed to man up somehow. I started with every biker's first port of call - cake - but appeared to have developed immunity. When the shakes eventually receded to the point where I could carry a coffee and only spill half of it, I retired to a quiet corner of the café and tried to go to a place of inner strength, only to find I didn't have one.

Turns out I'm not a man but a wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie.

I did eventually summon up just enough courage to go back over the top, and I even squeezed in an extra practice run between my two timed runs. Every time, though, however much I told my body to just do it, my newly liberated inner wuss just said no. I was rigid with fear even on the easier top section, which caused me to skitter all over the place and stall constantly, and when I got to the steep section, my feet wouldn't stay on the pedals no matter how hard I tried and how much verbal abuse I gave myself, which was rather a lot. It was deeply, crushingly humiliating. That hill well and truly had the better of me.

In wartime, I'd probably have been shot for cowardice. Fortunately the penalties in enduro are not quite as harsh and I had a chance to redeem myself on the other stages, which I did, making the top 20 on the pedallier ones and ending up mid-table overall out of about 80 riders. Which isn't too shabby, considering that enduro is not what I normally do or what my XC bikes and XC tyres were designed for. And on balance I did actually enjoy the weekend hugely - a well-organised event, great tracks, great venue, great atmosphere, no caveats.

I always knew I'd left it a bit late to become a World Cup downhiller, and I think now I have to accept it might never happen. That said, time heals all wounds, including dented pride, and I'm actually now itching to have another go at that descent. And when I do, I'll f****** have you, you b******!



I'd like to dedicate this post to fellow Red Kite Events regular Jason Moseley (clearly no relation) who managed to break his leg in two places on a fire road the weekend before the event - get well soon, mate!  

Lloyd	Pete	18	MALE	both	00:08:55	00:14:00	00:22:55	1
Yapp	Jack	17	MALE	both	00:08:58	00:14:07	00:23:05	2
Bulman	Oliver	34	MALE	both	00:09:41	00:14:58	00:24:39	3
Dobson	James	30	MALE	both	00:09:48	00:15:03	00:24:51	4
Allum	Phil		MALE	both	00:10:01	00:15:05	00:25:06	5
Frewin	Taff	35	MALE	both	00:10:01	00:15:08	00:25:09	6
Scott	James	30	MALE	both	00:09:50	00:15:20	00:25:10	7
Bewick	Tom	17	MALE	both	00:09:52	00:15:23	00:25:15	8
Goulson	David	41	MALE	both	00:09:36	00:15:39	00:25:15	8
Robinson	Jay	33	MALE	both	00:09:58	00:15:26	00:25:24	10
Ridley	Jon	23	MALE	both	00:09:42	00:15:58	00:25:40	11
Thomas	Robert	33	MALE	both	00:09:58	00:15:46	00:25:44	12
Tweedie	Alan	31	MALE	both	00:10:20	00:15:58	00:26:18	13
Walker	Sean	36	MALE	both	00:10:20	00:15:58	00:26:18	13
Coop	James	27	MALE	both	00:10:13	00:16:10	00:26:23	15
Gardner	Graham	44	MALE	both	00:10:23	00:16:02	00:26:25	16
Forrest	Ryan	31	MALE	both	00:10:57	00:15:42	00:26:39	17
Staple	Jesse	32	MALE	both	00:10:37	00:16:42	00:27:19	18
Baraona	Rebecca	21	FEMALE	both	00:11:05	00:16:20	00:27:25	19
Jones	Matthew	29	MALE	both	00:10:37	00:17:00	00:27:37	20
Parry	Daniel	32	MALE	both	00:10:55	00:16:47	00:27:42	21
Eve	Bradley	17	MALE	both	00:10:51	00:16:54	00:27:45	22
Christian	Mark	41	MALE	both	00:10:48	00:16:58	00:27:46	23
Watkins	Alex	15	MALE	both	00:11:18	00:16:41	00:27:59	24
Salmon	Austin	17	MALE	both	00:12:50	00:15:22	00:28:12	25
Cardy-Stewart	Leon	32	MALE	both	00:11:15	00:17:06	00:28:21	26
Greenland	Sam	30	MALE	both	00:11:45	00:16:51	00:28:36	27
Boote	Joe		MALE	both	00:11:41	00:17:03	00:28:44	28
Randell	Dennis	38	MALE	both	00:11:50	00:17:11	00:29:01	29
Humphreys	Adam	43	MALE	both	00:11:48	00:17:20	00:29:08	30
Hill	Rob W	25	MALE	both	00:11:38	00:17:59	00:29:37	31
Garrood	Nigel	47	MALE	both	00:11:53	00:17:53	00:29:46	32
Rollason	Jon	36	MALE	both	00:12:05	00:17:43	00:29:48	33
Schroder	Chris	44	MALE	both	00:11:32	00:18:35	00:30:07	34

Coed y Brenin Enduro: The Bermuda Triangle revisited

Star date: 5 October 2014
Location: Coed y Brenin, North Wales
Event: Trek Coed y Brenin Enduro 55km
Weapon of choice: Carbon 29er hardtail with 30 gears
Greatest achievement: Holding back the tears
Greatest weakness: Puncture management
Result: 182nd

Pretty much my whole body is black and blue right now. Not from falling off but from kicking myself.

Like every good disaster movie, it all started swimmingly. I managed to break away from a strong field on the inevitable monster climb at the start, right on the wheel of some young whippetsnapper (see what I did there?), and although he then pulled away with alarming ease as I opted for an impromptu roller session on the steeper, rougher, wetter Roman Road section at the top, and familiar foe Jon Roberts caught and passed me as the track levelled off, I was very happy to hit the river crossing well clear of the rest.

At the bottom of the first proper descent, part earthy leafy rooty loveliness and part fast rutted stony track, I found the early leader repairing a puncture. What awful bad luck. Minutes later, my heart still bleeding, I was surprised to see Jon heading back towards me on a two-way section. On reaching spaghetti junction moments later it seemed to me that he'd missed a sign meant for now and instead followed a sign meant for later... I shouted and shouted for him but he was long gone. It was looking like my lucky day. Suddenly I was way out in front all on my own!

Or was I? As I headed on up the hill, my mind started playing games - what if Jon was right and I was wrong? I spotted a marshal and tried to explain the problem, but to no avail. So it was with less than full conviction and at less than full speed that I headed back down the other side onto the Beginning of the End descent, all rocks and steps that make you feel all Winnie the Pooh going down the stairs:

Hard work on a low-slung hardtail but really good fun even in the circumstances. Only snag was that it took me straight back down to the visitor centre carpark, and last year we didn't do that until much, much later in the race. Nagging fear became blind panic. But as I paused at the bottom to take deep breaths into an imaginary paper bag, clattering down the steps behind me came the next two riders, Gareth Jones and James Joyce (not that one). What with Gareth and Jon being best buddies with matching kit and matching bikes, I'd expected at least an inkling of concern about his errant partner, but he was, like, whatever. I guess that's racing.

Initial relief at being on the right track after all was quickly superseded by dismay at throwing away a healthy lead, but this soon took a back seat as the three of us pressed on at speed under the A470 to the Dark Side of Coed y Brenin, home to myriad race disasters for me over the past four years. It really is my own personal Bermuda Triangle:

• 12 punctures
• 1 chain snapped
• 1 brake lever busted
• 1 saddle dislocated
• 1 Garmin smashed
• 1 flash pair of glasses lost
• 1 head concussed
• 1 gold medal awarded and then cruelly snatched away
• 1 national champion's jersey ditto

And so it was, riding well within my comfort zone in a group of three and pondering when to make a break, that we came to the trio of short rocky descents known as Snap, Crackle and Pop, which I used to find a right handful but now seemed pretty innocuous. I was just thinking how far I'd come over the past four years of racing when, oh-so-predictably, a sudden hiss of escaping air and rhythmic spatter of tyre sealant on the back of my calves announced in no uncertain terms that Pop had lived up to its name.

Of course, a puncture is not an insurmountable problem. It's just that one tends to lead to another (as documented here). Ten minutes later, almost screaming with frustration at being stuck behind a lengthy funeral procession down what should've been some fun, fast singletrack, I attempted an ambitious overtaking manoeuvre over some loose rocks and punctured again.

I'd only brought one spare tube, so now it was time for glue and patches. "Apply to a dry surface" - easier said than done when your tyre and tube are swimming in sealant, your gloves and hands are puddle-soaked, your clothing is saturated with sweat, and the moss and grass are still dripping wet from the morning's rain... The patches duly lasted just ten minutes before flat number three. At this rate I was going to have to register as a landlord (boom, boom)! So back out with the glue...

After eventually making it back to the other side of the A470, I made a detour to the car to grab a spare tube - and promptly punctured yet again on the way back to the course. Whereupon I threw all my toys out of the pram, loudly, and came thiiiis close to driving straight home.

Eventually, though, armed to the effing teeth with spare tubes and gas canisters and what have you, and having pumped my tyres up to a good 7000psi, I headed back to the course - and Sod's law saw me round the second half without any problems whatsoever. Although delayed by a good 90 minutes at this stage, I went off like a whirling dervish, but every descent seemed now to be clogged with budding undertakers. So when I then ran across some people I knew, I decided to back off and treat it as the social ride it was always intended to be. 

I have to admit that, as usual, this made the whole thing a lot more fun than racing. Coed y Brenin is the Kellogg's cornflakes of trail centres (the original and best) and boasts an amazing network of technical trails. Once again the enduro took in the best of these man-made tracks plus various chunks of bridleway, some brand-new rooty woodland bits and, of course, the infamous kamikaze section down to the stream, which I managed to get half way down this year before getting up close and personal with a tree; next year I think I'll have it licked. The best bit by far, though, was attempting to shadow local bike mechanic and trials expert Martin Walker down the last couple of descents at speeds I would never have dreamed of attempting on my own. Absolutely fabulous, darling.

So, no regrets? Well, if you know me at all, you'll know I have them by the bucketload. If only, if only... Chris Purt, the guy who punctured on the very first descent, recovered from that to claim the win. I can't help thinking that could or should have been me. But then again, as the organisers are always at pains to point out, it wasn't a race anyway :-)

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