I cycled home after my nightshift, early on a gorgeous Bristol morning, still utterly stunned by the news. I didn’t know him personally, although he was a familiar sight on my local trails – but like many on here, I’ve always been a huge fan of his writing, ever since I first picked up a copy of MBUK (late 1989, in my case). Anyway, whilst cycling back (& within sight of Leigh Woods), the following article sprang immediately to mind:
Another day, another few hundred miles later, and we were again in another distinctly different piece of England: Bristol, port city home to the drum and bass movement as well as Steve Worland, my spirit guide and revered mentor in all things bike. So far we’d gone from the barren and stark beauty of the Yorkshire Dales to the postcard steeps and lakes of the Lake District, then to the quiet and lush backwoods of Wales, and now we found ourselves in a bustling city praying to God that something tragic would happen to our bikes so we could take a day off riding. Looking at our sixth day of saddletime. At the hands of a very fit Master class racer who had a quiet grace in the singletrack that made most of us look like shambling idiots.
And shamble we did. Steve, one speeding, “recovering” after racing a day previously, took us on a three-hour maze of disorienting, root-strewn singletrack that would have made any Vermonter cry for joy. And handed us our asses. Finally, after we had all crashed hard and ugly at least three times apiece (except Steve: he might have dabbed once), we were allowed to glide to a merciful halt back in the city, in front of a pub, on a glorious bank holiday morning.
Excerpt from ‘Scheduled Punishment’ by Mike Ferrentino, Bike, March, 1998.