We catch up with the oldest off-road cycling club in the world to find out what really doesn’t matter.
Words & photos: Benji Haworth
You can forget Marin, California in the 1970s and 80s. You can even gloss over France in the 1960s. In my opinion the origins of mountain biking are in the UK. Specifically, in the years immediately after the First World War.
To cut a long and massively interesting story short (which we may return to in a future issue) in the 1920s a lot of British cyclists went a bit… odd and decided it would be a good idea to cart their 50lb fixed gear machines over various high passes in the Lake District.
The reasons behind this movement are many and varied. Some are joyful tally-ho adventuring type reasonings. Some are rather more close to what we’d call PTSD today. Some are a combination of both. Because they were rad and knew what they were on about, they called this activity ‘Pass Storming’. Google it. It is completely brilliant. And massively British in vibe. In a good way. Keep calm and carry your bike, you could say.
Cutting history short
To further cut this interesting story even shorter, along came the Second World War. After which, everyone was rather done with ‘excitement’ and just wanted to get away from all that. To quote Withnail, they wanted harmony. And fresh air.
Whilst cycle touring was very much a thing that most two-wheeling folk drifted towards, there were a sizable bunch of wrong ‘uns who didn’t want to ride tarmac. Especially with the increase of motor vehicles on the roads in the 50s and 60s.
Ultimately, this lead to the creation of The Rough Stuff Fellowship (or RSF). On Whit Sunday 29th May 1955 about forty likeminded cyclists attended the inaugural meeting of the Fellowship “in pursuit of their pastime, traverse the rougher and less beaten ways”.
This meeting took place in Leominster. Which was a bit odd because the majority of the cyclists in the early days of the RSF appear to have originated from the North West of England or the Home Counties.
The choice of location was principally chosen as a sort of tribute to a chap called Walter MacGregor Robinson (1877-1956). He went by the pen name of The Wayfarer. His frequent contributions to Cycling magazine (AKA Cycling Weekly) in the period between the two World Wars.
In particular his article from May 1919 entitled ‘Over The Top: Crossing The Berwyn Mountains In March’ is very much a foundational text in the gloriously daft history of dragging bicycles over big hills in crap weather. You can read the original feature on the Cycling North Wales website.
The title ‘Over The Top’ clearly references the First World War experience. The Wayfarer himself fought in the Great War as an infantryman in the trenches. He even sustained a significant leg injury that flared up when cycling now and again.
Anyway, it’s best to let The Wayfarer speak for himself. Here are three fantastic quotes from ‘Over The Top’:
“It was snowing when I got up at 8 o’clock, but clearly this was a new effort, for no depth of snow lay on the road. I took a walk up the hillside before breakfast and returned to find the Old Gentleman [Wayfarer’s riding companion] looking over our machines. He at once began to pump his views into me. ‘I think’, he said, ‘that they’re exaggerating the condition of affairs on the mountain. Things aren’t as bad as they say…. I think we might venture. What do you say?’ I decided that what was good enough for him was good enough for me, ‘and anyhow’, I added, ”twill be an adventure’.”
“And is this cycling? Per se, possibly not altogether. Some of the way over the mountains was ridden, but for the most part it was a walking expedition, as has been made clear. It should be emphasized, however, that only through the medium of cycling was the outing in any way possible.”
“And, though I am almost a ‘one-pastime man’, I fling wide the boundaries of that pastime and include whatever is incidental thereto. Some of the best of cycling would be missed if one always had to be in the saddle or on a hard road.”
Preach, Brother Robinson! Preach!
What of The Rough Stuff Fellowship in 2026?
They’re very much still around. They might not have the levels of membership of their 1980s heyday, but there are still hundreds of fee-paying Rough Stuffers out there. And I met up with a few of them to go for a ride.
I had ridden with The Rough Stuff Fellowship before sometime in the noughties (again, for a feature in Singletrack Magazine). I returned to them in 2026 to see that, whilst some things had changed (mainly myself), some things remained the same.
I almost said “defiantly the same” then but that’s not correct. “Defiance” sort of implies doing something in response to someone else. The one thing that The Rough Stuff Fellowship does is not care about what anyone else thinks. The RSF has no axe to grind. No point to prove.
This is not to be confused for a lack of passion. Cycling is very much at the core of every single Rough Stuffer I rode with. If it’s possible to be passionate about being relaxed, that’s what The RSF is about. They know that it’s what doesn’t matter that really matters.
On the group ride I joined in with, on a beautifully sunny day in the Lake District, on the one hand there was a commonality – most of the Rough Stuffers were retirees – but on the other hand there was a significant variety of rider and bicycle. Some were sinewy fit fellas, some were not-so-sinewy and not-so-fit. Some were on trusty ol’ 10-20 year old mountain bikes. Some were on megabucks modern eMTBs. And do you know what? It just worked. You just wait for people. It’s really very simple. No one gets annoyed at having to wait at the top for others to catch up. No one feels embarrassed or self-conscious about being waited upon. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. And that really matters.
They are an object lesson in what is the essence of mountain biking for many of us. They’re obsessed with it. But have no interest in measuring it. Or comparing performance. You can’t measure the stuff that’s truly important.
The ‘best’ rides are not the fastest rides. Nor the longest rides. Nor the wildest rides. Because there are no best rides. Riding is a continuum of experience. Ideally a shared experience. It is not a compartmentalised period of time or distance. It’s a before, a during and an after.
I shall leave the final words to The Rough Stuff Fellowship:
“Sixty years on, there is still the urge to escape on our bikes into the wild and lonely places, far away from the madding crowd. We still enjoy the wonders of nature, alone or in the company of others. There is also the sun, the clouds, the rain and wind, the snow and hail, and whatnot. And yet we strive and find and do not yield.
“But there will always be people also longing for the peace and quiet of the great outdoors. This may entail rough terrain to cross through, but it is the fellowship and joy together with the cycling that appeals. The type of cycle may have changed […] but in the end, the bike is just the means to cycle on and enjoy.”
