Riding on Arran summer 2010 blue skies, brilliant singletrack, quiet roads, standing stones on machrie moor perfect

I honestly cannot remember! According to facebook whatever I was trying to do did work though.

Up on top of the Skyline trail, above the fog and below the sun. Knackered from the climb and wishing I’d brought a flask of something.

Bouncing down Long Lane above Clapham in the Dales back in ’92-’93 on a fully rigid Marin Bear Valley with canti brakes, totally out of control, when some Japanese tourists stopped and began clapping and cheering as I rocketed past, screaming at them to get out of the way. I now have a beautiful Mount Vision but I still aim for moments like that.

some great tales here!

Riding for the sole purpose of consuming cake when coming across a cafe

Coming down off Loughrigg Terrace on a sunny September Saturday with some friends, and we simultaneously made a group decision to go through the lake rather than dismount and climb over the rocks.

Cue much splashing around and shouting of ‘DON’T STOP DON’T STOP AUGH ROCK DON’T STOP!’ as we ploughed into the water at a fair rate of knots, leading to many funny looks from the walkers around.

I miss the Lake District…

I’m hoping my best moment on a bike hasn’t happened yet.

In the meantime http://www.velominati.com/the-rules/comment-page-8/#47

During my early days of riding, about 4 years ago, I was riding down a wide-ish bit of singletrack on a hill on the edge of the Quantocks thinking I was awesome when something loud, rattly and snarly came tearing up behind me. I pulled to the side only to watch a pack of huskys towing a sledge on wheels down the hill. I made it to the bottom where there was a carpark full of these beautiful (if a tad menacing) dogs and their owners who had congregated for some annual south west dog-sleding without the snow type event.

I certainly hadn’t expected that to happen.

Abject misery……

During my early days of riding, about 4 years ago, I was riding down a wide-ish bit of singletrack on a hill on the edge of the Quantocks thinking I was awesome when something loud, rattly and snarly came tearing up behind me. I pulled to the side only to watch a pack of huskys towing a sledge on wheels down the hill. I made it to the bottom where there was a carpark full of these beautiful (if a tad menacing) dogs and their owners who had congregated for some annual south west dog-sleding without the snow type event.

They scared the shit out of me in great woods a few years back. Was night riding on my own when they came steaming past…

Abject misery……

that’s because you’ve taken your road bike off-road, the clue’s in the name

A smashing sweepy slight downhill gradient track..

Went to manual over a puddle to avoid splatter in the chops..

Got it wrong, front wheel went headset deep in muddy slops… Over the bars flat and on my back.

Fortunately a very soft landing.

Rocketing down a muddy hillside close to the bottom my front wheel sank into a muddy puddle. I did a big swan dive over the bars belly flopped into the mud slid about 10 yards, could hear my mate John still half way up the hill splitting his sides laughing 🙂

At my local riding spot there is a relatively big Up and over a steep bank (looks worse than it is obviously) and we used to stop at the top, and watch other bikers take it without stopping, and we’d say “Lets see how the experts do it”. Then a couple of years later, as i approached it at a decent lick, i heard the biker stopped at the top say “ooh, lets see how the expert takes it”.

So, from trainee to expert in two short years 😉

Cresting the Kapelmur after 130 miles of the Tour of Flanders cyclo. Massively sore legs by that point but something inside you finds
that last drop of energy to help you do such a monument justice.

Back in the August Bank Holiday in 2003, I joined a couple of mountain biking buddies for a long weekend in the peaks. Both of them had brand new, shiny Specialized Enduros so I had to borrow a bike…a Saracen Havoc.

So for the weekend, I had nearly 40lbs of budget full suss, complete with Zokes dual crown forks, cable disc brakes and a coil shock with no label on it…together with a dose of laddish humour, a small lorryload of beer and perfect weather I was absolutely hooked.

Since then I’ve acquired six bikes, I’ve learned to fix them and more importantly I’ve learned to stay on them. All that’s missing is another perfect weather summer.

At the end of a flowing bit of woodsy singletrack when I want to shout whoo-hoo at the top of my lungs out of sheer joy.
No other moment in life makes me want to do that

What defines my cycling is mostly moseying along maybe a wee bit out of breath but well within my comfort zone. It’s the bits outside that definition that are memorable.

In the last year, the most memorable bits were the last day of my holiday with Spanish Switchbacks -cycling down from Pico de Veleta to Trevelez via the eponymous 57 Switchbacks trail. Also the road ride from Hay on Wye to Abergavenny on the Lon Las Cymru Sustrans route, over the Gospel Pass. Both utterly sublime, life affirming days out on the bike, the memory of which I will cherish till the day I die.

last night I installed a new stem and sfn

2 hrs later, 1 skinned knuckle and 1 sfn set up fine
and 1 sfn wedged in tighter than you could imagine half way down the steerer, and there it shall remain until the fork dies

Did a bit of cycle touring in China and got caught in “the big wind” which blows from Urumqi to Turfan. Managed 215 miles in a day, mostly because the wind was blowing me at about 50miles an hour.

If you’re travelling at the same speed as the wind, all you can hear is the noise your tires are making on the Tarmac (not very much) and for a good fifty minutes I had a plastic bag blowing along next to me and could hear it rustling. Very American Beauty and wonderfully surreal.

Four hours later I was sitting on a wooden bed screaming silently as I’d partially torn my Achilles.

Did a bit of cycle touring in China and got caught in “the big wind” which blows from Urumqi to Turfan. Managed 215 miles in a day, mostly because the wind was blowing me at about 50miles an hour.

That sounds awesome.

When I rode across the States we had a few days of killer headwinds. Two killer days in Wyoming spring to mind. We had one afternoon in Montana where the wind followed us. It was a full on laughfest spinning away in the big ring in near silence with just the hum of the tyres for company. Our speed seldom dropped below 28mph for forty miles with four panniers, the road then turned and climbed over a pass. We called it a day and celebrated with huge ice creams.

When ever I see this picture it makes me smile.

It’s an old one, but… I think the second or third time I rode at Glentress, and tbh could barely get round the red. Coming down Magic Mushroom- in fact, right at the big bridge- just had one of those perfect dreamlike moments, all the colours more vibrant, everything suddenly feels right with the world. The exact moment that mountain biking went from being a bit of fun, to being what I do.

More recently, stage one of the dudes of hazzard enduro. Was well equipped, well prepared, well up for it. Lost concentration in the long queue before the start of the stage, forgot how to ride a bike. Crashed my way down the stage like a bowling ball when the buffers are up on the gutter. Final descent utter chaos, people everywhere, crashing and pushing and overtaking and being overtaken, getting in the way or scattering like ninepins, me passing 3 guys on a line that didn’t exist on a hard bit (no idea how) then going over the bars on an easy bit and landing in a stream…

Worst race run ever. Best race run ever.

2 sides to it

The People
After my former local night ride having a couple of beers with 20/30 people with completely differing backgrounds, jobs and lives all brought together through bikes.

Add that to moving half way round the world to find the world of biking finds me new friends everywhere I turn.

The riding pitch black icy night heading up a night ride with my mate swapping leads round the trails trying not to shout ice and pushing each other hard. No crashes just blinding fun

That feeling that you get when you realise you’ve just completed the full 100 miles of the South Downs Way after 17h 20m and which you obsessed over and trained for for months prior to completing it. Content is a feeling that sums it up….

My first chairlift up to the top of Whistler bike park 🙂 amazing and the only kind of riding I really fully enjoy now!

One of my favourite rides was out from home when we lived in Sheffield. Set off as it turned dusk at 8pm ish. Dry dry trails, was descending a particularly fruity singletrack section out towards Dore, when an owl appeared in front of me and proceeded to fly about 2-3 feet in front of me at eye level, right the way through the section I was in.

Later on the same ride, I was coming back along the Porter Brook trail and was ‘investigated’ by a colony of bats. Surreal experience – you can’t hear them, they never touch you but you know they’re flying around you 🙂

Add in the usual array of badgers & foxes seen. It was just a perfect evening out. And a Cotic Soul for company 😉

That said I’m really looking forward to going out in freezing temperatures AGAIN today 🙁 I’m through with winter.

Standing at the top of Chatel waiting for the lads to arrive, I was sporting the biggest cheesiest grin.
When they arrived the instantly knew what I had just done….
Chatel road drop, big achievement for me as it was 1st time riding the PDS.

Many moments for me…

Small thing like taking a small, two-foot drop over an exposed tree root, landing and immediately turning into a perfect lazy, foot out left-hand drift in the dying sunlight of a dusty summers day.

Thinking I am on one trail – whilst really being on another. This led to the trail ending not in a small descent into the car park but a eight-foot drop down an extended flight of stairs… No time to brake and taking off and just kissing the bottom step on a smooth landing!

Having a bad (Almost life changing…) crash four-years ago and after nine-months of sporadic riding, realising on my first ride at Lee Quarry that not only could I ride again but that I was riding better as my perception of fear had receded to a normal level than I had previous to my crash! I was riding with true confidence reflecting that ability!

Being congratulated wholeheartedly and somewhat emotionally by my brother on the above occasion as he was as joyful about it as I.

Ride after ride after ride… Going over the day again with my bro, dissecting the challenges, successes and general greatness of spending the day on a bike. Doing this on the journey home and later over the phone as well because it is such a great experience, this sport of ours.

Realising that for me a ride is not really a great ride without my brother. We have been riding together for over twenty years and it is the thing we do best together. Challenge, support, pick up the pieces and celebrate the successes. It has brought us closer together, kept us hopeful during dark times and let us spend thousands of hours in great locations sharing an amazing time.

Oh and nailing black sections first time – I love it!

Lost in France on the Fargo, but no worries what so ever..

Got two days to get unlost before the ferry leaves.
And we are packing fish, sausages and cidre for lunch.
And the sun is out
The wind on our backs

What is there is worry about?

On a group ride, in the FoD watching the younger, fitter, slimmer version of myself, known as my son, tackle climbs with ease that nearly make me pass out from lack of oxygen.

Or, on a freezing cold evening road ride, cresting a 20% climb that I thought I could not make.

Went up snowdon with 3 mates last saturday. The top section from the second bridge up was just thick fog, windy as **** and about a foot of snow! I struggled to get to the top tbh, and when we set off down we couldn’t find the rangers path start, so decided to just come back down the Llanberis path. By the time we’d got to the bridge it was glorious sunshine and bone dry trail. 10 mins later. We were all whooping and a wailing at the car park. The descent was fantastic and every walker was nice and mooved out of our way. Cracking day. Can’t wait to do it again in the summer.

Taken at 6.40 in the morning after a 600 ft climb. Nothing else would get me out of bed so early in the morning.

A previous poster covered a lot it for me – he knows who he is.

But I will add the following. The perfect trail where not only do you feel one with everything but you pull up at the end and are greeted by the grinning face(s) lit up with the same feeling of exhilaration.
Those periods where you feel your skills improve on every ride and seeing it happen for others. Nailing an 8ft drop off on my XC hardtail to receive from my brother the only compliment that mattered “that was silent”. An acknowledgement of all the achievements, efforts and (sometimes comic) crashes as i tried to be as smooth and good on a bike as him. Guess he was my first biking Hero and probably why Nico is too.
Cresting a hill to be greeted with sunshine and the surrounding countryside laid out like a patchwork quilt of browns and greens and the crazed lines of trails radiating out, full of possibilities.

In hospital after a knock to the head. Doctor takes my pulse and asks if I do any exercise. “A bit of cycling” I reply.
She then wrote athlete in big letters on top of my notes. Worth getting concussion for.
She also took my pulse in my gentlemen’s area.

Tearing round a corner on an unknown trail as seeing the take-off of a jump. Those nervous seconds when you try to judge how fast to hit it and what’s going to greet you on the other side. Betting your skills against the trail. Sometimes you win that bet.

Or walking up a nasty DH trail and thinking ‘there’s no way i’m making it down that alive’ only to find it was easy. Pat the saddle and whisper ‘good girl’ to the bike 😀

Pat the saddle and whisper ‘good girl’ to the bike

bit weird

It was a winter ride a few years ago. It had been snowing all night and we all stopped at a cafe on the Southern edge of the Cotswolds, as usual. I don’t know why, but something possessed me to push on north to see what it was like. I’m so glad I did. I as rewarded with 4 hours solo in the hills, every metre of it on backroads where the night’s snow had been compressed by the few passing cars into the perfect surface to ride on. Eerything was quiet, white and absolutely still.

This was on a 15 yr old steel Pinarello with full length mudguards and worn-out old Vittoria racing tyres. Remembering it has put a smile on my face.

Getting in from mucking about in the woods, properly worn out, mud everywhere, and with numerous cuts and bruises form things that didn’t quite work out as planned, to be greeted with a smile and the phrase (or something similar):

‘Face of a man, knees of a small boy’

Sums up everything that’s best about riding a bike. 😛

At the Puffer a few years ago it was late at night and I was cold, wet, tired and wondering what on earth I was doing there.

Then I took a walk through the forest, watched folk riding their laps, mechanics hard at work on bikes, people sitting around by fires outside their tents and camper vans, marshals doing their job and also finding time to cheer racers on and many more scenes like that.

It was then I had one of those moments where I vividly remember thinking ” There is nowhere else in the world where I’d rather be tonight”.