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It seems like longer than a year since I last did the Enduro 6. Maybe I deliberately blocked it from my mind following last year’s puncture-fest or perhaps the fact that I seem to have ridden the course at Catton Park so many times over the years that things are simply becoming too familiar.

If I’m honest, my head wasn’t in this race at all from the start. After the short , elbows-out run, the first lap was brilliant – I was riding my new On-One Lurcher for pretty much the first time ever and I felt like I was flying. The bike was doing everything I wanted, it felt as fast as anything else I’ve ridden and it had the added novelty of a suspension fork. Comfort! Grip! More comfort! Everything was ace right up until the point, around a mile into lap one, that my rear tubeless tyre sprung a leak. Here we go again. The Catton Park Curse.

Back to the pit, a few minutes lost (Dave rode off into the distance as I slowed to ride two-thirds of a lap on the rim), onto the spare bike. 2 more laps. Slower this time. Not really pushing hard. Didn’t really know why, similar to my state of mind at the 12 hour champs a few weeks ago, I just wasn’t interested in racing. That said, at UK12 I did at least manage to pull my finger out a bit plus I had the excuse that I had a cold. I’ve no idea what was going on this time though.

Lap 4. Really losing interest now. Lap times extending into proper ‘slow’ territory. Massive swamp next to a ploughed farmer’s field starting to really piss me off. Sticky, draggy mud also getting right on my wick.

Extended pit stop. Moaned a bit. Sighed and set off again.

Phil tells me I’m in 5^th place. Whatever.

Rode some more laps, regularly checking my watch. Clockwatching! In a bike race! Jesus.

Deb told me that Dave was also struggling to keep his mind on the job. I suspected he was bloody miles in front of me by now (he was) but that made me feel a bit better, in a “maybe I’m not having a crisis after all” kind of way.

Did something on my last lap that I’ve never done before – I ‘lurked’ to avoid going out for yet another lap of sticky, spirit-sapping mud. I’d done my prescribed-by-the-training-plan 6 hours of riding a bike today, however  I still felt like one of the morons who leave the stadium before the end of the football match. What was the bloody point in coming if you’re not going to at least give it 100% attention all of the time? Oh well.

Dropped to 11^th place.

I’ve never had such a spectacular loss of focus in a race before. It wasn’t even a long race as such.

Still dwelling on the ‘result’ and worrying about how I would find my ‘old steely resolve’ in time for Finale Ligure, I swapped the mountain bike for the road bike and rode a hilly 100-ish miles the day after the Enduro 6 to prove to myself I’ve still got long distances in my head as well as in my legs.

I rode a route that included as many hard roads, big climbs and big views as possible – legs felt great, the forecasted rain didn’t appear, I didn’t get lost once and I started to feel better and more optimistic.

After one of the most enjoyable afternoons on a bike I’ve ever had, I’m pleased to report that my riding mojo returned as quickly as it faded. The big test comes in two weeks’ time….

Following a brief low-point around 12 Hours Of Exposure – which included an unspectacular result and a bout of illness – things picked up with my preparation for the 24 hour solo World’s, now less than three weeks away.

I’ve managed to put that frustrating couple of weeks behind me and I’ve had a satisfying couple of big training weeks and followed the plan. The next week-and-a-bit are pretty heavy but I’m doing ok. Fitting it in. Feeling good.

Have I done enough? I think so. As much as I can anyway. In spite of seemingly relentless bad weather I’m still motivated – probably motivated by the thought of riding somewhere warm and sunny (I hope).

“Fitting it in” was the theme of an article in the latest Singletrack magazine, focussing on those riders who have to fit in several conflicting schedules – training/exercise/racing, family and work – and the slightly strange but thoroughly rewarding routine of training early. Very early.

Me and Phil met Chipps on Rooley Moor one clear (and dark) morning a couple of weeks ago, photos were taken, bikes were ridden and “why’s and how’s” were explained. The sun came up, more photos were taken and Real Life took over, as it does week in, week out.

The piece is ace and the photos are lovely.

This one’s going on the wall….

Things are starting to slot into place now for the race. The new bike is (almost) ready. The spare bike is (almost) ready. Car hire is booked. Bikes are booked on the flights. 2Pure have sent another shedload of Clif nutrition gear to keep the legs turning. Ant has sent over some crazy-light Mt Zoom parts to combat gravity and while there’s a bit of prep still to do (including a hard block of training to complete), the fog has lifted and the focus is now completely on That Race….

Any big plan for any big race occasionally and somewhat inevitably, takes a bit of a ‘detour’ –factors such as tiredness, fatigue, illness or just plain-old everyday life constantly threaten to upset ‘The Plan’ and if the disruption is significant enough, throw it into chaos.

I’d been doing quite well this time. I’m can sometimes be pretty flaky when it comes to following any kind of training plan but my prep for 24 Hours of Finale Ligure had been pretty much spot-on right up until I started to feel a bit ropey immediately prior to UK12…I did the race anyway and then ‘feeling a bit ropey’ suddenly turned into ‘I’m just ILL so leave me alone’ which was a shame because last week should have been a big, hairy-chested, overload week.

I did a few hours during the week, but nowhere near what I should have done. My plan thrown into chaos. I did attempt to ride the Peak 100 sportive though; a nice leg-stretcher, for a damn good cause, on some familiar hills and in a handy spot so that I could tie it in with some Family and Friends Time. After riding the 30 miles to the start in Macclesfield I set off in the leading group of riders and whilst I wasn’t finding the pace overwhelming, I knew that I was going to find out quite soon if I’d recovered well in the last week or if I was still a bit on the weak side.

Unfortunately, 40 miles into the ride my legs started to scream. I slowed down. In fact, I stopped and took in the view. Spotted a road sign that I knew would give me a downhill shortcut to the finish so that I could bail out. Went that way, probably confusing the other riders in the small group but to be honest they could probably sense my weakness as I probably had a face like a slapped arse by then….

Back to the start/finish, hand in my number and then a gentle-ish ride home and a massage.

This week’s going to be much better

Following a nice relaxing week in Newcastleton I lined up at the start of this year’s 12 (not 24 this time, remember) Hours of Exposure. Somewhat nervous for some reason, maybe because I knew that soon after the start and the incredibly slow trundle through the village, the crazed sprint up the first climb would no doubt have me gasping for breath with 11 hours and 55 minutes of the race remaining.

Yep, here we go. 12 and 24 hour racers all caning it up a dusty hill trying to get as close to the front as possible before the first climb of the “Twisty Muddy Bit Up Through The Trees” as I think the section is called. (I’ve worked out that I’ve ridden that horrible section of roots and ruts around 52 times now – yay).

I was feeling pretty rough. I’m not one for moaning or even dropping out of a race if I think I’ve got a cold (I didn’t whinge too much, honest!) but I was a bit concerned when I was coughing up ‘matter’ in the few mornings preceding the race. I was definitely less than bob-on but decided that I’d take my chances on kicking whatever bug I had in the goolies by riding really really fast

After a couple of laps of riding really really slowly and whatever bug I had kicking me in the goolies I decided that my best course of action would be to moan about it to the poor people in the Team JMC pit.

When this didn’t seem to do the trick I decided to switch to my lighter rigid bike – the very hilly course and the large number of relatively smooth fireroads meant that it wasn’t too much of a gamble and after all, I’ve been racing on rigid bikes for years now.

I immediately started to get faster. Still dribbling quite a bit and quite glad I’d not bothered to wear a HR monitor (cos I felt like my heart rate was approaching 3 million bpm) I spent a few laps overtaking people who had earlier ridden away from me, apparently quite effortlessly.

“You don’t look very well”, Debbie said to me during one brief pit stop, which wasn’t at all surprising.

And that was pretty much that for the next few hours. Riding somewhat half-arsed for most of the race I struggled to keep abject boredom at bay and also found it really hard to ride at a reasonably quick pace. I’ve absolutely no idea what was wrong – whether it was the course, my (admittedly mild) cold, my apparent lack of any kind of strength to challenge anyone in front of me…I didn’t even know, or had any desire to find out, what position I was in. It was a good 8 hours into the race when I learned that I was in 5^th place in the vets category, which was 7^th overall. I suspect I spent most of the race in this position, and that’s where I finished.

I also had no idea until very late on in the race that Dave was winning. And then the next thing I knew the race ended and he’d won. A National and European 12 Hour title for a friend and team-mate was a real tonic and more than made up for my race of snot and grumpiness.

So rather than a pic of me looking surly, here’s a pic of Dave, wasting good alcohol.

Results here

Oh, and I’ve got a proper stinker of a cold now. What are the chances eh?

This year’s 12 and 24 hour solo MTB championships take place around a month earlier than usual, perhaps due to the fact that the Worlds (the one in Italy, not the one in Canada :-/) are in May. For perhaps the first time ever, I’ve planned my training and races around that event in May rather than trying to peak repeatedly for every endurance event I enter. It’s costing a bloody fortune to get to Finale Ligure for the World Champs in terms of planning, training effort and money so I want to be absolutely certain that I did everything right and my result, whatever it turns out to be, would be free from “if only’s”.

So…this means that I’m racing this weekend in the 12 Hour UK race. Racing a 24 now would mean another mammoth recovery period and a likely adverse effect on my preparation for Finale Ligure. Apparently most of the rest of the endurance racing community have decided to do the same, so it looks like it’s going to be a very, very competitive race.

Racing for 12 hours will give me a good idea of where I am fitness-wise and hopefully leave me in a reasonable state to carry on with my planned training next week (my plan basically says ’2 x 6 hour rides’ for the coming weekend so that’s good then). I’ve been training as normal this week while everyone else appears to be (understandably) tapering and I’m going to be quite careful to arrive at the end of the race with nothing left in the tank, but not to have buried myself either. You never know, I might even find time for a mid-race cuppa…depending on how things are working out. *

As a wise man once said to me, “choose your battles”.

*I reserve the right to sack that off completely shortly after the start of the race and immediately commence turning myself inside out in the name of glory

Helping me fight the good fight as ever are a whole host of ace people, sorting me out with ace kit. 2Pure have topped up my tank and sent me a box of assorted CLIF nutrition goodies

…and Ant has sent over some Mt Zoom and Alligator loveliness  - a pair of superlight disc rotors, some bar ends (I trashed the last pair), the lightest seatclamp I’ve ever seen (or felt) and a cool Mt Zoom Handy Strap. It’s a strap. It’s got rubber on it. It’s well handy for securing stuff to your seatpost, such as a tube...or some mackerel. 

Following hundreds of impressive entries, hours of deliberation and plenty of discussion we can now reveal the winners in our ‘design the next Ragley T-shirt competition’!

The calibre of every entry we received was very high, so to pick a clear cut winner was difficult. But pick a winner we did – and that was Michael Hughes. Michael’s quirky design uses the concept of negative space, which is used to cleverly create the Ragley logo. The design has a mysterious factor, where you can see the logo but until you get closer you might not necessarily know it’s created with Ragley Bagger frames. A clever design and one we look forward to seeing in production, hopefully in bright Ragley colours!

Second place goes to Robert Stokes with his design using Ragley frames and components. We envisage this design with its clean, strong graphic look in various coloured t-shirts; it’ll definitely stand out from the crowd.

Third place goes to Andrew Greenan with his clever play on words, ‘Can you handle it’ with an appropriate use of Ragley handlebars. Again consistent with Ragley quirkiness, we liked the concept with the fun little tagline.

Congratulations to Michael, Robert and Andrew – their three winning T-shirts will be printed and available to buy very soon so keep your eye on the Ragley website for more information!

Riding almost wheel-to-wheel, zipping through the trees on singletrack barely wider than our tyres, carving around bends, a small weight-shift here…a mere hint of brake there…drop down this hill, carry enough speed for the next little uphill…

The sun was shining, the ground was dry, the trails were quiet. “I tell you what, let’s not bother with racing today. Let’s just do this all day!”.

The ride from Lee’s house to Sherwood Pines for round 1 of the British XC Series was threatening to spoil the race itself. “There’s not that much quality offroad riding ‘round our way” Lee has said on many occasions. He’s been fibbing. The riding out of his back door is brilliant. Granted, the weather was probably helping but we rode 12 or so miles of quality singletrack to get to the start of the race without once having to ride across a sheepshit-covered exposed moor or through a farmyard full of Ford Cortinas or into a headwind along a dangerous A-road in the dark. This was indeed a rare treat and a fitting way to mark the day the clocks changed.

We arrived and signed in and Dave prepared himself for the 12pm race – me and Lee were racing in the vets’ race later in the afternoon.

The start was delayed for a few minutes after one of the Expert racers crashed quite badly – the air ambulance arrived and caused chaos by blowing away assorted tents, picnics and children – but once the race was underway Dave moved his way from near the back of the grid up to 20-somethingth place. Not too shabby given the limited overtaking opportunities through the trees…

Meanwhile, Lee and I were ‘busy’ spectating, soaking up the rays and catching up with various friendly faces. All this had to come to an end of course when it was our turn to line up near the back of the grid (our lack of results from last year’s XC series saw us chucked at the tail end) and spend the next hour and a half tearing around the course. It was simple – 4 laps, flat-out, don’t crash. I almost did crash about 100 feet from the start as a pile-up occurred right in front of Lee, everyone braking hard to avoid adding to the carnage, my super-slick rear tyre sliding all over the place as both wheels locked up. To my left, other riders managed to negotiate their way around the pile of carbon, aluminium and lycra whilst the rest of us had to do various 3-point turns and tourettes-inducing argy bargy.

I must have been in about 90^th place by the time we got going again. To be honest, I’ve no idea what happened in those few seconds of dicking around on the start/finish straight but I knew I had to get past more people now that I’d hoped for. Oh well. At least I didn’t end up in the tangled mess on the floor.

What followed was 4 laps of overtaking on the short sections of fire road, keeping up with the guy in front on the singletrack and heroically sprinting past the cameras of friends and family at the end of each lap ;0)

The course was ace, my newly-lightened and race-fettled Scandal was also ace, I was feeling good (despite crashing shoulder-first into a tree on lap three), the sun was still shining and no sooner had I warmed up properly, the race ended.

I finished in a ‘not-too-bad-really-considering-but-that’s the honeymoon-over-with’ 40^th place, which I think is just inside the points, which should in turn give me a better starting position at round 2 next month at Dalby Forest. Yay!

So it turns out that short races are brilliant fun, I only wish I’d not left it until now to take part.

I’ve had this ‘new generation’ On-One Scandal since a few days before the Strathpuffer, back in January. Brant kindly sorted me out with it so that I’d be able to use my old Scandal as a spare in the race. I’d was racing singlespeed at the ‘Puffer so the Scandal came with some extra, one-gear-specific horizontal ‘Swap-Out’ dropouts.

Where the old Scandal had a chain tensioner, I was able to maintain nice chain tension on the new one by moving the wheel slightly  rearwards – much neater.

The ride of the new Scandal is pretty much the same as the old one – no surprises there – On-One have kept the angles the same. The Scandal 29er has always been a great bike so why change something that works as well as that?

There are some differences though, the most obvious one being that big tapered headtube, allowing the use of much stiffer and longer-travel forks with tapered steerers and one of those headsets that makes things slacker…if that’s your bag.

The seat tube has now got a nice bend in it for extra tyre clearance and it’s wider too, so if you want to use an uppy-downy post you can do.

The finish, while it looks and is called ‘raw’, is actually anodised. It’s really tough – there’s hardly a mark on it even after being ridden for 24 (ok, 20) hours in the abrasive mud of the ‘Puffer.

The logos are etched onto the frame, no doubt with a laser or something.

This one turned up from On One with a lovely singlespeed-specific Middleburn chainset, nice in-house wheels (the rear hub sounds ACE) and a frankly mental 120mm, bolt-thru fork. In practice the fork on this bike, despite being complete overkill for my both-wheels-on-the-ground riding style and combined with the big wheels, means that there’s a feeling of invincibility and confidence to tackle big obstacles the like of which I’ve not had since I last rode my old Orange Patriot. It’s immense fun, in other words. It doesn’t feel too slack and as a singlespeed (where you’re stood up for much longer periods of time) it worked really well at the Strathpuffer.

Now that I’ve got gears back on the bike I’m still going to drop the travel down to a more ‘normal’ 100mm though. I’m not sure if that will make me any faster but at least I’ll start behaving better and stop trying to throw myself off bus shelters.

Now built with nice XTR parts and some fast tyres, it’s starting to resemble something race-ready. And that’s the beauty of it – now that 29ers have become ‘mainstream’, you can get all the parts you need to build a Scandal with big tyres, a big fork and wide bars and use it for playing on. Or, you can built it really light and go and race on it.

What’s not to like?

More info (and a BUY ME button) here

A long, hilly ride the day before what was bound to be (based on the pace last year and the people I’d be riding with this year) a very fast 60 mile road ride should have been ok. A few hours in the hills, ride to Macclesfield, tea at mum-in-law’s, stay over then ride to the start 4 miles away in the morning. The weather was going to be pretty crappy but it didn’t matter.

Throwing in a few hill intervals at the halfway point of the ride the day before shouldn’t have been a big problem either. I might feel it a little bit on Sunday but that’s ok.

Doing all of this at the end of a pretty big training week was maybe pushing it a wee bit.

Forgetting to take more than two gels was going a bit beyond ‘pushing my luck a bit’ though. They weren’t even ‘strong’ gels either – they were those crappy watered-down ones. I only took them because they were out of date and needed using. I’m such a bloody a tightwad.

By the time I reached the final big climb, just a few miles from my mum-in-law’s, I was starting to have problems. Rapidly running out of energy, I was getting that weird floatiness…the start of the dreaded bonk.

What an idiot. I rode quite slowly for the final few miles and largely, I got away with it. I ate, massaged my legs and got a good night’s sleep and looked forward to a good ride the day after.

And it was great, as expected. I rode to the start, ate my free massive tub of porridge, collected my free pack of gels, energy bars and water bottle and met up with John and Phil. Despite the weather, 300 or so riders started the ride at 9am. Within a few miles the three of us set about dictating the pace at the front of an ever-decreasing group. Ticking off mile after mile of the (almost) flat route, our average speed increasing with each pedal stroke. Covered in grime and mud from the road, we kept things tight and were looking forward to being done and dusted in around 3 hours.

My legs felt pretty heavy but it wasn’t causing too many problems.

Things were going really well in fact, until we reached the ‘feature’ climb of Swiss Hill. A steep, cobbled climb that’s quite hard in the dry, but in the wet it’s a right bugger. Shifting down on the approach, I dropped my chain and had to stop to put it back on. The lads disappeared off into the distance as I attempted to get going again on the slippery surface. I ran to the top. They’d gone.

Ace. I attempted to catch them up but knew it was pretty futile. My average speed without the protection of the group would be no match for the Phil/John freight train, so I thought of a contingency plan. I’d go for a cup of tea instead

A few miles later, I reached Prestbury (where my mother-in-law lives) and decided that my legs, by now pretty cooked, deserved a break. This was supposed to be an ‘easy ride day’ according to the training plan anyway!

And so it came to pass that with just 10 miles of the route left to go I succumbed to the lure of a warm shower and a warm drink, which is most unlike me but it seemed like the right thing to do. (I showed up later on at the finish to claim my free sausage and mash and cake though). I’m not completely stupid.

Another superbly organised and amazing value event from Polocini. How Allen manages to feed everyone before and after the ride AND  provide freebies AND feed stations is incredible really. The next Polocini event is the probably-aptly-named ‘Bastard’. Do it. 

Much like riding my bike at night, running in the dark is pretty normal for me. With very little opportunities for getting out in daylight, most of my exercise is done with the aid of lights – handlebar, helmet or head mounted. When Simon told me he was going to organise a night-time fell race, I knew it was going to be my kind of an event.

The weather could not have been any better. Under a completely clear sky, 60 or so runners lined up on a bridleway at the foot of a seemingly never-ending climb (mainly because nobody could see the top) somewhere near Darwen. Waiting for Simon to start the race, I looked around and gave myself a pat on the back for wearing full-length running tights and long sleeves – the lads who were wearing vests and shorts were starting to shiver in the not-quite-freezing-but-not-far-off temperatures. They’d soon warm up once we got on our way.

Some were wearing headtorches – some were expensive and very bright, some weren’t very bright at all. At least one runner was wearing his cycling helmet with a lamp attached, complete with battery stuffed in a rucksack. Most were ‘doing this sort of thing’ for the first time ever.

Simon’s novelty megaphone played a little ditty to signal the start and we were off. As usual, quite a few runners went off like a shot while I did my usual routine of spending the first mile or so warming up and waiting for my lungs to get used to the sudden rush of cold air. The route climbed up the rocky and often muddy track from Tockholes for two or three miles to the top of Darwen Moor where the mud and lack of drainage gave the race a whole new set of challenges – namely, how to spot the deep puddles, how to find a path around or over them in the darkness and how many leaps of faith you were prepared to take in order to take the most direct route.

I did ok, considering. Only stepping into thigh-deep bogs on two occasions I made up a few places. I was doing pretty well in fact – my experience of running offroad at night was paying off.

A quick hello to Will who was marshalling at the top of the moor, the route then started to descend. Normally, this is where I get my arsed kicked in a fell race. Often I’m a nervous descender, the result of a few too many ankle sprains in the past. In fact, shortly after beginning my descent I went over on my ankle – not quite a sprain and not quite enough to make me stop running but painful enough for me to let out a girly squeak.

Instead of getting my arse kicked though, many others in the race were evidently adjusting their speed downhill due to the darkness and nobody went past me for the full length of the rocky track back to the finish line.

pic: Sportsunday

I finished in a quite-good-for-me 18^th place, almost 10 minutes behind the winner but a satisfying result all the same. More night time fell races please!

After some finish line banter, everyone was treated to free chip butties at the Royal Hotel in Tockholes, Simon held the presentation in the beer garden and everyone quite rightly thanked him for pulling this brilliant event together. It’ll be bigger next year – make sure you do it.