You may, or may not, have realised that I am a literal fan of alliteration. I could have probably constructed a longer headline out of “Bs” – but that’s me anyway.
Just over twelve years ago I completed the Holmfirth off road challenge up in Yorkshire with my old school friend Paul Shelton. He lives up in that neck of the woods. I’ve not done any serious mountain biking since. Pitched up where we are I am itching to get out and up into the Sierra opposite the site. Mary-Ann can tell. It’s Thursday 19th April. My 67th birthday. I was born on a Thursday. So I may as well do what “Thursday’s child” is supposed to do. She gives me a thumbs up providing I harbour no thoughts about a before dawn exit from bed.
The sun is just thinking about poking its nose above the distant horizon as I wipe down the heavy dew from my bike. It’s chilly. Single figures. I guess it’s going to be chillier once in the forest opposite, so I tog up in layers. I’ve got a loop planned that will see me edge up a further 1,000 feet from our current elevation. The first forty minutes or so is all up hill. Not particularly steep. Just enough to prevent me from gaining any real momentum.
Nearing what I thought to be the peak of the ride I thought I’d take a video for posterity – 🙂 – or something like that. Playing it back it doesn’t sound like me. It sounds like some old out of shape fart, who can’t catch his breath.
By the time I do reach the top of the loop there’s more steam pouring off me than Tiger Roll at the finish of this year’s Grand National. I strip off a layer or two before I create my very own storm cloud. However, it’s a stunning start to the day with views to match. I feel great.
Thought I’d reached the top of my ride but not quite . . .
One handed MTBing is not always a good thing, so on the way down I chicken out and use two hands to regain control.
Then before I know it, and in a fifth of the time it takes me to get up (so I do really), I’m tanking it.
Back at base camp Mary-Ann has my just deserts ready in no time.