Fort William Endurance DH race 2011

Date of ride: July 21st-23rd, 2011; Bike used: Devinci Wilson; No. of persons: multiple; Weather: Cloudy, some sun and dry; Ground conditions: Rocky, steep and gnarly as Hell

The day of the race, Saturday 23rd July, started with a chilled breakfast and chat amongst us three road trippers, relaxing in the morning sun around the Glen Nevis campsite, before heading round the beast that is Ben Nevis to Fort William for the race to start at 3pm. We’d driven up together from Kent and London a few days before, and this was going to be the third and final day of riding on our small tour of Scotland that took in the lift-assisted trails of this rugged and hardy country. Actually, scrub that. Lets say two-and-a-half days as the only chairlift other than Fort Bill was at Glencoe, which we’d visited on our first full day in Scotland. On turning up in a deserted carpark, except for two seasoned Glencoe’ers, we asked why the place was so quiet, when they had a chairlift for God’s sakes. The place should be rammed. The ranger pointed up the mountain at a thin scraggly trail that seem to fall right off the cliff-face. Because there’s only one track, and it’s a hard track to ride. Ah. He was right. They are building another track, but that place has so much potential to be an amazing bike park, just not so steep and dangerous please. Sorry, I do like to have fun riding my bike, not feel like I’m about to fall to my death.

Anyway back to the race. We’d sampled the rugged delights of the Fort William World Cup track the day before so we knew the lay of the land so to speak. Still, enjoyed the extra few hours of rest before the race commenced in the afternoon, which would normally be when I’m finishing my riding for the day and thinking about popping to the pub, not start a six-hour endurance race on one of the gnarliest UCI World Cup Downhill tracks on the circuit. On arrival, the organisation by the No Fuss crew was impeccable but relaxed, and we were soon informed to bring all kit, spares and food and drink into the pits. For some unknown reason, perhaps being new to this crazy game, we chose a pit as far away from where the riders would finish their run and then queue back up for the gondola and we soon learned we should have picked a nearer one, so we could have grabbed a drink without losing too much time. It was also interesting to note previous competitors had resorted to customising their downhill bikes to make them as easy to climb as possible. I saw blocks of wood shoved into linkages to stop suspension working, cleverly mounted zip-ties to decrease the amount of travel on forks. A proper do-it-yourself Mad Max affair.

Now before the race, the three of us on the road trip had all been very blasé about our expectations. We were all happy to finish and just treat it like an uplift day, we said. Oh how quickly things changed. Once the race started and the first section began; a Le Mans-style run to grab our bikes before pedalling about a quarter of the way up the mountain, roughly a ten to fifteen minute ascent, all three of us wore our race faces. In seconds I’d lost these two, disappearing past riders climbing up the hill on various types of bikes, from five inch trail bikes to hardtails and full-on downhill rigs. I managed to pedal most of the way but at the final ascent I had to admit defeat and push my recently built-up Devinci Wilson up the last incline, sweating like a gerbil in Soho. We’ve climbed a quarter of the way up the DH track and I’m struggling to put my googles on, the foam already soaked in sweat.  I cruise back down to the start trying not to over-do it and crash before the race has even started. I’m gasping for liquid. Into the pits, and I’ve lost precious places, back into the queue slightly replenished, for the gondola trip back up the hill, right to the top this time. All this palaver is to spread the field out, the six hours start when the man in front gets on the gondola.

I was amazed at the atmosphere at this race. The gondola journeys back up the hill always involved chatting to random racers, all in the same boat, all loving the track and gabbing about different riding experiences in Scotland and France and beyond. Awesome. The earlier lifts and people would ask what run are you on, but as the race wears on, everyone seems to lose count, or it just becomes irrelevant.

And so, inevitably the gondola reaches the top and I disembark for the slight push up to the classic start hut of this legendary track. The lovely marshal lass with the red boots swipes my fob into the timer and I’m off, down the wooden start boards and over the first kicker. My race has started.  The top section is open, and loose and the gravel seems to lurk, waiting to wash out from under the tyres, loose, interspersed with rocks imbedded deep into the track, by contrast not a chance of them breaking free. I smash through a small rock garden, then it’s over a little kicker that’s like a brow of a hill but actually a double jump and onto the wooden boardwalk.

Enjoying the top section (Photo: Paul Cram)

I try to relax and prepare for start of the trickiest and gnarliest part of the track. The contrast of the smooth wooden boardwalk, to the big rock garden straight after is amazing. I can hear the whir of tyres on the smooth wood, the next thing it feels like I’m being bucked like a cowboy at a rancho as my bike struggles to absorb the impact of the rock garden smashing under my wheels, roughly 30 metres long. I learn to relax and try and pump the bike through the rough boulders lining the course like the battle helmets of a stone-age army. Then it’s a sharp, steep left over yet more battle helmets and down onto a berm, praying the gravel will hold me through the turn and not see me hurtled over the precipice. Breathing a sigh of relief, I press on, round steep and banked corners, down rocky drops and monster trucking over terrain so rough I’m surprised bicycles can conquer here. But my Canadian steed’s eight inches of travel front and rear (well, nine at the back, thanks Devinci) soak up seemingly impossible lines over such gnar, smoothing out the roughness and allowing me to point the bike at off-camber rocky, craggy steps and launch off boulders the size of a small car. At no point does the bike seem to be in terrain it doesn’t feel comfortable with.

Winner Alastair Mclennan on board the Nukeproof Scalp (Photo: Paul Cram)

The gradient eases slightly and straightens out, allowing me to gun it across the rough boulders of Aonach Mor, trying to stay in the air over jumps and so avoiding the terrible trouble that lurks inches away from my tyres, before landing and once more, searching for the next launch pad. For airtime means there is no rugged terrain to vibrate through my battered body. I start to feel pain in my feet and hands mainly, the contact points on the bike and they suffer throughout the race.

Careering though the deer-fence, padded on either side with bright red protective foam, I rail the bike left through the berm, inspired by the cleavage and heckles from the Outlaw fans, on over a little ladder drop and into a whole world of slabby rock and sharp crags, their whole purpose on this earth seemingly to smash my wheels and puncture my tyres. The speed picks up and I’m barely making the turns, hands screaming in pain as I smash harder and harder into the ugly rugged beauty that is this amazing track, my forks using all the travel and still craving more. I skitter across yet another rock garden, this time wet and slick from a small stream somewhere, the low sun reflecting on the boulders, goading me to distraction, but once more I look for, then point the bike at my escape route from this awfulness and I’ve cleared another section.

The Outlaw hecklers trying to put racers off (Photo: Outlaw Riders Facebook page)

I round huge switchbacks that belong more on a motorcross track, dislodged rocks littering my line, then across a fireroad where the huge World Cup step-down looms to my left, closed, thank goodness on this race. Careful here, as it’s very loose with small rocks waiting to wash out my front wheel. I press on, plunging into the wooded section, down some steep, giant steps, trying to maintain my line to the right of this awfulness and set up for the tabletop next to the wall-ride. I launch out of the near-vertical take-off, and it seems I’m in the air for an eternity, before just making the downslope of this almighty jump, back on the ground and rocketing deeper into the woods. Over a little jump and the landing is surprising hard, and I round the bend, coming in far too hot into a whole heap of trouble. Rocks and boulders bar my way but I monster truck over them, left over a little bridge spanning a brook. I speed on, past boulders as big as a small house trying to maintain momentum through this tight and tricky line, on over roots and yet more rock, vaguely aware of marshals and spectators spurring me on.

Team-mate Jay Shaw, pinning it to an 8th spot (Photo: Paul Cram)

Then I’m out into the open, and a huge table-top bridge looms into sight through my scratched and smeary goggles. I’m too tired to try and clear this, and enjoy a small respite, before dropping over the near-vertical edge, picking up tremendous speed. Another smaller jump appears, I catch the downside of this, enabling me to gain yet more pace, round a long arcing berm, railing to the right then popping off the hip jump by the gondola that looms into view, a classic jump made so famous by Sam Hill with his awesome whips in the garish yellow and pink kit. I’m trying to make the downside but probably just coming up short. Oh well, I’m proud to have ridden such a legendary feature on a legendary track. The so-called motorway section continues with doubles, table tops and the classic step-down into the finish arena. I almost throw it way here, with my front wheel coming up short and almost catapulting me over the bars and down a steep chute into the arena, but I manage to hold on and plunge down this chute and over the final jumps into the finish. My timer fob is swiped to get a lap time, then back past the pits, refreshment as required and onto the gondola back up the hill for next round.

I continue in this vein for nine laps, with no mechanical issues except for a loose chain device which was easily rectified. The hands and feet got more painful, but I was loving the race format, relaxed and just smash out runs all evening. The sun was out. What could be better? I had my team-mates in sight, well, one of them, and knew that if I could keep up with his laps then I’d beat him on the times. Four-and-a-half hours in and I’m ascending in the gondola. Normally I’d be watching other racers slamming themselves down the track, which slithered under the gondola like a rocky, precipitous serpent. However, the track was eerily deserted. There was some movement on the rock garden, fluorescent vests of medics and marshals glowing in the dying sunlight. We arrived at the top to be greeted with a queue of pretty much all the riders in the race. Red flag. Yes, a racer had crashed in the stone-age battle helmet rock garden and he didn’t look too good. It took best part of an hour to get him off the track, and rumour had it his hip was broken. Get well soon, buddy. Once he’d been carefully lifted off the track the race organisers decided to call it a day. One last run, riders starting at 30-second intervals. By now most were cold and cramped and for me at least it was a careful lap, I didn’t want to bin it and injure myself now.

At the bottom as all riders limped or bounded over the finish line, depending on their outlook of their last run, and it was an exhausted but celebratory atmosphere. Everyone who took part had beaming smiles, I’m sure the fine weather played a part but this relaxed format to racing definitely made this a top event for me. A final placing of 39th out of 133 helped me enjoy the race even more. Considering I was happy to make it down in one piece at the beginning of the race, I’ll take 39th all day long. With my team-mates coming in 8th (Jay Shaw, flat-out) and 49th (big Chris Lewis), we were all stoked on the journey home the next day.

One final point. Normal races finish in the late afternoon. This one started then. So I think it was around 10pm when I arrived at the finish, 11:30 we were back in our campsite after the podiums and presentations. Could I sleep after that? Adrenaline and energy drinks coursed through my blood stream, my mind’s eye still reliving the epic lines of that legendary track.

Fort William Endurance 2011. Best event on the best track in UK? Perhaps.

Big thanks to Paul Cram for the top-notch pictures. You can find more flicks on his Roots and Rain page, and also his flickr account.

Big-up to Outlaw Riders for their shot of the hecklers, catch them at their Facebook page

Top ten

1st VetMale, 131, Alastair Maclennan

2nd SenMale, 143, Chris Hutchens

3rd SenMale, 153, Stu Thompson

4th SenMale, 57, Ben Arnott

5th SenMale, 151, Benjamin Edwards

6th SenMale, 38, Ben Stead

7th SenMale, 103, Jesse Wigman

8th SenMale, 26, Jay Shaw

9th SenMale, 117, Paul Milne

10th SenMale, 89, Tom Gooch

Maxiavalanche 2011 Andorra: the race

Date of ride: June 9th to 12th, 2011; Bike used: Commencal Supreme; No. of persons: Multiple; Weather: Cloudy with rain, drying out with sun on last two days; Ground conditions: Muddy, drying out after rain stopped

Blogger’s note: The following is an amalgamation of my three runs, qualifying and the two finals. I took the best bits of all and wrote them into one run. I hope you don’t mind.

Another group lines up at the start

I’m standing at the top of a mountain in the middle of the Pyrenees with 200 other riders. We are all shepherded into ten rows of about twenty riders, crammed together between lines of orange plastic catch-netting, but it’s so chaotic I’m unsure of the exact numbers. I have my pushbike next to me and George Edwards, the organiser of the Maxiavalanche series is standing before the mob, giving a final briefing in French. I understand none of it.

George holds up a board that says 1 minute to go on it and the adrenaline starts to course through my veins. I’d seen the start of one of these from various places, but now I was actually here to race. The first time I’d seen the spectacle was, as always, the most memorable. On my way up to the start I’d been at the top of the second chairlift and at the end of the first stage of the race when we heard a roar from the top of the mountain maybe a mile and half away, and looked to the summit. A stream of mountain-bikers were scything across the hill like a giant multicoloured caterpillar. Seeing hundreds of bikers coming over the ridge was an unforgettable sight, and excited me to my very core and it was to become one of my most amazing experiences in life.

George shows the number board with 30 seconds to go on it and the riders start shouting “Allez” and “Venga”, I’m thinking these people are turning into a baying mob, charged and pumped up to get the race on. People are jumping up and down on their bikes, stamping the pedals and roaring now as George shows the 5 second board. All of a sudden the start tape flies up and the race is on. I pedal about 10 metres and there are bikes and bodies on the ground in front of me, I manouever around them and  through my body armour, sense bikers barging into me from the right and left. Somehow I stay on my bike to get around the chicaned start and the course opens out. Now I’m flying down the mountain over rocks and gorse with riders all threading lines inches from my own. It’s not just the terrain I need to worry about, it’s the other riders too. Where will they go? What line will they take? The track thins out and the riders converge again, tyres throwing up rocks and debris all around. Sometimes the field spreads out and I can get some speed up, smashing through rocks and bushes with my bike and then there’s a hold up. I must jam the brakes on and hope I don’t crash into the back of the rider in front. It opens out again and we’re off at speed once more. I round a corner to see a rider down. No time to think, just react and I make it away in one piece and no crashing. Riders are taking crazy lines down the mountain. I’d practiced the track but there are ways down this mountain I’d not thought of. Riders are crashing through bushes and riding down amazingly steep chutes to overtake where possible. We’re back onto a man-made track and a tabletop jump looms into view. I hit it at a speed I’ve never experienced before and I sail over the landing spot, a racing huck to flat, suspension working hard. Through some bermed corners then it’s seat up and pedal, pedal up a short uphill piste to the top of the second chairlift where I’d been earlier watching another quali. My bike is heavy on the flats and uphill and riders start to pass me as I reach the top of the incline, then it’s seat down, gears still low to on a tricky section.

We scratch and scrabble over loose shale and up around a gantry for the chairlift then drop straight down a loose chute where there is a very tight right turn to take, up and around another gantry. Lots of riders bin it here but I’ve been practising this section and power up the incline, at the top gearing up for the sprint that takes me into a lazy, loose right-hander, sprinting up to one of the best jumps I’ve ever come across. It’s a step-up, so called because the take-off is lower than the landing. I fly over this jump and land way past the landing transition, too fast for the jump and loving every second as my suspension softens the flat landing. All of a sudden a rider is very close. I hear his breathing and a French voice challenging me. As quick as he comes into my consciousness he’s gone. A bang and a cry and he’s not there anymore. Crashed I can only presume. Oh well. At least it wasn’t me I think. Serves him right for trying to over take me.

I drop down into big bermed corners that remind me of Cwm Carn DH track, all G-outs and compressed suspension, another jump comes into view. Just as I hit it the guy in front, not 10 metres away pin balls into a tree, his bike careering one way, he cartwheeling the other, both somehow landing in the track. I dive my bike into the bushes and somehow I’ve made it though. Lucky. A rider takes a sneaky inside line around a berm and I’ve lost another place. I’m panting like a dog at the beach and probably just as drooly. Feeling like I want to vomit. The adrenaline is keeping me lifted but it’s hard to find the power in the pedals now. Just as I reach another slow pedally section. That’s all I need. A technical thread through trees and over inclines and rocky boulders, slippery roots. Difficult to do after a rest, nigh on impossible after twenty minutes of race mode. I make it through however with not too many mishaps and only the curses of the French riders behind me ringing in my ears.

The final section begins. The steepest part of the track but also the hardest due to a couple of devastating flat sections. More riders pass me on the flat section and I’m really struggling coming into the next technical climb. Down a steep chute and round a couple more bends, some quite quick and rooty, then it’s a small, welcome queue for a drop down onto and across the road. There’s a hold up because the track takes a tight left hand turn down the drop and most riders need to line their bike up before tackling this loose, steep feature. Over the road and straight on the gas, dropping in once more to sublime singletrack. I pop and weave my way down the track, using rocks and roots to launch off, flying over bigger rocks and roots in my path, to the cheers of the spectators. A tight right hander and it’s more pedalling until we reach the freshly cut steep chute, shooting straight down the mountain for roughly 200m in a small clearing for the electricity pylons climbing up the hill. It’s very steep here and it’s a case of arse over the back wheel, brakes on and steer with my body. I make it through with no mishaps but this video shows the carnage occurring. Some nutter overtook me here though. On to the last pedally section and my choice of bike is ruining me now. The heavy Supreme won’t maintain any momentum on the flat and uphill sections and every fibre of my body is screaming. I want to puke. Straining against the pedals I eventually make it to a steep rock face that everyone must carry their bike up. It means the last section of pure downhill gnar. But I’m so exhausted I must stop if only for a moment to catch my breath and I won’t be able to hang on or control the bike for the best bit. And the most dangerous. As I’m catching my breath I recognise a rider pass me. A mate I’m travelling with, Chris Lewis, if he beats me I’ll never hear the last of it. Now it’s game on. I’m chasing him down the singetrack, sometimes just on his wheel, the next I’m stalling in a corner, having overcooked my speed. The track here is fast and rough, but with wide open berms and roots and rocks to launch off. Here I choose a sneaky line and get ahead of Chris. It starts to steepen and slow, a new, freshly cut section, and it’s another case of bum over the back wheel and guide the bike around the tight twisty corners. I’d experienced a strange, slow-motion over-the-bars crash here on a previous run but this time I cleared it. It gets dark and the forest closes in. I round another super tight corner and as I’m trying to manouever around a fallen rider I’m over the bars, crashing into a tree. Chris rides past. Then Chris stalls and I somehow gain the lead again and it continues like this all the way to the finish, like cat and mouse. Then I throw it away, coming round a bend far too hot and sliding down the hill away off the track. One rider waits for me to get back up. Not Chris, he goes past again.

The final technical DH section is awesome. Two steep drop-chutes, on jagged terrain that look like a thousand shark fins all sticking out of the waves of the sea, and just as dangerous to fallen onto. Reminding me of Rockadillo track in Spain I smash my forks through the unforgiving landscape and then it’s on the gas over a nice little rocky section that is cool to double up. Another rock garden looms round the lefthand bend. I hear the shouts of encouragement from Kat who is spectating here and it spurs me on, launching over the first of the rocks in my path, still going. This track seems never ending. A couple more bends, some quite tight and there it is, the final drop into the carpark and we’re done. Final run I come in 44th behind Chris’s 40th position. Because I did a better first run than him I end up 28th in the Amateur Masters category with 140 points and Chris in 33rd with 116 points.  He will point out he had some mechanicals in the first race however, but hey, that’s racing. Out of 170 riders though, we’re both pleased with our performances today.

Final podium positions:

Parolin, Lau, Amour, Misser and Beeli

Franck PAROLIN (Giant Vertical Bike) won the Maxiavalanche 2011 Andorra with Nicolas LAU (Cube Bike) in 2nd and Karim AMOUR (Kona) in 3rd. Spanish Tomas MISSER (Guak Scott) and Armin BEELI (Trek) from Switzerland finish 4th and 5th respectively. Brit Alex STOCK grabbed 7th

Chausson, Such, Hassenfratz, Saugy and Petit

Anne Caroline CHAUSSON  (Ibis) wins the womens category with  Morgane SUCH 
(Massilia Bike System) 2nd,  Claire HASSENFRATZ (VCA / Labyrinth) in 3rd, Myriam SAUGY (BMC Trail Crew) in 4th and  Pauline PETIT (Team Pro Bike shop) in 5th

Great news for UK, Tom HICK (Merida) gets a podium in the Senior Challengers category, 3rd place behind  Antonin GOURGIN (Labyrinth Shiman Racing), 1st and  Cedric LACASTE (ACCOUSVTT / Kona) in 2nd.

The official Maxiavalanche video can be viewed here. I’m in it at 07:06, shame I’m not so pinned, as I’m the one pushing back onto the track!

Maxiavalanche 2011 Andorra: the build-up

Date of ride: June 9th to 12th, 2011; Bike used: Commencal Supreme; No. of persons: Multiple; Weather: Cloudy with rain, drying out with sun on last two days; Ground conditions: Muddy, drying out after rain stopped

I’m not sure when the Maxiavalanche began for me. Perhaps it was when I booked my place and plane ticket last year, and the anticipation began. I’d never ridden a race like this before but had heard so much about it, sitting in the van of a friend who was talented enough to podium at one last year. Phil Varley has been riding these types of events for the last three or four years and this year he’s jacked the job and living the dream with his Kiwi girlfriend Kat out the back of a van for the summer, hitting up spots around Europe and racing the Avalanche Cup before heading to New Zealand. He’d told me about the mass start with 200 riders battling for position, complete with elbow and shoulder barges, whilst trying to ride around fallen bodies and bikes. He’d told me about the cracking downhill sections in classic European resorts, and the length of time you have on the bike. He told me about the pain. The pain of having to compete for 30 minutes up to an hour, the pain from arm pump. The pain from crashing. I knew I’d have to earn this one. I started going to the gym and doing spinning classes. I upped my XC rides in Kent so I was training pretty much everyday. I did DH races in England where I could, alongside trail rides in Dorking. Anything to get me race fit. Preparation was the key.

Bike choice was too. The ideal bike would have been my 160mm Specialized Pitch I’d had a couple of years back, but that was long gone. I had to choose between my 140mm Orange Five more suitable to UK trails or my heavy-hitting 180mm Commencal. It would be a compromise on both. Take the Five and be good on the flat or uphill sections but risk struggling on the Pyrenean descents. Or take the Commencal and love the descents but struggle on the uphills. In the end, I opted for the Commencal Supreme, mainly because the Commencal HQ was located in the next village from where we were staying and I wanted to take the bike back to its roots. A sucker for sentimentality, I know. All I did was swap my normal seatpost for an adjustable one so I could raise and lower my seat according to the gradient of the terrain, using a remote lever mounted to my handle bar. Seat down low for the downs so I could get back over the rear wheel, or up high for the ups as pedalling is easier sitting down.

Before I knew it the bike was packed, my kit was bagged up and we’re winging it over the French countryside aboard an easyJet, then cramming six lads with kit and bikes into a brand new Renault Traffic, and winding our way up the Andorran mountains, trying not to get car-sick and eventually arriving at our destination of La Massana at the dead of night. Apartment found, beds secured and sleep.

We awoke to a drizzly start to the day. It was cold, damp and the lifts up the mountain were closed. We took our time assembling the bikes out of the bags, before heading into La Massana for a scout about, and heading up to a carpark on the outskirts of town where the Maxiavalanche track would finish. There we found Phil and Kat, chilling in their old LDV van converted into a campervan, still getting their bikes assembled, even though they’d been there a few days already. Slackers. Phil took us through his new steed for the series; a 160mm Bionicon Alva with adjustable geometry to make it more suitable for pedally or downhill sections. Big question: was it pink or purple? Let the video decide.

No lift up the mountain was a slight issue. But where there’s a man with van there’s a way. Flagging down an lovely English VW Transporter with trailer we were soon winding our way up the Pal mountain to the Vallnord Bike Park with Martin from Singletrack Safari, normally accessed by the Telecabina gondola, and the start of the third and final section of the maxiavalanche track. The rest of the mountain was closed as this access was only by chairlift, not open until the next day. We practiced some of the track for the rest of the day, eventually comandeering our new Renault for shuttle runs.

Martin from Singletrack Safari helped us with a lift

The track here was on a fairly flat section, punctuated with technical root and rock sections, some of which went slightly uphill and required some standing and power to clear. As the gradient of the track steepened downhill, it became a wild ride over roots and rock, with some sections requiring a slight pop to clear exposed roots and other trail debris. The last section of the track consisted of fast wide-open berms, rough as Hell, with little drops and loose shale, and then tight, steep and technical, freshly-cut sections,  the unearthed dirt loose and loamy and requiring skill to negotiate.

Practice on one of the chutes on Maxiavalanche track, Andorra

The eight of us practiced this section for the remainder of the day, chilling for the most part, stopping every so often and getting a feel for riding on big mountains again. Some had new bikes and focussed on suspension set-up.

We had a great evening meal at a Catalan restaurant-hotel, on the outskirts of La Massana heading to l’Ordino on the CG3. Great meat dishes, a shoulder of lamb that I was unable to eat the whole of (unheard of for me!) and very friendly staff, well recommended, shame I can’t remember the name of the place! They showed us how to eat an amazing starter: Pan Tumaca: hot toast, with garlic then tomato rubbed into it, topped off with olive oil and salt. Rocking.

Next day, friday, and we all trooped into town slightly hungover to sign on. We all handed over our doctor’s notes to say we were fit to race, handed over €20 each for the timing transponders, got given our race number plates in return and set off to the gondola for first practice run from the top.

Maxiavalanche race plate

We battled through drizzly and overcast weather right to the top to get some practice in on the entire track. Took the gondola, then a little DH section called Carbonera down to chairlift one. At the top of chairlift one, awesome little, tight but super-flowing DH trail with little ladder stepdowns and jumps to chairlift two which would take us to the top of the track, right at the top of Pic de Coubil perched at 2,500 meters above sea level. This top section, the start, was awesome. Some tight chicanes between orange catch-netting and then it was flat-out big mountain riding across the meadow at the top of the hill, rocks and gorse bushes littering the way. Soon the track met one of the bike park routes, complete with berms and jumps, off the brakes through high-speed sections. I’m always amazed how quickly you can ride on big mountains. I ride faster on this terrain than in the UK, the gradient is so steep and the tracks always so well built that you can pin it instantly. The rain didn’t seem to matter to the condition of the track also. Roots and wet shale didn’t seem too slippery and I maintained good grip throughout the day, even in the dark and deadly wooded sections towards the bottom.

On the last section George the organiser had just cut a new section, straight down a clearing for electricity pylons, where the forest had been felled in a straight line from top to bottom of the mountain, roughly 20 metres wide. The track was cut so the riders must negotiate this steep chute for around 80 metres, between around down about two pylons. As George explained, it was, “Freeride total”. I found it was brakes on, point and shoot.

After a final run from the top, Scottish Richie, who had been to La Massana before and knew some trails, took a couple of us on some classic trails from the top of the gondola, Old School, then onto Route 66. These trails were great, especially Old School which was fast and open with natural jumps and swooping berms, great to hit at speed, winding through the forest, great to hang it out on, faster and faster, trying to stay off the brakes. The it was onto Route 66. A flat out affair, with berms cut into the mountain to allow you to criss cross down, with jumps and little rocky drops thrown in for good measure. Last section back into town was a fast and rough one too, lots of boulders to smash through. Glad I had the Mini DH bike for that!

So it was a good start to the trip; except for one of the Kiwis with us who broke his hand, catching it on a tree as he passed by. A shame, because his riding was over for the rest of the time, although he made up for it in consumed alcohol. Go Louie!!

Next time: qualification and the finals

Pearce Cycles Downhill Series Round 2 – Bringewood

Date of ride: May 7th and 8th, 2011; Bike used: Commencal Supreme; No. of persons: Multiple; Weather: Cloudy with rain; Ground conditions: Muddy and slick on roots, drying out after rain stopped

The second round of the Pearce Cycles Downhill Series 2011 started as the first one finished. With a deluge of rain. As I headed to meet my racing partners, Jay Shaw and Chris Lewis at Godstone on M25, the heavens opened for the first time, I’m sure, since our last race. And once we arrived at Bringewood, Mrs Pearce confirmed it hadn’t rained since the last race meeting. Still it wouldn’t be UK racing without the rain. How I pity the Moose boys who got sunburnt at the last round of the Welsh series. They’re missing out on the slippery roots, sketchy lines and muddy tyre changes.

Speaking of which, all three of us changed to mud tyres without even looking at the track, just clocking everyone else’s choice on the way through the pits. There were few mad enough to run dry tyres but the majority of riders had chosen spikes. Tyre choice was to become an integral factor in who did well this weekend. As the track dried out after the heavy deluge the night and morning before the race, the faster riders rode on dry tyres. A risky business though, as rain threatened all through the afternoon of the race and caused a few headaches for the Expert and Elite riders, when on their second runs the clouds let fall once more.

So to practice and the uplift. I’d heard that Pearce Cycles had extended the runtime of the fleet of Land Rovers until 5pm, to accommodate an over subscription to the race meeting. The normally pretty smooth operation of the previous year was struggling to cope with the increased rider numbers and we ended up spending most of the afternoon queuing for the trip back up the hill. We were managing one run an hour, not a great way to memorise the track, but thankfully the rain had eased off in the afternoon and the sun managed to find away through the Shropshire clouds.

The first runs were pretty slick but as the afternoon wore on the track dried out considerably, though I still felt comfortable running mud tyres, providing me with excellent grip through the gloop and wet rooty sections, but slowing me down on the drier bits. We had arrived to a change in a section of track, due to the original first section becoming unrideable in the wet conditions. A quick look and I was pleased we weren’t being asked to ride down it. Steep and off-camber, it bore visible scars running down the hill, marks left from unlucky riders loosing traction and sliding off track.

And so the track we would race on began with a freshly cut section. It barrelled down a steep incline, straight into a loamy left-hand turn with the loose dirt gradually developing into a catch-berm. Off the brakes over an off-camber section across a lot of roots to the first tricky right then quick left. Walking the track it looked relatively easy to maneuveur the bike into a straight line for the corner’s exit. However on the bike it was a bit trickier. The steepness of the terrain and the speed I was travelling kept forcing me to drop deep into a rut on the right hander, making the entry into the left too tight. I eventually cleared the turns by going extra slow, knowing I’d have to get right on the gas to make up for my lack of skill through this technical section.

This technical turn lulled riders, it seemed, into a false sense that they were out of the woods (sorry) but the steep gradient continued down the loamy hill, bikes picking up speed just before the next right-hander that increasingly caught riders out. A root-infested entry that looked like an octopus at an orgy ensured a wild ride into this turn, and I saw a few riders bin it here. Then the track opened up; a little bump on the hill just before a load more bigger roots assisted riders slightly, by giving them a boost over these nastily angled and slippery buggers. Honestly, some of these roots actually looked like the Pearce track builders had taken the Pledge up with them, shining and buffing the exposed root right up, ready for Grandma to come round for tea and cake on a Sunday afternoon.

If any rider could maintain speed and grip using a little rut to catch the tyres, then he’d be well set up for the straight to a triple jump, used on many a race, and I think was part of an old English National track back in the day. For those of you that aren’t familiar with the term, a triple jump is a kind of jump that has a take-off, and a landing but with a second landing in the middle for riders that cannot jump far enough to make the main landing. A normal double jump would look a bit like a curvey ‘m’ taking off from the first upstroke, over the hole in the middle and landing on the last downstroke. A triple would have an extra ‘n’ joined to the ‘m’, so forcing the rider to jump over the two holes and land on the third downstroke.

The track was so battered from the rain, not too mention the 300 plus riders tearing the guts out of it like Freddie Kruger at a Dreams bed-shop sale, that I found it tricky to set myself up for this jump, bouncing from side to side in the ruts now gorged deep into the mud just before the take-off. Other riders, it seemed, were suffering the same fate as I, and I witnessed many getting right out of shape, some ending up off the track and in the heather.

Then it was straight on the gas, sprinting across a little fire-road section that really grabbed at the tyres and slowed your progress on mud tyres. Then back into the maelstrom, down a tight left hander off the side of the fire-road, that shot back up a small incline then a chute down past a tree that threatened to collide with me on every run and a onto a surprisingly slippy rock section that set riders up for a small but ferocious drop, and caused a stupid amount of racers to come to some harm. The uplift queue buzzed with tales of crashes and over-the-bar moments on the drop, which was surprising as it wasn’t too big, just seemed to kick the rear of their bikes up and so upset the rider. The wet conditions on landing didn’t help.

The track straightened out once more and it was off the brakes and pedal, pedal over some seriously muddy and rutted lumps in the ground peppered with rocks looking like small-small islands in a sea of mud. It also seemed, those pesky track builders had dumped a load of woody snakes on the track in front of me, all of them slithering to find shelter from the open grasses. Both these features were a reminder that a fall would involve a reasonable degree of pain.

On a practice run, my front wheel had washed out on an unseen root lurking just under the muddy surface, my handlebar had etched itself deep into the Shropshire countryside, like a plough toiling over farmer’s land, and my hand still throbbed whenever I rode that section. Line choice here was a bit like playing the Generation Game; top, middle or bottom. All had advantages and disadvantages, but in the end I opted for the high line all the way through, preferring the slight grip of grass over slippery root of the middle or the more meandering rocky lower route.

Next there was a slight right-hand hip jump and into a lazy left-hand bend on which only the brave didn’t touch their brakes. Off a little stump to boost the rider onto the bermed left and it was a quick right over another little hip jump that most riders were trying not to launch too far from, and so maintaining speed. I loved this section, I loved the speed that I came round the berm, over the hip with a squash of the suspension, feeling my bike change direction in the air, straightening for the landing and pedal, pedal up to the first of two smallish tabletops. Catching the downside it was pedal, pedal again trying to catch the downside of the second table top jump. A couple more turns of the cranks and a bigger take-off looms into sight, marking the entrance back into the woods. The stepdown. So called because a rider must launch high and far off the take-off and land down a transition perhaps ten metres away, further down the hill. Viewed from the side the feature would look like a giant step, hence the name.

Over the step-down, into the trees (Photo: Jamie Watts)

Awesome to watch the top boys clear it, I was satisfied to do anything more than just roll off the top, but it took a while for me to work out what was required on this section. In my defence, I am blind as a bat.

And so in through the trees. This first section was a bit like a pump track on steroids, with little lumps and undulations dotted down the track that enabled the rider to pump up and float over sections and catch the downside of the next lump, as long as he could maintain his rhythm and flow, and so avoiding nasty roots and hidden stumps, all the while keeping a correct line and avoiding trees inches from his bar-ends.

Then it’s over the last fire-road and a pedal past trees, at times dropping your shoulder to avoid any close contact with the timber, through lefts, and rights, some tight but mostly flowing, and as the gradient steepens and you start to the sense the end of the track, with an increase in baying spectators egging you on, it was down a rutted chute and over some wooden steps, then hurtling down another, steeper chute, up and over the classic finishing tabletop and it was a final pedal, pedal, sprinting at last into the welcoming arms of the finishing line, and reality returns. Race done.

Sunday sesh down the local woods

Date of ride May 1st 2011; Bike used Commencal Supreme; No. of persons 2; Weather Sunshine but windy; Ground conditions Dry and loose

Mini step-down, Lesnes Abbey Wood (Photo by Marta Perez Sainero)

Review of Five Ten Impact 2 Low MTB Shoes

Five Ten Impact 2: still going strong after four summers

Any mountain bike rider who rides with flat pedals will know all about these shoes. The sole is so grippy that it is almost like riding clipless. Sometimes it is just as hard to adjust the position of your feet on the pedals if you don’t get it right straight away. The grip truly is legendary. And the uppers do a sterling job of protecting your feet and tootsies from any bouncing, loose rocks that come their way.

But what I’m amazed at is the shoes’ longevity. You see, I’m now into my fourth summer of riding using these shoes and, yes, they are starting to show some signs of wear and tear. Considering I reach for them every time I go riding, from the mud-fest that is a British winter to the rocky terrain of Malaga, Spain, and the Alps, it is pretty remarkable that they’ve held together for so long. It is true that I’ve had to take a drill to them a couple of times to re-hole the left one due to the loops for the laces snapping. But once a new hole has been drilled and re-laced I’m off and away on them again.

Other Five Ten shoes seem to have problems with the sole detaching from the upper in no time. Or the seam between the two parts coming away at the sole creating a small skirt around the bottom edges that pick up all kinds of crap. No such problem with these bad boys. The sole on one has started to come away slightly but the glue is still doing its job admirably.

In fact if I actually cleaned them, I could get away with donning them down the pub in Rotherhithe on a Saturday night. Awesome shoe, a dream for any flat-pedal rider with amazing grip, good protection and a longevity that astounds me.

You can buy them here:

http://www.chainreactioncycles.com/Models.aspx?ModelID=18195

Pearce Cycles Downhill Series Round 1 – Hopton Castle, Race Day

Date of ride April 3rd 2011; Bike used Commencal Supreme; No. of persons Multiple; Weather Cloudy with rain; Ground conditions Muddy and slick on roots

What a difference a day makes. I’d been awoken throughout the night by the intermittent patter of rain drops on the tent, getting steadily heavier and heavier. So we awoke to a weak sun pitifully trying to break through the darkened sky, heavy with cloud and rain.

There was an atmosphere of resignation throughout the morning’s practice. Some riders chose to run the same tyres as the previous day, but after one run I decided that wasn’t for me and I needed some mud tyres. Trying to ride the greasy track I was sliding around as though my bike was attached to ice skates not tyres and I was never going to make it down the hill on my race runs let alone post a non-embarrassing time using these babies. Off the dry-weather tyres came and on went the mud tyres. The tyres made a difference, but not much. The wet weather had washed my confidence away like the rain running down my tent in the night. I kept telling myself it was a great leveller but it seemed that a lot of riders weren’t concerned with the weather, still hurtling through the wet and wild.

By 11.30 the uplift had closed and had started to ferry the riders from other categories up the hill. But soon the Masters were on our way in the Land Rovers to the start and the queue for the first race run. Jay, Chris and myself were all in this largest of categories, Masters (30-39), and so our runs started within about twenty minutes of each other. We had to wait under the trees and leadened sky while the race staff read out number after number and the racers lined up to hurl themselves into the wet and wild darkness of the wood.

Jay left the start gate first and then Chris, leaving me at the top of the hill with my thoughts, increasing levels of adrenaline and an absolute slashing down of rain. I kept telling myself, ‘Just hit the run like it was dry’. My number was called and I was sitting on the start line. The beeps counted down. One beep to inform me 30 seconds to start. One to say ten seconds. Three. Two. One. Off and away from the start, all thoughts concentrate into one thing after another. Pedal. Jump. Turn. Change gear. Brake. Turn. Jump. Oh, and don’t fall off. The first section goes well, it’s greasy and I know I’m slower than the day before but at least I’ve made it through cleanly. I pick my line choices and set myself up for the next section. Out into the open and the mud sprays over my goggles as the rain continues to slash down. It’s hard to see but on and over stumps and roots I hurtle, picking up speed across the coppiced section. I drop down into the trees, holding my lines albeit at a slower pace to yesterday, keeping left through the speed trap. I bounce and bound my way over wet and slippery roots and big tree stumps that I don’t remember before emerge from the gloom. Then it’s a hard left then right and on the gas through a slippy turn and over the gully gap jump at a bit too slow a speed but I just make it. I also just make it through the tricky tight technical section and then it’s onto the last section. I’m starting to feel more confident now, taking the lines I’d decided on the night before.

Just a second before the crash on race run 1 (Photo: David Nott)

Then disaster. Before I know it I’m off the bike. I’ve come down a steep bank hoping the turn at the end will hold me upright but the bike washes away from me and I’m on my side, struggling to get back on the bike and off again. I ride the rest of the run on auto pilot trying to get back into the groove but before I know it the last jump is looming into murky view and I’m across the line.

The lads are waiting for me at the bottom. As more riders in our category finish their runs, our placings gradually move down the results table. I post a time of 3min 15sec, with Jay on a respectable 2min 54sec, and Chris with a 3min 35sec. It’s a long time till our next a lotted runs and we watch the elites steam into the finish area, or in the case of elite rider Harry Molloy, sliding into the finish. Fair play. Marc Beaumont storms home to take first place with 2min 15sec.

We still have another run to do, but the cold and wet is taking its toll. It’s all the same for everyone but with all the waiting around it’s difficult to turn it on for the second run, two or three hours after your first. But soon enough we are up the top of the hill again and I’m waiting for my number to be called. This time the rain had let off and the run is much slower than before. The mud has started to get very boggy but I still manage to get thorugh the first two sections without too much incident. I say too much but the track has now been destroyed. There are roots and stumps now revealed that weren’t there before and these throw me off line through both the coppiced section and the wooded speed trap section and it’s a miracle I am able to maintain some kind of control of the bike and stay on course. It’s a pretty sketchy run and it’s proper gnarly out there, but I feel if I can stay on the bike I’ll better my time.

Road gap race run 2 (Photo: Emma Lenton)

Over the road gap and through the final high speed berm there is a small off-camber bank just before another rutted straight but I feel the rear-end slide away and that’s it, I’m off the bike and sliding down the bank. I clamber back onboard, my saddle twisted to the side and all out of shape. I pretty much coaster down the rest of the track and come in two seconds slower than the last run. None of us manage to better our times, and Jay’s taken a huge tumble in the speed trap section, I think hitting the same new root as I did. He’s Ok though. We should have walked the track again this afternoon. Note to self about that one. A couple of riders better my time on their second run and I end up 54th out of a Masters field of 68, with Jay 30th.

We traipse back to the van, and I’m slightly disheartened about my performance, but as we pack up and start our trek back to London I begin to feel much better. We’ve all survived our first race of the season and we’ve found areas of our riding that need improvement (me more so than others). I need to learn to ride faster in the wet. I probably need to learn to ride faster in the dry for that matter. Oh well, onto the next race next month. Bring it on.

Pearce Cycles Downhill Series Round 1 – Hopton Castle, Practice Day

Date of ride April 2nd 2011; Bike used Commencal Supreme; No. of persons Multiple; Weather Sunny; Ground conditions Dry

And so we began our race season, three of us travelling from London and Kent, linking  up at Godstone to transfer all our kit and bikes into Jay’s freshly converted, giant VW LT35 campervan. Chris Lewis, Jay Shaw and myself settled into the four-hour journey in an excited mood, despite the single CD we’d brought with us. The weather forecast was promising and we were looking forward to a great weekend of dry weather racing.

Loading up the campervan at Godstone

It was midday by the time we reaced Hopton Castle in the depths of the Shropshire countryside. Quickly kitting up we made for the main campsite and race finish down a small dirt track as we’d arrived late and were directed to the overflow carpark. We signed on and in return received our race-cards which were affixed to the front of our bikes, before learning that the uplift had been suspended due to a fallen rider. This did mean that once resumed, the uplift would be running until slightly later than the four o’clock finish. Soon enough the medics came down from the hill after attending to the injured rider and we made our way back to the start of the uplift, just above where we had set up camp.

The queues were pretty lengthy and it took about 20 minutes to get onboard one of the 10 Land Rovers lugging us up the hill. Once onboard however the Landy soon had us up top and unloading the bikes ready for our first descent. The uplift from a couple of weeks ago had set Chris and myself up pretty well, as the track taped off for the race was the one we’d been practicing on at the end of March. It only took a couple of runs to get up to speed and were all soon enjoying the track immensely (see last post for track description).

Only one particular corner was catching riders out. Just after the small gully gap there was a straight over some huge roots, then a left turn followed quickly by drop off a root about 18inches deep with a sharp right just after, then a sharp left almost straight away just past a tree. Many riders were hitting the first corner too quickly then dropping off the root into the sharp right and being bucked over the bars as the forks compressed and the rider tried to turn at the same time. The trick was to hammer over the roots, brake hard then take the left early to set up so the root drop would not be so steep; then there would be plenty of space to thread the bike round the tree and away we go. Tricky.

Race organiser, Dave Pearce, dining out on the podium

Soon enough the uplift was closed and we headed back to the van to change. I needed to get my rear brake bled so we all tramped back to the main arena and I booked the bike in with Ginger Rick, the resident mechanic. Practice day wasn’t over yet as Jay insisted we walk the track on foot, which I must say I’m surprised we haven’t done before in previous races. Still, learning curve and all that.

Jay and Chris discussing line choice

It was a great idea. We got to see the track from a different angle and it was interesting to discuss choice of lines with the other guys walking it too. There was however ominous mutterings about rain the following day, and discussions of alternative lines due to poor weather. I quickly dismissed this as the weather was beautiful. We all retired to the van for pasta, beer and bed, I think quietly confident that we were fairly well-prepared for the next day’s racing.

Roots, Ruts and Hucks – Pearce Cycles uplift, Hopton Castle

Date of ride March 20th 2011; Bike used Commencal Supreme; No. of persons Multiple; Weather Overcast; Ground conditions Dry

After leaving the rest of the crew in FoD, two of us made the journey up the A49; myself and the inimitable Mr Lewis. We were hoping for a cheeky sneak peek of the track we’d race on 3rd April in Hopton. As usual the standard of riders at these extremely well-run Pearce cycles events was very high; Pearce Cycles’ very own Owain James in particular shredding on his amazing Bos-suspended new Specialized Demo. A beautiful ride. Perhaps one that should be making it into the MTB press for a review sometime soon? Come on Dirt Mag!

The uplift was as efficient as ever with three Land Rovers crawling or smashing their way up the hill, depending on who was piloting, once one of the Landys had its alternator sorted.

Big Lewis gets onboard a Landy

At the top we quickly scouted about and decided on the possible track for two weeks time. It seemed like the one used last year, due the high numbers of Pearce Cycles riders scoping out lines, so we cracked on and got busy.

It started on the top mound with a slight straight, and I quickly learned to go round the little tabletops rather than over them as you had to be right on the gas as the track beared right and the first feature; a surprisingly long, six foot double that we had to session to make cleanly. Clearing the downside the transition spat me out into some berms and a little floating jump before another berm catapulted me into a tighter wooded section. Diving left between stumps and trees, the track bermed right and opened out, giving multiple line choices. I chose a relatively straight line, over a tree stump fashioned into a kicker and it was onwards over a tricky big stump that needs  more practice on before the race, and the track opens onto a clearing.

Over some more little kickers, full on the gas, before braking hard for a right-hand berm across more multiple lines through a coppiced section before getting to a big felled tree. Up, over and steep down the other side, this tree was tricky. Not too fast or I’d have too much speed to gain a good line for the next section. Saw Richard Cunynghame from Dirt Mag, float over this onboard his Charge sled, and and proceed to an impeccable line through to the woods. Hold a line? That boy can! Sweet.

Holding a line into the woods (Photo: Emma Lenton)

And so we followed the Dirt boy down into the woods, where it seemed next week’s track took a left over the first proper rooty affair. Then it was straight over these roots and stumps to a left then sharp right berm for the next tricky feature. A gap jump over a bomb-hole, only small at around six foot long but I needed to be on the gas through the preceding right hand berm in order to clean it or the wrists were punished hard. This took a few runs to gain the bottle, but I was pleased we’d both conquered it and gonna be able to incorporate it into our race run.

There was another little tricky section with multiple line choice before the trail spat us out onto a fireroad. From there, the end was in sight. Some tight singletrack with yet more line choice before the hill dropped away, getting steeper as the trail opened up into some sweet berms, a double and then a big step-down that launched me fifteen foot down the hill onto an enormous, rutted right hand berm, spitting me across the hill with a few tight corners before the last two jumps.

Lining up for the step-down (Photo: Emma Lenton)

The first was tricky as the take-off kicked the rear of the bike up and threatened to hurl me over the bars. Sit back on that one, I thought. The last was lovely, a huge tabletop that was great to catch the downside, some more talented riders throwing in the whips to please the waiting crowd. Should be a good race, let’s hope the weather is dry like it was here. Who knows, it’ll still be a blast

Flyup uplift, Forest of Dean

Date of ride March 19th 2011; Bike used Commencal Supreme; No. of persons 7; Weather Sunny(!); Ground conditions Dry (woohoo!!)

It was an early start. A 7.30am meet on the M4 meant a 6am alarm call, and so I started this awesome weekend of riding. I climbed Blackheath Hill in the Mazda with the mean, green Supreme nestling behind me in the boot, and as I came over the brow of the hill and onto the heath I was enveloped in a wonderful, golden hue of uprising sunshine. Everything was golden all across the heath, a magical start to the day and surely means the start of a glorious summer.

The rest of the journey wasn’t so magical and we eventually arrived at FoD at around 10.30, after meeting another two of the crew on the way down on the M4; them booting it passed us, complete with obligatory middle finger salutes. Kitting up we realised there was more to our crew; the Kiwis from our trip to Les Arcs last year; Ash, Lewis and Chuck, all pinners in their own right, and a good crack too.

Lahar: carbon with internal gearbox

These Kiwis all love a carbon bike, but Lewis in particular had a distinctive ride. A Lahar, I’d never heard of it until our trip to Les Arcs but it certainly draws a few looks. Apparently made by a Kiwi who’s since been locked up on drugs offences, it’s a fully carbon frame with internal gearbox, slack as Hell and tough as old boots. The rear swing arm is actually designed to flex and assist the suspension damping. Mental.

I’d been to FoD a couple of times before so I knew the drill; down past the shops then cut back up the hill to the waiting Simon from Flyup with his trusty Transit and trailer. Pop the bike on, in the van for banter and lift up to the start. Slight pedal to the start, goggles on, then bang! Sprint for the the right hander turn over some rooty corners, take the chicken run round the bombhole gap, then it’s deep into the woods over a couple of jumps that float me over some rough stuff, down a steep drop onto the fire road before plunging once more into the woods down the last section of Ski Run. It starts with a slightly switchbacking ‘S’ turn that on the exit floats me sweetly over a small rise and down a drop, carefully setting myself up for the famous drop that Steve Hunt the resident photographer uses (see my banner at the top of the blog).

On a previous, wetter visit (Photo by Steve Hunt)

Plummeting yet deeper into the wood the trail traverses the hill over a lovely little double jump before hurtling at warp speed down and through the last wooded section, trying to keep off the brakes as much as possible, slightly blinded by the light diffusing through the trees, off a small kicker jump that floats me over some particularly nasty roots, then it’s a tight right hand berm, on the gas for the first, smaller tabletop that is pretty great to clear. In front then is the biggie. A huge tabletop that must be a good fifteen feet long, with a take-off that looks the same size as my front door and just as vertical. I pedal as hard as I can; up and over the face of the jump, through the air and just make the downside. It feels amazing. When you don’t make the downside, it’s quite a hard landing but when you clear it properly it feels so smooth as though you haven’t just been flying through the air fifteen feet off the ground. Then it’s quick left and right berms, before a little gap jump that launches me onto another left hand berm that feel awesome to rail round, before another right hand berm and it’s all over. Buzzing from it, we regroup and head back to the waiting van for another run.

This run I’ve described is the culmination of the runs I’d completed throughout the day. I didn’t make the downside of the big tabletop until the penultimate run (about run 8), but I feel I’ve started to up my game. I’m beginning to clear jumps that I’d have thought impossible a few months ago. And just as well. I’ve got my first race of the season in two weeks. Bring it on!! Oh and next time, I’ll be doing the bombhole gap jump. Promise