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