Review of Troy Lee Designs Moto shorts

I got these shorts as a Christmas present back in 2009 and they quickly became my shorts of choice for any downhill session. Having said that I’ve worn them for riding trail centres and they are ideal for those colder months. The cut is spot on, and can pretty much stand up on their own, not due to my hygiene issues but because they are so sturdily constructed. They also have removable pads for your upper thighs, which is useful if riding in very rocky conditions  and fancy a bit more protection.

A great pair of shorts: recommended

I wear a 32″ jean and these 32″ shorts didn’t take long to feel very comfortable and there is also a sturdy sliding clip to adjust the fit if the size isn’t quite right. While the fabric is a hardy polyester and nylon combo, there are venting panels to allow your upper legs to breathe so I really don’t notice overheating. Unfortunately they are not waterproof so if it’s wet and mucky then I must resort to the trusty cut-down waterproof trousers underneath these, as I really can’t be dealing with a wet arse.

The biggest plus side for me however, is that they have two well-sized pockets; more than enough for phone, wallet and keys. I’ve heard other riders complain about the lack of even a small key pocket on their shorts (I think the TLD Sprint ones) so it’s good to know you can stash your valuables on your person with these beauties, just don’t tell your less fortunate friends and get lumbered with their keys or phones as well.

Overall, I’d fully recommend these shorts to anyone needing a tough, quality pair of riding shorts, good for trail riding in winter and DH all the time, although I do switch to the Moto trousers if it’s really cold which I’ll review at some stage in the future.

You can buy these shorts here: http://www.chainreactioncycles.com/Models.aspx?PartnerID=79&ModelID=25226

Red Run in the Dark

Date of ride March 17th 2011; Bike used Orange Five; No. of persons 3; Weather Misty; Ground conditions Muddy, water-soaked chalk and slippery roots

The location of this ride will remain a secret as the trails are only open during daylight hours. However, where there’s a lid light there’s a way so I arranged to meet my good buddy Chris L after work with another of his friends, Scott, into his triathlon and has a trail bike also. The traffic out of London was slow but steady and I linked Chris on the motorway and followed him away from the capital. We soon hook up with Scott, gear up and hit the surprisingly wet, slippery and sketchy trail. I won’t bore you with the ascents as the real treat of this ride was the Red Run in the Dark. I know the trail well from many a session on it in daylight but in the dark it was awesome; though handy to have the characteristics of this trail embedded in my mind’s eye to remind me where to go.

I start at the top of the hill and the trail bowls straight into a bomb hole that I rail around before popping out the other side, the bike getting sideways already. Onto the gas and a slight right hand turn over a small crest and tree root that I pump for more speed before smashing into the next left-hand berm at full tilt, the trail spitting me out over yet more roots, and getting millimetres of air as I move the bike right, straightening for the next section. I’m barrelling through the dark, popping off and over roots, before a slight incline to the crest of a tight right hander by an old tree with many, many roots exposed, big, chunky and all slippery as Hell. I career straight over these, knowing that the rough terrain will slow the bike sufficiently for me to make the turn and I plummet down the other side, jumping off the remaining roots. Accelerating through the compression the trail opens up, levels out and it’s all off camber with roots meandering off down the hill. I pump over them and try to unweight the bike to maintain my line, but always end up careering down to catch pockets on the side of the trail. I still struggle on these types of terrain. But on I speed, hopping over stumps and old rooty corners, now the gradient steepen s once more and there’s a few big berms to rail, right then left. I know a little jump is coming up and I take it, launching into the dark unknown is a hell of a buzz. The landing from the little kicker catapults me down the hill at more speed, round a lazy left hander coming up to some tight berms that are sketchy in the dry, but I slow sufficiently to make it round with no moments. Then it’s though the bowels of two trees close to one another, requiring precise setup, over some compressions and undulations before the last kicker launches me off and down four or five metres into huge undulations that spits me up and out, over more roots, before the trail calms down to a few berms until I hit the end, puffing, painting and buzzing from the ride like no other.

I want more of that one.

Review of men’s ColdGear Tactical Mock baselayer

For those of you that know me, then you understand why I love this baselayer so much. You see, I sweat like Julian Assange in a Swedish nightclub so I need a baselayer that lets me stay dry and warm during these winter months. And this little number does exactly that. I may have excreted half a litre of liquid from my weird body during a ride, but when I feel the inside of this baselayer, it’s bone dry. Soaking on the outside, but nice and warm and dry inside. It’s quite thick so it helps to keep the wind chill down also, when combined with a Goretex or other such water/wind proof.

Men's ColdGear Tactical Mock baselayer: awesome

Overall an excellent buy. I got it from here, but it looks like they’re out of stock at the mo. Shame, coz I wouldn’t mind another of these beauties.

W2, Glyncorrwg, Wales

Date of ride February 26th 2011; Bike used Orange Five; No. of persons 5; Weather Rain then sunny with some cloud; Ground conditions Rocky and muddy with huge puddles on the trails

Glyncorrwg is nestled at the end of one of many old mining valleys that snake up from the Welsh coast, near to Port Talbot. The area was part of the mining community that was ripped apart by Thatcher in the eighties and is still struggling to recover, despite the steady influx of mountain bikers that bring some cash to the stricken valley. The village is not a beautiful place with old grey council flats and a sense that the world has passed it by. Contrary to first impressions though the people here are some of the most friendly and accomodating you’ll ever meet.

And this little village has become something of an institution in mountainbiking in UK in recent years. It is home to the infamous White’s Level trail, a trail that has introduced many a rider to tough, technical climbs and sweeping descents. The place is often referred to as Afan as this name incorporates the other trail about four miles down the road, at Afan Argoed, home to The Wall trail, another famous trail with a fast, pinned descent, that many downhill racers use for practice.

Several years a go, the trail organisers decided to join the White’s Level with The Wall, calling it W2. It is possible to both start and end from either centre, Glyncorrwg or Afan Argoed. We were staying in the excellent and good value Queen’s B&B in Glyncorrwg village, so we began from the Glyncorrwg centre. Essentially, the route climbs the first part of the White’s Level to the top of the hill, cuts across the top to take on the descents of The Wall. At the end of this the route climbs back up The Wall trail which is really just a fire-road, back across the top by the wind farm, before rejoining the descent of White’s Level back to the trail centre. It is an epic 44km. There is a fair amount of fire-road linking the two trails but not having done it before I was keen to try.

Photo: Skyline Bikes

The first climb at White’s Level is surprisingly enjoyable. Climbing has never been a strong point for me but this one keeps me interested. It is quite technical, with rocks and roots every turn of the wheel to watch out for, and tight turns that propel me through 180 degrees of trail as the track switches back in direction up the hill. I become quite absorbed in the nature of the climb that I don’t notice the pain of my muscles so much. I say so much; I quickly realise my two riding buddies, Jay and Chris are far fitter than I and end up struggling to match their pace, these two disappearing off up the trail as I haul my bike and weary body over yet another slab of loose rock and slippery root. Some sections are easier than others and some are steep and rocky that requires a reasonable amount of skill to make through cleanly. The full suspension bike assists in this however; the rear suspension shifting up and down, following the contour of the ground, soaking up the loose rocks and applying grip where required.

At the top we regroup and very soon our other two riding partners, Gary and Darren join us and we hit the only section graded black. Like ski runs, trails are graded with colours, green for easy, blue for intermediate, red for difficult and black for super hard. The majority of the trails at Afan are red, so pretty challenging but there is only one section that is black.

It starts with a few rough berms that send me left and right and over a little hip onto a wearisome fire-road linking the next part of the run. I’m gasping for breath as I hit the next section, some raised wooden tracks that take us over the boggy ground. As the trail opens out we all hit the berms and little jumps, enjoying the first high-speed descent of the day. Until I drop a chain just before the last steep section, and I must let the crew go through while I curse and swear at my chain device and gears. 1×10 is coming if it doesn’t fix up. I scoot down the last steep, rocky section having lost all speed and we begin the slow and tortuous climb back up the fire-road to where the trail begins again on a section called Windy Point.

This is one of my favourite sections of trail on the White’s Level. It winds over to another valley first on an exposed side of the mountain, hence the name and then cuts across a stream to plunge into the darkness of the woods. The trail arcs and snakes over undulations in the land while cutting into the side of the hill, and I gain more and more speed, cranking the pedals and pumping through the slight dips. There is a lot of water running off the hill, and a great deal of this runs down to puddles on the trail, creating an image in mind my that I won’t forget in a hurry.

Jay steams ahead of me down the trail, and I pedal harder and pump the suspension harder to keep up. The trail isn’t straight but follows the lie of the land with small turns on the crests of undulations before diving to the bottom of them again with a slight turn to bring us back up the other side. Blasting through the dark woods at 20km/hour or so, I see Jay squash his bike over the crests and pump it through the puddles at the bottoms, causing the splashes and spray from the water to catch in the sunlight slicing through the trees. Would make an ace photo, shame I’m going far to fast to reach for my camera which isn’t even in my bag. The pic will have to wait for another day. There are rock drops and more undulations to rollercoaster over and soon enough we reach the end of this epic section. We all pile to the end, brakes failing due to the grit and shit.

It is here that Chris, Jay and I separate from Darren and Gary who continue on the White’s Level, and we cut along a fire-road, past the wind farm looming overhead and through a very boggy section, down to the start of the descent of The Wall. The section called 373 is still quite pedally at first and I’m starting to feel the exhaustion setting in; worrying as we’re not halfway yet. But I forget all weariness as the hill falls away and we pass other riders trying to tackle the tricky ridgeline trail, sweeping up and down the undulations of the mountain, still pedalling to maintain speed.

Out through the gate and we’re on our way to the penultimate section, named the Graveyard. This section is fast, flowy but harbouring a tough line to clear in the middle, with huge boulders, roots and trees to negotiate a line through. Perhaps the reason for the name. I’ve sectioned this place on a number of occasions and I know my way through it now, however I was impressed to hear Chris clean it on his first blind run. Respect.

On to the final trail, Zigzag. It all gets a bit of a blur on this part. I remember the trail hugging the side of the hill, rollercoasting the contours, quicker and quicker. I’m flowing with the bike as though it’s part of me. It’s a pinned descent, flat-out, a few pedal strokes to keep the speed up, floating millimetres above the ground at some points and smashing over roots and rock on other sections. Fast.

All too soon and it’s over. I hit the brakes, hands screaming in pain. Now, the payback. We’ve a long fire-road climb ahead of us, back up to the summit, back across past the wind farm, back to White’s Level. It’s a struggle and I push up these monotonous stretches, with no energy while the other two push on stubbonly and I begin to lose sight of them. There small sections of singletrack to break the monotony, one even with a small descent to liven things up slightly, the Tramway. But more often that not, it’s a killer climb.

Eventually we find ourselves back at the end of Windy Point. It’s more or less descent now. We pull ourselves together with some welcome Jelly Babies and hit the Energy tabletops, and I almost clear them for once as they’re not well made and probably too big for most people. We then career further on into the woods on a section that always makes me think of speeder bikes in Return of the Jedi, over manmade, gravel-filled paths, a few rough jumps and half-drops. Then it’s out of the woods, across a stream and a long, exposed trek to more woods and a final climb.

The section Goodwood, is too wet to go fast on, the puddles huge with waves and everything, so it’s a disappointing penultimate section for White’s Level. But the last section, Darkside has no such problems. We are all wiped out from the epic ride but as all riders know we must have something left for that final descent. It’s a particular tough descent too, Darkside. It is still quite pedally for at least half of the six minutes I’m tackling it. I must keep turning the pedals to maintain speed, tricky when the legs are wobbly with 40-odd kilometres under them, and you have fresher rider snapping at your heels, urging you to go faster. Eventually the trail steepens enough to get off the gas so much and allow me to enjoy the sweeping and arcing contours of the hill. I’m spat out of the trail and onto the tarmac of the fire-road. We’ve finished. It’s been an epic ride and I’m aching all over. But we’ve all made it down with no mishaps. Bike wash, shower and food. Oh, and beer now awaits. Afan’s trails rule and don’t forget it.

Leith Hill, Surrey Hills

Date of ride February 12th 2011; Bike used Orange Five; Number of persons 4; Weather Sunny with some cloud; Ground conditions Muddy with puddles on the trails

It was supposed to be a day of XC on the South Downs, however torrential rain the day before put paid to that idea. South Downs is treacherous in the wet, because of the chalky nature of the ground so me and Gary decided to blow that right out and head back to the area I’d been introduced to the week before: Surrey Hills.

The idea was to get in as many miles as possible and treat it like an XC ride. But when Frank and Ray turned up on their hooligan hardtails, and knowing the kind of stuff they like to ride, I realised they had other plans. We started off on a lovely piece of flowing singletrack, switching to and fro between the trees as the gradient slowly steepened and the ground speed picked up. It was slightly spoilt by the puddles on the trail but hey, I had waterproof shorts so I manned-up and got to it. Trees had been felled and one of the stumps had been fashioned into a jump which was great to launch off and land some five or six metres further down the hill, with still a good few corners to sail round, berms to rail round and roots to slip and slide across. The trail was a sick way to start a ride.

Muddy Five, less a couple of chain links, hopefully no more chain-dropping

We got some miles in. But I didn’t notice them pass under my winter tyres as the ride was blessed with so much great singletrack that I was too busy concentrating my mind on the moment, zooming through the woods as though on a Imperial speederbike. Nothing too techy, just a blast through the woods and down some bridleways. Lots of holly though. And it’s painful to smash through at speed. Eh, Gary?

And there were climbs. One in particular sticks in my mind as being especially naughty. About a mile and a half in length I believe it takes us from the valley that Holmbury St Mary nestles in, up to the Leith Hill fort. It’s a bit of a grinder, long and consistent but only steep in small sections and we all made it. One to be on the pedals more next time and not just spin my way up.

So on up to the top. As we reached the summit, the boys veered across, over to the right towards a drop. That side of the hill is nigh-on a cliff and they wanted to show me a small track known as Jose Mourinho, or the Special One. It was special alright. Downright intimidating as well. Diving off the side of the steep incline, the track had been cut through the bracken and brambles, first slicing right across the face of the hill for about ten metres before a tight switchback left, not out of place in Champery, with an awkward little drop just after, before it straightened up down the hill. Then there was a small drop of only a foot or so, then a bigger drop of about a metre over some roots, to a runout into the woods far below. It looked difficult. It was a short section but boy, it was technically difficult to clear. And steep. We slide down to have a gander. Looking over the drop it seems more intimidating because of the steepness. Things aren’t made easier on the clamber back up the hill, slipping around, the FiveTens scrabbling for grip.

We retreat to the fort on top of Leith Hill for tea and cake and thoughts of the impending section were pushed to the back of our minds as we chatted about TV. But as we finish our refreshments we once again remount and make our way back to the slight gap in the bushes that indicated the start of this techy trail. As we three were dithering over our bikes and who should go first, Ray does us all, and blasts off down on his new On-One hardtail, and without thinking clears it first time. Good lad! One-by-one we three inch our way down and all come a cropper. The switchback is tight and it takes us a few attempts to clean it. Then comes the little drop after, with small rocks and some roots to freak me out but really it’s nothing. But it has got me because I’m too late for the turn to straighten up for the two drops. Twice I go over the bars as my front wheel digs into the loose dirt and gravity takes over. I’m thankful for the soft ground. Thankful also to Gary who must grab my leg on one occasion as I threaten to tumble over the edge. We all crash on the same section, getting frustrated but at the same time it’s tremendous fun. I’m loving this riding. It’s tight, awkward and tricky, and takes a lot of concentration. We push back up and attempt it again. Ray clears it. Again. Bastard. Respect. We others fail. Again. Admitting defeat for now and vowing to clear it next time we follow Ray down and head back to the cars.

It’s been a fantastic few hours riding and the miles flow when you’re enjoying the trail. I’m starting to love these hills. And spring is coming so I think it will be a good year for riding.

A good day for riding

Holmbury, Surrey Hills

Date of ride February 6th 2011; Bike used Orange Five; Number of persons 9; Weather Overcast and windy; Ground conditions Some places muddy, but generally dry

There’s been a lot of talk and hype surrounding the riding in the Surrey Hills area for a number of years now. I’d checked it out a few years ago , but went with a few mates who’d never been before also and we had a bit of a mare. We got lost, always seemed to be pedalling up and never enjoying any of the downs so we called it a day, packed the bikes up and went home. That was until the trip to Spain, when the Moose Cycles boys mentioned that they rode there quite often and it was well worth checking out. So sure enough last week, Gal invited me out for a ride with them, meeting at Holmbury St Mary.

I caught up with the guys after driving around Holmbury for a bit trying to find mobile reception which eventually meant leaving the area, contacting Gal and getting the location of the carpark sorted. Upon arrival, the others had already geared up and from the looks of them, meant business. Riding bikes ranging from an One-One hardtail, through to an Orange Five, Marin Wolfridge, Santa Cruz Nomads and Hecklers, alongside the Intense Tracers, they certainly knew their stuff. It was going to be a great ride.

Starting straight out of the carpark, we headed up some winding singletrack to the top of the nearest hill, with my chain coming off the instant I shifted gears. Argh! My gears were to plague my ride today and has got me thinking I should move to 1×10 gearing. Anyway, back to the riding. Once I’d got the chain back on, I hit the climb and realised I quite like these types of ascent. On a little singletrack, and very winding, it takes concentration and some skill to clamber over the little steps and roots and it takes my mind off the job in hand, climbing. Very soon and it’s over and we head along fireroad right to the very top of the hill.

A windy day on Surrey Hills

We drop off the edge of the hill down a steep slope, very loamy and loose, as though the track has been freshly cut, it has a lefthand berm which then shoots me across off-camber and rooty sections, the Five struggling to maintain grip. There are jumps built from fallen trees and bombholes that generate so much compression as I reach the base of their bowl I’m surprised I’m not flung over the bars.

We arrive at the start of another singletrack, after a short ride back up the hill, and for me this is the best section. It starts with the track traversing the hill, with natural undulations and roots to catch some air, and find a smooth landing. I have Gal in front and Moose mechanic Jay breathing down my neck as I ride blind, trying to see far enough up the trail for any up-coming features and obstacles. The track becomes more man-made, with huge sweeping berms to rail around, and slight lips on the straights to get yet more precious airtime. It’s good. Awesome in fact. At the bottom I announce it’s the best bit of singletrack I’ve ridden in south east England.

I’m afraid I cannot remember much of the ride in too much detail. It’s a blur of trees whizzing by centimetres from my bars, off-camber rooty sections that I slide over and lots of loamy berms. There are some more freeride sections that we session a little. A few near vertical drops, one with a jump halfway down that is great to fly off. Another which I end up sliding down after the bike falls away from me. So technically skilled! And some great rocky drops at the top of a windy viewpoint that only half of us section. The drops are quite small but good fun; about two or three metres high and it’s great to make the landings smoothly, even if the wind threatens to blow the bike off the landing.

I will definitely be heading back to Surrey Hills in the near future and hopefully riding with these lads again. It was a good crack and I was welcomed into the group straight away. Thanks, chaps. See you again soon

Switchbacks DH Spain Day One

Thursday January 20th 2011.

3.30am: It was a bleary-eyed drive through the back streets of south east London and out onto the M25 that signalled the start of our trip to Switchbacks DH Spain in Benalmadena, just outside of Malaga. A clear but cold night made for easy driving though and soon I was boarding the coach from the carpark to Gatwick north terminal with the bike box containing my Commencal Supreme and Chris Mitchell in tow. After a nightmare experience with bike boxes at easyJet hell, Luton airport, we arrived as check-in was opening and sailed through with no problems and no overweight baggage. A few of our troop had some problems which meant hastily bought holdalls but soon we were on our way. After breakfast and some sleep on the cattle truck that is easyJet, arrival at Malaga was followed by a swift collection and loading of bikes and bags by Lucky from Switchbacks. Awesome hombre, a Spaniard originally from Cadiz, who was to shuttle us up the local mountains for the next four and a half days. Mellow and always cheerful, he didn’t speak a word of English but we all returned claiming to have had the deepest of conversations with him. What most of those would be about however, I dread to think. I think it might be a good idea now to introduce the group I was travelling with: I had initially booked the trip with some regular riding buddies, who’d I’d been to France with on previous trips, Chris Lewis and Jay Shaw, alongside a newbie to proper DH riding Chris Mitchell. Lewis was on his Intense 951, Jay on an Iron Horse Sunday and Mitchell was laying it down on an Orange P7 hardtail. Yep I know, nutter. Lewis’s mates from Moose Cycles, the bike shop he’d got his 951 from had also come along to bolster our crew. Sammy, Glen and Gaz all rode beautiful 951s. At the apartments we were greeted by Michael, a wide open Canadian, constantly pinned, even when not on a bike, who ran the Switchbacks outfit with his wife.

Straight out the bags and onto the trails (Photo: Chris Mitchell)

He gave us a couple of hours to build the bikes up and before we knew it we were being shuttled up a local hill by Lucky, and realising the track we were going to ride featured heavily in videos of previous years. This was going to be a sick trip. At the top we were introduced to Henrik Martinson, a young Danish lad who was to be our guide for the next few days. More about him later.

Top of Ridiculator to the left, looking towards Benalmadena and the sea. The single track on right leads to Rockadillo (Photo: Chris Mitchell)

So, onto the first run: the Ridiculator, so named because it induces ridiculous grins which follows a ridge line then a gully from the mountains down towards the sea. The track was different to what I was used to. Quite steep at first, it was a mixture of dry, loose sand and unforgiving rocks, ranging in size from tennis balls to microwaves littering the way down. This unfamiliarity made progress quite slow at first as I sussed out the lines and got used to the feeling of the bike drifting under me in the sand, and trying to avoid been thrown out of shape by the boulders in my way. As the track mellowed in gradient the track opened out and I quickly realised I could get a lot of speed on this section as I barrelled down the bottom of a gulley, with little rock steps and mini gap jumps. This was fun! Then out onto the road and I could stretch my sore hands, already battered from the braking, speed and roughness of the previous minute or so. Down the road on which I ‘d seen manuals and wheelies from Sam Dale and other pro DH riders, we then took a right-hand turn and swept up the red dirt bank and over a little jump then it was a few more little kickers round a left berm and back across the road to the infamous step up jump. The take off was about 2 metres high, almost vertical that kicked me high into the air but I didn’t make the landing which was probably six or seven metres in length. I flat landed with no problems and dived off into the trees on a lovely section of single track with tight berms and little jumps. The corners were a real treat. The Spanish track builders had got them just right, linking a left-hander with a right-hander and then another left-hander. The trick was to flick the bike out of the first and into the second and maintain the rhythm to do the same on the last; tougher than it looked. I quickly learnt to brake first, then lean the bike one way into the first berm then the other for the second and then back again on the last and I’d come flying out of the section and over a jump. There were a few more bigger jumps then a pretty big step down jump which Jay, Sammy and Glen all nailed after seeing Henrik, our guide show them the way. The rest of us made excuses that it was far too early in the trip to be doing anything so crazy and so we all piled into the van for the next run. The sun was shining and we all enjoyed the relaxed trip back up the hill in the big Mercedes Sprinter. On the way up we passed another van coming in the opposite direction, which stopped and the driver chatted to Michael and Henrik. As he drove off I thought “Hang on! That’s Victor Lucas”. The famous (to us anyway!!) photographer who always seems to get the most amount of pics into Dirt mag was here! This was going to be a wicked weekend. To top it off Henrik mentioned that Josh Bryceland of Santa Cruz Syndicate and Sam Dale were travelling down and would probably be riding with us at some stage of the trip. Super pro!

Preparations for another run (Photo: Chris Mitchell)

Before long, we’d arrived back at the top of the track and Michael asked if anyone wanted to follow him down and see how he took his lines. I agreed and set off after him, increasing my speed down the hill, trying to keep up with him. I came flying round a corner very near the top only to find jagged rocks sticking up at awkward angles and over the bars I went, thanking the protective shell of my fullface helmet as I crashed headfirst onto the boulders at the side of of the slither of dirt we were railing down. The first off! I dusted myself down and checked for any damage, couldn’t see any so set off, now following my own lines as Michael was long gone! I took it easy on this run after my off, and it took me a little while to recover from the crash-induced headache.

At work: Lucky, the best uplift driver in Spain (Photo: Chris Mitchell)

Back at the top I vowed to take it easy and not break myself on the first day, so I set off at a calmer but more consistent pace, hopping over the now all-too-familiar rocks I’d got to know on an intimate level and enjoying the drifitng of the bike under me. Picking up more and more speed as the track levelled out into the gully it was amazing how quick I could smash through this section. I clipped a pedal coming off a jump a little out of shape and the adrenaline surged through me at the same speed as the impact, giving me an immediate injection to prepare me for the imminent pain. But I didn’t come off and I didn’t crash. I careered further on down the trail braking a little more now as I knew I was at my limit. Once again at the top, I noticed Henrik disappearing off down a different trail and asked Michael what that one was. He replied that it was Rockadillo, a gnarly rock-infested beast of a track which had loads of rocky stepdowns we would all puncture on. In fact it turned out to be a great little track; rocky yes but all rideable and even though we only tackled it once, it really stuck out in my mind as a rough but highly enjoyable test of bike resilience and handling. I’d have liked to ride this one more. Especially as the track finished on the last section of Ridiculator, which meant avoiding the now tedious road section. So you could still get your tweak on for the last jumps and berms. By now, we were all starting to feel the affects of the painfully early start to the day, so we agreed to pack back up and return to Benalmadena, for well-deserved beers, tapas, and much, much later, bed. It was a great start to the weekend. No one had any injuries, we’d all had a good crack, and our bikes were all in excellent condition. Except for mine. The spokes on my rear wheel had loosened off and I had to spend some time tightening it, also letting our resident drunken mechanic, Glen sign the work off as being sufficiently safe. It was all good.

Switchbacks DH Spain Day Two

Friday January 21 2011.

We’d arranged for Lucky to pick us up in the van at 9am and it was a little after that time that we all shuffled out into the early morning sunlight. It was beautiful. Riders silhouetted against a firey orange dawn sky as our crew rolled their steeds out of the apartment for the first full day’s riding. A breakfast of bacon, cheese and runny egg rolls and ‘caffe con leche’ was the fuel for the first part of the day, and after we set off, driving 40 minutes up the coast from Benalmadena. Sitting next to Henrik on the journey he told me a bit more about himself. A 21-year-old Danish lad, he’d come to Spain with his friend who he’d been riding and racing with since childhood, Danny who’d we would meet later on in the trip. Henrik was hoping to compete in the Scandinavian Downhill Series this year, and also hope to qualify to ride in the European races of the UCI Downhill World Cup event. These two young guns were both sponsored by Transition bikes and Adidas and a host of other brands.

Quarry at top of Happy Days track (Photo: Chris Mitchell)

By 11 we’d arrived on the edge of a quarry at a track called Happy Days, which ran for around 3 minutes down the hill through trees and across dry riverbeds. The sun was out but only just though still warm, and it was a pleasant temperature. Joining us motley crew for the day was Victor Lucas and a young Danish couple. Victor on his Alpine 160, the Danish lad on his Specialized Demo and the girl on a battered Orange 222, that had been involved in a crash with a bus! It had a huge dent in the right swingarm, and also a crack. Didn’t seem to affect the performance of this tank however! I love Orange bikes.

Dropping into Happy Days (Photo: Chris Mitchell)

The track dropped straight off an access road for the lorries shuttling to and from to the quarry. Down a steep loose and rocky chute, bearing right, off the rocks and onto dirt switchbacks, before boosting over a gap jump and over another kicker. The track then joined another trail. Then it was another jump that I had to really pedal up to to even glimpse the downslope, around a right hand berm, then a puddled left, before reaching a small double at the crest of a little undulation. I quickly realised I had to hit this over to the right to be able to land cleanly onto the next feature, a lefthand berm that launched me like a slingshot into a tight right-hander that I could boost over a rock perched in the centre of take-off. A lovely bit of trail when hit correctly. There were some pedally bits which were a bit of a pain but I soon realised that when I had more momentum they were a little easier to tackle. Another highlight of the track for me was towards the end. It switched to and fro the sides of a dry river bed, down a drop on the right side of the bank then a short pedal burst across the river to make it up and over a rock garden on the left bank which threatened to smash my bike into a million pieces. Here it slowed right down and I had to pedal a little to see me onto a flat left then a flat right through some trees then over a drop of around 3 metres. This was a little sketchy but doable, but now onto the best bit. Pedal, pedal across the riverbed, up a slight incline back on the right bank, then full on the gas on a lazy left hander bringing me back towards the bank where there was a kicker jump that with enough speed I could just make the downslope of the river bank. It was still a rough landing but it felt amazing to catch the landing. And that was pretty much the end of the track.

Yours truly, steeling myself for the gap jump (Photo: Chris Mitchell)

Don’t let me fool you however, that all was plain sailing and an easy ride for me on this track. I’ve described above how the track feels after a few runs, and after I’d conquered the fear over riding over the gap jump near to the top of the course. I believe everyone in our crew had a bash on it far before me, with the exception of Gaz who’d gone over the bars at the very start of his first run on the rocky chute at the top, cracking his carbon Giro fullface helmet. Having taken a few painkillers for his new headache, he wasn’t riding at top form, and proceeded to do yet more damage from crashes and the subsequent ingestion of yet more drugs. The other guys hit the gap with ease, with Victor snapping away and getting some great shots of them. All I could do was peer over the edge with fear in my eyes, before I pulled myself together, rolled off the edge and realised it was actually as easy as the others had said it was. Mind over matter.

By this time the crew had started hitting up another track but I did a few more complete runs on the first one, slowly getting better and the lines quicker, now I’d tackled my nemesis.

After a lunch we headed back to Benalmadena and up another local hill south of the one we’d hit on the first day, to Antennas. The highest accessible mountain in the area with mobile phone and TV masts perched on top, it was a cold, misty and windy place to unload the bikes.

Ready at the start of 808 track (Photo: Chris Mitchell)

The track was called 808, so called because Henrik held the record for a timed run: 8 mins 8 seconds. The most natural of the tracks we’d ridden, it was a snaking slither of singletrack that wound from the top of the mountain all the way down to a tunnel just above the Pizzeria place we’d eaten in at breakfast. The terrain ranged from super rocky with shards sticking up at irregular angles across the trail, to dusty switchbacks, to the last section with huge boulders the size of basketballs littering the route down through a gorge so narrow at times I’d scrape my handlebars on the light grey walls. This was by far my favourite trail of the trip and we kept coming back and hitting it everyday after. No mean feat to complete in one hit, the trail was tough but with no big jumps to worry over so it was great to hit it wide open and see how quick I could go. And to finish at the bar… well that’s just a perfect track isn’t it? Gaz decided to stay in said bar when we all piled in Lucky’s van, I asked him if I could borrow his small-sized Intense 951 for the run. He agreed and I lent Chris Mitchell my Supreme to save his smashed up body from riding hardtail, and hopped in the van with a nagging feeling of trepidation. This was an expensive bike I was going to ride and it wasn’t mine. What if I crashed and scratched the forks? What if I lost it? Let it fall off the mountain?

I got to ride this awesome machine down 808 track

These were the thoughts going through my mind driving back up to the start. As soon as I set off, following Sammy down the 808, I realised the bike was superb and all worry quickly disappeared from my thoughts, leaving me to point and fire the bike at anything in its path. It was good. Very good. The 203mm travel of the Fox 40 fork ate up anything in front of it, staying balanced and poised as I hurtled along the rocky singletrack, hot on the heels of Sammy, who later told me he could hear me breathing down his neck. The bike really was a point-and-shoot affair, and I lost count of the times the forks smashed through terrain that I’m sure would have had me over the bars on my slightly shorter travel Supreme. On we plowed, getting faster and faster before disaster struck. Sammy suffered a puncture and the momentum was gone. I stopped along with Chris Lewis who was following me and helped Sammy fix the flat, and Mitchell turned up a couple of minutes later, loving the Supreme.

Agh! Sammy gets a flat. Still buzzing on 808

Flat fixed and we resumed our decent but it took a few sketchy moments to get back into the run. The focus I’d had before never returned. Great fun though and I loved that bike. We all piled back to the bar with the usual tales of near misses and stoked sections that riders all know and love. And over an instant beer too. Good times.

Switchbacks DH Spain Day Three

Saturday January 22 2011.

Living room / bike store (Photo: Chris Mitchell)

 

We woke  to rain clouds enveloping the coastline of Malaga and it wasn’t a pleasant walk to the waiting van to take us to our next track, about an hour south finishing in a little village called Ojen, in the mountains above Marbella. The track started in Juanar nature reserve, the actual beginning a short push through misty alpine trees a few hundred metres away from the drop-off. This track was gnarly. It began with some great deep loamy berms switchbacking through the trees before reaching a ladder stepdown, then gaining speed as it dropped steeper onto a winding rocky chute. A few more tight rocky switchbacks, under a fallen tree and the gradient starts to level out following the route of a dry river, complete with boulders and rubble. Some sections are so piled with rocks that I get the impression that the trail is blocked off, especially when I realise there is another route running round the side of the impassable obstacle. On the track speeds, up and over huge boulders, around great vertical columns of rock shooting from the riverbed, getting tighter and tighter so I must duck to avoid trees looming low over my head. The tracks seems to get more and more technical, the terrain similar to the end of 808, but much trickier as the rocks are littered together at even more difficult angles to negotiate and I must hit these sections at speed in order to clear them. Then it’s into a long, dark tunnel that riding through Victor described as like being born again, it’s so dark with a very small light at the end. I find it’s best to slow down and keep my feet off the pedals as it’s so dark I cannot see the floor or any lurking rock to catch me off guard. It’s here on one of the last runs that Glen has the most unlikely of crashes. I turn the slight corner into the tunnel to see him almost at the other end sideways, all over the shop, trying to wrestle control of his bike. It seemed a rock had flicked up and smashed through his righthand glove, slicing his hand in the process. Out  into daylight and it’s pretty much the end of the track, but there are still a couple of nice little double jumps to play on and another rock garden where Jay does his groin muscle. Then it’s into the village of Ojen and a short pedal to the waiting van for another shuttle up to the start again.

We hit the top again and some had a play on the gap jump, with Chris Mitchell filming. After a lot of faffing and failed attempts, I eventually follow Jay through the berms and off the ladder gap. I’d done it!! To be honest the inspiration came from Chris Lewis. We’ve been quite competitive riding together for the last few years, if only for bragging rights and he had gone off this drop just before me so I knew I had to do it or I’d never hear the last of it. Fair play to him. I hit the gap again but not at the correct speed, much slower and flat landed the huck, the rear suspension on my Supreme almost bucking me off from the rebound! That was a close call.

We continued smashing our way down the track railing the berms and popping off the roots and rocks littering the trail. Just as the trail levelled out Jay stopped and showed us a line that he’d been following Henrik down on the first run. Where as we had all followed the line of the switchbacks first left then right, they’d gone straight across the rocks on either side of the trail, jumping across the switchbacks and effectively cutting out a lot of the trail simply by monster trucking over a load of off-camber nastiness.  But Jay didn’t have the speed or perhaps not the correct line when he tried it alone and he thinks he caught a pedal, and somersaulted over his bike and onto the trial below with the bike catapaulting over him. To add insult to his groin injury, he’d smashed the swing arm/sub frame of his new Ironhorse Sunday, denting and twisting the chainstay on the left side so much that the brake rotor was almost touching the swing arm. Gutted.

Jay's trashed Iron Horse sub frame

On we sped and at the section I’d described above where I thought the trail took a left avoiding the huge boulders, I came round there only to see Glen struggling over these car sized rocks. I shouted to him “You can’t get down there, it’s all blocked off”. But it actually turned out it was the route and I’d been unknowingly using the chicken run. This had him in fits. I still maintain I had the quicker race line though. Better for me than to get off the bike and clamber over all kinds of horrible lumpiness.

Another great track. But it was cold and quite damp that day. We’d all had enough and trooped back to the apartment for a well-earned rest, beer and party.

Party on (Photo: Chris Mitchell)

Switchbacks DH Spain Day Four

Sunday January 23rd 2011.

We woke to hangovers and rain, and this combination didn’t bode well for any of us completing a full day’s riding. The first track of the day was the famous SRAM test track. We were dropped off by Lucky in a dog-egg infested car park next to another quarry, and had a small but painful push up to the start. Goggles were useless in this weather, with rain drops obscuring my view so many opted not to use them. The track was single track that started with some swooping turns up and over the undulating terrain. Then the track bared right then back left over a two-metre high drop that only the new guide Danny, Jay, Glen and myself were hitting. It was a substantial drop but no higher than the one on the track at Hopton Castle in Shropshire that I’d hit loads of times. So no problem. Then it was round a great catch berm to scrub your speed after the drop, and down on a sketchy run up to a gap jump over a dismantled well that must be hit straight on so as not to catch a pedal on the protruding bricks. Needless to say, I didn’t hit the gap. Then it was on to some sandy berms that could be well railed and over the road onto quite a pedally section down to the road at the bottom which wasn’t a good idea given the condition of most now, as we were all pretty hanging.

Hungover in the van (Photo: Chris Mitchell)

I’m not sure many of us were feeling the track that day, probably down to hangovers and the cold, wet weather and the fact we’d been riding solid for a few days. Jay was starting to catch some good lines and seemed a bit disappointed when the others suggested we have a bash at 808.

Heading up to 808 I was once more filled with trepidation as Danny had said it was super gnarly in the wet, but even though a great fog had descended over the antennas at the top the track was still very dry. It was great being back ont his track and I tried to ride it on the Supreme as I’d had on Gaz’s 951. Point, shoot and stay loose. Loved it. I think we hit it in one go and soon we were back on town grabbing sandwiches ready for the uplift back up the hill. I was done for though and rode down to the apartment for shower and the rest of the day was spent drinking beer.

45 pints later (Photo: Chris Mitchell)