Fat Lad and the Tale of Two Rides – Ride One

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was five mates cocking around on mountain bikes setting the world to rights and rallying to the cry of “It’s ride-able!”

So... this is going to be really difficult. Trying to put down in words the fantastic ride we all endured will not come close to the fantastic time we shared. But I’ll try....

In a rare example of both good time keeping and navigation Pete and I made our way to the start point in Headingley with no major upset. Picking up a straggling Donny Dave we pulled into the car park just as Amy and Martin rode in.

With the obligatory amount of faffing and ride delays out of the way we were all happy to be pedalling in the sunshine. Down the gorgeous tree lined smooth path through Hollies wood; Pete shouted if we were going right. Someone shouted in the affirmative and in a fine premonition he flew down a steep shortcut to our eventual destination. Hair-pinning back on ourselves we slammed down a fast technical section crashing over the rocks and roots. Amy grinned that there was loads more of this to come and on we rode.

We found our way to a steep descent that was heavily rooted, leading to a set of bridges. Arse over the rear tire I bounced down it following the rest while Dave minced on behind me. Onwards we went, playing around on various little steep descents and climbs like slightly disturbed muddy toddlers on knobbly wheels. Snaking in and around the woods we arrived at a large basin/crater with various steep entry points to the bottom. Stood around contemplating the best point of entry, staring down the barrel of a really step one, Pete’s recurring death wish remained unfulfilled as he sailed down what the rest had deemed madness. We all followed, though down saner routes playing for a while and climbing out for more fun to be had.

Not quite out of the woods yet (I know I can’t believe it, I actually wrote that with a straight face!) we had the final play of the first section. A long rooty, stepped steep descent, it required skill, concentration, balls and most importantly speed. As I lost all my speed about a third of the way down the rest was entertaining to say the least.

Making our way to the next section we moved on quickly and the next set of woods though technical and fun was a straight ride through rather than playing around. Through Adel and past the suicidal looking jumps we stopped by a gorgeous looking house while Dave fettled his front wheel. The first three or four miles to get here felt more like twelve and everyone but Pete was felling it already.

All fixed and ready, we passed through an absolutely beautiful churchyard pedalling our way across the old stone walkway I pointed my camera over my shoulder and took the following picture:




I don’t think that ended up that bad!

Over a grassy field ascent we got to the hotel and it was time for Pete to take over......

Fat Lad rides the Middleton Mosh

I’m sure I’ve mentioned on here somewhere before now that I’m not very good at mornings. In fact I’m quite possibly the worst person I can think of anti-meridian. It’s not that I’m surly, I don’t have the energy to be honest, I’m just, well, mleh.

Anyways, a quick look out of the kitchen window foretold that it was to be a wet and dreary ride. I poked my head out of the front door to see how warm it was quickly returning to the living room. “It might be raining but at least it’s mild” I grinned at Mrs Fat Lad, and with that stripped to the waist and changed into my short sleeved base layer.

Milling round the car park it was soon apparent that it was only to be the four of us as Keith had left the map light on in his car and couldn’t get there from Headingley. How much map reading you have to do to navigate the kebab shops and ale houses back to your student digs I don’t know, but he had the good grace to let us know on the Bad Brains forum before hand.

With a quick democratic decision and the only time limit being the desire to get back for the afternoon rugby we decided on the Middleton Mosh. With only four of us out; it was a decent pace (for me) down to the field and we were over the fence and away sliding in the gullies but otherwise pedalling happy. By the cricket club we negotiated the narrow ground between the boulders and made our way to the path to see the gate normally locked wide open. Bugger.

Over to the next climb pedalling our way under grey skies the ground was soft and wet but everybody cleared it with little hassle. After a short breather we carried on, sliding down the side of the British Oak to Pete’s new section. They’re building some new houses here and the run up to the drop has got a concrete lip. Like a complete muppet I got and lifted my bike over it while the rest rode it effortlessly. Into Haigh woods we slipped and fishtailed our way through the slime to the top. Out on the exposed grass climb there were a few people out walking their dogs. Neither Pete nor Amy are good round man’s best friend. Funny thing though is how the canines are really attracted to Pete. They always bounder towards him above everyone else. I’ve told him to stop showering with Pedigree Chum but he’s not listened so far.

The climb up the grass banking was like riding through treacle, dog shit flavoured treacle in fact. We moved on to the reservoir wizzing round to the world’s worst bike gate. Seriously this thing is fucking useless. You can barely walk through it let alone get the push-iron through. This prompted our pluck female rider to come up with a plan. To the side of the gate is a short (maybe 8 feet ) steep climb to a low wall. Amy proposed that you could get up that bit and then climb over said wall with bike over the shoulder. With everyone through that bloody awful gate Martin and Amy scrambled up the potential descent like giddy school children. Pete and I looked at each other and shrugged. However curiosity got the better of me and I had to grope my way up the slope to have a look too. It looks do-able. Getting back down the slide with winter boots however was… entertaining!

Everyone through the bombhole and onto the tarmac to get to Beirut, Pete attempted to take us down the wrong turning. We all reckoned on it being the first time down here in daylight for a while and Pete should try squinting or maybe riding with his eyes shut to aid his navigation… Down Thorpe Lane and into Beirut and it was an absolute disgrace. Piles of litter, still smouldering rubbish and broken glass everywhere. The inhabitants of here get the environment they deserve; it’s just a bitch for the rest of us.

Inevitably with all the shards of cheap cider bottles dominating the track, Pete ended up with a puncture. All regrouped, Amy took the opportunity to have an energy bar while Pete worked his magic. Breaking a small piece of for me, I popped it into mouth and I have to say, hand on heart, it was one of the most disgusting things I have ever tasted. Probably really good for you, but to quote Martin “It tastes like slurry!” The only thing I would add to that statement is “with a hint of lemon...” While Pete was muttering something about “Only when it’s pissing it down do I get punctures…” Amy asked who the mascot attached to my camelback. “That’s Seamus” says I, “He’s the black sheep of the family!” Yay! I finally got to do my Seamus joke… Ahem.

Everyone fixed and suitably entertained we made our way across the really boggy field and up to the water tower in Middleton via a not-as-steep-as-I-remember-it climb. Past the only feature of note in this area, we sailed down the wide path into the woods and where the end of the path meets the road I leapt of the kerb too late to notice the couple walking their dog. Buzzing past it was all I could do to stay on. So, if that couple ever stumbles upon my humble digital abode, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. If I did I’d have taken out your poop-machines too!

Down at the jump spot my wheels left the ground entirely unexpectedly and scared the shite out of me and a little prayer of thanks was offered to the gods of the trail for not dumping my arse in the mud. It felt like I sailed majestically for hours and travelled many yards forward when the truth is it was probably more like I hovered a few millimetres and crashed down with the finesse of stoned pachyderm. Taking a few moments for a breather I wandered into the foliage to relieve myself. Performance anxiety out of the way I joined the others and it was time for the singletrack. I’ve spoken before about this particular little run in other posts so I’ll not go into too much detail, but the highlights include hopping over the logs put there to slow us down (yeah right) and a very slippery ride all the way to the bottom. With the grins subsiding we made our way back to the jump spot with me crashing my way through the undergrowth trying to find the main track back to the jump spot. Halfway up the double track drag to the jump spot I needed a rest and while the other discussed the benefits and disadvantages (mainly disadvantages) of vegetarianism I tried to not die. We got to the jump spot again and everybody had a crack at climb the steep exit point back to the park road with a random old fella shouting encouragement to Amy on her ascent.

Making our way out of the woods Pete told me about his walking friend who reads this and uses our rides as inspiration for some walks, glad someone is getting some joy out of my hobby of cocking around on bikes! Making our way back to Beirut I conquered some steps from about half way down while Pete launched himself from the saddle again. Martin glided down from all the way from the top.

Through Beirut and heading towards the White Rose centre Pete found a new descent and like the crank-lemmings we are we followed him. That is, until we saw where he was going. We watched him slide so far down the verysteep slidy embankment and all hoped he didn’t end up in the traffic. Leaving Pete to his death slide, we all regrouped via the normal path and made our way to the gravel stream. The other three disappearing into the horizon I think I spotted a way round that isn’t pants but still climbs to the same place. Oh well, serves them right for being faster than me :) After the deep mud by the railway we lifted our bikes across the gate and had two minutes while one of the riders (I won’t say who) regaled a embarrassing yet very funny tale involving getting their head stuck in a full face helmet back to front, we set off for the final climb of the day.

At the top of the climb Pete and I had a shot of Big Al’s Special Hill Medicine and we all cranked our way home. Back to the house it was 15 miles dead. It had rained most of the way round and with the exception of Pete’s soggy deflating rubber we’d had a real laugh.

A really, really awesome ride.

Fat Lad

Fat Lad and the Night of a Thousand Stops

For a change, with a minimum of faff, I’d managed to get to the Pete’s house early. The pedal up to his abode had been a hassle free affair with slick shifting from both mechs and a lack of drivers attempting to smear over the tarmac. Pete was in the process of fitting his spare set of lights to his spare bike to lend to his mate (who I’m presuming wasn’t spare).

Leaving Pete and his neighbour to their fettling I wandered over to the car park behind the chippy to see who was out. Gezz had turned up to drop off some magazines for Roachy (old MBRs; not that type of magazine you perverts). I was quizzing Gezz on when he was going to be out next; when he pointed to his car and said “as soon as my rack turns up!” I was going to make some comment about getting his bike in the boot, but after looking at his new automobile I soon realised he wouldn’t have space for the Hairdryer, scissors and his bike!

For a cold Tuesday night we had quite a few riders and while most were still getting ready I wandered back over to the chippy to see if the new guy who’d signed up to the forum earlier had arrived. I gave it a few minutes and then set of round the back of the chippy just in time to join the rear of the group coming the other way. Standing amongst the group chatting away I asked Pete who we were waiting for. Me. Ah. We set off…

The main road we roll down was unusually busy with Andy and I struggling to get across while the rest of the group pedalled into the horizon. Finally over the road and through the lights we we’re greeted by Pete’s lights coming back up the road to see where we were. In a fine example of randomness and coincidence that follows us no matter where we ride, that was the exact spot where two community support officers were walking. Despite the fact that we were all lit up like a Christmas tree in a brothel, an officer noticed that one rider’s LED was on their bag and not on the bike. He also wanted to know if we were a club and if he was welcome to join us some time. We started giving him the Bad Brains web address when Pete told him to write it down in his note book. “ I know they’ve got em, my name is in a few…” he later told me.

Making false assurances to right the wrong, Andy and I set off to catch up leaving Pete dictating URLs to the law. Down at the gate we all regrouped and were just about ready to set off again when Pete’s mate needed to raise his seat post. Pete dipped his hand into my sack to get out my multi-tool (which Mrs Fat Lad bought me for Christmas and is ace!) and once it had adjusted we were ready to go again. Well not quite. In the intervening moments Amy’s fella’s lights had failed. Bugger. Luckily we had a spare commuter light between us and with a quick swap, finally we were off.

Rolling down the field Andy nearly ended up in the stream crossing the bridge, and we made our way over to the climb after the church. Pete led us into the valley after the pub to recce his new section, and after leading a few onto a free ride section Amy was the first to crash. We’d been pedalling for a whole ten minutes so it was time for another stop. Climbing out of the woods Amy’s fella’s chain got mangled up in his frame…. With a small amount of fettling and a large amount of swearing we got that sorted and we set off once more just in time for Pete’s mate's seat post to fall out. He soldiered on to catch up and before we made our way the allen keys were out again.

We sauntered round the reservoir straight to the drop everybody noticing how worryingly low the reservoir was. While a mild winter makes for some great riding it isn’t improving our odds of being drought-less come the summer. It was smiles all round at the bombhole especially for the bombhole virgins amongst us.

Making our way to the next off road section I was chatting to Amy’s fella and finally got round to asking his name: “Martin, I’ve signed up to the forum today” so he was the new guy I had been trying to locate at the chip shop. I commented on how well my old CatEye RC230’s were doing and Keith dutifully reminded me that I had now tempted fate and they were bound to fail anytime soon. (My Fireballs were in for repair).

We whizzed through Beirut and at the top of the first descent the telltale yellowing of my lights started. Damn it the battery had gone. Keith was right, I’d jinxed it. “It’ll be fine” I told myself “I’ve eaten loads of carrots lately”. To say the my riding from there on was a little precarious would be just a touch of understatement.

Rather than wading up the gravel stream we climbed our way up the side of the old scrap yard (that’s a junkyard to our American readers) and it was just as bad as the year before only I managed to make it to the top without any sharp foliage in my skin.

At the bottom of the last climb we all congregated and mused on the ride nearly over. I got out my Hip Flask and most had a shot of cheer me up juice.

Ok so it hadn’t been quite a thousand stops but it was hardly a flowing ride. Still a lot of smiles by the end of it.

Fat Lad