Fat lad and the Extended Reservoir Raid

With the nights getting lighter and the trails getting drier we’d made a decision via the forum to start extending the rides a little. Post day job, I dragged the Kona into the front yard to put my freshly cleaned chain on while the sun beat down gloriously. Self confessed newbie Andy rolled up as I was putting the final lick of lube to the chain and after fettling his steed to make it a little more off road friendly we were soon on the tarmac to Pete’s. Andy had splashed out on some new lights and wanted to know at quarter past seven when it would be dark. There speaks the voice of a man who hasn’t spent all winter in the dark, knee deep in gloop.

Despite Andy riding to work day after day I managed to lose him on the cobbled path by the chippy, I’d like to say it was my fitness or hill climbing technique but to be fair I think local knowledge may have played more of a part than I’d like to admit.

Before long we were at Pete’s and as we pulled up to his gate he sauntered down the street having just picked up his clothes from a local girl’s flat. With the eyebrows raised we wanted to know more; the resulting tail of a naked mad bint jumping out of her window after a row with her fella and Pete’s subsequent assistance was more bizarre than our depraved minds could ever muster.

While Pete got ready, Andy and I rolled over to the chippy to meet the rest of the pootle crew. Gezz was out on his singlespeed, Keith was out on his usual steed and Amy was out on her Specialized… only it was clean. Pete rolled over to us and during the welcome banter told us how this would be his second ride of the day. Somehow I knew it wouldn’t slow him down though…

We were soon off the road and onto the trails. With spring starting to flourish the lines had been reduced through recently ploughed fields but it was a small price to pay for brightening weather. Crossing the motorway bridge I introduced Andy to everybody. Formalities out of the way we followed the green side of the motorway up to the first obstacle of a short sharp hill. Everybody had a good crack but failed to clear it. That is until Gezz had a go. Then promptly cleaned it. On a Singlespeed. Bastard.

The ground is really starting to firm up in places and despite spending all the dark months riding through the Somme-like terrain I had to giggle as everybody skirted a puddle. Making good speed we hit the trailhead of singletrack and launched down it. Off the second or third corner Keith ended up in a heap with his custom “oof”. To make up for it he sailed beautifully off the next jump touching his wheels down silently. Regrouping at the bottom we tried to remember the last time Keith had ridden and stayed on for the duration…. We were struggling. Andy was still curious as to when the light would go completely so he could use his new lamp.

The smiles and pedalling kept coming and with the trails firm despite the odd section here and there we were at the stream crossing before we knew it. I climbed the next section well feeling good with every stroke of the crank. (I’m sure Gezz would have something to say about stroking cranks…) With a short breather it was time for the climb to the ruins, just to make everybody that little bit more jealous; Gezz stomped up the hill way ahead of us all making the first section with ease. Rather than taking the easier route that follows the contours he attacked it dead on hitting the slope with all he could muster. We had to giggle when he ran out steam, fell over, and the dramatically rolled down the hill like a skinny Castleford avalanche. Making my way up the first section shouted gently at Andy to shift. I have enough fun getting up these climbs as it is let alone having to avoid people as well.

All regrouped at the top we had a brief respite and we were onwards again. The light was starting to go now but still plenty enough of it about to not light up yet. We ambled across the fields and at the next challenge Amy managed to get tangle up in the barbed wire. After extracting her and the bike from the twisted metal wire it was time to assess the damage. On first inspection it looked a fairly nasty gash. After Dr Keith’s first aid kit came out (I’ve seen less medical gubbins in the back of an ambulance) and a quick antiseptic wipe the wound was less nasty than it originally looked. With the decision to cancel the Air Ambulance made and Amy patched up we were off again. Arriving at the gate we’d lost all the light and the sun was well and truly down. Dark skies in residence it was time for Andy’s moment of truth and wouldn’t you know it… it wouldn’t turn on….
Gezz had a fiddle (with the light pervs) but to no avail. We rattled down the singletrack to the church and for once I had a go at the steps that I always just dismount and walk down. So I approached the steps at a decent speed get my ample backside over the back of the saddle in preparation and promptly bottled it at the last minute. I’m such a coward at times…

Other side of the steps Keith’s battery had come disconnected so while he bodged it back together we had another crack at Andy’s lights but again with no joy. I knew that pussy-ing the steps the trail gods would be looking from something form me to make it up. So with a monumental effort and a first for me I stormed up the climb after the church to the next breather entirely using the middle chain ring. At the top Big Al’s Special Hill Medicine went round and with burning chests it was time to admit defeat with Andy’s lights and push on.

Past the Oak pub we headed for Haigh wood and catching up with everybody the group had bunched up on the first climb. Shooting along the ground rolling the wet doubles we were quickly onto the grass climb up to the reservoir. We soon skirted along the reservoir side and were negotiating the gate to the bomb hole. Barely all through the metal nightmare and Pete was up the steep challenge we all manage most days.

As the first of us blasted at the incline Pete’s voice could be heard booming encouragement from the darkness followed by giggles and belly laughs from the riders. Selecting the right gear and making my attempt I also burst into laughter as my Fireballs lit up Pete sat in a plastic garden chair one leg crossed. With everybody up we laughed some more and aimed for the bomb hole.



As Andy’s lights still weren’t playing, Pete fired down the bomb hole first and lit it up from that direction while I put both my lamps on to light up the descent. Andy safely in and out of the swooping dip we all made our way through with Gezz even going for a second go.

Back onto the tarmac we very swiftly to take advantage of the light and everybody’s good legs and tag some miles on. We cranked onwards and where we should have cut left to enter Beirut the local teenage dole queue fillers were holding a chav... Sorry camp fire. Quickly I led the group away from the smell of burning rubbish and smoke of burning car tyre through a safer but much duller route through Middleton itself. With the unfortunate but necessary detour over we hit the downhill death-star-trench run through the last section of Beirut at speed and at the end both Gezz and Pete skidded down Pete’s death slide.

Previously I had found a sneaky shortcut that takes out the worst bits of both the gravel stream and the horrible bramble infested narrow path by the scrap yard. I led everyone onto this and the penultimate climb of the night and everybody was chuffed at not having to wade through pebble sized broken rock. We followed the path to the railway crossing and with everybody safely across we chilled out for a bit laughing and joking before we made for the last climb and a pint.

I left everybody at the laundrette to dash home and get changed while the rest of the crew took in the last few sections of tarmac. Apparently at the top of the cobbled climb by the chippy Gezz managed to wreck his lamp…£270 worth of damaged it later transpired. Honestly you can’t leave the pootle crew for two seconds without something happening…

Fat Lad

Fat Lad Chases the Sunset

Despite the 2 foot deep mud and constant rainfall, I’m told that spring has sprung. I suppose if nothing else we at least get to start our pootles in the light. With Keith’s car broken and Gezz’s many many bikes in various states of repair it was to be the party faithful only tonight. With Dave back from Florida and Amy driving up from Nottingham especially (I knew it's flat down there but really an hour’s drive for an old mill town is something else) we were just waiting on Pete. After ringing both his mobile and home number multiple times we waited for ten and made our way to the trail.

The last three times we’ve decided on the Pudsey Plodder we’ve managed to bail out or chosen other routes at last minute for a whole host of fairly pathetic reasons. Pete had once more helped me out with a seized bolt in his garage/workshop/batcave the night before the ride and had joked that he would definitely there or we’d wriggle out of the ride again! So his absence was more than a little bit weird…

Internally I decided that it would be fantastic to see the sunset from the top of TFI, so with that in mind we set off with gusto. Rolling off the tarmac and onto the backside of Churwell I declared that we were missing the steep fun section as the runout bottom section is always so boggy at this time of year and I didn’t fancy struggling through the gloop. Following the contour of the hill gradually descending, we came to a gap in the fence to an innocuous looking puddle. Dave wisely skirted the edge, with an enthusiastic shout of “It’s ride-able” from the Fat Lad, Amy rocketed towards the wet and in an instant was axle deep in cold wet mud. After a brief high wire-esque balancing act attempt at staying upright she was over sideways sticking her leg out in time to be submerged to her ankle in sludge. After much giggling Amy extracted herself from the soggy ground, I then walked round the puddle too.

I think that Amy learnt a valuable lesson here. It wasn’t about attacking an obstacle whole heartedly, bike control or even tyre selection. Nope. Never listen to Fat Lad. It’s not good for your health. Or dry feet either.

Moving on we were at the beginning of TFI before we knew it. Now I don’t ever think I’ve ever described TFI on here before. All the pootle crew and some of the Bad Brains guys know TFI intimately. TFI is the acronym for That Fucking Incline. There are climbs that are longer, there are climbs that are steeper and there are definitely hills with more challenging terrain. However, for me at least, TFI is always a struggle that requires all my effort and will to conquer. It’s just that particular combination of these factors that have beaten me more times than I have the ascent. So when I managed to clear it, for the first time in the wet, I was more than a little happy. Who’d have thought it eh? Riding your bike shitloads helps you get better.

The top of TFI has been ruined by the gee-gees now that the path has been upgraded to a bridleway and so we had to amble on by foot at the summit. We got to the top and the sun had already dipped beyond the horizon. I’m determined that one pootle this summer we will catch the sunset from that point. I can guarantee, however, that I will forget my camera that day.

With a brief spin up the tarmac we were into the next wooded section and soon onto the new section Pete had informed me of earlier in the week. The top path in Cockersdale wood has always been a horrid mixture of gloop and roots in the winter and pretty much cancels all the riding this side of Morley for the cold/wet season. The new surface while built incredibly well and smooth is also very sterile. The path was fast and fun but with the tractor tyres I run in the winter it was a little sketchy in the corners.

Scooting onto the bottom path it was very apparent that it was the complete antithesis of the trail we’d just departed. From very early in it was at least rim deep in sludge for the duration of the trail. Now this particular bit is what some would call “cheeky”, or maybe a “night time bridleway” but it’s definitely a footpath. In the winter we spent avoiding this section someone has been a busy bee and has repaired all the stiles and fencing. I’m not complaining (it’s nice to see this sort of stuff still being done) but it did add a certain challenge lifting the bikes over these with such slippery conditions. Negotiating the bog Amy managed to get her other foot submerged in gloop at some point and with much slipping of tyres we were back at the path to exit the woods.

Because for the second time my winter boots (Shimano MW02’s) had torn open at the neoprene ankle cuff and I was waiting for Stif to get me my replacement pair in (they said to me with a straight face: “You must be putting them on wrong…” What the feck….) I was in my commuting Aldi specials. They’re great on the commuter pedals but with the caged spuds on my Kona they were pants. Getting back on the steed and setting off I slipped off the pedal and ran my calf along the big ring. Ouch.

Back on the tarmac we sailed to TFI and blasted down it in revenge for the earlier infliction of suffering. We made our way rapidly to the top of the climb by Rooms Farm and glancing at the GPS five satellites told us we’d only done nine miles. With no hesitation a unanimous decision was made to tag some miles on. Only twelve months prior by the time I’d got here I was wrecked and would be ready for home. (I think my very first post got deleted by a script kiddy so you can’t go back and check unfortunately) Confidence (and ego) inflated we hit Asquith woods and wrestled the bikes through the off-camber rooty sections and probably walked as much of it as we’d rode. Firing out onto the road we soon got back onto dirt and feeling stronger than I have done for a long time I blasted up the short technical climb at the back of the industrial estate.

Trudging through the death throes of the winter conditions we’ve done our fair share of shit weather this last season. By feck we’ve earned our summer rides.

Getting to the crossroads I added a waypoint so we could explore at a later date a glimpse of a path we could see. With only a long tarmac descent to finish I left Amy and Dave to roll to the pub while I popped home to squirt on some smelly and scrape the mud off my face. I strolled into the pub not much later with Mrs Fat Lad. Out of worry for a friend more than anything else I tried Pete’s numbers for a final time and got through on his landline.

“You’re gonna laugh at this Al” Pete declared. “Well I set off, got most of the way there and looked down to my cranks to see what ring I was in.That's when I realised I was still in my slippers….. And then it just went downhill from there Al…”

Fat Lad

Fat Lad and the Pootle Crew Away Weekend

Saturday

With lots of enthusiasm but not a great deal of planning the Tuesday Pootle Crew decided it was time to get away and have a giggle in a different location. With little deliberation we settled on the Mountain Bike Mecca of Glentress and Fat Lad was tasked with finding places to stay.

In the week running up to our departure I got ill. Really ill. So ill I missed my own Tuesday ride and the club Thursday ride. By Friday I was starting to pick up a bit but still wasn’t 100%. In all honesty I should have stayed at home and recuperated for a little while longer over the weekend. Yeah right.

I drove into Headingley to follow Keith and Amy to our eventual destination. After sticking some diesel in the tank the convoy rolled on. I’m not a great fan of driving I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, but we made our way north with good tunes and little incidence (although I did get scared shitless in the mental rain on the M6). Off the motorway, onto the winding roads to Peebles with my skip of an automobile having an interesting moment or two; I got a call from Keith and Amy in the lead car with words to the effect of: “Feckin Hell, those are real hills!”

Not too far from 8pm we arrived at the B+B and after stretching our legs we unpacked the cars. I always take too much gear wherever I go (you should feel the weight of my camelbak) and so after my third trip to the room from my car we were finally ready to go and get something to eat. Wandering into Peebles we found the first pub that was still serving food and pretty much sprinted to be seated. The place was in the middle of renovation so it was like eating in a building site but the food we’d ordered was lovely. Everybody chose meals from the strict Pootle crew athlete’s regime (chicken breast stuffed with haggis in whiskey sauce was a fine example) and during the banter we discovered that Amy is quite literally allergic to everything. Well nearly. We think she’s got the air thing sorted now. Ambling back we actually did get an early night and I drifted off to oblivion easily despite the strange surroundings and the strange fella in the other bed.

The strange little German woman who ran the place had already agreed to make us breakfast for 8. Truth be told I didn’t realise there was two 7 o’clock’s on a Saturday but I was finding out the hard way. We all met up in the dining room for a ½ English Breakfast which was very nice. There just wasn’t a great deal of it and with Amy being allergic to a quarter of what she was served she had even less. With the caffeine buzzing through me it was time to suit up and despite the sun streaming through the windows Keith forbade me from wearing my shorts: “No chance, you’ll make it rain”. As a compromise I was to wear my short sleeved base layer instead, however despite bringing nearly every bloody piece of riding gear I own I’d left my Howies base at home.

With an unbound amount of joy it was time to change my tyres from the very-good-but-very-draggy Trailrakers to something more sensible. With Keith helping out we managed it in double time and all that remained was to fill the camelbak bladders with water. At my polite best I sheepishly asked the B+B owner if we could fill them up and Amy and I had an interesting time explaining to someone whose first language is not English what they are actually for. With the confused smile still on our host’s face we loaded the cars up once more and pointed the bonnets in the general direction of Glentress. Despite the fact that Keith’s borrowed auto had GPS (but no postcode to give it) and those completely useless tourist maps in the rooms we got to the Hub in the Forest without problems.

With building anticipation of the day ahead we perused the map, browsed the shop and grabbed some butties from the café. All ready and raring to go we set off. As always we started together and strong, a little way up the first tarmac incline Amy and Keith stopped to disrobe their top layers with Fat Lad carrying on whilst he still had legs. At the first summit I was feeling remarkably well and pedalled round in circles to try and keep my legs flexible whilst the rest of the pootle crew catched up. Two recently parked dog walkers made a glib remark about going up the mountain rather than in circles and as Amy and keith pulled up so did another group of fellas. More out of courtesy than any other reason we let the group (from now on known as the “Fellas”) go ahead onto the first off road climb and we followed shortlya after. It was nice to be off the tarmac and the trail flowed really well for a climb pretty much following the contours of the hill rather than hammering at you from the beginning. Out of the trees and back onto the road for some more climbing we passed as many as passed us and before long we were onto the fire road after Buzzard’s Nest car park still climbing strong. Now, admittedly, we’d not climbed all that far but I was feeling pretty damn alright and Keith and Amy were firing ahead. I was beginning to wonder how long this would last.

Not too far off up the fire road we got our first taste of why we’d driven so many miles to be here. According to the map this particular section of joy was christened “Soor Plooms” it was still climbing but it undulated up and down throwing some rocky technical happiness here and there. Nailing the trail in only the way Fat Lad can I had to stop and let a guy past. In a rare moment of un-shit-ness I’d let him past not because he was going to overtake or even because he was gaining. He just sounded like a perv! Heavy breathing all the way past I let him go onwards and upwards so my ears could recover from the dirty phonecall-esque assault and enjoy the trails aurally unmolested.

Regrouping on the next section of fire road we all grabbed a breather while the Fellas took a cracking photo of us:



You can tell that I’m not doing too bad as I’m still smiling. And then we were upwards again, the fire road terrain may not have been inspiring but the views more than made up for it. Passing the blue posts that way mark the trails I spied one called Goat Track and in passing mentioned to the guys we’d got quite far considering. On the first proper descent of the day we attacked it and were soon at the bottom of the technical rocky grin-fest. Coming out to the exit of the descent in the slow corner, I’d just missed one of Keith’s infamous clipped in comedy dismounts. Though I (and pretty much all of Glentress/Peebles) had heard the clatter and “oooff!” that had accompanied it.

With Keith upright again we commenced pedalling into some eery wooded sections that were bloody steep and this was the first time all day I’d not got the legs for a climb. In the daylight between sections we grabbed some route advice from the Fellas and after a short break I granny ringed up the next dark path. Back on the fire road we cranked on with the end of the climbing not too far ahead. Amy and Keith sped ahead into the horizon and I stomped the pedals going strong but slow up the Kipps Loop. We passed the Fellas swapping out a wrecked rear mech hanger (really must get a spare to sling in my camelbak) and granny ringed my way up the last bits of singletrack and switchbacks. Meeting up at the hut after a brief respite we stopped to look at the ascent we had conquered. I was fecked! The last time we’d leapfrogged the Fellas, they’d been kind enough to warn us that this wasn’t the summit and stopping for lunch was probably not the best idea. Keen for cramp not to creep into cold thighs we headed for Britney Spears…



The first true downhill of the day was ahead of us and with no contemplation we fired down it with uncontained joy. Rolling round the berms and enjoying freewheeling the corners and drops it was a fantastic start to the days descending. Well, not quite. Shooting out of the exit and into the next climb my heart dropped. Leaving Amy and Keith to conquer the hill I let the sudden crowd of people go and set off with intentions of blitzing this last ascent. Only, I didn’t. I walked up to the radio tower with a strop on. Catching up with the others at the top I asked if anybody had seen my will to live on the way up? With a smile and a “thank feck for that” we stopped for lunch absorbing the view into our souls, burning the image to memory for the real life days that are to follow.

Sarnies devoured, we set off just in time for a brief rain burst to shower us as blasted down the wide road to join us up to the red route. Shooting down the road two red socks were rapidly getting closer and in only the way certain red socks can postioned themselves in the path in the most awkward way so we had to almost slam on to a halt. It was a nice change to be out of the granny ring and putting power down without having to spin.

We rapidly arrived at Spooky Wood Singletrack. We pulled up to the entrance just as a group launched themselves down the track. Saddles dropped, travel wound out we peered over the first drop and were gone. Spooky Wood is almost beyond words. But fast, well built and fun would be a start. I was in my element hitting the berms as fast as my chubby body would let me, getting as much air as I dared on the table tops and generally believing my self to be a shorter, chubbier Steve Peat. All spat out at the bottom you would have needed a milometer to measure the collective grin.

Wheels heading down slope again we hit SuperG with me barely hanging on in some of the corners adrenalin pumping my limbs all the way. It was probably sometime about here that Amy’s brakes stopped working. The next playground was to be Hit Squad Hill and rounding the penultimate corner Keith watched a kid on a jump bike fly over his handlebars and sail for a god ten feet through the air after failing to time a double properly.

With the down hills running out and the car park getting closer I was feeling it now and even the descents were starting to hurt. We sailed through Magic Mushroom rolling over the low wooden paths soon onto the fire road again. Some idiot (let’s call him Al, because that’s what he’s called) pronounced that there was no need to put our saddles back up for a while.

Natuarally that meant we had a certain amout of climbimng to be done. Walking up possibly the only muddy section I crested the hill to get an ace shot of Keith and Amy sat watching the world go by waiting patiently again for the Fat Lad.



We rolled down the remaining sections with little incident and dropped into the car park. After washing the bikes down (don’t give up your day job Keith!) we grabbed refreshment in the café and made our way back to the B+B.

Showered, changed and ready for a well earned meal we descended on Peebles with every intention of food, pint and an early night. But before we could eat, we tried to find a pencil for Mrs Fat Lad (long story) with no success. On our journey we found a bike shop/barber and decided that maybe more cycle shops south of the border would be doing better if only they would mimic this set up: “ short back on sides leave it long on top and I’ll have that Chris King head set too. Ta”. So one meal and five pints later we stumbled back to the B+B a little drunk (ok a lot, I’m a proper lightweight when it comes to beer) and crashed into a deep slumber.


SUNDAY

So with the B+B paid for, breakfast consumed and the cars loaded for the journey home we hit Glentress for a play round the red route. My man flu had decided that today was the day to start it’s comeback tour and so in addition to fecked legs I was coughing as much I was pedalling. Amy dropped into the hub to rent a bike and got this little beauty:



We all agreed it was, well what’s the best way to describe it, shit. We drove up to the top car park cutting a large amount of climbing out and after a large amount of faffing hit the first fire road climb to start playing. Ten yards in and I was knackered. If I’d been a horse it would have been a one way trip to the Pedigree Chum factory for me. We hit the first descent the aptly named Pennels Vennel and to really make my morning I was getting massive amounts of chain suck.

After much swearing, lots of coughing and equal amounts of granny ring spinning we got to Spooky Woods. I shifted the bike into the big ring and dropped the saddle once more. Despite having a clear run it didn’t quite flow as well as the day previous. We hit a few more descents and decided unanimously to take the blue route back to the car park. We grabbed some lunch and after taking advantage of the changing facilities we headed back to the car for the long journey home.

I know for a fact that there are elements/events of the weekend that I’ve forgotten about. But some of them are for our three minds and memories only. If you weren’t there you wouldn’t understand. Which can be only summed up with:

Keith “Really good for you but it tastes like arse…”

Fat Lad