Fat Lad Leads Without A Safety Net

It was only my second ride out after being incredibly poorly the week previous. As he's now running tubeless; Gezz had very kindly donated me some pre-loved continental Gravity tyres to orbit my rims and I'd driven to our meeting place so we could fit them. Chuckle Brother mechaniching aside they were on and seated very shortly as we enjoyed the unseasonal warmth of the mild spring evening.

The usual suspects (and a new face) arrived soon enough and the local supermarket car park was soon swelled by the ranks of the pootle crew in various states of (un)dress. For the dubious pleasures of West Yorkshire off-road debauchery tonight six riders had dragged themselves away from the sofa to join me.

Not joining us for the Pootle this time was Amy, Jim or Pete. Both Amy and Jim ahd crashed at the Bulith Wells thingy and Pete had returned home from work too late to join in. JohnD had managed to drag himself out of pootling retirement and with everyone ready it was time to roll.

With only the upcoming miles of trail and a glorious evening ahead of us we rolled out and it suddenly dawned on me; " I'm the only one who knows these trails inside out, feck me I'm actually leading this one..." We were soon off the tarmac and down past the recently arsoned rifle range rolling down the hill the donated tyre propelling me down the hill with speedy glee. After crossing the motorway bridge everyone rode hard at the short very steep climb into the copse with almost everyone making it.

As we approached the blinding off camber tightly wound singletrack decent to Birky Brow woods I let Gezz lead up the assault to make sure we didn't lose any pootlers in the trees. Regrouping at the bottom Picky beamed across towards me "look at his f*cking grin" and with that we were off once more. Coming to our next descent I let the natural order of the group assert itself as Gexx led the kamikaze chase down the next descent. Once more the speed of the trails was sucking the air from my lungs as the adrenaline fired my heart rate into the stratosphere.

The quick pace continued as we snaked under the railway bridge then splashed and crashed through the stream. I mashed the pedals hard up the climb to the ruins nearing the summit I'd still managed to remain in the middle ring and grimacing through the groaning of my thighs I cranked all the way to summit leaving the left hand shifter pod untouched. Atop the hill catching my breath by the long decrepit house's fallen walls not far away I was bollocksed. The rest of the crew soon trundled up and after a brief stop we were onwards again.

Democratically decided we hit the singletrack to the cricket club before enjoying the firm path before it became a backdrop for day of the triffids in the upcoming weeks. Unsteady ground and deep divots nearly caught a few out and the chatter at the end of the track turned to near misses. We rolled over to the church steps and I bottled out again Gezz leaped off and through them to show how it's done. Bastard. Talented bastard. But a bastard all the same.

Climbing the next ascent I chatted with the new guy all the way and the usual "just having a minute" point we cranked straight on through neglecting our traditional hip flask session and fired through the swoopy double infested Haigh Wood hitting the shores of the reservoir with speed. We added a lap of honour round the depleting water and blasted to the bombhole for a well earned respite for some whilst the other took the opportunity to play.

I rounded up the troops and we sailed onwards to Beirut, not long amongst the debris and detritus of the UK underclasses, John's front wheel fell prey to a piece of broken glass. Tubes soon swapped we flew along the doubletrack and I led the descents pushing my skills and fitness to their limits. The trail was lightning fast and the corners dry and loose. On the second corner my confidence exceeded my abilities and it was all on not to overshoot it. With people on my tail I could feel their expectation and breath upon my neck so I pushed on more. We soon ran dry of the joy of Beirut and it was time for a long uphill slog home. Tentatively crossing the railway line we were comfortably over as one thundered by into the dark night.

The final off-road climb off the night left my thighs screaming as I conquered another without dropping to the ring of few teeth. Lynn peeled off home and we launched ourselves up the cobbles home the pub in sight as our reward.

All in all it had been a superb ride. It was a first for the Fat Lad truly leading a ride. I've shouted out directions to whippets out front before and played sweeper on local-knowledge rides more times than I can count. But, to actually lead a ride was a first for me and a little bit frightening. Also as a first it was the very first time on and around the hills of my fair parish without leaving the middle ring. Maybe I will have to surrender my crown for the "King Of The Granny Ring Spin"....

Fat Lad

Fat Lad Has Been Very Poorly Indeed

Tuesday morning my dearest dad had roped me into helping him with some lifting in exchange for a breakfast at the local trade warehouse. (You see it's not all glamour in the life of an international blogger/MTB legend) I knew something wasn't quite right when I passed up the opportunity for a "Full English" and opted for egg and toast. With the lifting out of the way I got back home and sat on the sofa feeling really strange. All reserves of energy had gone and my legs were painful to touch, it was like riding with Jim and Pete.....

A few hours later and I'd managed to get off the sofa and relocated to the bathroom to re-enact the pea soup scene from the Exorcist as it fired out from, well, another place too. Laying in bed feverish later, I lamented on the miles I was missing.

How were the trails going to be? Were they going to be still beautifully firm and grippy as springtime worked it's almost divine magic? Who was going to be out? Would it be the usual suspects or would the Pootle Crew be blessed with new grins? What route were they doing, start place had been decided but route not? Would the assembled crank mashers hit the sweet and swoopy joys of the Reservoir Raid or the demanding but grin inducing Drig Delight? What new toys would people have? Would it be the usual creaking, groaning mechanic's nightmare of velocipedes or would the sheen and shine of Jim's new race steed be prompting a trip on the plastic fantastic?

Before I descended into complete biological meltdown I'd managed to radio in to Pete to ask him to lead up the ride for me. Everyone who pootled has told me what a great ride he'd lead and what a good time had been shared. So to Pete; Cheers mate your a legend.

So, here I am, still not 100% (but with my appetite back thankfully) writing this up instead of riding, hopefully giving my body chance to fully heal.

In other news a few from the Bad Brains and most of Pete's "Training Crew" are riding the Spring Marathon this weekend so a big shout of good luck to them all.

In other news a few blogs you should be reading:

Bigringcircus: You should always be reading Juancho's little stateside adventures, every now and again he even rides his bike.

Mattmagic: This guy is always worth reading for two reasons: Firstly to gawp at the sheer mileage this guy puts in and secondly to be totally envious of a lifestyle where that much riding is even possible.

Fat Cyclist: A bit of cycling blog celebrity now but always well written and a giggle to read.

First and Last And Always: Sascha's little corner of the net is a favourite of mine but she supplements her cycling pain with swimming and running suffering too.

Jeff Kerkove: America's and Ergon's own poster boy for endurance racing. A regular updater and an interesting insight into the regime of what it takes to be very good indeed.

Highway Munky: He's already sliding down the slippery slope of MTB addiction and isn't far away from the point of no return. It's quite amusing to see his dependence being fed for all too see.

Struggling to Find My Form: Another stateside blogger (and this one is a roadie but don't hold it against him) with a certain wit about him. What is about the "chunkier" cyclist and mildly amusing ramblings.......

Fat Lad

P.S. This post was very nearly called Fat Lad Rides The Porcelain Throne but I thought better of it.

It's Hard Being Fat Lad

Spring time in North Yorkshire, shorts on the Fat Lad:



Roachy and Stuart leading the way:



Stuart rocketing on, not even breaking a sweat. Behind the camera Fat Lad is dying:



Hot sun, blue skies, gorgeous scenery. Does it get any better?



A familiar site to Fat Lad



Despite that look Roachy is joy, happiness and light inside:



Dales Ice Cream, Chocolate flavour:



Yep it's hard being Fat Lad.

Fat Lad

Pete Rides Like A New Born Foal....

With spring truly sprung, the trails are getting drier, firmer and faster. It's brilliant. Today Pete and I rolled out for a short trundle so he could try out clipless pedals. Resident whippet Jim lent him some shoes in roughly the right size and had to stifle a giggle as Pete walked like Frankenstein's monster to the garage to get the bike.

The glorious sunshine was only slightly marred by the cold wind gently blowing in all directions but behind us. On the tarmac and down the first off road section Pete was going strong. We hit the entrance to Birkby Brow woods for it's off cambered rooty singletrack and Pete had a nervous grin on his face. He shouldn't have he flew down as quick as he always does and I struggled to keep on his wheel despite riding for years. For a man nervous of being clipped in he was leaving the ground off the kickers with little worry.

I think it's a rite of initiation that the first time you ride clipless you spend most of your time on your arse on the ground and Pete was remaining disappointingly upright. That is, until the stream. He crossed the water without issue but then on crossing the lip out fell over. Sideways. I might have giggled.

Both over the small width of water I had to dismount to drop the chain(long story, watch this space) to the granny ring for the steep climb out. Cresting the top Pete was sat up yet on the ground, entangled in the bike still clipped in. "I'm just laying down enjoying the view Al" he smiled down to me.

With the Fat Lad playing squash in the evening, and with Jim pulling Pete's legs off in the afternoon on one of their training rides we decided on the shorter option of the ride and finished off in time for a late lunch.

So then Pete, you convinced?

Fat Lad