Fat Lad's Own Brand of Mayhem - Race and Aftermath

Out of the coral and with my adrenalin up I was flying. I was actually passing other riders..... I don't think I have ever had the opportunity to utter the immortal words "on your left". It was a proud moment for chunky cyclists the world over. Not long after the first climb I paced with a guy on a MTB with drop bars riding solo for cyclo-cross.com. rolling up along side him I asked why he hated himself so much to be riding alone for the next 16 hours? We chatted for a while then I left him at the next climb. Peeling off into the woods the heavy bass of trip hop/dance music blasted off and through the trees as the DJ stand fired riders on. I was still going fast (for me) and I was feeling strong. I splashed through the water crossing without issue and headed on up the Kenda Climb. At about the 40 minute mark it was as if some biological off switch had been thrown and all my energy drained away into the slick grass field. My fast (for me) lap was now not even a dream and it was all I could hope for to get back to the timing tent. Mere yards later and the fickle trail gods had more in store for me as cramp settled in too.

I walked out the cramp and getting back onto the bike I managed to trundle in with a time of 1h 29m. I was too tired to even try and give Phil any good natured abuse and walked back to our camping area with Elle. Away from the coral I was bullied again into some food. Inserting my trusty ear plugs I zombied over to my tent and settled in for more fitful sleep. Sleeping right through my alarm Carol eventually woke me and bleary eyed I walked over to everyone under our covering. I felt awful. With the third lap of Sleepless vivid in my memory I apologised as much as could muster and left the guys to wander dark and cold to the coral. I met Julie at the coral to let her know I wasn't going out and we wandered back in an awkward silence.

Like the absolute legends they are and always will be Phil and Cliff stepped up and took on the extra laps as I snoozed away. The Somme like conditions out on the track were worsening and a few teams had already had enough. Sunlight illuminated my tent and I awoke feeling no better but determined I was going out for a lap. Pulling on fresh riding gear I left the canvas(well, nylon really, but it doesn't seem as poetic) and joined the rest around the heater. Cliff was out on a double and I necked a bottle of orange Torq awaiting his return. Julie and Amanda had got their two laps in and I was determined I was going to get mine. Before I could talk myself out of it Cliff was back I had the baton and it was time to head out into the goop.

I rolled out of the coral and as I settled in, head down and pedalling the announcers called out my name and team over the PA cheering me on as they had for all teams through the night. As I hit the first climb Jim rocketed past me tapping me on my back and he flew away into the distance. Again I started out strong with the first couple of climbs hurting but not slowing me down. But the energy had all but gone again and to make matters worse my left nipple was chafing like crazy. All I could do was grimace and carry on my jersey irritating me the whole lap round.

On the second long grassclimb Chip thundered past me and shouted in his own jovial yet loud way "You having fun young un?" speeding away with powerful pedal strokes. The approach to the water crossing was now considerably wider and slipperier spitting riders out without abandon and I was happy to splosh through without incidence.

I managed maybe a few hundred yards of the Kenda climb and dismounted trudging up the rest. I remounted later only to fly over the handlebars in a particularly glass smooth mud hairpin corner some miles later. I happened upon a guy from Birmingham in similar mood and outlook to me and we chatted most of the way back to the coral rolling where could but mostly pushing through the, by now, inches deep sticky sapping soil. I finally arrived back to the handover and Phil flew out with a determined glint in his eye. In all it had taken me nearly three hours to get round.

The bike was blathered in inch thick mud and I queued for the best part of an hour to get my steed rinsed off. In doing so I missed Phil's arrival back and his handshake with the big man himself. I caught up with Phil soon after and he handed out the medals to us all and we all sauntered back to pack up and go home.

As a Mountain Mayhem virgin my cherry was pleasantly popped. The festival atmosphere away from the track was superb and there was a rather large amount of freebies being slung in every direction. On the course it was a little too serious from some corners but the "everyone in this together" spirit which pervades our sport still shone through. I must say a huge thank you to everyone who put up with me that weekend as I'm (to coin Mrs Fat Lad's expression) a "grumpy arse" when I'm not well. You all did really well, Racers and Supporters together should be immensely proud! The one thing I vow however is that I'm never doing this again.... without Mrs Fat Lad in tow.

Fat Lad

Fat Lad is, Sadly, Not Surprised By The Big S....

Time to throw some blog solidarity together and highlight something that stinks in the bike industry. Bike Biz Babe has highlighted this particular situation.

I mean, really! That's just not cricket.

Bicycle bloggers of the world unite:

Post up this link

http://www.specializedbicycle.blogspot.com/

and highlight this wherever you can.

Any ways in less vitriolic news second half of the Mayhem report will be soon incoming

Fat Lad

Fat Lad's Own Brand of Mayhem - Pre Race

Juancho seems to think this particular corner of t'interweb has become a little soft lately. He may be right. As always things are not as straight forward in the weird and wonderful world of Fat Lad and in the first two weeks of marriage I managed to be poorly with a horrendous virus for six days of a seven day honeymoon and also be allergic to my wedding ring. You couldn't script this shit.

Heading back from the crystal shores of Cyprus to ol'blighty and I manage to pass on said virus to the now Mrs Fat Lad. Laid up on the sofa catching up with season 5 of 24 on dvd I was going to Mountain Mayhem on my own.....

Mountain Mayhem is the Mountain Bike Festival in the UK. Most of the major manufacturers are there and there is a real party atmosphere there. The chance for freebies and to rub shoulders with mountain bike legends is not to be missed. The always brilliant Pat Adams organises and runs the show and this year was it's tenth anniversary. Oh yeah, and there's a 24hr race there too.

The Pootle crew (somehow) had managed to get it's shit together long enough to assemble a team. So with trepidation in our hearts and a glint in our eyes Phil, Cliff, Julie, Amanda and my good self were signed up for 24 hours of fun and fat tyres.



The night before setting off the trill whistle of R2-D2 gave me the heads up that I had a text message. A plea from Amy had come through seeing if she could swipe one of Mrs Fat Lads Asthma inhalers as all of hers had run dry. In casa Fat Lad you can't enter a room without tripping over at least one blue lifesaver so I stuck one in my kit ready for the off.

Morning came and after dragging my lovely but chunky derrier out of bed I started to load the car with all the finesse of a lone Chuckle brother. Sarah supervised my efforts from the sidelines and 45 minutes later the car was full but I was knackered. With the motorised cage loaded to the gunnels it was time to go, a fairly uneventful drive was had despite the quite terrifying rain (passing three accidents on the way) and much much later than originally planned I arrived.

Pitching camp Mark (Julie's husband) and Jordan (one of Mick and Carol's offspring) mucked in to help me get set up. Phil and Elle arrived not much after and every one erected and ready it was time to carbo-load with beer and barbecue. Some time after midnight and I staggered into my tent asleep before I could begin to get anxious of the upcoming event...

Sometime in the early hours of the morning I sprinted in the direction of the toilets leaping guy ropes like a gazelle and cheeks had barely hit plastic before it got unpleasant. Drained I made my way back for some vital shut-eye and twice more before the sun rose this dash was sadly repeated.

I woke early and wandered into the communal gazebo to force a cup of tea down my gullet. With the tannin now sloshing in my guts. Phil, Elle and I wandered down to the main arena to register and to absorb as many freebies as the exhibitors would throw at us. I purchased a new trail pump as mine now blows like a... no too easy - insert your own simile ear.

All assembled back in Camp Bad Brains I was really starting to feel bad and we decided the team running order. Phil was up first with the Le Mans start ahead of him purely because he's the only one daft enough to be riding flats, Cliff was to receive the baton next, with Amanda then Julie and myself to go. Selfishly, I admit, I opted to go last to give myself time to try and bring myself round for my lap. The club had a really strong showing this year with the following teams in attendance:

Bad Brains - Pootle Crew
Bad Brains - Its Rideable
Bad Brains - Bad Bunch
Bad Brains - Vets

Two o'clock arrived scarily quickly and we we're all assembled waiting for the klaxon to go for the big start. Phil and Chip seemed to be having a good time waiting for the go:



and with the shrill alarm nearly 200 riders headed out to their bikes. With Phil and Chip out and pedalling away the rest of us wandered back to camp for our own pre-lap rituals and prep. Back under the tarp and after Amanda had forced some revive down me, Elle stepped up next and forced me into eating something to go with it. Julie (an endurance virgin) was pacing the grass nervous as hell about her first lap, we were all doing our best to reassure her but it was having little effect. With the continual down pour I swapped to my mud tyres and all that was left to do was wait.

Phil and Cliff rocketed around the course. Julie and Amanda both did the team proud putting in the miles and all too soon it was my turn. mark and I wandered down to the coral for the change over and pre-lap nerves got me again as I nipped into a porta-pottie to empty my bladder. Getting to the changeover tent and Julie was there and ready for me and snapping the wrap-around baton on my wrist I was out and away. Feeling not so good I would be happy to bring my time in under 1h 30 but we would have to see how it went....

Course Description

Out of the start area (the coral) you immediately turn left and after a short distance on the flat grass. Onto the "Cat Eye" climb you switch back on the field further until the hairpin and gravel for some more ascending. Gravel hard pack for a while and then a sharp right hander into the tight singletrack of the woods with multiple path options in the dense tree cover. An aural surprise awaits the riders in here but it soon goes as the woods spit you out onto a grass climb. At the summit you follow the ridge before descending across the contour of the hill losing all the height gained so far.

More flat grass and then through the foot deep water splash. The real test begins as you start the climb up through the camp site. Across the "Buff" bridge and it's time for the "Kenda Climb". On grass, long, steep. Middle ring for the fit, big ring for the pro's granny for us mortals. Single-speeders it's only what you deserve. The "Kenda Climb" eventually flattens out after a long haul for a brief respite and then it's a brief downhill with a slight bermed hairpin before climbing some more dirt through the dense bracken. Passing the "Obelisk" the climbing is nearly done but not before the last bit of hurt. By the cottage in the woods it's finally time to descend back to base. Singletrack descents and rolling paths back through the camp site and it's time to hand the baton over to your next rider.

Fat Lad