Fat Lad Wants To Know....

How come my wife knows more about my bike and kit than I do...

Exhibit A:

My winter boots. Upon entering the bicycle shop Fat Lad tried on several pairs of boots. All were either too big or too small each lacking the required "Goldilock" factor. Settling upon a pair too big Fat Lad was happy but Mrs Fat Lad asks "Are you sure you're not just buying them so you have a pair?"

Two rides later, one pair of blistered heels and it's one nil to her indoors.

Exhibit B:

My Camelbak. The cloudwalker I'd been using for years had seen much better days and had more holes than American Foreign Policy. (Smelled just as bad too). Upon entering a different bike shop I chose a MULE. Fat Lad was happy with the subtle styling and general shiny shiny factor but Mrs Fat Lad asks "It's quite a bit smaller than the one you have now. Are you sure you don't want to do a bit of research?"

Many rides later, many times cursing for lack of space on my back and it's two to nothing for my better half.

Exhibit C:
My Saddle. The saddle that came with the skill-compensator I think was hewn from granite. Super extra gosh-my-that-smarts-a-little hard granite. Upon entering the bike shop (several hundred miles from home this time) I surplanted my backside on the foam Specialized arse measurig device and plumped for the 143 width design. Fat Lad was happy with the racy shape and very light construction but Mrs Fat Lad asks "That's awfully narrow for your *ahem* fuller behind and you sure you don't want the 155 instead?"

Too many rides finding out exactly where my sit bones are and it's the hat trick for the love and light of my life.

So the score is defintely weighted on the XX side of the chromosome team of this relationship. It made me realise that even when your better half isn't out there pedalling with you she still is supporting and listening to your two wheeled obsessions. That without the support of Mrs Fat Lad I don't even think I'd be half as good as I am.

Fat Lad

Fat Lad is Thoroughly Miserable

Bummers, I hope it was rubbish

This is what I have just posted on the beacon of reasoned debate and cycling knowledge that is the Bad Brains Mountain Bike Club Forum.

It may come across as a little bitter. It should.

I've got the full monk on! I didn't even manage two miles in before I had to bail. I suppose it's all trail karma. Awesome riding last week. Yet this week has thrown at me so far:

Tues Pootle: So much rain even Noah would have been pissed off
Thurs Club ride: This



One very thoroughly fecked brake pad.

Oh well, easy come easy go. Jim said to me "Serves you right for getting so many miles in last week"

Thanks Jim.... Bastard

Fat Lad

Fat Lads Seven Days Of Riding: Aftermath

Total Distance: 114.75 Miles
Total time moving: 13 hours 28 minutes and 20 seconds
Total vertical feet climbed: 13380 feet
Average Speed: 8.5 mph
calories burned approx: 6698
calories eaten in hummus: ooh, at least a million....

What I've learned.
That I'm actually fitter than I think. When I first dreamed up this madness I thought that after day two or three I was going to be in trouble. Truth be told the first day it hit me was the sixth and the only really hard ride was on the final day.
That even short rides can be a real time sink. Not so much the ride but all the associated routine that comes along too, filling camelbaks, gathering kit beer/petrol money etc.. it soon all gather up.

What I really think of the bike.
It's brilliant. It really is. The XT kit is superb, the fox shocks are amazing (but nowhere near worth the cost when they are not OEM equipped). The bike is a phenomenal mile muncher and the shocks really made the difference for my back. But, and it's a big but. The wheels, unless you're a whippet, are shocking. Three broken spokes now. Some new wheels for Spring me thinks.

What I've loved
Spending a week doing nothing but eating, drinking, sleeping, dreaming and rising bikes.
Not having to watch too closely what I've been eating :)
So much daylight riding at this dark time of year.

What I've not loved.
The time sink element of it all. Either preparing for a ride, the aftermath of a ride or driving to and back. It meant I didn't get as much non-bike stuff done as I would have liked with a week away from my workbench.
Trying to stay hydrated, despite having no problems staying calorie neutral getting enough H2) on board was a struggle I'll admit.
Despite having a lot of riding gear, I don't have quite enough that now fits so I've had the washing machine on near constantly.

Essentials
KIT
Buffs:

I have a real fetish for the old microfibre, that's not even all of them... They really are superb, keep the sweat from the brow and the chill from my ears. Every rider should have at least one!
Merino Base Layers, superb. Look them up. I have two Howies ones and one Embers one. Expensive but worth every penny.
FOOD
The follwing foodstuffs made my life bearable this week: Haribo sweeties, Malt Loaf, Mars Drink, Tortilla Chips and my own bodyweight in Hummus.

Here in old Blighty we are blessed with such good trails so very close to home.I have an awesome group of friends who happily came at very short notice to ride with the chunky monkey. I truly am fecking humbled.

Finally, although she's been away, I couldn't have done it without the support of my wife. It was her idea, and via the means of long distance communication she has spurred me on and kept me pedalling.

On return from her week away I was presented with many treats below is a few:



So I suppose the question is, Will I do it again?

Yeah, I'm daft enough to.

Fat Lad

Fat Lads Seven Days Of Riding: Day Seven

Fat Lad Doesn't Ride The Castelton Corker, He Rides the Abridged Ladybower Loop instead. Read On.
Autumnally warm for a nice change.
Distance: 11.25 Miles
Total Distance: 114.75 Miles
Riders: Fat Lad Y Phil.
Food scoffed: One bacon and sausage bap and one cup of hot Bovril.
Quote of the Ride: "Fuck me, I'm Fucked." - Fat Lad
Current Mood: Elated. But Tired. So Very Tired.

I started this madness with an epic. Hell I might as well finish it with one too. Big Rich, generous of character and riding ability was leading a renowned ride from Castleton. Tucked away in the Peaks it is a fair old drive to get there. With this at the front of my mind I set to organising my kit, all that would be needed was to get up, eat and go.

I pulled together some clean riding clothes and laid them out. I filled the camelbak bladder putting in plenty knowing I'd need the hydration. In my holdall were Post Ride Pub clothes along with my lid, buff and gloves. The GPS was wiped and charged, tea bag in my travel mug waiting only for hot water and milk. I swapped over my cassette to a spare wheel and then loaded it all into the car the boot backed up all the way against the garage to stop ant thieve from having a go.

So of course, as morning creeps up, I sleep through the alarm. Idiot.

I text Phil to let the crowd know and he replied with a playful yet derogatory remark. Ten minutes later I'm sat in the living room contemplating where I'm going to ride when Phil rings me to let me know he's not doing the Castleton ride either as he's managed to get monumentally lost. Hastily we agreed to meet at Ladybower instead and raced round getting my kit on and wolfed a bagel down.

Once again firing down the M1 burning petrol at an alarming rate I arrived to Phil ready and waiting to go. I was going nowhere until I had finished my tea. Caffeined up we headed out for the reservoir side and the hills ahead.

Soon off the beaten track and every little climb waqs killing me. I had finally run out of steam and had enough. The first two climbs I managed but then that was it. With a sad heart and tired legs my fuel tank needle hit the red with a soul weary thump. Coming down of the tops to the cafe I was forced into riding a section I'd normally walk for fear of losing face to another group of riders. I caught up with Phil and I freewheeled all the way to some food and a rest. Even after food and rest I could do no more. We headed back to the cars via the reservoir side. I dare not climb into the hills for fear of losing the very last bits of energy I was saving for the drive home. I had to dig in with every ounce of willpower I possess to make it up the steep tarmac climb to the car park. Back at the car I collapsed into the boot knackered but overjoyed.



Seven days, seven fucking amazing rides. I'd actually done it.

It was time for some rest

Day Seven Route

Fat Lad

Fat Lads Seven Days Of Riding: Day Six

Fat Lad Rides The Stanage Edge Stormer
Quite cool today.
Distance: 18.04 Miles
Total Distance: 103.50 Miles
Riders: Fat Lad and stAn.
Food scoffed: One slice of Malt Loaf.
Quote of the Ride: "How much travel have your forks got Al?" - stAn, this was followed by at least thirty seconds of maniacal laughter.
Current Mood: The granny ring is my friend.

stAn had earlier in the week promised a Friday ride with me. I got a text message at first promising me a Bingley Ride. This all changed with a different mysterious message I received a mere day later: "Fuck bingley got a a better ride. can you be at mine for 11ish - bring your camera it's very scenic." Replying with the positive and a request for location only resulted in stony silence.

I arrived at stAn's a little earlier than the allotted time. One cup of tea, a buttered pancake and an awful lot of fussing his pooch later we loaded up and headed for our mysterious location. Speaking loudly over the complete history of punk stAn convinced himself that I'd never ridden the route before. Screaming down the M1 (speed limit obeyed all the way occifer) we were in the Peak District and I started to grin. Regardless of the route, it's all good round here.

We skirted round Ladybower reservoir and headed up a very steep hill to our eventual destination. Out of the car stretching stiff legs stAn grinned and pointed out the crags ahead of us on the horizon. "We're going up there kid, Stanedge" It looked an awful long way up.

Kitted up we headed out up the first ascent. To reach the century I only had to clock 14.54 miles. On home ground that wouldn't faze me, but up here, in the hills proper. This was going to be fun. On the long drive over stAn had said to me the first climb starts steady enough but gets worse. He wasn't kidding. Loose fire road gave way to golf ball rocks, which gave way to fist size rock, next to the football (that's a real football to our transatlantic readers, what you call a football is actually a rugby ball.) size ones and finally bigger than I care to think about rocks. Pushing up the last bits we we're at the summit sooner than I thought possible with such tired legs.

Barely stopping for a breather we rode past Stanedge pole. We were rewarded with some wide fast descending and turning a corner stAn neraly ended up cuddling an oncoming Motor crosser; "I could see the whites of his eyes Al..." Past the eerily empty reservoir and onto the road we climbed for a long while shooting the shit and setting the world to rights. Two blokes enjoying the amazing views and not being at work.

Peeling off the black stuff I shared my Malt Loaf with dAd and we were soon away again. Wheels pointing down the hill I just heard the man in front shout we would be back at this intersection later as he increased the distance between us. stAn chased the hill sheep out of the way on a technical yet rideable descent I pulled behind him. Back on the road the dirt and rock route over all too soon, stAn was pulling away on the road climbs and I found myself in that awkward state of gearing. One gear I was spinning and getting nowhere fast while the next gear down the cassette was to much for ride weary limbs. I chose to spin.

Back on the dirt we had a breather and climbed up for a little while spinning where required and hammering the pedals on the descents. We were we soon back at the long road climb we had under our belts on the way out and it was a blessing to roll down it and stretch out my lower back which had become as flexible a pig iron all of a sudden. stAn pulled over to one side and with a smile we hopped over to a section we really shouldn't have. Shooting down an awesome piece of singletrack I should have been enjoying the cheeky twisty joy but I was watching the GPS with eager anticipation.
14.51
14.52
14.53
14.54

I'd done it. On a cheeky section of road in the middle of the Peak District. I'd achieved a milestone I'd never dreamed of when I started riding again all those years ago. The off-road century. The local expression goes like this:

Like a dog with two dicks

A little more tarmac, a breather and back to the deathly looking reservoir we were soon back at Stanage pole. The long steady climb out of the way we stopped for a posed shot. StAn removed his GPS for the shot placing it on the ground behind us.

We mounted up and settled in for the big descent. I've realised this week that even with lots of miles under my belt I'm never going to be a great descender and it was proven to me as stAn disappeared into the distance. For the third time with this bike a spoke pinged in the real wheel very closely followed by a pinch flat. A little pissed off I shouldered the bike and started to walk. Just catching the white helmet of stAn in the distance I changed my mind and took of my camelbak to get a tube out.

I should never doubt the gods of the trail for they reward all those who put the miles in. As i looked over my shoulder the sky was on fire.

With what will sty with me for the rest of my life the valley around me was bathed in red majestic light. Had I been the descender I want to be. I'd have missed this soul lifting moment of natural regality.

stAn came climbing back up to find me and I reached him soon enough. He asked me to ride on a bit and take a picture of him descending a particularly rocky section and I obliged willingly. His moment in digital celluloid captured a glum realisation awashed stAn's face. "I've left my GPS at the pole..." After much deliberation he set off back for it while I my knackered wheel and legs headed back to the car. Merely moments behind me with a sudden change of heart he rolled up. "Only cost me £20 on ebay, it's karma mate someone's going to get a free GPS"

It was then back to casa stAn to pick up my car with more Punk tunes blasting in our ears. Another superb ride to add to the weekly tally and as promised it was a scenic ride that will roll with me forever.
Day Six Route

Fat Lad

Fat Lads Seven Days Of Riding: Day Five

Fat Lad Rides The Golden Acre Giggle
Mild, until it went dark. The it was bloody cold.
Distance: 14.86 Miles
Total Distance: 85.46 Miles
Riders: Amy and Fat Lad
Food scoffed: 1/2 Small pack of Tangfastics. Amy had the other half.
Quote of the Ride: "Aww, bless" Amy's more than diplomatic way of saying that something was shite.
Current Mood: Worryingly okay. No doubt it will change.

I've not much to report really, just a superb spin out with good company. Here's a few pictures:






Just to really make you giggle:

This is Fat Lad in his preferred attire:



This is Fat Lad going to the official opening of the new office:



Frightening isn't it.

Day Five Route

Fat Lad

Fat Lads Seven Days Of Riding: Day Four

Fat Lad Races The Sunset
Mild, mostly dry trails.
Distance: 11.68 Miles
Total Distance: 70.59 Miles
Riders: Women want to be with him, Men want to be him. The one, the only: Fat Lad
Food scoffed: Nowt, like a daft get I didn't stop long enough for sweeties :(
Quote of the Ride: "...this is the real world, I'm not a little girl, I know exactly who I am" - Fat Lad singing very badly in a thick Leeds accent to one of his guilty pleasure tracks.
Current Mood: Freewheeling the descents

Out on my own, the rest of the club earning a crust, I stick the Ipod on shuffle, and go for it.

1 QOTSA - Go With The Flow: Pottering round the house getting ready.
2 The Rolling Stones - Ruby Tuesday: I'm on the tarmac heading past Pete's (stuck at work) house.
3 The View - Same Jeans: The Final bit of road before it's time for the dirt.

4 Maroon Five - This Love: Hurtling down the field and something doesn't feel quite right with the forks.
5 White Stripes - Blue Orchid: Storming up the steep bit into the copse and my legs are screaming at me.
6 Snow Patrol - Spitting games: Through the copse and down the next field
7 Portishead - Roads: Beth Ortons haunting vocals ease me through a dense sea of leaves down tight twisty singletrack.
8 The Fray - How To Save A Life: Head down pedalling the fire road through Birkby Brow wood.
9 For The Girl - The Fratellis: Crossing the main artery into Batley under railway bridge, it's a superb bouncy track and I can't help but sing badly and loudly along.
10 Teenage Kicks - The Undertones: Splash through the stream and conquer the other side.
11 God Put A Smile Upon Your Face - Mark Ronson: I start the climb to the ruins
12 You and Me - The Delays: Still climbing granny ring on this climb for first time in a long time.
13 Brianstorm - Artic Monkeys: The near vomit inducing climb out of the way I'm romping across the field rythm of the cranks matching the tempo of the song.
14 Life on Mars - David Bowie: Squeezing down the track only rideable a 1/3 of the year I ignore the adjacent quarry and it's "Blasting 10-4" sign.
15 Real Girl - Mutya Buena: Through the church yard and up the long grass climb
16 Our Velocity - Maximo Park: Passing the school run at Westerton I'm disappointed the track doesn't follow on to "books and boxes" the next track on a phenomenal album.
17 Cannonball - Damien Rice: I skip the swoopy bit of Haigh wood, it turns out to be a good choice as family walks their dog below. I exit out on the grass climb.
18 Mr Brightside - The Killers: Briefly on the tarmac and on for a lap of the reservoir.
19 I Write Sins Not Tragedies - Panic! At The Disco: I stop briefly to chat to some old fellas at the side of the water. I'm glad really, it's a fucking awful song and I've no idea why I put it on my player.

20 Babylon - David Gray: I lift the bike over the stile and fly in and out of the bombhole.
21 Learn to Fly - Foo Fighters: Heading out to the tarmac a big grin is plastered across my face, it's an awesome track and so damn appropriate for this week.
22 Somebody Told Me - The Killers: Heading down Thorpe Lane and it's 7 degrees according to learner's car internal display who's bumper I'm shadowing.
23 Hoppipolla - Sigur Ross: A beautiful piece of music for not a particularly scenic part of the ride. I head of the waste ground and cross the very busy road.
24 Breakfast In America - Supertramp: I fall over riding up a flight of very shallow steps.

25 Muse - Knights of Cydonia: I get home, stash the bike in the Bat Cave and sit down to let the post ride endorphins die down.


Through the slats of the blind in our living room I can just see the sun disappearing over the horizon.

I've beaten the dark.

Day Four Route

Fat Lad

Fat Lads Seven Days Of Riding: Day Three

Fat Lad Rides The Drig Delight Classic
Fecking cold (for a change) but not as cold as the last ride. Nearly bone dry trails.
Distance: 14.68 Miles
Total Distance: 58.91 Miles
Riders: Pootle Crew + Fat Lad.
Food scoffed: Many Haribo Sweeties
Quote of the Ride: "You smell like a dream Pete" - Phil, no context given because it's miles funnier without it.
Current Mood: Pass the Minty Arse Lard

Up to Asda down past the school up to the cricket club up path only rideable 1/3 of the year to the ruins down the scree through the stream under the tunnel up the better climb than descent fix a pootler's puncture drag gently up through Birkby Brow mash up nab lane past back of Ikea balance along knife edge drag up the delight sweeties after the bridge steal across Driglington Moor scream down brownhills crawl out other side skinny through the back alleys of Gildersome tarmac roll home shower bed.


Day Three Route

Fat Lad

Fat Lads Seven Days Of Riding: Day Two

Fat Lad Rides Sunset Over Sharlston
Fecking cold, bone dry trails.
Distance: 17.54 Miles
Total Distance: 44.23 Miles
Riders: Mick, Carol, Chip and Fat Lad.
Food scoffed: Slice of coconut sponge back at Chip's gaff. OK, two slices.
Quote of the Ride: "Stop riding in your thong then" - Carol, in response to Fat Lad moaning of his saddle sore.
Current Mood: Hungry...

With the cry from the forum answered I was son in the car making my through Wakefield to ride with Chip. Arriving at his house we waited on Mick and Carol who had finished early to join us for our little jaunt. They arrived, unpacked and were ready to go before I was too.

Out of the estate and onto the trails Chip asked how far I fancied. "Dunno, 10 or 12 miles to spin out my legs" I replied with hope. "17 it is then" he replied with a maniacal grin. We rode from daylight, smashing through twilight, pedalling through evening and finishing in cold Autumn night.

It was a superb ride, the legs only started to hurt 15 miles in. Chip rode remarkably well for a man who has had five weeks off. The trails were bone dry with the only sketchy moments forced upon us by the deep leaf cover carpeting the dirt.



Day Two Route

Fat Lad

Fat Lads Seven Days Of Riding: Day One

Fat Lad Rides The Meltham Magic
Cloudy, cold but dry.
Distance: 26.69 Miles
Total Distance: 26.69 Miles
Riders: Lots.
Food scoffed: Mars bar, bacon sandwich, one mince pie and two cups of tea :)
Quote of the Ride: "Arse..." - Lynn(e?) upon learning we had another long climb ahead.
Current Mood: King O' The Hills

The four of us were sat stunned in our cars as we'd arrived a whole half hour early. Four of the Pootle crew, early. It just shouldn't happen. As Pete sipped tea from his flask we all watched in amazement the world busiest post box. 9:30am and we watched at least 5 people deposit mail. Being daft enough to be up this early on a sunday to go riding is one thing but to post your mail?

Everyone arrived in dribs and drabs and all suited up we set off. Southern Bob had some friends up from where the country is flat and densely populated he had posted up for a weekend epic. It was to be first of the seven and what a corker it was to be. The company was superb and the ride amazing. Nearly 27 miles of epic scenery, heartbreaking climbs and lusty descneding. Perfect.


The valley stretched ahead of us.

Hemsworth Steve disappearing down one of the big grin downhills.

Most of the happy bunch.

Cheeky bastards.

Fat Lad suffering on another big climb. Unlike the Peaks, there was no excuse to not clear any of these climbs.

Pure bliss.

Pete upon his throne, King of the climbs.

Just a little bit hilly then...

Well it's been a phenomenal start to the week ahead, lets hope the highs are as good as the summits I reached today.

Day One Route

We all take for granted the freedoms we have. Many fighting men and women have given their lives to preserve our liberty. We should never forget that. I know I won't.

We will Remember.

Fat Lad

Fat Lads Seven Days Of Riding

Sometimes I wonder what I let myself in for.....

Hello my loyal and loving readers. All ten of you. This week I have been unshackled from my desk and told by my boss to get and get some sunlight before I get rickets.

So with this in mind and my devoted yet slightly deranged readership too I've decided to ride everyday for seven days starting tomorrow. I'm going to post the day after each ride to document the process.

So wish me luck, I'm going to need it.

As a small footnote, I shall recall a true tale from earlier in the week. In the consultants office I was answering the very nice chaps questions, building up a picture of my wellbeing and health he asked if I exercised. "I Mountain Bike three times a week doc.." I answered with pride. Prodding, poking and examining over he asked what bike I had and we discussed the merits of his own steed; a Whyte 46.

Leaving the office Mrs Fat Lad (for I am a coward and wont got the hospital on my own) muttered under her breath: "You bloody Mountain Bikers get everywhere"

Fat Lad

Fat Lad Rides Gezz's Gem

I owe this one to Gezz. For services to the pootle crew of the highest order of innuendo and dry humour.


Working now in the city centre getting home for a reasonable hour is entirely down to the winds of fate and red yellow and green roulette of traffic lights. I think I surprised Phil more than myself by getting home for a reasonable hour. Phil is now residing the wrong side of the Pennines and so using the changing facilities of casa Fat Lad on ride nights. I was ready and raring to go in record time and wandered into the bat cave to help Phil out with a minor fettle before we were due to leave. We had ages, more time than can be comprehended in mere mortal terms. We were late setting off.

My new(ish) but small car will happily do 70+ MPH on the motorway, but with the bike rack on; the slightest gust of wind tosses it around like a cork on the Atlantic. Five minutes later than the allotted start time and I finally parked up and started to get ready. Donning buff and lid I glanced round at the assembled throng and smiled when I saw the usual suspects plus a few new faces. I jumped on the steed and we all headed out for the dark.

Knowing we had to cross the sliproad entrance to a busy motorway had prompted Gezz to warn us all to bring rear lights. What he hadn't the foresight to predict was the Amy factor. Dropping from the kerb to the road (a whole 8 or so inches) and barely 2 minutes into the ride her carbon bars snapped. Luckily staying upright and not getting mown down by two tonnes of hurtling metal she limped to the other pavement carrying the left part of the bars in her hand. With hunched shoulders and a miserable face she and Jim walked back to the car; their ride over before it had started.

Rob and I pedalled hard to catch up with the group closing the gap as fast as we could. Regrouping by the entrance to our first off road section I gave the guys the good news. stAn, ever the pragmatist decried "Couldn't she have put a stick through it?" Before he could begin regaling us with tales of rigid forks and days of lurid lycra past, we set off again.

Bunching up for a head count in the first dark section of woods we gossiped and joked as Lynne and Rob caught up, their lagging explained with Lynne's flat rear shock. Mechanicals bodged enough to get us round we were off once more. We flew down the wide path under and over the motorway the almost warm orange glow of industrial surroundings bathing us.

Climbing into Fryston woods the bone dry singletrack flowed and twisted ahead of us. Upon entering the the closely packed skeleton like trunks around us Gezz had impressed upon us the need to stick together in this eerie place. Naturally, this meant that Phil, Lynne, Rob and I got lost. Not for the last time in the evening Phil fell into the undergrowth trying to unclip. Once upright and after jovial shouts of direction we were part of the main group once more.

Amongst the tight and twisting paths Gezz lost his bearings closely followed by the rest of us. A few "Benny Hill"esque circuits later we were back on track but not before Phil went down once more. Dropping over the remains of the wall he was on the ground fast. I can't tell you you the sound of a tree falling in the wood when no one is there to hear, but I can tell the sound of a Pootler falling always involves laughter. Everybody rushing to Phil's side to point and laugh, I had time to get out the soul stealer and save this Kodak moment forever:



Out of the woods we sailed along for a little while the social refrains of the group drifting to the night sky. Bikes over our shoulders we pulled ourselves up the steep steps to the recently refurbished railway bridge. Almost silently we free-wheeled across the steel decking putting faith in the grip of our knobblies not daring to think about the lower than I'd hope fence on our right. Back along the riverside down from higher than I care to think about the night air was blowing through to our bones, more akin to midwinter then early autumn.

For a region of our green county not renowned for it's hills we were greeted with another climb soon reaching the summit we marvelled at the fabled spot where Cliff had vaulted over the bars on a ride past; on the smoothest, non-technical piece of trail you are likely to come across. Through a couple of gate (night time bridleway) and we we're on for an exceptionally sweet piece of singletrack. Off camber, rooty, twisting and up and down like a roller coaster, hit it right and all you have to do is hold on and ride it to bliss. Once regrouped the grins subsided as we had a short stint on the black stuff to our next fleeting moment of nirvana. The group strung along the climb we were paced by a car, unnervingly matching our speed all the way up despite our gestured waves to come by. Off the tarmac I was relieved to have the whole group away from "Christine" and back on the dirt.

We were spoiled one more with rippingly quick singletrack depositing the group in a picturesque village where the cars rivalled the house in value. Amongst the group legs and lights were fading prompting the good call to get us back to the cars. Back at the start Gezz had revealed a gem and for better or worse it is now part of the Pootle Crew repertoire.

Fat Lad