Fat Lad Rides Again

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