***Also all these images (and most in the posts I put up) have alt text (hover your mouse pointer over a piccie and see) so it might be worth coming to read this out of RSS if that’s how you usually read these ***
With a shocking day at work over, rock solid trails begging to be ridden and the spare two hours of daylight a sneaky ride had to be bagged.
Work clothes to be rapidly discarded across our boudoir…
There that’s better 🙂
Very quick bite before I head out, sadly no coffee in the pot to go with it…
A better nights sleep had us ready for the day ahead and once the big breakfasts had been devoured by all over yet more bike chat we headed into the coach house for the last classroom session. The day was to concentrate on shot composition initially and the rest of the afternoon daylight on whatever was suggested by the group. I was just hoping to finish the day with vaguely dry feet…
Once again Sarah took the option to drive to the start point where I had spent the previous afternoon crashing through running water. The guys had decided before departure that they fancied having a go at shooting slow technical stuff. Seb knew of a rooty point that would be ideal and having ridden past it to get to the stream the day before he was right. Sarah and I got there as the other guys rode out to us from the B & B. Approaching the section in question I knew that it was beyond my abilities, the torch would have to be carried by Mike. Whilst we waited for the others Mrs Fat Lad had me ride the other side of the stream at our backs:
The lads arrived as Sarah was still turning light to pixels of my mincing attempts at off camber. Everyone back to the roots Mike was eyeing up the roots. On his first attempt he didn’t have the speed to crash over and through and dismounted without incident. Second attempt ready he gathered speed and with dedication and gusto attacked the roots. The trails gods were not happy this day however and pitched Mike straight over the bars. Uninjured Mike remounted but before he could go for a third Seb took the executive decision to move us to another location instead.
Back down the trail Seb spotted an animal track running tight through the trees and this was to be the first spot of the day. The single track was loamy, slippery, tight and deceptively difficult to ride on. Mike and I got our heads down and cracked on regardless running the trail over and over as the guys put two days of tuition to good use. It turned out to be a classic example of an average trail coming out great in images yet the tyres told a different tale. At some point during the runs I felt my elbow twinge a bit and on deciding to not risk it any further I took a breather whilst ever the professional Mike carried on and on… For the last few runs of the morning I got back on and soon enough Seb made the call for us to move on.
A short pedal to the other side of the valley and after a quick bite to eat the guys split up into pairs to play with their new found skills. As I munched down on my chicken baguette Sarah scouted out various runs in the tight birch for me to roll down. Still chewing I was instructed up the hill to the first run. Over the next 45 minutes I pedalled and dropped in where my lovely wife told me too whilst her shutter finger worked overtime.
Seb came over to offer advice and see what Sarah was trying to achieve and as they talked I had to interrupt them both as a herd of deer bounded across the valley crest only just visible through the tree top camouflage. With the day rapidly and sadly drawing to a close Seb rounded everyone up to head back. Sarah was confident of the route back to the car and so I was to finish my weekend in the saddle with the ride back to the B & B.
Following the valley floor the climb started out gently enough. Twice in the first few hundred yards we had to dismount to limbo under or clamber over fallen trees and there was shouting to set about them with the Leatherman again. The trail kept gaining height easing us up the vertical feet until we turned right. Steepening up quickly Mike dropping to his granny ring forewarning me of it’s sudden change. I was pedalling hard and feeling goo, unlike the other guys this was my first attack on these hills. The warm air was beautiful on my skin but starting to cook me as well on the outside as my core was doing the the other way. The climb turned a hard left and coming out of the corner the dreaded but inevitable front wheel lift slow motion action began. Too late to shift any weight forward I’d lost it and was off pushing for the last few hundred yards. It turned out that the last section to the crest was unrideable anyway but that didn’t fit too well with my guilty “should have bloody made it” attitude.
We followed the ridge of the crest climbing just that little bit more and my lack of riding in the weeks previous started to tell as I lagged up the slog to the eventual summit. Reaching the top Seb shot off down the direct path whilst Mike was taking us the extended-all grins-cut to home. It started as gently as the climb up but getting steeper as we rolled on. My speed increased and even with the bike in fun mode I loosned up the pro-elbows in anticpation. The run kept rewarding me with grin after grin, twisting turning, a kicker here, a lip there on the almost Dales like surface. Wheels drifting in some of the turns I scrubbed the speed back where necessary. I splashed through the first stream corssing of the weekend and was secretly glad not to have to ride it again and again. Before long the trails ran out and the final miles of the weekend were on metalled roads back to the B & B. Showered and changed I joined the rest in the coachhouse for the last session of critique. All done we said our goodbyes and Sarah and I headed off for another week of glorious sunshien in Somerset.
Next to Mike for giving the guys “Pro-Elbows” all weekend, being the Duracell bunny for the shooters and putting up with my inanity… www.bikemagic.com
To Mary for the fantastic cakes and breakfast and making us all feel very welcome indeed: clicky
and Lastly to the guys for putting up with my gurning, lack of “Pro-Elbows”, distcinctly un-cyclist phisique and for making me look a damns sight faster than I actually am:
Ever so slightly roasted by our room we were the first to reach the breakfast table. A poor nights sleep coupled with feather pillows had brought back Sarah’s previously almost non-existent asthma. The better half of the Shaw double act made the decision to take up Mike’s offer of locations to drive to minimising the riding with her bad chest. All that was left to do was watch a carnivorous pack of riders fall upon the quite frankly enormous cooked breakfast before the morning classroom session.
Photographic advice sought and received I loaded the cars after receiving directions from Mike. The other guys were corralled together and headed up the valley to meet us up on the hills. Meanwhile we pulled up in Higher Street (a village believe it or not) and after abandoning Sarah’s brand new yet leaking Camelbak bladder set off to meet at the stream crossing that would be the mornings shoot meet. Heading across a churned up energy sapping field we got to a crossroads and I headed us up a steep climb to the right. For a change, I’d got lost. Yes, me, lost. Never mind the fact that the club says I could get lost in the bath I’d been given a map and been told to meet at a certain point. Obviously in the wrong place we fired down the stinking climb which was a cracking descent and took the right direction back at the crossroads.
We arrived at the prescribed point to find the stream crossing blocked entirely by a very dead fallen tree. Before the pictures could begin tree surgery had to commence. Andy set to the tree with my Leatherman saw blade scoring the decaying trunk enough for us to snap then drag it out of the way. With the trail clear I scoped the run in whilst Seb talked the location through with the rest. A smooth slightly wider then singletrack path with a kicker a third of the way down back on the dirt the track then swung to the right with a smooth run into the water, splash through the surprisingly smooth stream bottom and run out. The budding Bailey’s were playing with flash and manual exposure so Mike and I rode through repeatedly letting the light turn to pixels in the hands of our peers.
Seb stopped play to offer advice so I took the opportunity to lay on the bank under the crystal blue sky. Eyes shut behind dark plastic the sun warming me to the core a single seater plane whirred over head, it was getting very very Mint Sauce. Back on the steed my gurning had seemed to right itself and I was getting into the whole pro-elbows thing more and more. The repeated splashing was soaking my left foot again and with just one soggy foot I stopped for a bite to eat. Fairly soon Mike stopped to eat too and to maximise the shooting for the day I jumped back on still chewing my butty. Once Mike had stopped eating (something he doesn’t do often) the guys had us doubled up again for shots this time with us seemingly much more in sync this time.
Seb calling it a day for this location everyone packed up and headed out following him down the singletrack we had climbed earlier. Back to the car for me and Mrs Fat Lad the gentle climb metamorphosed into a rolling twisting smiling ribbon of singletrack launching the bike left and right and smashing across more stream crossings. Arriving at the car I flicked the bike back out of fun mode and we drove to the next section for pictures. With the wheels back on and my legendary sense of direction back in play, Seb came to the rescue just as I was about to take us far enough North to pedal into Glasgow. The course/ride leader shot off to gather the rest up whilst Sarah had me ride the new section in anticipation.
A long wide run in with no features to speak of, the wide stream (spotting a pattern here? It is the Quantocks after all) had a lip just before it making the landing a) very photographic and b) my poor feet swim even further… Soon enough the rest arrived adrenalin fuelled banter from their last descent chattering down the valley. The routine well established now I’d wind up, hit the lip at speed take off and splash.
Wind up, hit the lip at speed take off and splash.
Wind up, hit the lip at speed take off and splash.
For the last time that day Mike and I doubled up for the shooters really getting it together for the final shots. The day done the guys headed back up the hill to get back as we rolled to the car. At the B & B more critique of the days work flowed as Tea and cake was inhaled by all. Mike was the archetypal cyclist, he ate like a horse yet is stick thin. Also unusually for most Journo’s he can actually ride his bike. In a repeat of the night before yet more food evaporated in front of us despite the yet more Fawlty level of service as the chat again devolved into retro bikes and the subtle art of using cameras to make riding look as much fun as it actually is.
As always Mrs Fat Lad’s photos can be found at the end of this clicky 🙂
Speeding South after the grind Sarah’s car had been loaded in a luggage tribute to Tetris. Only 3 hours in we stopped over in concrete bland nastiness of a cheap motel chain for the best nights sleep we could manage. Once more in the automobile the road trip ended only a few hours later with the wheels resting in Bicknoller in Somerset for the first day of Seb Rogers Photo Course Not quite the first to arrive we made bike/photo small talk with Andy as Mike from Bikemagic sidled along in his camper van. Seb was the next to arrive and within a short space of time the other budding sports photographers had too. Every one settled in their respective rooms we all headed up to the kitchenette serving as the classroom for the weekend. Seb went through the upcoming three days, starting from the basics right on through to the good stuff but if you want specific details on that you’ll have to go on the course…
With the first classroom session over we suited up and headed out from the B & B for a very short tarmac spin to the hills. A brief push up a very steep dirt path and we were soon on the valley side, steep banking to the right and gulley laden with dead trees and other trail detritus to our left. Seb had the photographers split up into pairs as they each practised their new learned skills. As I was only there for the ride I wizzed up and down the same bit of trail as Sarah clicked away. Mike gave me a pointer or too on being a good subject as he rocketed up and down the full section giving advice to the others too. As I worked myself dizzy riding the same section for my lovely wife Seb raced back and forth giving advice and tuition to each of the shooters in turn. Sarah was enjoying bossing me about on the hills far too much for my liking and was grinning like the Cheshire Cat behind the viewfinder.
The afternoon shooting drawing to a close the guys asked Mike and I if we could have a go at riding down together. It turned out to be surprisingly difficult to do and we scored more success with Mike following my rear wheel. Later analysis of those shots would reveal that we had to be much closer than is comfortable for that particular type of shot to have worked in that location. Hundred of photos later we headed back to the B & B for kilos and kilos of Mary’s amazingly delicious home made cake and critique of each Photographers shots. Showered and changed to our civvies and we headed out to the pub to talk bikes, camera’s and whole pantheon of other nonsense over much bear and great food. A night’s sleep in the world hottest unheated room was all that separated us from Saturday’s loaded day of photo fun filled frolics…
As always Mrs Fat Lad’s photos can be found at the end of this clicky 🙂
That’s two for two. March will see us hit Ladybower for a loop to keep the (at least) one big ride a month going. My legs are still cooked Wednesday though….
Mrs Fat Lad is a giddy as a school girl for the upcoming Seb photo course and I have some serious bike fettling to do before we go….
Just as a taster here’s a picie from the Kepwick Killer…
Due to drinking commitments for the Saturday evening and the very high probability of a hangover on the Sunday I managed to drag Pete out of his hibernation long enough to recon for a future ride. Leaving the dry central heated abode to drag the skill compensator out of the garage I propped it up in the garden then went back inside to change. In the space of a week we seem to have gone from the full Winter kit into something almost, and I hesitate to write it for fear of tempting fate, Spring appropriate. Gone was the full armed three layers to a long sleeve base layer, my Higher Ground Jersey* and a gilet.  I spun to Pete’s lazily and after much faffing we rolled out. In just one week the trails had turned from the slop and slime drive train destroying wet shite into a soul destroying tyre sucking brown glue. In the woods and valleys sleeves were rolled up and the buff bunched behind my ears to spare overheating but on the tops the biting wind still sucked warmth from our core.
Fast forward to the Tuesday Pootle to the Res Raid ruined** and once again it was mild out*** and I went with a similar outfit as before. The ground however, oh my, it was tacky. Ever so slightly sticky. It was as if suddenly the wheels had been freed from binding disc prison and given parole for speed. Every now again we’d hit a deep puddle section of Winter but the flow was definitely on the up. With the increase in temperature the banter rose too. Despite mechanicals and still pitch black riding we laughed all the way round good chat with great people sharing the most amazing thing to do on two wheels. Most of all it give me good omens and hope for Summer. However it’s still only bloody February…
On other notes I am well aware I am behind with the RWC two half written missives sit lost in the digital ether. I’ll be sending out login details to those who don’t have them hopefully tonight. But finally one more thing the logs page is back. YAY, now you too can keep up on how few miles I actually do. Working for a living does that you see. It’s over there on the right (RSS peeps will have to visit the sandy brown den of bike love to see). Currently there’s only MMO’s available for Memory Map users but I’m in the process of converting them to GPX for pretty much everything else. Which when done will allow me to unveil another very cool toy…
Fat Lad
*Seemingly my Bike Chain one got lost in the post 😉
** Second mech hanger snapped in a very short space of time…
*** Though some of our supposedly Northern riders didn’t think so. Wusses.
I think I’m as guilty of this as any recreational cyclist out there. Always on the lookout for the new and shiny. To be honest I’m not as bad of some and I rarely fall for marketing spiel. Buying my last bike entailed many readings in print and online and a week long thorough thrashing of a demo rig.
Gluttony
It’s not called Fat Lad Rides again for nothing 😉
Greed
Ooh, yeah I’m greedy. Blessed with good trails, great kit and the best riding buddies yet I still want more of each.
Sloth
I can be guilty of this, most definitely. Minor mechanicals or wind weather can be be enough to drive me towards the XBOX. Thankfully these events are rare and getting rarer. Although I really do need to sort out that bloody road bike…
Wrath
I have only one hate. The subject of every tea break and pub encounter across this green and pleasant isle. The fecking Great British Weather. Hate it, hate it, hate it! The inconsistent, bloody minded, and 99% miserable skies under which we call home drive me crazy.
Envy
See above, I hear the Mediterranean region is nice…
Pride
Pride… yeah I’m proud. Dead proud of the fitness I’ve gained, the weight lost and the awesome people cycling has catapulted me into orbit around. I couldn’t wish for much more.
First up, this photo was missing from the last write up:
I’m sure you’ll agree that the below tale of cold weather is now complete.
Secondly, we looked after my neice last night and this morning we baked. In between making chocolate nests she also conjured up smily faces. Apparently this one is me:
The two chocolate buttons are my beard…. I actually thing it’s a very close likeness.
Finally (and aren’t you glad) the legend that is Kona Ste has donated a pair of forks to me so I can get the consolation bike back on the trails. Leaving the Batcave due to the bloody arctic UK conditions I fettled and hammered in the kitchen whilst Mrs Fat Lad fired away with the soul stealer:
I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions, why make up something to stick to and give up in January when I can have unfeasibly poor willpower all year round. So most of the Winter so far (august to present it would seem) I’ve been saying to any poor soul in riding earshot that I’m going to try and get one “big” ride in a month. Ackworth Dave with a pass out for the day suggested we have an attempt at his aborted route around Swaledale. Big hills, green pastures and the chocolate box cover scenery riddled with some of the finest bridleways in this land. Hell yeah I was in.
But, as always with anything involving my legendary organisational skills there had to be at least one feck up. liaising with Dave via text the day prior my numskull speed reading persona had determined that Dave was picking me up at Casa Fat Lad. Not true. He actually did tell me to meet him at his but I missed that tiny yet important bit of information. Dave made his way over to me and upon arrival he handed me a foil wrapped bacon buttie previously prepared for my anticipated landing at his place. Half hour later and from a completely different point of departure we were zooming north the big hills calling. The drive over was the usual affair, me talking too much and Dave being too polite to tell me to shut the feck up! Nearly at the set off point the red flags were up on the MOD tank firing range and I think poor Dave fed up of my voice may well have been praying for a shell to burst amongst the engine block and put him out of his aural misery.
Sat in the parish car par in Reeth the rain lashed against the windscreen and we dashed out quickly assembling bikes double time. Ian had said he might be joining us and we needed no further encouragement to wait in the car warmth for a few more minutes to give him chance to show. With enough time passed and the weather seemingly brightening we finalised the pre-ride faff and mounted up for the day ahead. The cold and constant drizzle accompanied by the ice toothed biting wind resumed it’s melancholy tune as we headed out on the tarmac. We jealously eyed the upcoming dirt during our metalled surface warm up. Green eye defeated we hit the trail following the undulating valley floor, skirting the river side over hard going soggy and soft ground. The high and wide river forced us to make a choices early on:
We were not the first to come up against this particular trail conundrum as the fallen drystone wall to our left demonstrated. We dropped into the even wetter farmers field trying our best not to ruin the ground further. Starting to gain a little height Dave attacked the short climb following the diagonal path across rise, his all rounder tyres ran out of grip before he ran out of legs and even with mud tyres I had the same results seconds later. We were leaving the valley bottom and the swollen river gaining height as we did, the rear wheel spray from our water logged green and pleasant land fields mesmerising in it’s graceful arcs. Another short run of tarmac behind us deposited us onto the possibly the grimmest section of trail I’ve experienced.
The path was narrow enough to stop us riding side by side for the most part but the ground had drained surprisingly well. Flanking us each side, high walls swapped occasionally with wire fence and trees to making us feel we were rolling down a trench. We passed comment on a dead rabbit on the trail and cranked on. A few yards later we spotted another expired bunny. A few yards more and another floppy ear had gone to meet it’s maker. Not too many pedal turns later and another flopsy had expired. The macabre discovery of yet another friend of Bugs as worm food was more than a little weird also. When we finally got out of Myxomatosis mile we had counted 28 (yes that’s twenty eight…) dead rabbits. Not too far from the end of carnage corridor we chatted with a group of red socks who warned us about ice. I mentioned I’d had an entertaining moment or two with ice still solid beneath some of the puddles and with that we left their knowing smiles behind.
More road shepherded us into Gunnerside village and I had to stop to check the rear brake. Sure enough I had no braking material left and for who knows how many miles metal had ground against metal at each pull of the lever. With a rounded bolt living firmly in the brake mount I couldn’t rearrange the caliper for the new and considerably thicker pads and setting off for the days biggest climb yet the speed sappers were dragging. Heading away from the meagre settlement of pubs and houses the road headed quite literally into the clouds. Following the shining black tarmac snake we were pedalling against a strong headwind granny ring engaged my little legs turning for all their worth. Glancing back another figure in the mist seemed to be following our wind swept path too. We hit dirt again turning our backs to the wind, I took the opportunity to finally engage my brain and sling my waterproof over my not quite quite wet jacket. The wind was pushing us up the hill but sadly not enough for us to stop pedalling.
Grinding away, the Christmas break started to manifest itself in my legs and I shouted Dave down for a breather. Slurping from my camelbak gulping lung fulls of air I was drinking in the view when our shadowy rider coalesced out of the mist. With rigger boots on his feet, leather motorbike mitts on his paws and a wooly beanie atop his brow, he rolled up to us on his “Supermarket Special” steam rising out of his thick waterproof kagool. Turns out our mystery cyclist had set off the next village over from our start point and was doing pretty much the same route we had. We invited him along to ride with us and smiling he readily agreed. Gaining altitude once more the ground ice became increasingly more frequent. The climb stretched ahead of us and even with the calories expending I wasn’t getting any drier or warmer. Dave stopped long enough looking back, waiting for his rotund mate to catch up as the mystery rider plowed on ahead. I rolled up to Dave and said to him breath heavy “Feck this mate let’s head back, I’ll shout you to a pub lunch.” Dave laughed and pulled out his soaked OS map plotting out our route back to the car and dry clothes…
The shortcut back to the car was still to be a cracking ride back losing all our height in adrenaline grin worthy downhills. Getting near to the summit the ground changed from loose sandstone and dirt to ice. Thick, solid, uncrackable sheet ice. The gods of balance claimed Dave twice and wisely all three of us decided walking this section might be the best idea.
The plan now was to descend to the gill (bit like a stream for those of us not from round here…) hop over the stepping stones and climb back up the the other side heading back. Descending down to the beck our hard work was not to be rewarded as the ice was so treacherous we had to walk our steeds into the valley bottom the slippery conditions claiming Dave’s balance twice. We reached the beck and as I heard Dave’s laughter my breath was taken away….
Described to me as gentle stream with stepping stones a plenty to navigate across the supposed trickle had been transformed into a raging torrent:
Roaring white water crashed and thundered down past us the noise nearly as intimidating as the thought of getting very wet indeed. Dave and I paced up and down the bank looking for any way across. As we hummed and ahhed about possible crossing points the mysterious rider flung his backpack to the opposite bank. Fearlessly/stupidly he jumped onto the only flat rock available in the fast flow. Ice cold water rushed past him up to his knees and with a grin he asked me to pass his bike over. Bending at the knees I hefted what must have been 50 pounds of cast iron and handed it over to our new friend. Grasping it firmly from my hands he twisted from the hips and flung the bike to join his backpack. Dave stopped dead in his pacing gave me a look of equal parts admiration and what the feck… “If we end up in that mate it’s big yellow helicopter time…” I sighed back. With nothing for it we shouted our good byes and good lucks and we headed back out of the valley the way we had just descended.
What we hadn’t realised on the way down was how stiff the wind had been at our backs. Climbing back up the ice sheets with it now burning our faces it was hard going and only the thoughts of hypothermia kept me pushing on. The peculiarities of geography presented us with an odd pocket of wind free bliss so we took the opportunity to force a sandwich down. As we set off I donated my spare buff to Dave from the depths of my Camelbak and we both covered our faces eyes glinting out; bike ninjas together we trudged back to the valley summit.
Away from the ice sheets and back on the bikes it was time for some pay back. We rocketed back down the wide paths glad of some guilt free well earned speed. Turning the penultimate corner the wind changed and in a pico second 10mph was knocked off my freewheeled crusing speed. With sad ineveitablitly we were soon back into Gunnerside and following the same back snake of tarmac back to the cars. The last few weary road miles were soon bagged and we got changed in the public toilets opposite. If nothing else if anyone had come in at the moment to find two blokes in wet lycra changing it would have raised an eyebrow…
All that was left was to have a fine fine cup of tea and a slice of cake in the local tea room come bakery and then it was time for the long drive home, endorphins melting away into then retreating hills…
Now there is lots of snow outside at the moment…… enough to do proper snow angels and have to walk to work because my german piece of shite engineering car won’t get up the drive in the snow! Anyway..
The demon photographer in me thought it would be FANTASTIC to leave one of Al’s bike out in the snow overnight, why you ask……
So I can take photos of a snow covered bike of course!
BUT Al won’t play ball, he screwed up his face and said NO, as he likes his bikes to much to leave them outside in the cold!
Personally I think he’s smothering my artistic tendancies :) and he’s hidden the garage keys.
