Fat Lad Rides Again

With Hit the North being virtually on our doorstep the usual need for a days holiday had been waived and we headed out of Leeds post work leaving the new northern financial heartland behind us. With only a one hour drive to the venue my long suffering wife fortunately didn’t have to listen to too much inanity.

Pulling on site Mick and Carol were ready and set up whilst Phil and Ell, being the legends that they are, were in the process of putting up our tents. With a new shelter bought everyone there mucked in and with a sterling team effort it was up in no time. As the evening wore on more and more of the Bad Brains crew rolled in bringing more rain along with them. The BBQ was lit beers were consumed and before long we stumbled to bed, charcoaled meat and alcohol the most apt preparation we could muster for the event ahead.

Cruelly for a Saturday morning the event was a 10am start. The rain on the tent outer was pathetic fallacy at it’s best. The girls disappeared off mysteriously only to re-emerge with new club kit:

The girls had rebranded themselves for the weekend as the PootleTwo+2. We were mightily impressed.

Heading up for the riders briefing we stood around in the morning mist listening to our instruction for the day. We ambled about waiting for the kick off and we wandered to the start to cheer out our first lap riders. stAn, club leader and Union Rep Extraordinaire, had brought enough gay pride whistles for the entire event and during the confused start we blew away the harsh frequencies mixed with the onomatopoeic crunch of gears. Phil had a first lap stormer and in the coral I strapped the timing chip to my ankle and headed out for my first slog.

Riding in West Yorkshire I’m no stranger to mud. But this was something else entirely. With a weeks worth of almost tropical levels of rain the course was water logged to begin with. Hundreds of knobbly tyres later and it was now a quagmire of epic proportions. At the much touted bombhole there was the alternative chicken run and as I wimped out I slid into the first turn on entirely the wrong sort of tyres to find a guy on the ground in a quite unnatural position. The stricken rider was well attended to so I trudged on past glad of my own good luck.

The first mile and a half of the lap turned out to be a will sapping march through ankle deep muck and to be honest I was thinking of throwing the towel in when I got back to base. Where conditions allowed I’d jump back on the wheels and ride on but even when pedalling I was struggling to get air into my infected bronchiole. Where the course was hard pack there was deep puddles of standing water and when the ever present rain did stop you were still soaked through and through.

But, here’s the thing, it was a fantastic course. If the wrong side of the Pennines had had maybe a day or two of rain, then, the muddy bits would still have been wet but they would have been rideable. If the Manchester sky hadn’t have poured for the week prior in biblical proportions then it would have been the perfect mix of singletrack, hard pack and tree tunnel climbing. I genuinely felt for the organisers.

Back to the coral Phil powered on out and I set back to the camp to change my tyres. As I slumped into a camping chair Ell started changing my tyres. Keith (the Pootle crew’s very own crash test dummy) had come down for the day to mechanic and he sprayed the bike down clearing the drive train of filth. I stuck in some more brake pads wolfed down some noodles and I was out again for another lap. The times of club people riding the course were about meshed so Dave and I decided to go out and ride the lap together. Carol had been having some real issues with her bike, the poor conditions only made the situation worse and with great annoyance she decided that enough had been enough. Nobody could blame her. She’s already done her two laps and some riders didn’t even get that far.

With the right tyres on and brilliant company shared the second lap flew. Chatting with riders as we went everyone was in good spirits determined not to be beaten by the poor conditions. Back at the coral there was no sign of Phil or Steve. We wandered back to the campsite. Swapping the timing chip over Phil headed out whilst I got some food and some much needed rest. The lap times were getting progressively longer but Phil was back all too soon for my liking. Phil tiredly mentioned he was having a longer rest and Dave and I headed back out for the swamp.

Out on the course the combination of trudging through the slop and the inability to breathe had robbed me of the ability to pedal constantly. It was a long lap and Dave had the patience of a saint plodding along with me keeping my spirits up. Eventually reaching the start finish line I’d had enough now and I knew deep down it had been my last lap of the event. Back at camp I used a salad bowl of hot water to wash in and got changed into dry non-riding gear. Whilst we were gone Steve had also decided he’d done enough and left camp to head for home. Luckily Dave saw the funny side of it.

Gaining a little respite from the constant cycle of sun to showers everyone crowded in the gazebo for a while already swapping tales of the track. A little while passed and Phil, Dave, stAn and Mick headed out for one last lap, riding as a group ending with a giggle not a sprint. Once returned they changed out of soaking jerseys and grabbed a beer an event well finished.

For a first team, the Hit the North guys should be dead proud of what they achieved. It was quite simply a brilliant event with an awesome atmosphere, the cheeriest marshals I’ve ever had the joy to cheer me on and we’ll be back next year. As always with BBMBC we’ll come mob handed too.

With the race wound up I found out my hero to give him his well earned beer and congratulate him on a job well done. Some headed home but a hardcore few of us stuck around to see the day finished entirely. As the night turned to morning we all sang Mick’s Birthday in and toasted him with some orange moonshine Mrs Fat Lad had magicked up. Well in our cups we headed over to the beer tent to celebrate Mick’s birthday proper, with the bar staff handing out free shots it was working. The music was killed too early and as the lights went out and we finally took the hint Bad Brains were the only teams left standing…

Fat Lad

Woo, I’ve been meme spammed! Harp tagged me and I think it’s only fair to answer my readers ravenous appetite for knowledge with some little known facts about your chunky host.

1) I only have eight toenails. But I do have ten toes…
2) I’m actually a real lightweight when it comes to booze. What can I say? I’m a cheap date.
3) Despite the absolute agony it puts me through I am actually starting to like running.
4) I’m married to an international art thief who was detained by the Soviet authorities. (100% true)
5) I am appalling at Scrabble
6) I’ve never been this happy. Ever. I’m a very lucky boy.

Link to the person who tagged you.
Post the rules on your blog.
Write six random things about yourself.
Tag six people at the end of your post.
Let each person know they’ve been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog
Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

Training for this weekends Hit The North event seems to involve a little bit of riding and an awful lot of coughing. Here’s hoping my man flu clears up for Friday…

Fat Lad

When I headed out for the first of my night double I was feeling good and strong.‭ ‬If it hadn‭’‬t been for stopping to help a guy out with his broken brake lever I‭’‬d have cracked the sub hour lap.‭ ‬Back on summer tyres the sticky ground was now not dragging every ounce of energy from my body.‭ ‬The only point of instance was losing control of the bike in a real tank slapper at the bottom of the speed accumulating run through camp.‭ ‬I‭ ‬rolled back to the start/finish area only to meet my wonderful wife and some of the other long suffering partners stood by the sidelines cheering random riders along.‭ ‬I stopped for a brief chat,‭ ‬crammed an energy bar down my neck and set off again at full tilt.‭

Half way up the first climb out of the gate the vague sensation of a need to eat became a deep roar of hunger and I pulled into the bracken to finish the only other energy bar I carried.‭ ‬I jumped back on the steed and pedalled off back up the climb.‭ ‬The heavens opened again and the rain dropped great deluges all over the already churned up course.‭ ‬The hunger had not subsided so I gulped down as much water as I could and just put my head down to keep going.‭ ‬As the climb finished I exited onto a long wide straight descent and I was glad to be moving swiftly again.‭ ‬The ground rushing up to my face was a surprise,‭ ‬almost as much of a surprise of the muscle twisting scream inducing cramp in my left leg.‭ ‬In a daze,‭ ‬unable to clip out my trapped‭ ‬left leg,‭ ‬an angel‭* ‬in black and white came to my rescue.‭ ‬Unclipping my bike and tossing it into the bracken track side not only did he make sure I was spot on,‭ ‬but‭ ‬he‭ ‬stretched out my leg to alleviate the cramp.‭ ‬Before I could offer my thanks or get his name he was back in the saddle and rocketing away as I groggily got back on the bike.‭

The course had got dangerous in the constant rain,‭ ‬on the next climb I passed a guy laid on his back with a knee wound open to the dark clouds.‭ ‬He insisted on waving every rider onwards and round the next corner the quad riding paramedics were making their way to his rescue.‭ ‬Then it hit me.‭ ‬Every cyclist at some point gets it.‭ ‬Like the rising sun or the complete ineptitude of the British Rail network some things are just meant to be.‭ ‬The dreaded bonk.‭ ‬I had nothing left.‭ ‬I span the granny gears sliding and slipping through the slop slowly inching forward the rest of the lap home.‭ ‬stAn passed me in his spiderman outfit ‬and I shouted to him to let the girls in the camp‭ ‬know I was going to be a long time back.‭

On one of the few short descents of the first half of the course I turned a corner to find a rider by the trackside struggling with her lamp.‭ ‬In my daze it took me a few seconds to realise it was actually Amy P from our very own club and the‭ “‬Racing-not-Riding‭”‬ pootle team.‭ ‬After tightening her lamp up on the bracket like a monkey swinging a spanner we headed off into the deluge deciding to stick together back to the handover tent.‭ ‬Riding what I could,‭ ‬which was becoming less as the distance to home lessened‭; ‬we came across a scene of total and utter comedy.‭ ‬The lovely off camber dusty snippet of singletrack had become a shiny bank of slippery slimy tractionless mayhem.‭ ‬We soldiered on as best we could in stiff soled‭ ‬riding shoes and we had to laugh when we spoke to a woman who had lost her bike on the same section and was still searching for it now.‭ ‬The wattle and daub effect was playing havoc with my gears now and only a foul tasting energy gel from‭ ‬Amy kept me going forwards.‭ ‬For maybe three quarters of the lap I walked and when the handover tent came into view the feeling of relief was incomprehensible.‭ ‬In the long walk back we‭’‬d seen nasty crashes and more than one bad mechanical to ruin the night of any sane rider.‭

Meeting Phil I told him not to bother doubling up his lap and to take it steady out in the madness.‭ ‬Ell and Mrs Fat Lad walked mine and Amy‭’‬s bike back to our campsite.‭ ‬Keith had also had to bail and rush away to take his very poorly fiancée home leaving the Pootle crew riding team a member down.‭ ‬Just over halfway done and the event was a racing disaster.

‭ ‬After a hot cup of tea and some food I headed up for a shower.‭ ‬To top of my few hours of misery,‭ ‬the hot water was not flowing and an‭ ‬icy rinse had to do.‭ ‬Back from my shower the girls gave me a collective bollocking when they realised I had eaten less calories at this event than I would do in a normal day.‭ ‬Suitably chastened I went to bed sore limbs desperate for some much needed respite.‭

Despite‭ ‬the threat of cramp coming back every time I turned I managed to get a few good hours rest in.‭ ‬As I‭’‬d headed into the tent scant few hours earlier the wind had‭ ‬already started to pick up and in the wee hours of the might its character had swollen to a‭ ‬ferocious howl.‭ ‬There was noise very close to our tent like a clap of thunder as a‭ ‬9‭ ‬meter x‭ ‬3‭ ‬meter gazebo constructed of polyester and aluminium poles took flight.‭ ‬At‭ ‬4:45am on Sunday morning it was all hands on deck as we rushed across the campsite to try and salvage everything the best we could.‭ Th‬e‭ ‬gazebo was unsurprisingly bent, buckled and a write off.‭ Furiously getting organised pulling all the cookers and various other camping paraphernalia into the tent we had setup for getting changed in.

‭Sadly, that was it, I was awake. With a long day ahead we started to pack up with time on our side. The night previous Keith had quite sensibly locked several of the bikes together with a steel cable. We couldn’t find the key. Bugger. We left voicemail for the man and headed out to watch the race as the sun finally shone in the wild winds. (In his defence he had told me the night before and I forgot…..)

‭Pete’s crew cracked on with the laps and with the weather now acting to dry out the track the remaining Pootle Riding team were left wondering if we had bailed too early. The hours cracked on and I spent a small fortune in the Buff marquis as the remaining riders ploughed on round the track. 2pm arrived upon us and we stayed trackside to clap in Cazza and Pete through the finish gate.

‭With the cherry on the cake of a flat battery to be restarted we were homeward bound and exhausted. With very weary eyes we couldn’t believe our terrible luck when the northbound motorway was closed. 5 hours later we flopped into the house and slept a well deserved death like sleep.

What more is there to be said? Despite the poor weather interesting choice of course and disastrous happenings it was quite simply one of the best weekends on my life spent with amazing company and some fantastic support.

Fat Lad

My angel turned out to be this fella. Not only does he write too, he’s organising the event I am the most exited about for the longest time in Mountain Biking. Hit the North. Full race report to follow Manchester’s Premier endurance event.

The promise of good weather had long since evaporated as we packed up for Mountain Mayhem.‭ ‬Because Mrs Fat Lad was well this year and cracking the whip to get me organised the van we had loaned from her workplace was loaded and ready to go the night before departure.‭

We had a good drive down and arrived at Eastnor Castle around lunchtime with loads of time to put up Gazebos and tents without running round like lunatics.‭ ‬A gazebo donated by Donny Dave from the early early days of the pootle crew was huge and would become the hub of most of the Bad Brains crew for the upcoming weekend.‭ ‬The afternoon rolled on and people started arriving setting up too and our little closure started to fill,‭ ‬the campsite pulling together laughter and excited conversation filling the air.‭

With the majority of the club set up riders set off out in small pockets of fun to pre-ride the course.‭ ‬I was adamant that I would be riding it enough over the next few days and dug my feet in staying firmly in the campsite beer in hand.‭ ‬That was until stAn bullied me into it.‭ ‬stAn and I pootled round course taking in the awesome views of the Malverns just spinning away in the late evening warmth.‭ ‬The track was awesome‭; ‬firm,‭ ‬dusty,‭ ‬twisty singletrack heaven.‭ ‬It was going to be rubbish if it rained…

COURSE DESCRIPTION

Out of the start/finish gate and left on grass flat.‭ ‬Left again up medium gradient grass climb.‭ ‬Climb for about a mile and a half.‭ ‬Level Off for a few hundred yards then climb some more.‭ ‬Hit the first summit,‭ ‬some technical descending with two gentle drop offs.‭ ‬A sharp right hander hairpin on a descent,‭ ‬then off camber rooty woods for the last climb of the first half.‭ ‬Down the long long shallow grass descent back through the campsite waving to your mates and then up the very sharp,‭ ‬steep but short climb and that’s the‭ ‬lion‭’‬s share of climbing done.‭ ‬Follow the ridge of the hill sharp drop onto a right hand fire road.‭ ‬Out onto a long grass drag gentle climb into the twisty wooded singletrack quick blast back down the fields and back into the start/finish‭ ‬area.

Back in the camp site everyone had now arrived and the atmosphere grew warmer even as the night cooled.‭ ‬Down barbecued food and cold beer the laughs eventually had to give way to sleep and we all retired for the night a long weekend ahead.‭ During the small dark hours the heavens opened, pouring what felt like a years worth of precipitation onto canvas above our dozing heads.

Day broke early as the light streamed in through the thin fabric of our makeshift weekend homes. One good (and healthy I might add) breakfast inside me I wandered about fettling the bike and generally getting ready to break my first lap virginity. At Mayhem the riders have a short run to try and break up the pack and despite having three events under my belt its a joy I had yet to experience.

Mrs Fat Lad’s amazing company had donated jerseys to the two Pootle Crew teams and all assembled for some soul stealing we looked mighty fine:

I meandered more and more aimlessly until my better half reminded me I had a race to get ready for. In what seemed to be the blink of an eye I was stood in the back quarter of the assembled riders waiting for the hooter to go for our run. My bike was placed somewhere I would remember where it was and as Glen (Ginsters), Aidy (Bad Brains Vets 2) and Dave (Pootle Crew “Racing Not Riding”) headed off for the front, Chip (Bad Brains Vets 1) and I (Pootle Crew “Riding Not Racing”) stayed towards the rear, the jostle and elbows out for those younger than Chip and with a more competitive streak than I.

2pm and the horn sounded as several hundred riders trotted out for 24hrs of the unknown. Chip and I jogged away from the start running steady and generally taking the piss as we went. With the bike beneath me I headed out good and slow knowing from passed on club knowledge how badly these things bottleneck.

Arriving at the first climb of the day there was already a very long queue and it was time for our national stereotype to shine as we all politely waited our turn.

‭As the climb widened it became more dispersed and after too much pushing without choice I was pedalling once more. I had to queue a few more times in the first half of the course where the singletrack was too tight to allow passing but as I hit the start of what was last years Kenda climb I flew down the long fast wide track back into camp.

With the pack well and truly dispersed now my only regret was riding on mud tyres for what was a sticky but not muddy course. With a grin on my face I rolled into the coral, snapped the baton onto Phil’s wrist and headed back to camp for some food. One and a half hours down 22.5 to go…

‭The sky stayed sad Monday grey, the colour refusing to mimic the mood of the club. I got changed, had a bit of food and headed out to the long downhill run to cheer riders, club and strangers alike, onwards. This event was Lynne’s first 24hr race and we lined the course whooping and cheering like loons as she passed with huge smile on her beaming face. Afternoon faded into evening and the peoples-democratic-republic-of-pootle decided tactics for the darkness ahead. Club tradition upheld we decided on double laps so people could get decent stretches of kip.

‭Really we should see these things coming….

‭Fat Lad

P.S. check out the new Mrs Fat Lad Photo site @ www.sarahshawphotography.co.uk for more Mayhem pictures while you wait for the next thrilling instalment

Wish us luck….

Fat Lad