Fat Lad Rides Again

On the left there is a link called blogroll. In there is all the feeds I subscribe to now. I reckon there’s more good bike reading to be had out there.

What am I missing? Give me some links for further consumption dear readers.

Please.

Fat Lad

Anyone who has come to this muddy part of the t’interweb a very Happy Christmas!

and a little ditty for you:

On the first day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
A Fat Lad on a full bounce.

On the second day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Two Smelly Gloves,
And A Fat Lad on a full bounce.

On the third day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Three rides a week,
Two Smelly Gloves,
And A Fat Lad on a full bounce.

On the fourth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Four Inch O’ Mud,
Three rides a week,
Two Smelly Gloves,
And A Fat Lad on a full bounce.

On the fifth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Five Chris Kings,
Four Inch O’ Mud,
Three rides a week,
Two Smelly Gloves,
And A Fat Lad on a full bounce.

On the sixth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Six Knobblies Rolling,
Five Chris Kings,
Four Inch O’ Mud,
Three rides a week,
Two Smelly Gloves,
And A Fat Lad on a full bounce.

On the seventh day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Seven riders falling,
Six Knobblies Rolling,
Five Chris Kings,
Four Inch O’ Mud,
Three rides a week,
Two Smelly Gloves,
And A Fat Lad on a full bounce.

On the eighth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Eight hills a-hurting,
Seven riders falling,
Six Knobblies Rolling,
Five Chris Kings,
Four Inch O’ Mud,
Three rides a week,
Two Smelly Gloves,
And A Fat Lad on a full bounce.

On the ninth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Nine Roadies prancing,
Eight hills a-hurting,
Seven riders falling,
Six Knobblies Rolling,
Five Chris Kings,
Four Inch O’ Mud,
Three rides a week,
Two Smelly Gloves,
And A Fat Lad on a full bounce.

On the tenth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Ten “Rad Dudes” leaping,
Nine Roadies prancing,
Eight hills a-hurting,
Seven riders falling,
Six Knobblies Rolling,
Five Chris Kings,
Four Inch O’ Mud,
Three rides a week,
Two Smelly Gloves,
And A Fat Lad on a full bounce.

On the eleventh day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Eleven Club lads riding,
Ten “Rad Dudes” leaping,
Nine Roadies prancing,
Eight hills a-hurting,
Seven riders falling,
Six Knobblies Rolling,
Five Chris Kings,
Four Inch O’ Mud,
Three rides a week,
Two Smelly Gloves,
And A Fat Lad on a full bounce.

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Twelve Pootlers Pootling,
Eleven Club lads riding,
Ten “Rad Dudes” leaping,
Nine Roadies prancing,
Eight hills a-hurting,
Seven riders falling,
Six Knobblies Rolling,
Five Chris Kings,
Four Inch O’ Mud,
Three rides a week,
Two Smelly Gloves,
And a Fat Lad on a full bounce!

Happy Christmas

Fat Lad

Firstly lets get something out in the open. At the time of writing I have a stinking hangover and if the words themselves don’t shout “No really Al, you should of stopped drinking about two hours before you did”, then at least only one of us is miserable and dehydrated.

Secondly this post’s title is almost Harry Potteresque.

Onwards to the meat of the ride:

Friday was the Work Christmas do. I drank. I drank a lot. Then I drank some more and at some point Mrs Fat Lad coerced into our car and she very soberly drove us home in the early hours of the morning. Prior to this by a few days I had organised to go to the Peaks with Gunner to sample the steep climbs and technical descents that the rock strewn valleys have to offer.

Stumbling out of bed after barely finding the required dexterity to silence my alarm I swayed all the way to the bathroom and back and it was time to make a call:

“Gunner, I need a lift mate I’m still drunk….”

Postcode supplied for a stern voice to guide him to casa Fat Lad and I wandered down dressed to the kitchen for something sweet and stodgy to soak up some booze. Gunner arrived far too soon for my addled mind to cope with and we went into the Batcave so I could start getting ready. I text stAn to see if he was still going and when I’d not heard from him for a while I used my chunky charm to talk Gunner into a local one.

I quickly whipped out a flat tube and deftly for a man still inebriated installed a fresh one. Chatting to a saintly patient Gunner I heaved on the track pump and the pistol crack bang alerted us to the now exploded tube. Again my wobbly digits put in another rubber and this one didn’t wake any neighbors.

At a quarter to ten my mobile shrilled with an incoming call. It was stAn. Already at the South Yorkshire meeting point. Oops. I groveled a bit but not anywhere as near as much as I should have and with rosy shame filled cheeks Gunner and I finally headed out for the trail.

A short burst and we off the tarmac across our first dirt fix. The ground was concrete hard confirming the -2 Celsius Gunner’s car had reported on his arrival. The fog was thick reducing visibility to only a few feet and my fingers hurt as the two pairs of gloves only succeeded in keeping the edge off. I was desperate for the blood to reach my digits. We headed up the hill into Tingley staying off the road and sticking to the pavement the mist surrounding us and with neither of us having a blinking red light to protect us from bleary eyed motorists it was for the best.

Finally onto the trail proper we dipped through the bobhole and rolled round the reservoir. Taking advantage of the very frim ground I had to smile as we rumbled down a field that is known to us locals as DSFT (Ask in the comments I’m sure a pootler wil explain) not having to fishtail as usual down the sliding mud.

By now the hooch had finished and the hangover was kicking in properly. I was feeling very sorry for myself. We took the high path threough Haigh wood avoiding the doubles and bike play areas for the local kids. In vain I hammered at the cranks to climb the steep bank out but failed when I managed to unclip and twat my knee against the handlebars. Now my head and knee were both throbbing.

Out of Haigh wood and heading towards the church we rocketed down the firm field and cranked up through the churchyard Gunner’s form disappearing into the mist as he gained on me.

Past the ruins I made the decision to use the cowards run bypassing the stream crossing. What the cowards run loses in technical descending it makes up in speed. With visibilty so low even the electrical pylon we passed by seemed to loom out of nowhere like the lower leg of a Ted Hughes creation. Making the most of the solid ground the Better-Climb-Than-Descent was not the usual nightmare slop for this time of year and we carried on straight through the woods heading for the tarmac horror of Nab Lane. After spinning the granny all the way to the summit we stopped for a bite of energy bar and Gunner informed me with a certain amount of sadistic glee that he could smell the whiskey on me. My stomach lurched once more…

I struggled through Knife Edge woods laughing as both of our steed’s tyres failed to attain grip on the slippery ice covered roots. The feeling sorry for myself mood reached it’s full strength and I just wanted to be at home with good cup of tea and some paracetamol. Crawling up the delight, for the first time in a long time, I had to stop for a breather halfway ‘twixt top and bottom.

The last section of dirt rolled under our tyres and the frozen stalks of grass flower stopped me dead with their skeletal beauty:

I coerced Gunner into tarmacing it back to base and after coasting most of the road descent home it was was time for the kettle to go on.

Fat Lad

Now if you really want to read tales of ice filled, bone chilling, true winter ride you need to check out these guys:

Jill – Up In Alaska
Tim – Bicycle and Icicles

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

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