I have proof!
That’s your very own boil in the bag Fat Lad overtaking someone!
Big thanks to Simon for taking the shot and to the Singletrack office for pointing me in the right direction!
Fat Lad
Fat Lad Fettles
August 7, 2007 – 11:11 am
This is generally where you will find my dearest Husband on a Tuesday Night, Thursday Night and Sunday Morning………. fettling his bike before he rides!
Fat Lad’s Own Brand of Mayhem – Race and Aftermath
July 19, 2007 – 2:15 pm
Out of the coral and with my adrenalin up I was flying. I was actually passing other riders….. I don’t think I have ever had the opportunity to utter the immortal words “on your left”. It was a proud moment for chunky cyclists the world over. Not long after the first climb I paced with a guy on a MTB with drop bars riding solo for cyclo-cross.com. rolling up along side him I asked why he hated himself so much to be riding alone for the next 16 hours? We chatted for a while then I left him at the next climb. Peeling off into the woods the heavy bass of trip hop/dance music blasted off and through the trees as the DJ stand fired riders on. I was still going fast (for me) and I was feeling strong. I splashed through the water crossing without issue and headed on up the Kenda Climb. At about the 40 minute mark it was as if some biological off switch had been thrown and all my energy drained away into the slick grass field. My fast (for me) lap was now not even a dream and it was all I could hope for to get back to the timing tent. Mere yards later and the fickle trail gods had more in store for me as cramp settled in too.
I walked out the cramp and getting back onto the bike I managed to trundle in with a time of 1h 29m. I was too tired to even try and give Phil any good natured abuse and walked back to our camping area with Elle. Away from the coral I was bullied again into some food. Inserting my trusty ear plugs I zombied over to my tent and settled in for more fitful sleep. Sleeping right through my alarm Carol eventually woke me and bleary eyed I walked over to everyone under our covering. I felt awful. With the third lap of Sleepless vivid in my memory I apologised as much as could muster and left the guys to wander dark and cold to the coral. I met Julie at the coral to let her know I wasn’t going out and we wandered back in an awkward silence.
Like the absolute legends they are and always will be Phil and Cliff stepped up and took on the extra laps as I snoozed away. The Somme like conditions out on the track were worsening and a few teams had already had enough. Sunlight illuminated my tent and I awoke feeling no better but determined I was going out for a lap. Pulling on fresh riding gear I left the canvas(well, nylon really, but it doesn’t seem as poetic) and joined the rest around the heater. Cliff was out on a double and I necked a bottle of orange Torq awaiting his return. Julie and Amanda had got their two laps in and I was determined I was going to get mine. Before I could talk myself out of it Cliff was back I had the baton and it was time to head out into the goop.
I rolled out of the coral and as I settled in, head down and pedalling the announcers called out my name and team over the PA cheering me on as they had for all teams through the night. As I hit the first climb Jim rocketed past me tapping me on my back and he flew away into the distance. Again I started out strong with the first couple of climbs hurting but not slowing me down. But the energy had all but gone again and to make matters worse my left nipple was chafing like crazy. All I could do was grimace and carry on my jersey irritating me the whole lap round.
On the second long grassclimb Chip thundered past me and shouted in his own jovial yet loud way “You having fun young un?” speeding away with powerful pedal strokes. The approach to the water crossing was now considerably wider and slipperier spitting riders out without abandon and I was happy to splosh through without incidence.
I managed maybe a few hundred yards of the Kenda climb and dismounted trudging up the rest. I remounted later only to fly over the handlebars in a particularly glass smooth mud hairpin corner some miles later. I happened upon a guy from Birmingham in similar mood and outlook to me and we chatted most of the way back to the coral rolling where could but mostly pushing through the, by now, inches deep sticky sapping soil. I finally arrived back to the handover and Phil flew out with a determined glint in his eye. In all it had taken me nearly three hours to get round.
The bike was blathered in inch thick mud and I queued for the best part of an hour to get my steed rinsed off. In doing so I missed Phil’s arrival back and his handshake with the big man himself. I caught up with Phil soon after and he handed out the medals to us all and we all sauntered back to pack up and go home.
As a Mountain Mayhem virgin my cherry was pleasantly popped. The festival atmosphere away from the track was superb and there was a rather large amount of freebies being slung in every direction. On the course it was a little too serious from some corners but the “everyone in this together” spirit which pervades our sport still shone through. I must say a huge thank you to everyone who put up with me that weekend as I’m (to coin Mrs Fat Lad’s expression) a “grumpy arse” when I’m not well. You all did really well, Racers and Supporters together should be immensely proud! The one thing I vow however is that I’m never doing this again…. without Mrs Fat Lad in tow.
Fat Lad
Fat Lad is, Sadly, Not Surprised By The Big S….
July 14, 2007 – 10:15 am
Time to throw some blog solidarity together and highlight something that stinks in the bike industry. Bike Biz Babe has highlighted this particular situation.
I mean, really! That’s just not cricket.
Bicycle bloggers of the world unite:
Post up this link
http://www.specializedbicycle.blogspot.com/
and highlight this wherever you can.
Any ways in less vitriolic news second half of the Mayhem report will be soon incoming
Fat Lad
Fat Lad’s Own Brand of Mayhem – Pre Race
July 3, 2007 – 2:55 am
Juancho seems to think this particular corner of t’interweb has become a little soft lately. He may be right. As always things are not as straight forward in the weird and wonderful world of Fat Lad and in the first two weeks of marriage I managed to be poorly with a horrendous virus for six days of a seven day honeymoon and also be allergic to my wedding ring. You couldn’t script this shit.
Heading back from the crystal shores of Cyprus to ol’blighty and I manage to pass on said virus to the now Mrs Fat Lad. Laid up on the sofa catching up with season 5 of 24 on dvd I was going to Mountain Mayhem on my own…..
Mountain Mayhem is the Mountain Bike Festival in the UK. Most of the major manufacturers are there and there is a real party atmosphere there. The chance for freebies and to rub shoulders with mountain bike legends is not to be missed. The always brilliant Pat Adams organises and runs the show and this year was it’s tenth anniversary. Oh yeah, and there’s a 24hr race there too.
The Pootle crew (somehow) had managed to get it’s shit together long enough to assemble a team. So with trepidation in our hearts and a glint in our eyes Phil, Cliff, Julie, Amanda and my good self were signed up for 24 hours of fun and fat tyres.
The night before setting off the trill whistle of R2-D2 gave me the heads up that I had a text message. A plea from Amy had come through seeing if she could swipe one of Mrs Fat Lads Asthma inhalers as all of hers had run dry. In casa Fat Lad you can’t enter a room without tripping over at least one blue lifesaver so I stuck one in my kit ready for the off.
Morning came and after dragging my lovely but chunky derrier out of bed I started to load the car with all the finesse of a lone Chuckle brother. Sarah supervised my efforts from the sidelines and 45 minutes later the car was full but I was knackered. With the motorised cage loaded to the gunnels it was time to go, a fairly uneventful drive was had despite the quite terrifying rain (passing three accidents on the way) and much much later than originally planned I arrived.
Pitching camp Mark (Julie’s husband) and Jordan (one of Mick and Carol’s offspring) mucked in to help me get set up. Phil and Elle arrived not much after and every one erected and ready it was time to carbo-load with beer and barbecue. Some time after midnight and I staggered into my tent asleep before I could begin to get anxious of the upcoming event…
Sometime in the early hours of the morning I sprinted in the direction of the toilets leaping guy ropes like a gazelle and cheeks had barely hit plastic before it got unpleasant. Drained I made my way back for some vital shut-eye and twice more before the sun rose this dash was sadly repeated.
I woke early and wandered into the communal gazebo to force a cup of tea down my gullet. With the tannin now sloshing in my guts. Phil, Elle and I wandered down to the main arena to register and to absorb as many freebies as the exhibitors would throw at us. I purchased a new trail pump as mine now blows like a… no too easy – insert your own simile ear.
All assembled back in Camp Bad Brains I was really starting to feel bad and we decided the team running order. Phil was up first with the Le Mans start ahead of him purely because he’s the only one daft enough to be riding flats, Cliff was to receive the baton next, with Amanda then Julie and myself to go. Selfishly, I admit, I opted to go last to give myself time to try and bring myself round for my lap. The club had a really strong showing this year with the following teams in attendance:
Bad Brains – Pootle Crew
Bad Brains – Its Rideable
Bad Brains – Bad Bunch
Bad Brains – Vets
Two o’clock arrived scarily quickly and we we’re all assembled waiting for the klaxon to go for the big start. Phil and Chip seemed to be having a good time waiting for the go:
and with the shrill alarm nearly 200 riders headed out to their bikes. With Phil and Chip out and pedalling away the rest of us wandered back to camp for our own pre-lap rituals and prep. Back under the tarp and after Amanda had forced some revive down me, Elle stepped up next and forced me into eating something to go with it. Julie (an endurance virgin) was pacing the grass nervous as hell about her first lap, we were all doing our best to reassure her but it was having little effect. With the continual down pour I swapped to my mud tyres and all that was left to do was wait.
Phil and Cliff rocketed around the course. Julie and Amanda both did the team proud putting in the miles and all too soon it was my turn. mark and I wandered down to the coral for the change over and pre-lap nerves got me again as I nipped into a porta-pottie to empty my bladder. Getting to the changeover tent and Julie was there and ready for me and snapping the wrap-around baton on my wrist I was out and away. Feeling not so good I would be happy to bring my time in under 1h 30 but we would have to see how it went….
Course Description
Out of the start area (the coral) you immediately turn left and after a short distance on the flat grass. Onto the “Cat Eye” climb you switch back on the field further until the hairpin and gravel for some more ascending. Gravel hard pack for a while and then a sharp right hander into the tight singletrack of the woods with multiple path options in the dense tree cover. An aural surprise awaits the riders in here but it soon goes as the woods spit you out onto a grass climb. At the summit you follow the ridge before descending across the contour of the hill losing all the height gained so far.
More flat grass and then through the foot deep water splash. The real test begins as you start the climb up through the camp site. Across the “Buff” bridge and it’s time for the “Kenda Climb”. On grass, long, steep. Middle ring for the fit, big ring for the pro’s granny for us mortals. Single-speeders it’s only what you deserve. The “Kenda Climb” eventually flattens out after a long haul for a brief respite and then it’s a brief downhill with a slight bermed hairpin before climbing some more dirt through the dense bracken. Passing the “Obelisk” the climbing is nearly done but not before the last bit of hurt. By the cottage in the woods it’s finally time to descend back to base. Singletrack descents and rolling paths back through the camp site and it’s time to hand the baton over to your next rider.
Fat Lad
Introducing Mr and Mrs Fat Lad
June 24, 2007 – 1:53 pm
This is the only word for our very special day:
Perfect.
Mr and Mrs Fat Lad
Fat Lad’s Last Ever Post…
June 6, 2007 – 3:17 pm
…as a free man.
9th June 2007 2pm and Sarah will make me the luckiest man in the world by becoming Mrs Fat Lad. I’ll post up some shots but there will be no words; those will be for family and friends who were there for our very special day.
Fat Lad
Fat Lad Rides Dashing Dave’s Delectation
June 6, 2007 – 1:06 am
While the-soon-to-be-Mrs Fat Lad was somewhere in deepest darkest Wakefield confusing the wedding dress lady with her ever shrinking waist, I was firing across the M62 heading towards a far too early rendezvous with Picky and Dave for trails of the unexpected.
Sitting in the car drinking in the tarmac and pre-fab glory of modern British service station chic my phone began to ring with Picky’s number glaring from the screen and tinny speaker. They were running late haven taken a wrong turning, this worried me as the man in charge of the wheel in that particular automobile was to be leading the ride ahead…
After our lost souls had ventured into the overpriced strip lit hell to junk food-up for the ride challenges ahead, we assumed convoy and hit the roads for a long drive north. Leaving the multi-laned monstrosity of the motorway my wheeled cage was running on vapours, I radioed ahead my slight dilemma to the metallic blue dot on the horizon and we luckily found a petrol station. I swear the car hissed as I removed the fuel cap. There was a few more miles of pent up ride desire ahead but we finally arrived in Kepwick; heart,lungs and legs raring to go.
The ride started with a gentle spin through the lovely village of Kepwick but the beauty of rural north Yorkshire village life soon faded into a tough and evil climb. Upwards for longer than be considered sane I pushed hard at the cranks mashing the pedals the chain stubbornly refusing to hit the smallest ring up front; bike and body mocking my exertion. Finally admitting defeat scarcely 30 metres away from the summit I manhandled it to the granny ring and span suffering no more to the top.
At our first breather Dave and Picky de-waterproofed and we headed out once again to the moor summit. The tarmac surface soon gave way to proper off-road track and the ride was finally on with the promise of brilliance ahead. Surprisingly quickly considering both Picky and I were out we hit our first summit. As Picky photographed everything in sight Dave whipped the map out for a quick bearing check and we were soon away for the rest of the ride. On the tops we followed the path and Dave’s rear wheel with faith. After a quick about turn to get to the correct side of the wall we were following the right track. The ground was still wet but we were firing along at a good pace.
As reward for all the climbing so far we were soon pointing the knobblies down a steep narrow track. The path wandered down the hill side with little line choice I could see. My front wheel dropped over a lip and and I felt my rear wheel start to lift. Too late to release any tension from my kung-fu death grip of the front brake lever the front wheel jammed into the thin track ahead twisted and I was vaulted over the bars. I tumbled for a bit and then with a giggle and a smile I grabbed my steed and gingerly descended the rest on foot. My pride stung more than anything else and the two red socks who were waiting for Picky and I to reach the bottom declared “We knew you were okay when you started laughing….” All regrouped in the dry river bed we followed the remnants of this feature of geology past dodging limestone boulders along the way.
We were soon under a dense tree canopy splashing and whooping through puddles, summer tyres struggling for grip all the way. The ground was very soggy, we all commented, but then hastily retracted this as we realised the British weather had been remarkably good to us in Springtime and we didn’t want to upset Mother Nature before summer could kick in properly.
Back on tarmac we were treated to a section Dave had rarely ridden before and as we left the road the devastation of the previous years floods became rapidly apparent. Great swathes of river side vegetation was gone, replaced with broken and rotten tree carcass’ along it’s now widened banks. A new bridge had been constructed over the river and I hung back to photograph the guys has they crossed ahead.
We climbed the sharp ascent aside the fields ahead skirting a farmhouse. As we cranked through the grounds a herd of inquisitive cows wandered over for a look and seeing only tow fat guys and a whippet in lycra soon ambled away again. We were now in sight of the moor ahead.
Riding across the moor was uneventful and the terrain unchallenging but the banter and laughs ate up the distance with ease. Standing erect on the horizon stood the radio mast tantalisingly close. Democratically Dave and I decided we grab lunch there and as the mild weather warmed our bones we followed the gradual climb of moorland further. Frustratingly the mast seemed to be getting no closer despite how many times we turned the pedals but eventually we arrived there and it was time to dismount for a feed.
As if to mock our earlier comments about the weather the wind had picked up now and so we dropped into a trench for shelter. We all caloried back up with Picky’s choice of trail food being particularly inspiring. How a man can consume that many Mars Bars and not be 22 stone astounds me.
Our brief stop surrendered we hit the trails once more with a final amount of climbing on the moor to be finished before our next reward. Revealing a sight into his circus past, Picky vaulted the handlebars in a comedy dismount trying to transfer for one moorland rut to another. As I rolled past his prone and tangled body I was laughing so hard I nearly went over myself. Soon enough it was time to descend again.
This time there was a plethora of lines to choose from but they were all still just as challenging and technical. Dave was in his element firing down his home trails with a graceful ease hiding how hard it was to remain upright. Sky. Bike. Sky. Bugger I’d gone over the bars again. This one had snuck up on me. The trail gods had decided that was the moment I was be reacquainted with the ground again and in the process to bruise my knee with a bar end. At first I sat up and laughed it off but as quickly as the fall itself I felt a little dazed and for the remaining ride to come my confidence was seriously shaken.
Gingerly away form the dirt we rocketed down a steep road enjoying the buzz of tyres and tarmac through the frame and handlebars. All too quickly the road headed for the heavens and I had to really work the pedals as once more the smallest front sprocket eluded me. The wind that had started as a gentle and mild breeze earlier was picking up speed and ferocity making the unavoidable road work tough indeed. At an arbitrary point we pulled up and Dave informed us it was decision time. Here was an opportunity to bail out and with those words now uttered I replied “I’m not proud mate, my legs are fecked and I’d like the shortest route back please” We’d already had 17(ish) miles of hard climbing and descending and I was ready for a pint.
Back on the dirt we made our way up a short climb and headed into a forest. Thankfully that was one of the final climbs of the day and almost without realising we were picking up speed rolling down the wide hard pack of a Forestry Commission route. Zooming past a guy armoured up astride his down hill rig with helmet on bars (I guess waiting for his gravity buddies) I shouted back that I wish I was on his bike for this bit the doppler sound echoing through the trees.
All the fun was over and already fading into memory and we pedalled back towards the cars through gorgeous villages once more and both Picky and I cursed Dave with some choice words as we mashed the pedals back up an evil road climb. With a sad but tired heart we were back at the cars. In the pub the talk turned to more of these adventures and with honest promises we decided on more.
It had been an epic, and I couldn’t wait to do more.
Fat Lad
Fat Lad Says…..
June 1, 2007 – 1:18 am
DOH!
Last night I managed to go for a rather good ride with very very good company but managed to forget my bloody riding shoes!!
It will teach me that I must wander round the house reciting my mantras or I will forget vital riding kit……
Caged spd pedals and normal fashion trainers make riding…… erm…. entertaining
Fat Lad
Fat Lad Lives!
May 21, 2007 – 1:50 pm
Yes my loyal/demented readers I still live and ride yet. Real life currently consists of a very tiring day job and a very demanding wife-to-be cracking the wedding preperation whip come the evening. (Let it be said here now I will suffer for that comment). Currently mid-write up is Dashing Dave’s North Yorkshire moors epic Picky and I thoroughly enjoyed a few weeks ago. So fingers crossed (the ones that the Future Mrs Fat Lad doesn’t damage) normal chunky chat will resume shortly
Fat Lad