Fat Lad Leads Without A Safety Net

April 18, 2007 – 1:53 am

It was only my second ride out after being incredibly poorly the week previous. As he’s now running tubeless; Gezz had very kindly donated me some pre-loved continental Gravity tyres to orbit my rims and I’d driven to our meeting place so we could fit them. Chuckle Brother mechaniching aside they were on and seated very shortly as we enjoyed the unseasonal warmth of the mild spring evening.

The usual suspects (and a new face) arrived soon enough and the local supermarket car park was soon swelled by the ranks of the pootle crew in various states of (un)dress. For the dubious pleasures of West Yorkshire off-road debauchery tonight six riders had dragged themselves away from the sofa to join me.

Not joining us for the Pootle this time was Amy, Jim or Pete. Both Amy and Jim ahd crashed at the Bulith Wells thingy and Pete had returned home from work too late to join in. JohnD had managed to drag himself out of pootling retirement and with everyone ready it was time to roll.

With only the upcoming miles of trail and a glorious evening ahead of us we rolled out and it suddenly dawned on me; ” I’m the only one who knows these trails inside out, feck me I’m actually leading this one…” We were soon off the tarmac and down past the recently arsoned rifle range rolling down the hill the donated tyre propelling me down the hill with speedy glee. After crossing the motorway bridge everyone rode hard at the short very steep climb into the copse with almost everyone making it.

As we approached the blinding off camber tightly wound singletrack decent to Birky Brow woods I let Gezz lead up the assault to make sure we didn’t lose any pootlers in the trees. Regrouping at the bottom Picky beamed across towards me “look at his f*cking grin” and with that we were off once more. Coming to our next descent I let the natural order of the group assert itself as Gexx led the kamikaze chase down the next descent. Once more the speed of the trails was sucking the air from my lungs as the adrenaline fired my heart rate into the stratosphere.

The quick pace continued as we snaked under the railway bridge then splashed and crashed through the stream. I mashed the pedals hard up the climb to the ruins nearing the summit I’d still managed to remain in the middle ring and grimacing through the groaning of my thighs I cranked all the way to summit leaving the left hand shifter pod untouched. Atop the hill catching my breath by the long decrepit house’s fallen walls not far away I was bollocksed. The rest of the crew soon trundled up and after a brief stop we were onwards again.

Democratically decided we hit the singletrack to the cricket club before enjoying the firm path before it became a backdrop for day of the triffids in the upcoming weeks. Unsteady ground and deep divots nearly caught a few out and the chatter at the end of the track turned to near misses. We rolled over to the church steps and I bottled out again Gezz leaped off and through them to show how it’s done. Bastard. Talented bastard. But a bastard all the same.

Climbing the next ascent I chatted with the new guy all the way and the usual “just having a minute” point we cranked straight on through neglecting our traditional hip flask session and fired through the swoopy double infested Haigh Wood hitting the shores of the reservoir with speed. We added a lap of honour round the depleting water and blasted to the bombhole for a well earned respite for some whilst the other took the opportunity to play.

I rounded up the troops and we sailed onwards to Beirut, not long amongst the debris and detritus of the UK underclasses, John’s front wheel fell prey to a piece of broken glass. Tubes soon swapped we flew along the doubletrack and I led the descents pushing my skills and fitness to their limits. The trail was lightning fast and the corners dry and loose. On the second corner my confidence exceeded my abilities and it was all on not to overshoot it. With people on my tail I could feel their expectation and breath upon my neck so I pushed on more. We soon ran dry of the joy of Beirut and it was time for a long uphill slog home. Tentatively crossing the railway line we were comfortably over as one thundered by into the dark night.

The final off-road climb off the night left my thighs screaming as I conquered another without dropping to the ring of few teeth. Lynn peeled off home and we launched ourselves up the cobbles home the pub in sight as our reward.

All in all it had been a superb ride. It was a first for the Fat Lad truly leading a ride. I’ve shouted out directions to whippets out front before and played sweeper on local-knowledge rides more times than I can count. But, to actually lead a ride was a first for me and a little bit frightening. Also as a first it was the very first time on and around the hills of my fair parish without leaving the middle ring. Maybe I will have to surrender my crown for the “King Of The Granny Ring Spin”….

Fat Lad

By Fat Lad | Posted in Reservoir Raid | Comments (3)

Fat Lad Has Been Very Poorly Indeed

April 12, 2007 – 9:07 am

Tuesday morning my dearest dad had roped me into helping him with some lifting in exchange for a breakfast at the local trade warehouse. (You see it’s not all glamour in the life of an international blogger/MTB legend) I knew something wasn’t quite right when I passed up the opportunity for a “Full English” and opted for egg and toast. With the lifting out of the way I got back home and sat on the sofa feeling really strange. All reserves of energy had gone and my legs were painful to touch, it was like riding with Jim and Pete…..

A few hours later and I’d managed to get off the sofa and relocated to the bathroom to re-enact the pea soup scene from the Exorcist as it fired out from, well, another place too. Laying in bed feverish later, I lamented on the miles I was missing.

How were the trails going to be? Were they going to be still beautifully firm and grippy as springtime worked it’s almost divine magic? Who was going to be out? Would it be the usual suspects or would the Pootle Crew be blessed with new grins? What route were they doing, start place had been decided but route not? Would the assembled crank mashers hit the sweet and swoopy joys of the Reservoir Raid or the demanding but grin inducing Drig Delight? What new toys would people have? Would it be the usual creaking, groaning mechanic’s nightmare of velocipedes or would the sheen and shine of Jim’s new race steed be prompting a trip on the plastic fantastic?

Before I descended into complete biological meltdown I’d managed to radio in to Pete to ask him to lead up the ride for me. Everyone who pootled has told me what a great ride he’d lead and what a good time had been shared. So to Pete; Cheers mate your a legend.

So, here I am, still not 100% (but with my appetite back thankfully) writing this up instead of riding, hopefully giving my body chance to fully heal.

In other news a few from the Bad Brains and most of Pete’s “Training Crew” are riding the Spring Marathon this weekend so a big shout of good luck to them all.

In other news a few blogs you should be reading:

Bigringcircus: You should always be reading Juancho’s little stateside adventures, every now and again he even rides his bike.

Mattmagic: This guy is always worth reading for two reasons: Firstly to gawp at the sheer mileage this guy puts in and secondly to be totally envious of a lifestyle where that much riding is even possible.

Fat Cyclist: A bit of cycling blog celebrity now but always well written and a giggle to read.

First and Last And Always: Sascha’s little corner of the net is a favourite of mine but she supplements her cycling pain with swimming and running suffering too.

Jeff Kerkove: America’s and Ergon’s own poster boy for endurance racing. A regular updater and an interesting insight into the regime of what it takes to be very good indeed.

Highway Munky: He’s already sliding down the slippery slope of MTB addiction and isn’t far away from the point of no return. It’s quite amusing to see his dependence being fed for all too see.

Struggling to Find My Form: Another stateside blogger (and this one is a roadie but don’t hold it against him) with a certain wit about him. What is about the “chunkier” cyclist and mildly amusing ramblings…….

Fat Lad

P.S. This post was very nearly called Fat Lad Rides The Porcelain Throne but I thought better of it.

By Fat Lad | Posted in banter | Comments (6)

It’s Hard Being Fat Lad

April 7, 2007 – 12:52 pm

Spring time in North Yorkshire, shorts on the Fat Lad:

Roachy and Stuart leading the way:

Stuart rocketing on, not even breaking a sweat. Behind the camera Fat Lad is dying:

Hot sun, blue skies, gorgeous scenery. Does it get any better?

A familiar site to Fat Lad

Despite that look Roachy is joy, happiness and light inside:

Dales Ice Cream, Chocolate flavour:

Yep it’s hard being Fat Lad.

Fat Lad

By Fat Lad | Posted in Weekend Riding | Comments (0)

Pete Rides Like A New Born Foal….

April 2, 2007 – 10:28 am

With spring truly sprung, the trails are getting drier, firmer and faster. It’s brilliant. Today Pete and I rolled out for a short trundle so he could try out clipless pedals. Resident whippet Jim lent him some shoes in roughly the right size and had to stifle a giggle as Pete walked like Frankenstein’s monster to the garage to get the bike.

The glorious sunshine was only slightly marred by the cold wind gently blowing in all directions but behind us. On the tarmac and down the first off road section Pete was going strong. We hit the entrance to Birkby Brow woods for it’s off cambered rooty singletrack and Pete had a nervous grin on his face. He shouldn’t have he flew down as quick as he always does and I struggled to keep on his wheel despite riding for years. For a man nervous of being clipped in he was leaving the ground off the kickers with little worry.

I think it’s a rite of initiation that the first time you ride clipless you spend most of your time on your arse on the ground and Pete was remaining disappointingly upright. That is, until the stream. He crossed the water without issue but then on crossing the lip out fell over. Sideways. I might have giggled.

Both over the small width of water I had to dismount to drop the chain(long story, watch this space) to the granny ring for the steep climb out. Cresting the top Pete was sat up yet on the ground, entangled in the bike still clipped in. “I’m just laying down enjoying the view Al” he smiled down to me.

With the Fat Lad playing squash in the evening, and with Jim pulling Pete’s legs off in the afternoon on one of their training rides we decided on the shorter option of the ride and finished off in time for a late lunch.

So then Pete, you convinced?

Fat Lad

By Fat Lad | Posted in banter, Reservoir Raid | Comments (1)

Fat Lad Catch Up

March 31, 2007 – 10:03 am

Life is a little errmm interesting at the moment (all will be revealed later) so I’ve got much on the mind currently.

In the works is a very cool tool to replace the Route Images link on the left with something a little more dynamic.

Recently I rode with Highway Munky and had a giggle with a fellow biking blogger but alas any hope of writing the ride up is long gone.

Anyways the weather forecast for tomorrow morning’s ride is good and sunny, the camera is fully charged hopefully adventures will flow.

Fat Lad

By Fat Lad | Posted in announcment | Comments (0)

Run Fat Lad, Run!

March 8, 2007 – 10:59 am

Shhhh, don’t tell anyone, we’ll keep it our little secret. Fat Lad is
getting some extra miles in. On the road. Utilising my old SaracenMaxtrax with some skinny slick tyres I’m firing to work and back a couple of times a week.

Changed out of my work clothes and into some lycra
I pulled the tarmac taunter out of the bike shed ready to go. On the
way in the gears had been constantly trying to climb the cassette when
putting any pressure on the cranks. Looking at my chain it was immediately apparent why. One of the plates on a link of the shitano chain (I run SRAM on everything else) had sheered of. Brilliant. So I’m stuck at work, no power link and all my minions (believe
it or not I’m a manager and actually responsible for people,
frightening isn’t it) had gone home already. Nothing else to do I put
my steed away and walked to the bus stop for the peasant wagon. Sitting
amongst the great unwashed of Leeds I silently fumed lamenting at the
loss of both time and fitness building opportunity as the rickety
diesel noisily headed home. Then it hit me, why don’t run back from the
town center to the suburbs. I’m fairly fit now how hard can it be?

I
hopped off the bus and started as I desired to go on heading towards
home. I got to the end of the pedestrian section of the town centre and
I wasfecked….. I walked for a bit ran a bit more walked for a bit ran a bit more all the way home.

1.3 miles later and I was bollocksed. Totally and utterly knackered. I can ride in the hills proper now all day munching the miles beneath knobblies but this was insane. Seriously why would anyone do this to themselves? How is this fun? Sascha, your nuts woman.

Fat Lad

By Fat Lad | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (1)

Fat Lad Tests His Future Marriage

March 5, 2007 – 1:59 am

For the last few Saturdays Mrs Fat Lad and I have been joining some other pootlers for fun and frolics on the trails of West Yorkshire. With a few rides under her belt Chip suggested us going for a steady one starting out from Ladybower. Sarah (for that’s Mrs Fat Lad’s name) was eager to give it a go and all that was left to do was organise a start location and time….

Regular readers will be not in the least bit surprised to realise that I was late to the start point. As we rolled up Phil asked if we were running on “Fat Lad” time rather than the considerably more reliable “Sarah” time. Rather than my usual sitting around doing feck all reasoning for once there was genuine justification for my tardiness:

Early out of bed and with a cup of tea in my paw I wandered into the batcave to fit Sarah’s new shiny disc brake. Sarah had very kindly lent me her wheels while mine we’re with Bikology for repair so I stripped of my tyres and rotors and started the transplant to my recently straight and true wheels. Taking the wheel out of the rear triangle I noticed I had no braking surface left on my rear disc pads. Not good for a jaunt out into the hilly and very gritty South Yorkshire peaks. Dashing inside I rang round the usual bike shop suspects finding only one shop with stock:

Fat Lad: “You’re sure that they are sintered brake pads and not the organic ones.”
Chevin Cycles: “Yep, definitely sintered. Both Avids own and Clarkes too”
Fat Lad: “Excellent I’ll be there soon”

Sarah, over hearing the conversation, kindly volunteered to go pick them up so I could carry on with the fettling. I sloped off back to the bat cave to finish giving Sarah’s steed the ability to stop.

Sarah’s bike was finished and I was fixing the third hole in my front tube as Sarah stormed from her car towards me. What she said would make a Navvy blush, but suffice to say that the fruits of her 90 minute drive to the other side of our fair and hilly city was for nothing as the only pads that Chevin cycles had in stock were organic. What. A. Shower. Of. Shite.

Loading the bikes into my ageing Ford while cramming a sandwich into my mouth we were finally ready to set off. Trying to make up time I hammered my 15 year old diesel box southwards on the motorway. I reckon by the time I got to our eventual destination the engine was probably pink…..

At Lady Bower Inn I scanned the car park looking for a fellow blogger who was to be joining us but there was no sign of the munky. I pulled out the bikes from the muddy and cavernous boot while Sarah suited up. Rolling my eyes I swore loudly as yet another puncture had manifested between Casa Fat Lad and Ladybower. Phil being the gent and all round fella he is stepped up and helped me out speeding up the process considerably. All ready we sailed down the road and we were finally on our way.

Pootling away with us on this unseasonly warm afternoon was in order of good looks: Chip and Amanda, Mick and Carol, Julie and Mark, and Phil. Despite the volume of traffic we crossed the road and slipped across the dam walkway following the reservoir shore. Scant moments of pedalling later and I’m off the bike again to fix another feckin puncture! Chip took the steadier ones on as Phil and I worked our magic replacing the leaky rubber.

During the week my mechanic and I had been trying to solve “The Mystery of The Wobbly Drive Side Crank”. Sadly the butler hadn’t done it it was down to, actually, I don’t know but and awful lot of thread lock and torque has seemed to cure it. The chain line was now out completely and I could only get halfway up the cassette making pedalling interesting. Phil rolled away as I struggled on with all my easy gears not playing fair. I turned the corner catching up with the girls onto the first little climb of the day and powered up out of the saddle (not my usual method, I’m a sit and spin kind of guy). Julie and Sarah attacked the climb as hard as they could and joined us just as Phil and Mick were having a go at the first uphill section of the Beast. As the guys scream back down I flip my bike over for some drive train TLC.

Sarah had been chatting with me as I fettled and Chip corralled the rest down the trail. I let Sarah go before Phil and I soon she screamed down the rocky descent with the confidence of a woman who has been riding for years not weeks. That or a woman who is genuinely nuts, she is marrying me after all. At the end of the rocky grinfest Phil hit a pocket of mud trying to steal my line (sorry in-joke) and tangled himself up in an hybrid origami of metal, skin and bone. Back up and okay the damage amounted to a bent brake lever and it’s opposite number popping in and out of the master cylinder on a whim.

We pootled on and I glanced over at my better half to try to guage her enjoyment of the day so far. Pedalling and mind-reading I can’t perform simultaneously and so I squeezed her gloved hand smiling as we rode on. Soon enough it was time to ascend some more and the climb that faced us was evil and rocky. Or maybe it was rocky and evil. I don’t remember entirely but there was rocks and it was evil. Soon enough everyone was parralel to thier top tube pushing up the long and torturous challenge. That is, everyone but Phil. He was firing up, eating the vertical feet pushing the cranks hard the shouts of encouragement folowing him to the summit.

At the top a brief breather was called and it was time to mount up again heading for Hagg Farm. Again everyone had a good go at the incline climbing into the clouds people battling with their own personal daemons. Riders dismounted at their own preference of burning thighs and the strung out pack recondensed at the bottom of the first switchback. Phil attacked first getting to the wide gate holding it open for the rest of the challengers. I watched a few with various degrees of success and crunching it into the granny gear it was my turn. Line choice and a little bit of power later and I was through the gate. We waited as a different group descended at speed holding the gate for them to enjoy the full run.

We carried on towards the heavens pushing and riding in equal measure while Sarah and Amanda chatted away at the rear of the pack. As I crested the hill I dashed over to one side got on my belly and took some shots of people reaching the highest point of the day.

With another breather under our belts we started the grin-infecting drop towards the cafe, one final minor climb conquered with momentum. We let the girls get a head start, letting them ride the challenging terrain and inclines at their own pace without pressure. I fired down the descent lamenting the lack of a reasonable working brake and despite riding with an unusual amount of ease and flow I only caught the girls at a rock step/drop talking about the best line. I cut through enjoying my rare good form.

It’s with great pride that I realise that is the only thing Sarah has not managed to ride down all day. Considering the terrain, thats pretty damned impressive. I pulled to one side to get a splash shot and it was time to roll the rest of the descent to the tarmac limbs pumped and buzzing all the way.

We stopped at the cafe taking on board well earned tea and cakes all round. Feeding the ducks crumbs and sitting stillfor ten minutes was soon taking it’s toll with the group getting cold in unison.

Soon after we were rolling again and as we climbed out back to the reservoir side I could see Sarah was flagging now. We pootled on taking it nice and steady exchanging pleasantries with the throngs of red socks out enjoying the sunshine too. A short while later and we took a left turn up a short sharp shock of tarmac. I beamed a grin across to Sarah and told her how proud of her I was. It wasn’t empty praise either. It’s bloody hard round there, pootle or race pace the hills still go in the same direction. With a little more off road climbing we on the last descent of the day, a short rocky switchback back to the pub. It was tight and technical and as I look round my love was riding it with a look of fierce concentration and joy. “I thought I couldn’t do it, so I just followed yours and Carol’s line and I was fine”

With the afternoon drawing on there was time for a well earned pint a long drive home.

Fat Lad

By Fat Lad | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (6)

A Fat Lad Invitation

February 23, 2007 – 3:27 am

Dirty Burt said:
One thing I’d like to do is… Ride with people I meet or talk to with these blogs. Either I come there or you come here, what do you say?

If any bike blogger,Sascha, or even Juancho want’s to come to blighty to ride with my crowd then just shout….. I’ve a spare room and enough space in the fridge to feed a few riders 😉

Seriously though if anyone fancies joining us for a ride let me know

Fat Lad

By Fat Lad | Posted in banter | Comments (4)

Fat Lad’s Close Call

February 17, 2007 – 1:56 pm

Saturday is becoming something of a tradition in the Fat Lad household. Early morning we scoot off for the weekly shop, once back; a spot of lunch and then we scoot off to somewhere for a weekend pootle.

This week we were (on Mrs Fat Lads suggestion) on home ground for a Reservoir Raid. Various complications meant that Amanda and Mrs Fat Lad disappeared early and Phil and I carried on talking shit and pedalling away.

When we got back it was Mrs fat lad who noticed another broken spoke in my back wheel:

Bugger.

Now, what I should say is that I’ve been riding for a short while now (well, okay, 8 weeks) with a missing spoke. Take a closer look at that wheel (conveniently highlighted below).

That’s now 4 fecked spokes and I’m happy to be in one piece. I can hear stAn/Chip disapproving tones from here already……

Fat Lad

By Fat Lad | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments (4)

Fat Lad rides the “Better Climb Than Descent”

February 4, 2007 – 4:12 pm

The Christian Sabbath visited upon me and all the usual crew had deserted me for other rides further afield or trivial commitments like family. Finding myself alone I wired myself into the Nano ambled my chunky behind onto the saddle and set of for a pootle classic in reverse. With no socialising to be done and the rhythm of my “Guilty Pleasure” tracks upbeat the pace was good and the solid ground made the going even faster.

I crossed Scotchman Lane and the opening mandolin refrain of REM’s “Losing My Religion” flooded into my ear canals.

Life is bigger
Its bigger than you
And you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no Ive said too much
I set it up

The steel gate was wide open and I stuck to the middle of the cassette keeping the cadence up on the initial shallow part of what is to come

Thats me in the corner
Thats me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you

I pass two people chatting over the fence their smiling gesturing conversation lost to my single minded goal; middle ring to the summit.

And I dont know if I can do it
Oh no Ive said too much
I havent said enough

A single click on the pod by my thumb and the track is beginning to narrow, barbed wire fence to the left and thorned evil hedgerow to the right. The musical rhythm helping me to retain a reasonable cadence.

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

More clicks of the shifter and the lactic burn is beginning to manifest as the trail become yet narrower, my lungs hurt, I’m pushing hard sweat prickling all over my body.

Every whisper
Of every waking hour im
Choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool
Oh no Ive said too much
I set it up

I only have myself to race today and the pain is now on, I have nowhere to go on the cassette all that is left ahead of me will have to be my own suffering and go. My legs are burning.

Consider this
The hint of the century
Consider this
The slip that brought me
To my knees failed
What if all these fantasies
Come flailing around
Now Ive said too much

The end is in sight the broken bricks and solid un-seasonal ground rumble below the tyres jolting my body and frame; control barely maintained. I clear trail debris with ease the summit near.

I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try

The trail funnels to it’s tightest point and I cut right to try and avoid the frozen puddle dead centre of the path. My heart is pounding, blood rushing, senses on fire every pedal stroke is broken down to milliseconds of it’s revolution. I’m mere feet away from the end. An attempt never realised. A grasp at what other riders never consider a challenge but means so much to me. I can do this. I’ve done it in summer. I can do it now. Front wheel briefly popped over the uneven ground the prize is near. The rear wheel crests the mound and the purchase desired is absent. A very loud “FUCK” escapes my lungs as I bow my head for the final few feet with the bike at my side.

But that was just a dream
That was just a dream

Fat Lad

By Fat Lad | Posted in reverse res raid, solo | Comments (1)