Twinkly Dave: Ragley Bikes Supported Endurance Racer

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• The George Foreman Stratagem

  So you’ve got a load of food to cook, but you need to do it fast, efficiently and healthily, whatcha gonna use?

  

  Yeah. You know it. Deep down you know it’s the George Foreman grill, all the way.

  

  So, lets say you’ve got a load of races to kick serious ass at and you need to do it fast, efficiently and…erm, healthily (yeah, that bit didn’t work, but stay with me on this…). Now whatcha gonna use?

  

  Yup. You know it, again, you know it already.

  

  TD-1. Buy one.
  Buy one or I’ll eat your family pet.
  OK that’s a lie.
  You should still buy one though. They’re awesome.

  dgpowell 10:24 pm on March 4, 2010 | 6 Comments | # |
  

   

• Another ride gets Daft

  The ubiquitous early start (for Jase, I hid under the covers until after 6 as he was driving over to mine…mmm, precious sleep ), the drive along deserted motorways and still sleeping roads that get progressively wigglier and narrower and the arrival at another empty car park.
  Easy.

  The frantic fumbling to get kit together and overly enthusiastic sprint off up the first fireroad as the local wildlife started to scratch it’s head and begin hunting for breakfast.
  Done.

  The shock and delighted surprise as the fireroad ended in double quick time, firing us down the first, long, swooping, dropping, curling, berm railing, tree lined, step-down laden bit of singletrack of the day.
  Railed. (Apart from the bit where I overcooked a drop-down into a corner and shoulder barged a soft, loamy, grass bank…it’s alright though, I don’t think anyone saw…)
  Short bit of double track to catch your breath and regain some height then repeat the singletrack.
  Awesome.

  Continue the same theme for 10 miles before finding yourself back on the starting bit of fireroad, now convinced that bikes are utterly awesome and that trail centres can offer damn good riding.

  OK, that’s the Newcastleton red route done. Now dive onto the Cross Border route and spin through wonderfully remote scenery for a few deserted miles, slowing only to pour food and drink in the general direction of your mouth and watch as herds of white-arsed deer glide across the path in front of you, before instantly vanishing. Let the rising sun start to warm your back as you make quick progress along well maintained tracks to the bridge that marks the boundary between Scotland and England.

  From here on in, it should all start to go pear shaped.

  Literally, the second you leave the confines of the bridge you should find yourself pushing through snowbanks that just didn’t exist on the other side of the border. Rideable sections should be interspersed with random wild flailing as hidden ice spits you off towards the trees at either side of the wide, pine tree lined track.
  “Proper” sinuous singletrack should be notable by it’s absence, replaced with yet more pushing through deep snow on two foot wide, rubble paths that, after what seems like an eternity, bring you to long, wide sections of ‘north shore’ timber.
  (OK, the timber bits were quite fun – lethally slippy, but nice and fast with some superb, brooding scenery)

  

  What should be fast descents through darkened woods, no doubt designed to be like a rollercoaster, should be slow going as sporadic deep snow grabs at wheels. It could be fun, but what little excitement there is in these conditions feels forced as we (try to) plummet down to Kielder Castle.
  From there, a hastily redesigned and shortened route leads us (after some “these trails aren’t as well waymarked as the Scottish ones” moments) right back the way we’ve come. Literally. Up the downs as we knew no-one else would be Daft enough to attempt the Bloody Bush and Lonesome Pine routes when they were under this much snow and straight into a full on blizzard as we reach high, exposed moors.
  Nice…
  Bravery takes over from sense as we decide not to retrace our steps any further and instead complete the loop back across to Scotland. Despite it being higher up, more open to the elements and, to us, suddenly very far from safety.
  Mistake
  The “trail” becomes unrideable, then invisible. I’m navigating by wading through what looks like a wide enough gap between the rows of trees, in the sprawling forest we’ve entered, for a man made path to have been built through. I’m also falling through great holes in the snow carpeted trail, up to my waist at regular enough intervals to keep Jason amused and me on the verge of screaming.
  Occasional ‘boardwalk’ sections offer reassuarnce that we are still on the route and not meandering, totally lost, in circles, but that’s it. They’re unrideable too.

  

  The Bloody Bush memorial is trudged past and from this point on in the route more rideable sections appear. The tops of berms, tabletops and kickers built into the trail poke out from the snow and give you something to aim for. The loss of height gives you enough momentum to stay on top of the bike and after only a few more hike-a-bike sections and a pause to consider how far away from everything you are

  

  Wham! You’re suddenly back next to the red route at Newcastleton, a million miles away from the inhospitable, unpleasant trawl across the moors just an hour or so behind you.
  Time to cheer yourself up with another couple of flat out laps. Chase the person in front/escape from the person behind. Regroup on the linking sections. Escape/chase again on the next narrow section. Get back to the once again deserted car park (with signs of other people having been and gone in the mean time) as the light finally fades.
  Agree that a return to do the original plan should be on the cards when the weather improves. Eat.

  We’re daft, we are.

  dgpowell 11:26 am on March 3, 2010 | 4 Comments | # |
  

   

• Product Review (!): Coffee

  So you’ve ridden all day, for miles…and miles…and miles. Your bike’s now lent against the wall of the garage, still coated in dirt because you’re not a pro and you don’t have a mechanic to magically sort that sort of thing. That’s going to have to wait…possibly until summer, when it’ll be dry and dusty and it won’t need cleaning anyway.

  No, instead you’re getting moaned at about something-or-other, just as you stumble through the back door and start the fight against your overshoes, which – after being complete sods to get on – are being complete sods to get off. You’re not entirely sure what the moaning is about, possibly because of what time it is (you knew you were going to be late when you turned left and went over another couple of hills and you knew it would incur the wrath of they-who-must-be-appeased, but you were fine with that – it’d be worth it)? Maybe because you’ve traipsed mud and grime into the kitchen while doing the overshoe-removal dance? Or it could just be because you left the last bike shop invoice out by mistake and the reason you can’t afford to go out for a romantic meal has revealed itself to be those lovely new brake calipers, rather than the bleak economic climate like you claimed, while crawling through the weightweenies component listings.

  Whatever it is, you’re in no mood for it. The ratchets on your shoes are refusing to budge under what little duress your numb fingers can provide, your shorts aren’t as comfy to hop and skip round the kitchen in as they are while sitting on your overly expensive saddle and are starting to ride up into places they really shouldn’t.

  You need a wash.
  And you need some coffee.

  Magnus Backstedt knows this.

  He has been there. He also has the answer – to the coffee problem anyway, you’ll have to sort the shower/bath out yourself.

  Had he been out on the ride with you he would have kicked your arse all over the place. He’s kicked pretty much everyone’s arse on a bike at some point, yours would have been no problem, he’s been a pro for donkey’s years winning big, big races. He’s got the “cyclist’s needs” part of the coffee equation covered. It just so happens that he’s invested almost as many hours drinking coffee as he has training to kick harder arses than yours. In fact he’s blended some coffee, after all that “research”…and this coffee can kick your arse as much as he can.

  

  Now, I’m not claiming that this stuff will be like riding with/against Mr Backstedt himself. I have no idea what that would be like. Probably uncomfortable and somewhat humbling. But, as the website itself claims, it has a “crazy caffeine kick” and as such will have no problem sucker punching your currently hunched over, post big-ride body into a state of wild eyed readiness. Even if those wild eyes are reduced to just apologising for whatever it is you’re meant to still be apologising about from earlier. It was probably the dirt you trawled in through the back door, but that’s not important right now.

  What is important is that, even though you’ve just been slapped about the head by enough caffeine to wake a herd of stoned elephants, after one big-mug serving, you fancy another cup. Because it actually tastes quite nice. The packaging claims “Soft acidity and full body with pronounced dark chocolate. A distant hint of fruit that lingers in a slightly dry finish”, which sounds utterly wonderful and exciting, but lets be honest, even though you like a nice cup of coffee you’re no real expert. In fact you once really enjoyed a bog standard cup of coffee at Starbucks, but never had the guts to tell anyone.
  This is nice though. It must be, as you’ve just drained the last of what you’ve brewed into a mug and find yourself shaking the jug to get the last drops out.

  OK so it tastes nice and has managed to salvage a real person from the fatigued shell of a human that crawled away from the bike a hour ago, but why buy more of it when you can get something that doesn’t taste awful from the local supermarket for less? After all, less money spent on coffee means more money to spend on bikes, right?
  Our Mr Backstedt has this covered too: You are spending money on bikes, while spending money on coffee. Not your own bike, admittedly, but then that’s still slowly drying to a rusted crisp in the garage (you’d forgotten about it, hadn’t you – and there’s no way you’re going back outside to wash/relube it now you’ve regained the feeling in your extremities and have just got clean). No, you’ll be supporting the Sprocket Procycling team.

  That’s a pro team. Like the one’s you pretend you’re racing against sometimes. Buying the coffee gives them money, thanks to the sponsorship set up. That’s ace. You’re drinking a nice brew AND sponsoring a team…in fact, if you squint really hard, you’re almost part of the team yourself. Practically a pro. Nice one, have another slurp to celebrate.

  Disclaimer: I bought this stuff. For full price. No-one offered me anything for claiming it was nice. I just drank it and liked it. So nerr. Maybe you should try it too, you can buy it from here.

  dgpowell 8:39 pm on February 23, 2010 | 2 Comments | # |
  

   

• Be somewhere else

  I’d stood on the start line – further back than I expected after missing the rush to elbow your way to the front – stareing at the backs of a good dozen or so shivering racers. I’d sprinted off from the start as much as you can when in the middle of the pack; banging elbows, scuffing tyres, a sudden sense of claustrophobia as the racing line became swamped in front and behind of me. I’d fought my way though towards the fast end of the race, the number of riders to pass dropping and the trail ahead opening up as the first lap lung burning began. I’d almost made it when the familiar ‘BOOONG’ of a rim bottoming out against something solid, sharp edged and retiscent to move. A brick, hidden under a delightfully muddy puddle, in this case.

  I’d kept my head in the race and started to thank my lucky stars that the tube hadn’t punctured when it made it quite clear it had by drifting wide on a long, fast corner on some wonderfully swoopy singletrack.
  And that was it. I pulled off to the side of the track, knelt down, removed the front wheel, looked up and saw the blur of the race thundering past without me, just inches away.

  The air was still, a slight winter chill being shooed away by the morning sun warmed my back as I wrestled the tyre off and began the suddenly tedious job of swopping the innertube. It was a lovely Saturday morning to be in the park, but a foot or so to my left the gasping, the tearing of rubber across newly laid gravel and the ferocity of hundreds of singleminded people was intoxicating.

  I wanted to be back there, in the thick of it. Even as the very last rider disappeared into the distance, allowing the silence to flow back around me just as the mud gently rolled back onto the racing line, as I attached a CO2 canister to the new tube’s valve, I’d decided to just chase down everyone and everything in front of me. To leap back into the melee and become a part of the spectacle.
  I wasn’t ‘in it to win it’ anymore, where I wanted to be, but this would do nicely.

  

  Laps came and went, each time the nature of the course changed – fast, flowing singletrack bacame slithery, slidey, wheel grabbing slop – slow, grinding climbs opened up and became lungs-out sprints to the top of the hills – the long drag across a field to a push/carry slope of hellish proportions stayed exactly that, despite the best wishes of everyone riding it – and I just kept passing people until someone told me to stop and jabbed a fistful of Uncle Joe’s Mint Balls at me.

  

  No more punctures, somehow, but a good couple of hours of hurling myself round a course that surprised many with the amount of fun and pain it dished out, despite being just a stones throw from Manchester city centre.

  I ended up 7th. Not bad, given the 5 minute faffage that fixing the tyre cost me, not what I wanted, but not bad.

  dgpowell 1:10 pm on February 23, 2010 | 4 Comments | # |
  

   

• Quickie ‘Hit the North’ weatherwatch

  It’s this Saturday in the always lovely Manchester, so here’s what the boffins at the BBC think the weather will be doing:

  BBC

  Being rubbish, mostly :-/

  I’ve still not decided what bike to use either.

  dgpowell 11:46 am on February 16, 2010 | 4 Comments | # |
  

   

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© Twinkly Dave Mostly in 2009
Spolling Mistooks are on Porpoise.