The Finished Article

I was watching the football recently and drifting off as tedious commentators reeled out a barrage of cliches to fill in the gaps of a lacklustre nil-nil draw.  Their observations were largely washing over me until one of them used the well worn line;

'well he's not quite the finished article yet' 

And that set me thinking, what the hell does the finished article look like?

I've been training for about 29 years now, initially for football, then tennis before, at the age of fourteen making some serious, if misguided forays into physical conditioning for cross country mountain biking.  Even during the booze laden university years I continued to push hard on the bike and occasionally jogged through the picturesque suburbs of darkest Swansea.  Since then I kept fit for a decade before finding mountain running and seriously ramping up the commitment and intensity in order to compete at my current level.

As well as training harder I've also become a lot more clued up on the other essential aspects of diet, mindset and running technique and searched hard to find those marginal gains that may keep my ageing body ahead of my rivals.  To maintain this degree of focus takes a dedication and mental fortitude which is always motivated by that search to become better.  But where does it ever stop?

I always thought that the onset of my thirties would signal the beginning of a decline with metabolism slowing and fat appearing in previously toned areas but in actuality the opposite occurred with the discovery of a new sport where malnutrition (or at least minimal non-essential calorific intake) is par for the course among top competitors.  As I approach the exit to that decade the scales are informing me that my default weight is now a stone lighter than ten years ago.

So I'm lighter, fitter, better technically and faster than I used to be but only the totally deluded would consider me anywhere near a finished article.

2015 Mourne Skyline Skyrunner win.  Certainly one of my better days but I still could've gone faster and subsequently have so no finished article there!  Photo Credit: Jayne Bell

So what about true masters, Pele, Beethoven, Kasparov, were they the finished article?  Certainly at a point in time they could all have been considered the pinnacle of human achievement within their extremely narrow fields but to consider they were incapable of further improvement would have been insultingly misguided.

So if true legends, the all time top proponents weren't the hallowed finished article then can it be achievable?

Well, yes possibly it can but you need a high degree of specificity and very clear goals.  To narrow the field and have stated aims at least allows you to be the finished article at one point in time and one very specific achievement.  For example, I hold a couple of record times which I specifically aimed to set whilst racing.  By beating a target set by myself but also all previous competitors I can convince myself that on that day and at achieving that aim I was indeed the finished article.  But it doesn't mean that others can't be infinitely better.  You can only be your own finished article.

I'm not foolish enough to believe I'll ever be the World mountain running champion. That particular boat probably sailed years before I even discovered the sport.  However, at some point I will be my finished article within mountain running, the best me I can ever be.  It may have already happened, my best ever performance where it all felt effortless and flowing may be behind me, I'll find out too late, when the times do get slower despite the effort remaining constant.  A facet of always believing you can get better is the fact that ultimately you'll be wrong, barring a premature retirement or untimely death you will start to naturally deteriorate.

Which could be a pretty depressing thought....

Except it's not at all because you can always be improving at something, working towards being your finished article all over again in a totally different field.

I've been unable to run for twelve weeks now due to injury but have been given a reprieve from mental torture by my incredibly generous physio who lent me his cyclocross bike.  Instantly I set about a new training regime of high intensity turbo training, 'ugly fifteens' and two wheeled drifts round grassy corners on a bike that's definitely not the best designed tool for that kind of behaviour. The learning curve has been seriously rapid and massively enjoyable.  It's so bizarre taking a pastime that is seemingly so close to my comfort zone (as a mountain bike coach) but actually in many ways is miles away.

So a few weeks ago I sped around a local trail centre feeling far too upright with bars too narrow and brakes that barely functioned.  The 80psi in my tyres to ward off pinch flats gave my hands a beating that'd reduce a jackhammer operator to tears.  Initially I tensed up, slid, over braked and did all the things I coach out of beginners on mountain bikes, but pretty rapidly I found the boundaries and started launching the drops and letting it go on the corners before inevitably the front tyre did blow out on one less than finessed landing.

Armed with a decent level of fitness and a very small modicum of specific CX ability I than set about taking on my first race.  Like an idiot I was conned into doing the 'A' class before seeing that the majority of rank amateurs go into the 'B'.  The great thing is that I didn't care!  Obviously I tried to bury myself physically but found that I actually struggled to burn myself out because my lack of skills on the endless sharp bends gave me too much time to recover!  Not being 'gridded' and starting at the back denied me the chance to have a brief flirtation with the quick lads at the front but really it was a lack of technical ability that saw me forced back into a respectable but unremarkable 19th place finish.  When it comes to cyclocross I'm currently so far from the finished article that I'm barely an article at all!

Cyclocross.  Just riding bikes around a field, how hard can that be?  Actually pretty damn challenging!

So the moral of the story for me is that far from being dismayed at the ultimately doomed search for unending improvement, maybe we should instead just focus on being our own finished article every time we compete.  Clear goals allow us the satisfaction of success whilst accepting that another, harder target is then required to motivate us to push on.  When finally we do succumb to the natural decline through age or injury then we can accept it and either keep competing at a lower level or really excitingly take up something new and work towards once again becoming our personal finished articles.  Cue a lifetime of new experiences!

Five Go Wild In The Tweed Valley

Every movement seemed laboured as I became aware of adjustments that normally pass unnoticed, fatigue forcing them into my consciousness.  Head turning on weary shoulders and hips forced to drive the bike into the steep and perfectly crafted turns.  My back tyre was skittering across the flinty surface, an oh-so satisfying intermittent ripping noise before I released the brake, just a touch earlier into each corner, daring myself to squeeze out more from this trail.  Finally I got it wrong, my front wheel drifting too wide on exit and leaving the sanctity of the berm.  Instinctively I hauled it back but the back end was already too upright, my sudden body movement destroying the equilibrium of cornering style.  The bike kicked one way and then pinballed me the other, explosions of opposing forces.  Realising the inevitable I relaxed and tried to pick a decent crash line but a large immovable stump stopped the bike dead and hurled me over the bars into the trees.  My worst fears were realised as my right foot stubbornly stuck in my clipless pedal, worn cleats refusing to disconnect, twisting and tearing at my previously damaged right ankle.  Shots of pain tore up my leg and the sudden silence was punctuated by expletives.  The mental stocktake began instantly and all quickly seemed alright except for the ankle which I still couldn't free.  Through the awkwardness of my position, head down below my feet and trapped beneath the bike I was unable to move and so I lay there wedged until Andrew arrived to assist.  A few more deep breaths, some painful steps and I was good to go again.  To be honest, on a trail that incredible it would've had to be a serious injury to stop me.

The crash was no surprise.  After five full days of the most mind blowing trail riding and having explored virtually every riding area throughout the Tweed Valley our bodies were pretty spent.  The sensible thing would've been to back off on that final morning and heed the warnings of the alarmingly common close shaves but the natural competitiveness and inherent confidence were too powerful and so we attacked to the last.  Reaching the bottom of 'Flat White' the smash was briefly dissected before we raised saddles and commenced the long fire road climb once again.  We were going to eke out every last ounce of energy before finally dropping the curtain on one of the best riding trips ever.

Davy shredding a perfect berm

Scotland has long been recognised as one of the World's best biking destinations with a perfect mix of amenable morphology, motivated and dedicated trail builders and some clever and targeted marketing placing it well on the MTB map.  It may lack the weather and elevation of Alpine regions and the glamour of Whistler but it offers incredible scenery, great riding variation and well thought out facilities for anyone prepared to make the effort to seek them.  With it being so close I really should've managed more than my two previous trips but the draw of the sun has always been too strong as I've chosen instead to explore many of Europe's other classic destinations.

This trip largely came about due to the overwhelming enthusiasm of Davy whose rapid transformation from paddler to biker over the last few years and recent move to near Edinburgh had brought into clear focus the need for another visit.  Having mentioned that I had a free week in August, Davy hit me with an irresistible barrage of YouTube edits highlighting the plethora of local trails and any resistance was rendered futile.  A crew of Northern Ireland's finest biking guides and one Dublin based architect were quickly assembled and squeezed into the van before loading on to the extortionate Stena ferry and making the short trip across the Irish Sea.

'We go that way!' Pointing down the epic Gypsy Glen descent

Day 1
A 5am start did nothing to dampen the excitement as myself and Brian collected Tony and Andrew who were already sat on their wall awaiting the pick-up.  The journey was pretty straightforward with the only challenge being keeping my eyes open for the duration as we cruised through the increasingly picturesque countryside towards the Scottish Borders.  The Kailzie Bunkhouse was our destination which proved to be both perfect accommodation and also ideally located between Peebles and Innerleithen in the heart of the Tweed Valley.  Davy had a suitable warm up loop planned for us, a steady two hour jaunt around the Gypsy Glen and so after a quick unpack we were straight on the bikes and up on to the open moorland.

Not bunkhouse facilities!

Unfolding the legs after a lengthy spell in the van is always a joy but in combination with the stunning views and steep, techy open mountain singletrack it put us on an instant high.  Trying to stay upright in the deep and sloppy ruts was challenge enough, especially with some lung busting rises but also attempting to simultaneously take in the vista made for some comedy slips and slides.  I savoured the increasing anticipation that accompanied the long climb, safe in the knowledge that we'd get our reward.  And what a reward it was, a high speed, rock clattering, bunny hopping sprint down a beautiful ridge line.  Like kids let out for playtime we whooped and hollered as we dived back towards the valley floor, tempered only by a burning throat from an ill-advised summit slug of poitin from Andrew's hip flask.  I'll have to learn to not be such a sucker for the ceremonial drinks!

Toothy grins and wide-eyed fist bumps were shared at the bottom along with hundred mile an hour recalls of sketchy moments experienced by all.  There was definitely no notion of calling it a day and so we took the short ride over to Glentress to take in the best of the trail centre.  Regardless of your views of man-made trails it's hard to deny that the 'Spooky Woods' into 'Super G' combo is a stunning piece of design.  Dropping in fast I took advantage of my Ragley's big wheels forcing Tony to pedal more than he wanted to keep me at bay.  We kept dualling through 'Matrix' and into 'The Bitch' before getting our first taste of the twisty 'off trail' routes on offer in the valley with 'Ponduro'.  Tight and slippery it was the antithesis of the sure surfaced sanctioned tracks and a perfect appetite whetter for the challenges to come.

Bunkhouse facilities

The early start dented our social plans for the evening although we did get out for dinner where an extremely inebriated chef managed to rustle up some decent nosh at the local steakhouse.  Back at the bunkhouse where we had the whole place to ourselves we didn't make a single dent in the beer collection as exhaustion sent us to early beds.

Day 2
This was the day I'd been anticipating so eagerly.  The reputation of the Golfie preceded it, no longer a locals only secret spot, the EWS and some extremely useful trail apps have made this previously hidden gem accessible to all.  All, that is who like their trails unbelievably steep, off-camber, rooted, rutted and physical.  The climb to the top was pleasant enough, initially trekking through the trees at an easy gradient with eyes bulging at the amazing looking ends and beginnings of various trails, it then steepened out on to the open moorland past an old concrete reservoir.  Views from the top were predictably breathtaking and we padded up whilst the boys discussed which route to tackle first.  With hindsight 'Nae Spleens' was a bit of a baptism of fire, rooty corners on to seriously steep drop-ins weren't for the faint hearted but we loved it and were chomping at the bit on the next climb just to get to more of the same.  Over the next three hours we span the climbs and sprinted the descents, chasing eachother hard and picking up the pace as we regained confidence on the uber-tech.  Crashes were surprisingly few despite continually clipping bars on trees and feeling the front wheels slide on the steep roots.  Ultimately Andrew came down on 'Flat White' and from my position right on his tail I couldn't prevent myself ploughing into his Cotic which had managed to block the entire trail.  No damage done we dusted ourselves off and resumed the race to the end.  Seven stunning trails, thirty kilometres and over a thousand metres of ascent and descent ridden, we were happy souls as we re-crossed the golf course and splashed the bikes in the river, pausing to laugh at Brian as he fell in before commiserating as his Garmin was lost to the current.

Look where you want to be, practicing what I preach!

A ceremonial post-ride beer was followed by several others as the Kailzie BBQ got an airing and we happily recalled the highlights of a truly incredible day.

Day 3
Davy inexplicably cut all the corners on the steep climb up Innerleithen's lower slopes whilst the rest of us opted for the mellower zig-zags.  Perhaps he wanted to burn off the thousands of calories of consumed meat or maybe with his prior knowledge of the day's ride he was just dying to get into the descents.  Natural order was restored as I burned him off towards the summit of Minch Moor, pausing to take in the view and the living art installation before stopping again at the top to savour yet another sun drenched landscape.

Glorious Minch Moor

A living installation

The initial trail centre burnout was deceptively tricky with a narrow, pedal grabbing rut tracked at warp speed with serious consequences for slipping off line.  We'd been joined for the day by Gordy, another Scottish ripper who helped keep the pace high through the trail centre jumps of 'Make or Brake' before the brilliant twists and turns of 'Green Wing'.  The trails on this slope seemed more reticent to drain than others and despite the recent dry spell they were axle deep in places, particularly on one bog of a trail that Davy tricked me and Brian on to.  The other lads had wisely opted to relax in the sun and eat pies whilst we drowned in the gloop.

The Inners slop!

 A couple more superb natural trails set us up for the most daunting and technical trail of the week, the infamous 'Too Hard For The EWS' which is literally what it was.  The rumour goes that the Tweedlove organisers decreed that rider safety would be compromised if the World's best were set loose on this vertical rock fest.  Andrew and Tony both had prior experience of the trail and through their descriptions I was a touch apprehensive.  They certainly hadn't painted a false picture and I took a battering through the severely committing drop-off corners, 'yeoooowing' with delight at each one successfully navigated.  Ultimately I blew out two of them and found myself tumbling down the hillside sans-velo, the inability to stop sliding highlighting the sheer angles involved.  Riding the rest clean and finding some flow through the most technical section I redeemed myself and shared in Tony's delight at his first clean run in three attempts.  Next time...

Tony enjoying cake at No.1 Peebles Rd

Buzzed up by surviving that challenge we somehow dragged ourselves back up to ride the bottom of one of the Innerleithen DH lines, a trail that matched huge compressions with floaty tabletops and entertaining rock drops and guaranteed more smiles as we headed off for a top class feed at the immensely welcoming Number 1 Peebles Road Cafe in the village.  That evening we celebrated Tony's birthday with another meat fest and the traditional Tesco Caterpillar Cake, a true classic of our time!

More cake!!

Day 4
Bodies and minds were clearly starting to degenerate as a sluggish start was punctuated with monosyllabic grunts on the drive to Yair Forest.  Luckily Davy's eternal motivation raised the spirits as we ground out the standard first climb, lost in our own personal struggles.  By the summit my mood had lightened significantly as I checked out the striking 'Three Brethren' and stared into the mist, hoping it would lift soon.

One of the impressive Three Brethren

Yet another quality trail awaited us, a delicious mix of moorland looseness and woodland singletrack.  The heavy water vapour splashed from heather disturbed by our carving wheels and made for slippery corners as we dived into the darkness of the forest.  Riding trails 'blind' always adds an extra frisson of excitement, braking late and decisively over unknown rises and rock drops, blowing out bends that became visible too late for tired reflexes.  I can vaguely remember a gem of a trail called 'Yair Man' and a general feeling that the forest was less developed and visited than the other areas.  It certainly has acres of potential!


Bikes were thrown back in the van and we made the short trip to Thornilee, an area that none of us had prior knowledge of.  Parts of it reminded me of some of the Northern Irish riding with a smaller elevation gain and some twisting and pedally sections.  There was no disguising the Scottish steepness at the bottom end of the trails though and we twice dropped into one of the best sections yet ridden, a confidence inspiring dream of a track with shapely catch berms that allowed an aggressive approach to the steepest of drops, slamming into the apex and being handily redirected towards the next drop with minimal rider input.  Feeling like heroes we trekked up for yet more fun before Brian's front brake decided that enough was enough.  Rather than admitting defeat, Brian discovered the benefit of riding with four qualified Mountain Bike Leaders as we all reached for well stocked toolkits and bags of spares, changing the pads and fitting a longer caliper bolt in an attempt to alleviate the issue.  Sadly a leaking piston was diagnosed signalling game over but by that point exhaustion was hitting hard and a trip to the pizza shop was calling.

How many MBL's do you need to fix a torn tyre?!

Day 5
We couldn't believe it had come around so fast, the hallmark of a great time being had!  We'd slipped into a daily routine of top class biking and laddish interaction followed by huge feasts and quality beers.  This last day required a bit more organisation as time was limited so we finished the last of the sausages for breakfast, packed up, cleaned up and were back in the Golfie before 9am.  The plan was simple, a high speed two hour smash and grab of our favourite trail selection.  We were definitely suffering the combined effects of upper body trail battering and leg tearing climbs from over five thousand metres of combined ascent so far and although we still felt fast, the boy's Strava times said otherwise! 

Taking it serious on the last day!

We managed to get in '3G', 'Community Service' and 'Flat White' twice before the tentative glory run on 'Final Fling' back to the van.  Miraculously despite the tiredness in our movements and Brian riding on just one brake and excepting my own ankle wrenching moment we got away with very few crashes, experience creating luck right up until the end.  Cheesy handshakes and man hugs signalled the end of the biking and all that remained was to wash the bikes, pack the van and head for home, the warm glow of an amazing shared experience keeping the smiles etched on our faces.


Returning to polite society following the mickey-taking atmosphere of the trip was like a decompression session and I was glad of the tinted van windows and loud radio to drown out the social commentary from the kids in the back!  Amazingly we were still all on good speaking terms right up until the end when we threw out Tony and Andy's kit at 11pm, another surefire sign of a successful trip.  Brian and I headed for my place and were unable to resist new found habits, horsing into the Doritos and last of the Belgian beers before collapsing, the comfort of my own bed guaranteeing the commencing of the recovery process!

Huge thanks to all the lads for a superb trip.  Davy, Tony and Andrew's guiding was impeccable and Brian's ability to design an office space at will was always reassuring!  Massive appreciation also goes to Ragley Bikes for producing a 29'er hardtail that excelled in all of the huge variety of trails we encountered.  I never once felt under-biked and although my trail leg took a battering my overwhelming love of the hardtail never wavered.

Clean it like you love it, the superb Ragley Bigwig

If you haven't been to the Tweed Valley and you class yourself as a very good Intermediate to Advanced rider with a decent level of fitness then get yourself out there now.  By my reckoning the riding was every bit as good as the Alps with the added bonus of a really positive attitude towards bikers from literally everyone we met.  It was great being able to walk into a cafe or shop covered head to toe in mud and no doubt smelling like death and be asked what trails we'd hit rather than shuffled out the door as quickly as possible.  Scotland is a beautiful and heavily underrated country and even if you don't share our luck with the weather you'll still get to ride World Class trails before chilling out in purpose built, biker friendly accommodation.  What are you waiting for?

Glorious Scotland!

Oh and just for the lads, I Googled 'worst band ever' and it definitely is Maroon 5, told ya so!

Loving the mud

Unsociable mushroom on Tuesday

Became party mushroom by Friday!

The diet was varied

Cheers lads!!

Steamy bog drying rapidly

About to get Enduroooooo

Disastrous half day closing at the butcher on Wednesday meant a Tesco raid!

And finally.... What the hell is going on here?!!

Natural Development - Are Trail Centres Killing Technique?

My earliest forays into the world of mountain biking primarily involved dragging and shoving my half tonne, mud caked six gear Emmelle through Exmoor's boggy murk to reach a mile of semi-rideable rockiness that led to the road home.  Over the following few years I hungrily discovered the sheer joys of rooty Devon woodland singletrack, slipping, sliding and crashing my way through my early teens until at seventeen myself and my best friend jumped on a train and blagged our way to Chamonix for an incredible introduction to Alpine riding.  With my eyes subsequently blown wide open I've continued to seek opportunities to experience a whole spectrum of different terrains and biking challenges throughout the world.

In addition to the obvious immediate pleasures and unforgettable memories that these experiences have provided I was recently also pondering their lasting impact on my abilities as a biker. Undeniably I've learned how to crash!  Seventeen broken bones (so far) are testament to that but what about my skills development? As a professional MTB coach I'm afflicted with a constant need to analyse whether I'm still getting better or has age instigated my gradual and inevitable decline?  And the conclusion?  I'm not sure yet, but one thing is certain, I've served a long and fruitful apprenticeship that's gradually and organically shaped my trail techniques.

Times have changed massively since my first rides in the late eighties.  Mountain biking has witnessed exponential growth in terms of both participation and general awareness. Mainstream money has floated in and the results are seen in the plethora of trail centres that have made quick-hit 21st century mountain biking what it is.  Whether this is a positive or not for the sport is a different debate.  My area of interest is whether the introduction of some of these groomed, sanitised and weather resistant strips has been detrimental to the skills development of the new breed of bikers?

More often than not these days beginners that I coach have their first experience of 'natural' trails in their initial session with me.  For many, the thought of riding anywhere other than a trail centre has never even occurred and increasingly I've noticed bikers displaying a noticeable trail centre style of riding that manifests itself in a few clear ways.

The only people who should ever sit down on descents are those without pedals!

The first is a tendency towards remaining seated on downhills.  I see this as being the fault of smooth, graded trail surfaces which, although punctuated by the odd rock gardens and drops, generally allow descending techniques that would've liquidised my internal organs if I'd attempted them on the rutted, washed out rock fests I originally learned on.  The availability of well priced, decent full suspension bikes has also made this approach possible and therefore many people remain blissfully unaware of the fundamental importance of weight shift. On my local trails here in Northern Ireland there have been a seemingly disproportionate number of broken bones for the amount of usage. Many have been caused by riders pitching over the bars because they don't fully understand where their weight should be distributed.

The next issue I've noticed is a lack of cornering ability. Whilst solid surfaced, banked corners can definitely be a lot of fun, among many beginners I think they can promote a lazy, passive approach to getting round bends. On loose, natural, flat and off-camber corners the fight for grip generates rapid improvements in terms of body positioning and pressure application with pretty immediate feedback from the slippery ground. After a couple of washouts and grazed knees riders tend to find the limitations of their tyres and realise how hard they can push into corners if they're active and aggressive on the bike.  Whilst the non-slip nature of most trail centre corners prevents crashes, it also negates the need to search hard for more grip and as a consequence seems to slow development.

Finally, I often witness an inability to react to unexpected terrain changes. Many riders I meet have an intimate knowledge of every last drop, corner, bump and berm of their local trail centres. They can cruise round half asleep, safe in the knowledge that come rain or shine the trail won't throw up any nasty surprises. All those innate, subtle weight shifts that are needed to keep rubber side down on the roots never get developed and so their first taste of riding on wet mud and greasy wood becomes a total disaster.  I've coached people who've ridden mountain bikes for years who have no idea that leaning a bike over on an angled root will almost certainly end badly and so they're transported back to the realm of total beginner whenever they first leave the gravel tracks.

This combination of a static position on the bike, a passive riding style and the non-development of the subconscious adjustments required to survive wet natural trails has, in my opinion stunted many new rider's development. It's not all bad news though; there are obvious upsides to trail centres. Without them I reckon many of today's bikers would've never initially taken up the sport and I'd always rather see lots of people riding not that well than just a couple totally owning the trails. The other big plus is the growth of pump tracks.  Few things give me more pleasure than seeing the local kids on chainless skip bikes with no grips or brakes doubling gaps and carving corners instead of hanging round bus shelters being bored or staring at their phones.  Our local pump track has become a really popular hang out for people who may otherwise never have bothered getting on a bike.  If they get the opportunity and the inclination to keep riding then we're going to witness a really talented next generation!

My message to anyone who may read this and recognise themselves, please don't take it as criticism! There's a whole world of ever evolving natural trails just waiting for you to take them on so get out there and get grinning, just don't forget the kneepads! 

A Ride To Remember

The rhythm’s gone completely.  I hack away at the pedals, legs like misfiring pistons using any combination of remaining power and bodyweight to keep them moving, the fluid circles of the lower slopes a distant memory.  I daren’t glance across the valley to known reference points that will end my psychological resistance and force me into my lowest gear, if the 36t doesn’t stay clean then I’m finished, doomed to admit the failure in this session.  My tongue feels fattened, an awkward sticky slug blocking the airflow my lungs crave and the thirst is overwhelming but I’m not dehydrated, the nauseating slop of unprocessed water in my gut tracking my body movements, daring me to sip from my Camelbak again.

I lurch over the road as it steepens again, Tom Simpson without the drugs.  I’d take them all right now if they’d get me to the top of this destructive road.  The heat is overwhelming, drilling down into my back, reflecting off the surface that my head is getting ever closer to, licking the front wheel.  I feel like I’m being boiled alive, my brain shrinking, fluid escaping.  Visions of the electrolytes sat on top of my fridge taunt me, the fridge, cool air, I want to be in that fridge…

A distant rumble of thunder.  Come lovely rain, my salvation from the skies.  No such luck.  The atmosphere like porridge, I’m riding through porridge, am I still moving?  Flies buzz my face, my tormenters victorious, can’t outrun them, can’t swat them, hope they’re not biters, injury to insult.

My head comes up, the circles return.  Where did this come from?  My subconscious knows more than my brain.  I’m nearing the top and defiance drives the body.  You did me on the mid section but I owned the bottom and the top, two-one to Bailey, I’m bigger than this mountain.  Satisfaction tempered by reality, that was close, too close, and I know it.  The training log won’t lie, OK legs, nothing more.

I stare down the start straight, the Skull DH.  A thousand vertical metres of sculpted corners and jagged bedrock, beauty and the beast.  Glasses off as dense foliage and a blackening sky dull the vision.  Pads on, gear selected and snap on the pedals.  Treat this like a race, attack, attack, attack.  This track has no respect for the tentative.  I’m totally under-biked and I know it, 140mm out front and the crafted compliance of carbon hardtail out back but the Ibis Tranny never ceases to amaze, no box can hold this bike, uncategorisable.  A flash and a crack, the storm is closing in fast.  No longer an ally against the heat, a warning shot.  My focus is absolute, totally in the groove and marvelling at the new found flow this holiday has uncovered, bossing lines that should be unattainable, tyres skimming the surface of armageddon.  The first bombs start to fall, initially deflected by the shield of leaves but then breaking through fast, huge droplets, instant impact.  The sky explodes with light again and the deafening rumble is right on its tail, I need to get down NOW.  Fear of crashing, mangling on the rocks seems childish, this is much more primeval, go, go, go, survival instincts honed by evolution driving thirty years of biking skills.

Staring down the start straight and the weather armageddon is about to hit 

Lactic is flooding through me, arms screaming and hands like claws death gripping the bars, right quad in agony, alternate the lead foot, a transfer of skills, practice what I preach.  I never intended to do this in a one-er but priorities have been dictated by a higher force and I’ve no choice, must… get… down.  The bedrock lower section is like ice, limestone slickrock and brakes are no option.  Light on the front end, let it drift and slide, in the air is safest.  The deep clunk of the back rim smashing hard, thirty psi and a cup of Stans, choose your equipment wisely, you never know when it may save your life.  Straight line, full bore off a few small drops and under the finish barrier.  I crack a smile but the danger is far from over.  I’ve done my bit technically but now need lady luck to see my passage back to the safe haven of the valley.

The deluge is indescribable as I hit the road, blinded by the droplets, eyelids like windscreen wipers on the highest setting, a lost battle.  Inches of rain on a flat road and I veer to avoid a car out of nowhere, lights on, horn blaring.  Praying that my route choice is still taking me down.  Out of the saddle and fighting hard, drawing energy from empty reserves, I’ll be glad to pay for this if it means I get to see tomorrow.  Redemption comes in the form of a bridge, huddled figures and a raised hand from a biker as I skid to a halt.  Cars are seeking refuge here too, nobody dares head out into this abomination. 

Glad to be under the bridge when these started smashing down!

The hailstones begin to smash down, jagged marbles bouncing off every surface but the danger has passed and I’m a mesmerised observer, the sanctity of the bridge distancing the threat, like watching the storm in a zoo.  I let out a whoop and an uncontrollable grin spreads over my face.  The other cyclists under here are bone dry, I know they’ve missed out as I squeeze my saturated gloves, water flooding out, I wonder if they feel the same way.  Twenty minutes pass and the oppressive blackness begins to lift as I start to shiver.  The storm remains but it’s said its piece and we all know who maintains the real power, mother nature has to let off steam sometimes too.

The road is still a river as I hammer down the last section, two foot deep puddles on the cambered inside of corners stop the traffic but I plough in laughing manically.  The pain subsides as I sweep through the last corners towards home, the familiar whirr of freehub finally drowning out the drumming of rain.  This one will last in the memory for years to come, I feel very alive.

The Costs of Learning...

A few years back I had my personality neatly pigeonholed by an unerringly accurate multiple statement test.  All I had to do was read a series of sentences and decide which ones sounded most like me and it came out with a pretty clear and extremely detailed portrayal of my likes and dislikes.
One of my key discoveries was the fact that I'm really bad at being a beginner.  In fact I actively hate it to such an extent that I've little interest in ever seeking new spheres in which to learn.  A good example of this is that unlike my friends who practically ran to start driving lessons on their 17th birthdays I waited until the government were threatening to bring in the theory test (yep I was driving that long ago!) before I pulled my finger out.  It wasn't only the crazy expense of the lessons or the fact that my mates were stood at the college gates baying for me to stall the motor, it was more a reticence to have to be crap at something new.

Whilst this moderately common personality trait does mean that I have limited interests, therefore making me the worst person to get sat next to at a wedding, it does manifest itself in a huge depth of knowledge and attention to detail in the subjects I am interested in.  Coaching and bikes obviously being the best example of this!  I wonder how many other people watch all the edits from EWS and DH World Cup races and ignore the soundtrack and seeing who won in order to focus in slow motion on each rider's techniques?

So all of this rubbish so far has been a long winded way of saying that some types of people really need ways to progress rapidly if they're trying something new otherwise they'll lose interest and give up.  The first time I ever went snowboarding I was equally non-plussed about the idea of being the biggest kook on the slopes.  I could've skied, something I was already fairly proficient at but this was around the time when boarding was the new, anti-authoritarian alternative to skiing's posh uppityness. Baggys, beanies and beers versus all in one tight dayglo suits and glasses of fine wine.  I was young, punk loving and a capable drinker at the time so I opted to strap one plank to my feet instead of two. Whilst my look in the bar was all 'boarder dude', unfortunately on the slopes it was more 'boarder gimp'.  If I was to save my image and develop a love for the sport then I'd need some lessons.  At the same time, Tom, a mate who was with us (who's name hasn't been changed to protect the innocent) was also in the same boat.  A natural high achiever in business and sport he was an even more extreme version of my personality.  Deciding to eschew the lessons he headed straight to the top of the steepest slopes.  On that first evening he boasted of having boarded the blacks whilst we were being taught to link turns on the baby slopes.  I have slightly guilty fond memories of seeing the roles reversed on the final day as we jumped on the lift and looked down on Tom, his confidence as shattered as the arse cheek he'd continuously landed on that was now protected by a load of pipe lagging stuffed down his trousers!  It was such a pitiful sight that we didn't even take the piss... much.

Given the lack of pistes in the UK and Ireland, getting away to the slopes is generally a once in a while pleasure.  As a result of that I never got the opportunity to practice and become really good on the snowboard.  However, by committing to lessons I was able to get good enough to be enjoying the blacks and attempting to hit some drops and even the halfpipe by the end of the week.  And herein lies the point to this rambling.

Mountain biking is different.  One of its many strengths is that there's no specific time of year, conditions or even terrain that is best to enjoy it.  I've had as much pleasure sliding over greasy roots in the lashing rain in Ireland as I have tearing down the dusty slopes of the Alps (it's just the cleaning that sucks).  As a result of this, we can do it anytime that we aren't weighed down by other commitments. For some lucky people this means every day, for others a cheeky evening or weekend every now and again.  The point I'm making is that even the busiest or least committed bikers will manage more than a week per year!  So why is it that it's the norm to get ski lessons but rare for people to seek bike coaching?

Coaching in action!

Yeh, yeh, yeh.  This is a blatant advert for my services (other coaches are available!) but I'm really just trying to ascertain why more people don't seek lessons despite virtually everyone wishing to be more skilled?  Like snowboarding I believe mountain biking to be a really easy sport to learn.  Once people are comfortable with the concepts of weight shift and braking they can learn to corner, hit drops and ride the steeps with confidence and yet so many riders shy away from the interesting terrain through fear and lack of technique.  I'm fortunate enough to get to coach many people from total beginners to experienced (in terms of years biking) riders and in many instances there is very little to tell between them after just half a day of coaching.  So many people seem to take up mountain biking and treat it like the daily commute with knobbly tyres, permanently sat down, clipping pedals and getting rattled to bits until they're forced to get off by a step or drop.  I'm afraid trail centres have to take a large proportion of the blame.  The gentrified, all weather with no variation facet of your average man made trail has spawned a generation of people who can 'just about get round the red in one piece'.  Back when I were a lad natural trails were all we had so when it rained we crashed lots and improved the hard way via smashes, snapped bones and A+E departments.

I dearly wish that back in 1988 someone had taken me aside and taught me how to ride.  It could've been me pulling a front flip off Edinburgh Castle and getting fifty million YouTube hits!  As it was, the first time I was ever coached was during my Trail Cycle Leader training course and it was a total revelation!  I learned that SPD's had robbed me of the opportunity to do a proper rear wheel lift and as a consequence a decent bunny hop.  I loved being observed and personally fed back to, even if it was accompanied by a mild embarrassment that my skills were so rudimentary for someone with so much supposed experience.  I lose count of the amount of riders who have since said the same to me following the coaching day of their own TCL training.  I love the fact that I've had so many potentially really good riders who I've been able to help with just the slightest tweaks to take their biking to a whole new level.  Just the other day I got an e-mail from a fella who is now manualling a hundred metres instead of two from just a couple of pointers.  Likewise, seeing the face of a sixty year old man who has just popped his first wheelie or a nervous beginner who has nailed a drop that has been taunting them makes my job eternally satisfying.

I think that the other reason that people shy away from formal coaching is because 'it's like riding a bike innit!'.  The belief that mountain biking is no different to general pootling on a bike means that because people can perform the function of pedalling and balancing they don't realise that they're lacking other fundamental skills.  Many of the people I do get to coach are under the impression that hitting techy trails, drops and gaps will always be beyond them and they're blown away when they realise there's no voodoo tricks, just a bit of teaching which breeds the necessary confidence and ability.

Times are changing, I'm getting much busier be it through word of mouth or sheer numbers of bikers now in the sport. Perversely I've actually had a fair bit of work because of the amount of serious injuries to out of depth newbies on the trail centres.  Many people have realised the potential dangers of MTB when they hear of other's misfortunes and so they seek professional assistance to prevent them having the same mishaps.

The message is clear, I need to eat and so do my kids so come and pay me to make you ride a bike better!  If that's the message you take from this then so be it but my real message is this.  You spend a a small fortune on a bike, kit, fuel to get to trails and maybe occasional accommodation.  You may take your bike away on holiday necessitating bike bags, excess baggage and bolstered holiday insurance.  You enviously watch others who are more talented than you and secretly wish you could emulate them.  If any of these statements are anywhere near to you then do think about getting some coaching, you'll never regret it.

Advert over, see you on the trails and you'd better be stood up on the downhills!