Fat Lad Rides Again

Fat Lad Rides Again is moving....

2008-09-09T14:19:00.003+01:00

If you come here via the feedburner feed *hopefully* nothing should change for you.

If you come here from blogger it might need changing...

But lets be honest this will go above the head of most people who come here

Right then the address for this chunky corner of the web will remain as:

http://www.bigalsplace.co.uk/fatlad/

the rss feed however is changing to:

http://www.bigalsplace.co.uk/fatlad/?feed=rss2

If you're really confused drop a comment here and I'll try and talk you through it

have you tried turning it of and back on again etc.....

Fat Lad

Fat Lad Dashes Through Dalby Forest

2008-08-28T16:00:00.000+01:00

One from the depths of time this Phil and I hit the North Yorkshire MTB playground some time early May....

For a change I was running late. Phil had turned up and somehow I had turned a mornings worth of preparation into a last minute dash. Deservedly berated I was ready at last. Heading out for North Yorkshire's Trail Centre our hopes were high for a good afternoon of riding. We weren't to be disappointed.

In an unusual episode of British weather it was scorching hot and the ground was already flag crackingly dry from the bike wash as we left. With the quite frankly freaky late spring weather the morning had been spent with equal parts procrastination and attempts at hydration. All this led to one factor: We were zooming along country roads listening to the Tom-Tom's authoritative tones and I needed to pee. Badly. Finally finding somewhere for me to stop and water the hedgerow I was suddenly stuck with stage fright. After some mental motivation the seal was broke and the days first sensation of euphoria hit home.

After some slight miscalculations involving my sat nav, a non-existent road and Phil's driving we were one long journey down and a long ride ahead. Automotive stiff legs were massaged into life.The sun even fiercer here not far from the coast, my one small sachet of sun cream hidden in the first aid kit deep from dark nether regions of my camelbak was retrieved and applied.

Considerably later than planned we were mounted up and pedalling away. Less than 1/2 a mile form the car park and we had already missed a turning. Not too far on and we were bang on the trail climbing out on the red route proper. My legs weren't feeling particularly snappy but I twisted the cranks regardless talking rubbish and hauling my arse up the incline regardless.

The dry heat was sucking the moisture from my body at a phenomenal rate and at the first stop I rolled up my jersey sleeves to my shoulders. I just prayed that my bingo wings wouldn't get burnt... The first taste of what MTB Trail Centres was just around the corner and with a barely suppressed grin we kicked off.

Letting my good friend lead we dropped into a roller coaster ribbon of man made good sweetness. Up and down the path rolled ridden well it only required the odd kick of the pedals and Phil whooped and cheered over jumps and drops alike. And normally he is so reserved. (A collective snigger will be had by all who actually know him...)
Shooting out the other end we pitched up in the shade as Phil stuff a sandwich down his neck. Not far behind us a hound of large proportions loped by, closely followed by it's owner and his group. As the canine noisily slurped from his owners camelbak I smiled as it's owner called out it's name to follow them on: "Come on Lupo..."

Back up again for an age my suspension had started to creak and crack driving my usual limit of sanity close to it's broad edge. So despite the heat I did the best I could and watered it. Like a desert plant it was grateful and remained silent for the next few miles. The trails tracked up and down for a long while further rewarding every long fire road drag with gifts of hard pack narrow adrenalin hits.

Before long we reached Dixons Hollow. At the MTB playground we whizzed round a few times rolling the tabletops, too XC to be engaging in the jumping nonsense. I cleared the board walk managing to better my personal best of just walking most of the woodwork. Deciding on our current location we pulled out our butties and dove in hungrily. With our bellies satisfied (well mine at least) we cracked on after I watered the suspension once more.

The paths dragged on in the way only trail centre hard pack can and our only contact from humanity came some time later. We shared with our new pedal brothers our complete surprise and joy that for such a full car park the trails were almost completely deserted. Our next fix of man made goodness crept up upon us but soon had to be paid back in lactic acid with an evil switchback climb to the heavens winching us slowly to another summit. Scant few miles later this process was repeated once more.

With so much dust in the air I mistakenly took another anti-histamine thinking my tight chested coughing the result of early season pollen. With only a few miles Phil pinched flat and had to change two tubes as the first replacment valve fell out. All our water gone, filthy from sweat encrusted dust the corkscrew berms fired back out to the car park for Ice creams well earned

Fat Lad

Fat Lad's Last Lap

2008-08-11T22:30:00.003+01:00

SITS 2008, it was my sixth endurance event and despite putting my self through 132 hours of mostly mud filled hell I'd yet to swing the last lap. It might just be our crew of ragged trousered cyclists who hold up the last lap of an endurance event in misty eyed esteem or maybe pedallers world over hold it in special regard. When the fates decided it was my time to go out for the last lap my soul lifted and the last 23 hours of mud, heart ache and torture made way for weary, aching legged joy.

With Mick in from a storming lap, spraying mud from the back wheel in a fountain of dirt and effort he decided he was going out again too, Phil ditched his asbo tag and he too joined me out on the field of broken bikes and bodies. I like to think that words seldom fail me but in this circumstance the weary mix of emotions and exhausted limbs drained me of speech and I spun round the sticky humid lap with empty lungs and a heart bursting with pride, elation and the shear brilliance of sharing this moment with two of the best comrades any fella could ever dare to call friends.

Crossing the finish line I regret telling Phil to peel off and not confuse the timing guys, the three mud splattered amigos should have finished as we started. Mick and I crossed the line to grab a handshake from the big man of UK cycle sport and the grin on my face demonstrated a lost lap daemon well and truly exorcised.

Fat Lad

As always Mrs Fat Lads quite brilliant Photos of Sleepless In The Saddle 2008 can be found @ www.sarahshawphotography.co.uk

Fat Lad's Tag

2008-08-04T14:37:00.004+01:00

Nope I've not suddenly developed a need to go and spray walls in the more run down areas of my home town nor do I have to be at home before 9pm lest the Ministry of Love come for me, but I have been tagged by TOB. So onwards to more Fat Lad miscellany:

If you could have any one — and only one — bike in the world, what would it be?

Hmm, do you know? I've never really though about that. I'm so happy with my current bike that I don't give it much thought. So lets go with my current steed but with more top flight kit on board.

Do you already have that coveted dream bike? If so, is it everything you hoped it would be? If not, are you working toward getting it? If you’re not working toward getting it, why not?

It's a brilliant bike as is. Plus when you actually ride these things (a minor fact I think most of the designers overlook) top flight parts break considerably quicker than the not so top flight.

If you had to choose one — and only one — bike route to do every day for the rest of your life, what would it be, and why?

Hmmm, that's an evil question. Nope, not going to answer that the whole idea of cycling is to go places. To only have one route would be my very own ironic hell.

What kind of sick person would force another person to ride one and only one bike ride for the rest of her / his life?

I can think of a few....

Do you ride both road and mountain bikes? If both, which do you prefer and why? If only one or the other, why are you so narrow minded?

I ride both. But if it comes down to a choice I would always ride the knobblies. It's just so much more fun.

Have you ever ridden a recumbent? If so, why? If not, describe the circumstances under which you would ride a recumbent.
Nope but I've always fancied a crack at one. So I too can then sing the praises of having a none damaged prostate....

Have you ever raced a triathlon? If so, have you also ever tried strangling yourself with dental floss?

Now here's a story for for you. I now own a road bike. I also dabble a bit in running too. So if I started swimming I might be up for a triathlon. I told this to her indoors:

Mrs Fat Lad between streaming tears of laughter: "but you can't swim!"

She can be an evil woman when she feels like it. And for the record I can swim, I have a 10 metre certificate to prove it!

Suppose you were forced to either give up ice cream or bicycles for the rest of your life. Which would you give up, and why?

Dead easy, Ice Cream. I have sensitive teeth. Now cakes however *shudder*

What is a question you think this questionnaire should have asked, but has not? Also, answer it.

Does sporting a fine pair of sideburns make you more desirable to the opposite sex?
Absolutely, and a spiffing pair of lambchops makes you damned irresistible.

You’re riding your bike in the wilderness (if you’re a roadie, you’re on a road, but otherwise the surroundings are quite wilderness-like) and you see a bear. The bear sees you. What do you do?

Bears! The only wild thing in blighty are the stinging nettles. Errm feed Phil to it and hope he likes the taste of "The Mighty Brommers"

Now, tag three biking bloggers. List them below:

Oooh who hasn't been tagged yet? Let's go for:

The Biking Badger
Jen
and just because I know Juancho would never lower himself to this sort of thing:
Bigworm

Ok TOB we quits now?

Fat Lad

Fat Lad Hits The North

2008-07-30T21:50:00.003+01:00

With Hit the North being virtually on our doorstep the usual need for a days holiday had been waived and we headed out of Leeds post work leaving the new northern financial heartland behind us. With only a one hour drive to the venue my long suffering wife fortunately didn't have to listen to too much inanity.

Pulling on site Mick and Carol were ready and set up whilst Phil and Ell, being the legends that they are, were in the process of putting up our tents. With a new shelter bought everyone there mucked in and with a sterling team effort it was up in no time. As the evening wore on more and more of the Bad Brains crew rolled in bringing more rain along with them. The BBQ was lit beers were consumed and before long we stumbled to bed, charcoaled meat and alcohol the most apt preparation we could muster for the event ahead.

Cruelly for a Saturday morning the event was a 10am start. The rain on the tent outer was pathetic fallacy at it's best. The girls disappeared off mysteriously only to re-emerge with new club kit:

The girls had rebranded themselves for the weekend as the PootleTwo+2. We were mightily impressed.

Heading up for the riders briefing we stood around in the morning mist listening to our instruction for the day. We ambled about waiting for the kick off and we wandered to the start to cheer out our first lap riders. stAn, club leader and Union Rep Extraordinaire, had brought enough gay pride whistles for the entire event and during the confused start we blew away the harsh frequencies mixed with the onomatopoeic crunch of gears. Phil had a first lap stormer and in the coral I strapped the timing chip to my ankle and headed out for my first slog.

Riding in West Yorkshire I'm no stranger to mud. But this was something else entirely. With a weeks worth of almost tropical levels of rain the course was water logged to begin with. Hundreds of knobbly tyres later and it was now a quagmire of epic proportions. At the much touted bombhole there was the alternative chicken run and as I wimped out I slid into the first turn on entirely the wrong sort of tyres to find a guy on the ground in a quite unnatural position. The stricken rider was well attended to so I trudged on past glad of my own good luck.

The first mile and a half of the lap turned out to be a will sapping march through ankle deep muck and to be honest I was thinking of throwing the towel in when I got back to base. Where conditions allowed I'd jump back on the wheels and ride on but even when pedalling I was struggling to get air into my infected bronchiole. Where the course was hard pack there was deep puddles of standing water and when the ever present rain did stop you were still soaked through and through.

But, here's the thing, it was a fantastic course. If the wrong side of the Pennines had had maybe a day or two of rain, then, the muddy bits would still have been wet but they would have been rideable. If the Manchester sky hadn't have poured for the week prior in biblical proportions then it would have been the perfect mix of singletrack, hard pack and tree tunnel climbing. I genuinely felt for the organisers.

Back to the coral Phil powered on out and I set back to the camp to change my tyres. As I slumped into a camping chair Ell started changing my tyres. Keith (the Pootle crew's very own crash test dummy) had come down for the day to mechanic and he sprayed the bike down clearing the drive train of filth. I stuck in some more brake pads wolfed down some noodles and I was out again for another lap. The times of club people riding the course were about meshed so Dave and I decided to go out and ride the lap together. Carol had been having some real issues with her bike, the poor conditions only made the situation worse and with great annoyance she decided that enough had been enough. Nobody could blame her. She's already done her two laps and some riders didn't even get that far.

With the right tyres on and brilliant company shared the second lap flew. Chatting with riders as we went everyone was in good spirits determined not to be beaten by the poor conditions. Back at the coral there was no sign of Phil or Steve. We wandered back to the campsite. Swapping the timing chip over Phil headed out whilst I got some food and some much needed rest. The lap times were getting progressively longer but Phil was back all too soon for my liking. Phil tiredly mentioned he was having a longer rest and Dave and I headed back out for the swamp.

Out on the course the combination of trudging through the slop and the inability to breathe had robbed me of the ability to pedal constantly. It was a long lap and Dave had the patience of a saint plodding along with me keeping my spirits up. Eventually reaching the start finish line I'd had enough now and I knew deep down it had been my last lap of the event. Back at camp I used a salad bowl of hot water to wash in and got changed into dry non-riding gear. Whilst we were gone Steve had also decided he'd done enough and left camp to head for home. Luckily Dave saw the funny side of it.

Gaining a little respite from the constant cycle of sun to showers everyone crowded in the gazebo for a while already swapping tales of the track. A little while passed and Phil, Dave, stAn and Mick headed out for one last lap, riding as a group ending with a giggle not a sprint. Once returned they changed out of soaking jerseys and grabbed a beer an event well finished.

For a first team, the Hit the North guys should be dead proud of what they achieved. It was quite simply a brilliant event with an awesome atmosphere, the cheeriest marshals I've ever had the joy to cheer me on and we'll be back next year. As always with BBMBC we'll come mob handed too.

With the race wound up I found out my hero to give him his well earned beer and congratulate him on a job well done. Some headed home but a hardcore few of us stuck around to see the day finished entirely. As the night turned to morning we all sang Mick's Birthday in and toasted him with some orange moonshine Mrs Fat Lad had magicked up. Well in our cups we headed over to the beer tent to celebrate Mick's birthday proper, with the bar staff handing out free shots it was working. The music was killed too early and as the lights went out and we finally took the hint Bad Brains were the only teams left standing...

Fat Lad

Fat Lad and the Ultimate Bag

2008-07-26T19:33:00.003+01:00

By a long suffering Mrs Fat Lad!

Fat lad has been looking for a new riding bag for months. Originally he had a Camalback Cloudwalker then in a moment of Fat Lad madness it was upgraded to a Camelback Mule (even though at the time I commented that all his riding gear would not fit in it), now a new bag is needed as all the riding gear does not fit in! Resisting the temptation to say I told you so.....

However now Fat Lad has become picky, even demanding in his ultimate bag requirements.

It must be: -

Small and compact

Have lots of outside pockets for Fat Lads camera, phone, car keys, house keys, bike pump...

Have an individual compartment for water

Have pockets on the belt (like batman)

Have compartments in the large internal part of the bag (to stop all the random items Fat Lad packs in his bag from bunching together at the bottom)

Have straps so it can be compressed when not completely full

So far in the quest for the Ultimate bag we have looked at North Face Bags in Glasgow on our wedding anniversary, Camelback and North Face on a day out in the Yorkshire Dales and Dakine whilst shopping for holiday bags. There is no end to where Fat Lad will travel to find his Ultimate bag. We can't go out without going into a bike shop.

The current thinking is that a Camelback HAWG may be suitable so now we need to go find a shop that sells them, just to check that it fits most of Fat Lads demands!

Please give Fat Lad some bag advice so I can get my sanity back.

Mrs Fat Lad

Fat Lad's Six

2008-07-12T14:35:00.006+01:00

Woo, I've been meme spammed! Harp tagged me and I think it's only fair to answer my readers ravenous appetite for knowledge with some little known facts about your chunky host.

1) I only have eight toenails. But I do have ten toes...
2) I'm actually a real lightweight when it comes to booze. What can I say? I'm a cheap date.
3) Despite the absolute agony it puts me through I am actually starting to like running.
4) I'm married to an international art thief who was detained by the Soviet authorities. (100% true)
5) I am appalling at Scrabble
6) I've never been this happy. Ever. I'm a very lucky boy.

Link to the person who tagged you.
Post the rules on your blog.
Write six random things about yourself.
Tag six people at the end of your post.
Let each person know they've been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog
Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

Training for this weekends Hit The North event seems to involve a little bit of riding and an awful lot of coughing. Here's hoping my man flu clears up for Friday...

Fat Lad

Fat Lad Gets Tired and Emotional

2008-07-10T21:06:00.005+01:00

How do you write up 82 miles of shared pain, agony and just absolute fun? You don't. Here are the pictures from our Leeds to Scarborough road trip.

Quarter of the way there.

Pete zooming along.

Hitting the halfway mark.

Stopping in Stamford Bridge. We still look quite fresh...

Good of them to put a sign out for us!

Finished, fed and knackered.

And for all you stattos:

Ten years ago Wednesday we lost the best of friends. For a few years now I knew I had to do something. Now I've done something we'd be both proud of.

Fat Lad

Fat Lad and The Curse Of Mountain Mayhem pt 2

2008-07-07T12:31:00.001+01:00

When I headed out for the first of my night double I was feeling good and strong.‭ ‬If it hadn‭’‬t been for stopping to help a guy out with his broken brake lever I‭’‬d have cracked the sub hour lap.‭ ‬Back on summer tyres the sticky ground was now not dragging every ounce of energy from my body.‭ ‬The only point of instance was losing control of the bike in a real tank slapper at the bottom of the speed accumulating run through camp.‭ ‬I‭ ‬rolled back to the start/finish area only to meet my wonderful wife and some of the other long suffering partners stood by the sidelines cheering random riders along.‭ ‬I stopped for a brief chat,‭ ‬crammed an energy bar down my neck and set off again at full tilt.‭

Half way up the first climb out of the gate the vague sensation of a need to eat became a deep roar of hunger and I pulled into the bracken to finish the only other energy bar I carried.‭ ‬I jumped back on the steed and pedalled off back up the climb.‭ ‬The heavens opened again and the rain dropped great deluges all over the already churned up course.‭ ‬The hunger had not subsided so I gulped down as much water as I could and just put my head down to keep going.‭ ‬As the climb finished I exited onto a long wide straight descent and I was glad to be moving swiftly again.‭ ‬The ground rushing up to my face was a surprise,‭ ‬almost as much of a surprise of the muscle twisting scream inducing cramp in my left leg.‭ ‬In a daze,‭ ‬unable to clip out my trapped‭ ‬left leg,‭ ‬an angel‭* ‬in black and white came to my rescue.‭ ‬Unclipping my bike and tossing it into the bracken track side not only did he make sure I was spot on,‭ ‬but‭ ‬he‭ ‬stretched out my leg to alleviate the cramp.‭ ‬Before I could offer my thanks or get his name he was back in the saddle and rocketing away as I groggily got back on the bike.‭

The course had got dangerous in the constant rain,‭ ‬on the next climb I passed a guy laid on his back with a knee wound open to the dark clouds.‭ ‬He insisted on waving every rider onwards and round the next corner the quad riding paramedics were making their way to his rescue.‭ ‬Then it hit me.‭ ‬Every cyclist at some point gets it.‭ ‬Like the rising sun or the complete ineptitude of the British Rail network some things are just meant to be.‭ ‬The dreaded bonk.‭ ‬I had nothing left.‭ ‬I span the granny gears sliding and slipping through the slop slowly inching forward the rest of the lap home.‭ ‬stAn passed me in his spiderman outfit ‬and I shouted to him to let the girls in the camp‭ ‬know I was going to be a long time back.‭

On one of the few short descents of the first half of the course I turned a corner to find a rider by the trackside struggling with her lamp.‭ ‬In my daze it took me a few seconds to realise it was actually Amy P from our very own club and the‭ “‬Racing-not-Riding‭”‬ pootle team.‭ ‬After tightening her lamp up on the bracket like a monkey swinging a spanner we headed off into the deluge deciding to stick together back to the handover tent.‭ ‬Riding what I could,‭ ‬which was becoming less as the distance to home lessened‭; ‬we came across a scene of total and utter comedy.‭ ‬The lovely off camber dusty snippet of singletrack had become a shiny bank of slippery slimy tractionless mayhem.‭ ‬We soldiered on as best we could in stiff soled‭ ‬riding shoes and we had to laugh when we spoke to a woman who had lost her bike on the same section and was still searching for it now.‭ ‬The wattle and daub effect was playing havoc with my gears now and only a foul tasting energy gel from‭ ‬Amy kept me going forwards.‭ ‬For maybe three quarters of the lap I walked and when the handover tent came into view the feeling of relief was incomprehensible.‭ ‬In the long walk back we‭’‬d seen nasty crashes and more than one bad mechanical to ruin the night of any sane rider.‭

Meeting Phil I told him not to bother doubling up his lap and to take it steady out in the madness.‭ ‬Ell and Mrs Fat Lad walked mine and Amy‭’‬s bike back to our campsite.‭ ‬Keith had also had to bail and rush away to take his very poorly fiancée home leaving the Pootle crew riding team a member down.‭ ‬Just over halfway done and the event was a racing disaster.

‭ ‬After a hot cup of tea and some food I headed up for a shower.‭ ‬To top of my few hours of misery,‭ ‬the hot water was not flowing and an‭ ‬icy rinse had to do.‭ ‬Back from my shower the girls gave me a collective bollocking when they realised I had eaten less calories at this event than I would do in a normal day.‭ ‬Suitably chastened I went to bed sore limbs desperate for some much needed respite.‭

Despite‭ ‬the threat of cramp coming back every time I turned I managed to get a few good hours rest in.‭ ‬As I‭’‬d headed into the tent scant few hours earlier the wind had‭ ‬already started to pick up and in the wee hours of the might its character had swollen to a‭ ‬ferocious howl.‭ ‬There was noise very close to our tent like a clap of thunder as a‭ ‬9‭ ‬meter x‭ ‬3‭ ‬meter gazebo constructed of polyester and aluminium poles took flight.‭ ‬At‭ ‬4:45am on Sunday morning it was all hands on deck as we rushed across the campsite to try and salvage everything the best we could.‭ Th‬e‭ ‬gazebo was unsurprisingly bent, buckled and a write off.‭ Furiously getting organised pulling all the cookers and various other camping paraphernalia into the tent we had setup for getting changed in.

‭Sadly, that was it, I was awake. With a long day ahead we started to pack up with time on our side. The night previous Keith had quite sensibly locked several of the bikes together with a steel cable. We couldn't find the key. Bugger. We left voicemail for the man and headed out to watch the race as the sun finally shone in the wild winds. (In his defence he had told me the night before and I forgot.....)

‭Pete's crew cracked on with the laps and with the weather now acting to dry out the track the remaining Pootle Riding team were left wondering if we had bailed too early. The hours cracked on and I spent a small fortune in the Buff marquis as the remaining riders ploughed on round the track. 2pm arrived upon us and we stayed trackside to clap in Cazza and Pete through the finish gate.

‭With the cherry on the cake of a flat battery to be restarted we were homeward bound and exhausted. With very weary eyes we couldn't believe our terrible luck when the northbound motorway was closed. 5 hours later we flopped into the house and slept a well deserved death like sleep.

What more is there to be said? Despite the poor weather interesting choice of course and disastrous happenings it was quite simply one of the best weekends on my life spent with amazing company and some fantastic support.

Fat Lad

My angel turned out to be this fella. Not only does he write too, he's organising the event I am the most exited about for the longest time in Mountain Biking. Hit the North. Full race report to follow Manchester's Premier endurance event.

Mrs Fat Lad Get's her Seb on...

2008-07-05T21:22:00.002+01:00

The quite brilliant MTB Photgrapher Seb Rogers.

The French say: Il pleut des cordes. - It's raining ropes
The Spanish say: Estan lloviendo hasta maridos - It's even raining husbands
The Germans say: Es regnet wie aus Kübeln. - It's raining like out of tubs
We Brits traditionally say: It's raining cats and dogs. - Gosh old boy it's a little moist outdoors what-what?

After today's hour and a bit vogue-ing for my Soul-Stealing wife we were all absolutely drowned wet and the words I would have chosen would be instead:

Feck me it pissing it down out there.

Still I reckon they were worth it:

The rest can be found much better quality @

www.sarahshawphotography.co.uk

Fat Lad

Fat Lad and The Curse Of Mountain Mayhem pt 1

2008-07-02T21:39:00.000+01:00

The promise of good weather had long since evaporated as we packed up for Mountain Mayhem.‭ ‬Because Mrs Fat Lad was well this year and cracking the whip to get me organised the van we had loaned from her workplace was loaded and ready to go the night before departure.‭

We had a good drive down and arrived at Eastnor Castle around lunchtime with loads of time to put up Gazebos and tents without running round like lunatics.‭ ‬A gazebo donated by Donny Dave from the early early days of the pootle crew was huge and would become the hub of most of the Bad Brains crew for the upcoming weekend.‭ ‬The afternoon rolled on and people started arriving setting up too and our little closure started to fill,‭ ‬the campsite pulling together laughter and excited conversation filling the air.‭

With the majority of the club set up riders set off out in small pockets of fun to pre-ride the course.‭ ‬I was adamant that I would be riding it enough over the next few days and dug my feet in staying firmly in the campsite beer in hand.‭ ‬That was until stAn bullied me into it.‭ ‬stAn and I pootled round course taking in the awesome views of the Malverns just spinning away in the late evening warmth.‭ ‬The track was awesome‭; ‬firm,‭ ‬dusty,‭ ‬twisty singletrack heaven.‭ ‬It was going to be rubbish if it rained...

COURSE DESCRIPTION

Out of the start/finish gate and left on grass flat.‭ ‬Left again up medium gradient grass climb.‭ ‬Climb for about a mile and a half.‭ ‬Level Off for a few hundred yards then climb some more.‭ ‬Hit the first summit,‭ ‬some technical descending with two gentle drop offs.‭ ‬A sharp right hander hairpin on a descent,‭ ‬then off camber rooty woods for the last climb of the first half.‭ ‬Down the long long shallow grass descent back through the campsite waving to your mates and then up the very sharp,‭ ‬steep but short climb and that's the‭ ‬lion‭’‬s share of climbing done.‭ ‬Follow the ridge of the hill sharp drop onto a right hand fire road.‭ ‬Out onto a long grass drag gentle climb into the twisty wooded singletrack quick blast back down the fields and back into the start/finish‭ ‬area.

Back in the camp site everyone had now arrived and the atmosphere grew warmer even as the night cooled.‭ ‬Down barbecued food and cold beer the laughs eventually had to give way to sleep and we all retired for the night a long weekend ahead.‭ During the small dark hours the heavens opened, pouring what felt like a years worth of precipitation onto canvas above our dozing heads.

Day broke early as the light streamed in through the thin fabric of our makeshift weekend homes. One good (and healthy I might add) breakfast inside me I wandered about fettling the bike and generally getting ready to break my first lap virginity. At Mayhem the riders have a short run to try and break up the pack and despite having three events under my belt its a joy I had yet to experience.

Mrs Fat Lad's amazing company had donated jerseys to the two Pootle Crew teams and all assembled for some soul stealing we looked mighty fine:

I meandered more and more aimlessly until my better half reminded me I had a race to get ready for. In what seemed to be the blink of an eye I was stood in the back quarter of the assembled riders waiting for the hooter to go for our run. My bike was placed somewhere I would remember where it was and as Glen (Ginsters), Aidy (Bad Brains Vets 2) and Dave (Pootle Crew "Racing Not Riding") headed off for the front, Chip (Bad Brains Vets 1) and I (Pootle Crew "Riding Not Racing") stayed towards the rear, the jostle and elbows out for those younger than Chip and with a more competitive streak than I.

2pm and the horn sounded as several hundred riders trotted out for 24hrs of the unknown. Chip and I jogged away from the start running steady and generally taking the piss as we went. With the bike beneath me I headed out good and slow knowing from passed on club knowledge how badly these things bottleneck.

Arriving at the first climb of the day there was already a very long queue and it was time for our national stereotype to shine as we all politely waited our turn.

‭As the climb widened it became more dispersed and after too much pushing without choice I was pedalling once more. I had to queue a few more times in the first half of the course where the singletrack was too tight to allow passing but as I hit the start of what was last years Kenda climb I flew down the long fast wide track back into camp.

With the pack well and truly dispersed now my only regret was riding on mud tyres for what was a sticky but not muddy course. With a grin on my face I rolled into the coral, snapped the baton onto Phil's wrist and headed back to camp for some food. One and a half hours down 22.5 to go...

‭The sky stayed sad Monday grey, the colour refusing to mimic the mood of the club. I got changed, had a bit of food and headed out to the long downhill run to cheer riders, club and strangers alike, onwards. This event was Lynne's first 24hr race and we lined the course whooping and cheering like loons as she passed with huge smile on her beaming face. Afternoon faded into evening and the peoples-democratic-republic-of-pootle decided tactics for the darkness ahead. Club tradition upheld we decided on double laps so people could get decent stretches of kip.

‭Really we should see these things coming....

‭Fat Lad

P.S. check out the new Mrs Fat Lad Photo site @ www.sarahshawphotography.co.uk for more Mayhem pictures while you wait for the next thrilling instalment

Fat Lad Is Like.....

2008-06-25T13:21:00.002+01:00

A dog with two danglys!

If you don't recognise the above, it's the club logo.

John, a design teacher* at a local school, produced the above for me.I'm made up. Genuinely touched and humbled. I really do have some awesome riding buddys.

Fat Lad

*That will be Shop to those the oter side of the pond.

Fat Lad Says:

2008-06-19T23:15:00.002+01:00

Wish us luck....

Fat Lad

Fat Lad's pre Mountain Mayhem Warmup

2008-06-18T13:02:00.002+01:00

16 Gloriously sunny miles last night and I'm feeling good. A little rain on the way to work today but I'm feeling strong and fit.

Superstition was strong last night with the pootle crew and I decided the stars/gods were telling me that Mayhem this weekend is going to be good as I cleared the roots of all evil. Cleaned in one swoop, no dabs, Scouts honour.

Pre race carbo loading provided with pie and peas.

Race report to follow sometime next week.

Fat Lad

Fat Lad Rides the thgileD girD

2008-05-29T17:45:00.001+01:00

With only Pete and I out for the morning it was a leisurely ride up with no start time to panic about. The glorious sunshine of the day was cooled by the vicious winds whipping round the hills and streets of my home town. This morning was the maiden voyage of Pete's gorgeous new steed; his sunburst orange Superlight.

Sat at the Master Mechanics kitchen table necking hot tea an idea thrown out became reality. Spurred on, pedals swapped from old to new, we geared up and set off, the morning already getting late. With the ride decided, tyres soon span noisily on the tarmac, the thgileD girD had been born and it was time for the fun to begin.
Hugging the sanitised trail behind the empty industrial buildings my front wheel bounced up from possibly the only rock in the trail. The wind pushed at this precise and opportune moment and I struggled to stay in control of a bike travelling in a direction I hadn’t intended to. Straightened up we shimmied trough the narrow alleys and back streets of Gildersome struggling to keep to the right ginnel with the mirrored route of this ride.

Heading off the paved and onto the dirt, disorientation of riding the familiar backwards forced us down and away from the accepted pathway. Corrected and climbing we had not been slowed, even with Pete’s incorrectly inflated fork. Crossing the A road veins of West Yorkshire to the all too small Drighlington Moor, miniature dust devils danced around blowing grit into our eyes. Looking down the delight Pete joked about how nice it was to be this end of the hill without panting. With barely a glance and a grin we exacted revenge on a climb that has made us suffer for months and years. The run was dusty, dry and rolling; even the inconsideration of one of the equestrian community could not spoil what we had earned in so many rides past.
Adrenalin buzz subsiding, we noticed a path never seen before at the base of the climb. Making but one mistake in exploration it was added to the trail repertoire for future use. Knife edge retained it's challenge in a completely new way, requiring more of heart, lungs and legs then the usual mix of nerve and skill. Both promising a better attempt with a clear run we headed back out of cover into the gusts. Claiming the karma back for many a knee busting hurt upwards, it was apt to use the big ring on Nab Lane for the first time in riding memory.

Into Birkby Brow picking up speed rolling down the fire road, the shooters were in poor mood for such a glorious Sabbath. Bucking the trend one Englishly cheerful woman encouraged us onwards to the-better-climb-than-descent. The path barely dried out I bashed the top of my lid on a low branch trying to maintain some semblance of control amongst the top ruts and gulleys. Splashing through the seasonally shallow stream I completely mistimed the exit pedalling and Pete pulled away from me up the sharply steep bank. Desperately trying to catch up I middle ringed up to the ruin to see Pete taking no shelter from the vortex of air swirling around him.

Hurtling out from the soon to be overgrown path I bottled the church steps yet again. Not letting my blatant cowardice ruin a superb ride, climbing to the usual hip flask point, I suddenly realised that this jaunt had already gone beyond the original remit. The firm ground made the climb easier and I reunited with Pete for more pedalling. In Haigh woods the fallen tree that had so stubbornly blocked our flow since the last period of high winds was now smouldering away in one of the natural craters; the lads responsible sheltering, using it’s warmth. Up DSFT (which will be DSFD until mid Autumn) it sapped my legs of any go. Funny how some sections remain hard work year round.

Taking the short route around the reservoir the wind was creating waves upon the normally smooth surface. At the bomb hole local kids lay on the dirt BMXs by their side watching the clouds race by, only becoming aware of us as we did too. Crossing the final section of trail heading home we had our backs to the winds, it was nice to sail the last few miles with natural assistance.

Too many times we’ve been told “Don’t do that ride backwards, it’s not all that good”. For once it felt good to prove someone wrong.

Fat Lad

Fat Lad Rides To The Master Mechanic

2008-05-15T23:15:00.004+01:00

Leave you're old pads in. Get a gert bif feck-off srewdriver in between them and force the pistons right back. That should do it. If not then take the top cap off the resevoir and do it agin. That'll do it

From here

And... that's what I did. The pistons? Oh yeah right back. The rest of the fluid from mos of the system? On the bat cave floor. Bugger. So a frantic phone call later I was booked in with the Morley Mechanic. Like a drunken Stormtrooper aim we kept missing each other. One ride missed I pootled on up to the lair of the Master Mechanic, a place where v-twin monsters hibernate to prowl the roads when salt will not damage their chrome armour.

Amongst the organised chests of tools obscure and familiar the stand was prepared.The King was hoist into it's plastic jaws to await it's salvation and the Mechanic set to work. Engrish Hayes instructions interpreted, ignored and bettered my brakes were air free to stop my chunk once more.

Coasting back home, the cold late spring wind knifed through the too thin jersey. Overly soft suspension unlocked beneath me, jumping speed humps for giggles, I swore for just one moment that I was 16 again. The summer of 97 ahead of me, a downhill bike to play with and the teenage feeling of joy and innocence.

Fat Lad

Fat Lad Filling

2008-05-14T13:20:00.000+01:00

My good friend Phillis and I zoomed round the Great Yorkshire forest the weekend just gone and my creative energies (darlings) are currently being channeled through the ether to you via blogger. Just slowly.

In other news; despite exercising the most since I was a teenager, eating the healthiest since being a teenager my

Weight is firmly refusing to budge. It's pissing me off. As endearing as having a "fuel tank for a love machine" is, it's time for it to flabbily feck off.

Plans for heading stateside early autumn continue, in a moment of genius from my better half we are both taking our bikes as it's crazy cheap to fly them out with us compared to couriering them over.

The road bike is fun. If your definition of fun is dodging traffic and re enacting Death Race 2000 every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning.

What else?

Nope that's it.

Have Fun

Fat Lad

Fat Lad Could Be Unwell

2008-05-06T12:58:00.001+01:00

The above picture is just to prove (mostly to myself I think) that the sun does indeed come out to play every now and again.

Anyways, I think I'm not right. Whenever the sun is shining and I'm stuck indoors I get ill. According to wikipedia:

The most common symptoms of SAD include extreme fatigue, oversleeping, not being able to get out of bed, overeating, carbohydrate cravings and weight gain. It can also be accompanied by the regular symptoms of depression, such as low mood, loss of interest in activities and trouble concentrating.

Blimey I tick all those boxes all year round. I find the only cure for this weather related malaise is to get out and ride. I wonder if I have inverse SAD. Maybe it's a whole new affliction. They could name it after me. FatLadMiserableGit Syndrome. I could be famous at last. Pictures of me in all good medical text books. Probably in some more graphically bad ones too.

I'm going to self medicate tonight with some swoopy singletrack descents, ball busting climbs and the company of honest decent riding buddies. I reckon, together, we can get through it.

Fat Lad

Fat Lad's First Meme

2008-05-02T12:15:00.000+01:00

Over at Freewheeling Spirit posted up is an interseting tidbit and suitably inspired article I thought I respond here.

First Post:
The earliest record I can find is here on the "Way back machine". That link is a little flaky but works sometimes. I did have afew posts prior to that but they were delted by some script kiddy sadly. The first here on blogger was this one back when I used to do considerably less riding than now...

Most Read:
Was this one. My Sleepless in the Saddle report. Most of the traffic came from Singletrack and the vast majority never came back.

Most Commented-On:
Is actually this one. But I doesn't count because Phil used at least two comments up to abuse me over the interwebs.

There is a few more with equal numbers of comments but I consider this one my favourite for obvious reasons.

Personal Favorite:
Just a lot of fun to write. Not all my posts flow in their creation (some unkind people may same about their reading of this site too) but this one just happened.

Most Fun:
This was quite simply ace. Seven days off. Seven days of riding. Every day riding with some different, trying varied styles of writing it was just huge fun. If you missed them the first time round they're all here:

A stupid idea Day One Day Two Day Three Day Four
Day Five Day Six Day Seven Knackered

Quitting the Blog:
Never even entertained the thought. I sometimes wonder why, when something I've really enjoyed writing gets only a few page views and little comment. But truth be told this is vanity project, and I can be very vain indeed

Fat Lad

If you have a blog, consider this a meme and consider yourself tagged.

Mrs Fat Lad's Sandwood Squelcher

2008-04-28T20:38:00.006+01:00

'My works about words
And sounds you can taste'

Unlike my husband who is often eloquent and can wax lyrical about his adventures in riding all day long, I am not the same! I use photographs to tell my stories and adventures (some of which can be seen on this blog) so instead of Fat Lad's ramblings on the Sandwood Squelcher, I give you my photographic version of the day................................

Mrs Fat Lad

Fat Lad fettles before the start

The start of the trail to the beach

Fat lad falls off....... of course I helped him up, well after i'd taken some photos!

Initial glimpse of Sandwood Bay ahead of us

The rocky descent to the sand dunes

The dreaded Sand dunes

Al's final descent to the beach

.......... and sat recovering!

Recreating a certain 'famous' photo

Al too busy posing to notice the waves sweeping past him

........ and trying to escape

Me proving a point that I could get the bikes the balance in the sand....... as usual I was right and Al was wrong!

Al looking lost without his bike and lid

Playing in the puddles on the way back to the car

More photos from the ride can be seen here :- http://www.flickr.com/photos/10970901@N05/sets/72157604817205629/

Fat Lad Returns to the Sandwood Squelcher

2008-04-23T20:30:00.002+01:00

A colleague once asked me if I can drive. I could only reply: "Well, I've got a license..." So when Mrs Fat Lad and I head north (Nearly ten hours of Mrs Fat Lad's Doppler shifting driving) the only petrol head in our relationship does the motoring.

Even being on holiday certain traditions must be upheld and so with my bottom lip out and foot well and truly stamped I insisted we ride Tuesday. Arriving at our starting point; amidst the breathtaking glens and soul dwarfing munroes I could be heard muttering: "It's no Leeds Pootle but it will have to do..." I unloaded the bikes and after much swearing and sore finger tips I gave up hope on fitting Mrs Fat Lad's front mudguard and turned my goldfish like attention to my own bike. With a very surprising amount needing doing we were suited up and heading out in record time. It would appear that we need to bring my always brilliant wife to the Pootles, maybe we might set off on time in future.

Through the gate and heading coastwards the trail gently climbed away in front of us. Mrs Fat Lad pedalled steadily away in front of me as I hung back happy to let her set the pace. Much much further than I could have hoped for Mrs Fat Lad pulled up for a breather. Moving again the synapse s finally started to fire and the scenery started to become familiar as we forded the stream that entered the first loch. When the contours allowed the wind to whisper away you could almost mistake it for June.

The gentle first ascent soon paid us back and testosterone over took me as I flew past Mrs Fat Lad on the first decline of the day. Memory warned me of the technical rock field ahead and as I plowed through the rocky section I wondered to my self: "I wonder if my technical abilities are better now too..." Turning the corner into the path my mind actually knew and it was there it was to be wary. Doing well the front wheel dipped over a large rock and sunk into soft peat all but pitching me over the bars. Discretion the better part of valor and not wanting the shame of calling for first aid so close to the trail head I walked the remaining few yards of collar bone shattering magnets.

The terrain varies wildly round here and the pedalling was over for a short while as we pushed the bikes on around the next loch. Clambering up from the shore and far too confident of my footing I put my right foot down onto emptiness and plummeted over to my right. Mrs Fat Lad's first instinct?

Exhibit A:

Back upright, dignity lost but with a well and truly stretched groin we cracked on. To add insult to injury my right foot was now doing the backstroke in my not-at-all-waterproof boots. In distance of a few pedal strokes to a few yards the trail switched between riding to hiking. Nearing the last of the riding outward bound the trail headed up steeply. I backed off the cadence as Mrs Fat Lad headed towards a climb of note. Fairly technical, long enough to notice and steep enough to know about it. I backed off, not for preparation, but to leave a gap for me to ride it selfishly when Mrs Fat Lad would have to get off and push. I lifted my jaw, stamped on the pedals to catch up as my better half disappeared riding over the summit.

As I followed over the top the view reinforced exactly why it was worth a very wet foot and the chance of not ever having children. Rolling down towards the dunes progress was only halted by the farmer bringing his sheep back up the path.

Hitting the dunes the deep soft silica was unrideable and as we plodded through I envied Mrs Fat Lad's walking boots. On the beach the roar of the waves made our ears ring with joy. The photographer I married kicked into overdrive clicking away to her hearts content.

Propping her bike up in the sand waves lapping over the tyres I had a mechanics heart attack as her bike crashed over completely submerged in the Atlantic Ocean. With a certain photo recreated we wandered onto the rocks. A few near death by drowning experiences later due to my slippy soled riding shoes we stood in silence soaking up the spray into clothes and the scenery somewhere much deeper.

The horror of climbing back out of the dunes with bikes on backs still couldn't dampen my refreshed being and we traveled back the way we came pedalling where possible. Back at the second loch I rode through the gentle waves as the water washed over my rims and I wondered how many times in life I would get to be this content. Or wet.

Back on the rideable parts of the trail Sarah got her soul stealing groove on once more:

And soggily we were on the final leg back to the car. My buff kept falling into my eyes and I stopped for the briefest of moments to unblind myself. With the promise of warm clothes and a slight decline to aid her my wife rocketed rapidly out of site. Hammering the cranks to catch up I did with only a few yards to go and with only a few miles covered I was ready for one of the world's best pies.

Fat Lad

Fat Lad and His Most Rubbish Ride Ever

2008-04-17T18:49:00.000+01:00

You may or may not have noticed, that, on the whole I'm a cheery kind of chap. This coupled with a laid back attitude that drives Mrs Fat Lad crazy means that rides that most riders would weep into their handlebars I can pull a positive out of.

"Still" I can usually heard to be saying: "You could be at home sat on the sofa doing feck all rather than being out pedalling. How many people get to experience all our glorious hobby has to offer?"

Not Tuesday gone. Maybe it's the incredibly wet Spring we're having. Maybe it's the elusive dream of Summer getting my hopes up. But I endured quite possibly the most miserable ride of my life. My waterproof boots, turns out, aren't*. My waterproof socks** were also swimming. The ground could not hold any more water and so rather than riding through the sticky drive train destroying mud we were riding through wet sloppy drive train destroying mud.

My hand were soaked. My wisdom tooth had decided that this very night was the perfect opportunity to push through my gums and was throbbing painfully too. There was no grip to be had anywhere. Even riders who hadn't been so short sighted to change from mud tyres slipped and slopped the whole ride through. Then I crashed, adding wet riding gear to my increasing tally of misery.

A few miles later we decided to call it quits.

What was your worst ride?***

Fat Lad

* Specialized defrosters - avoid like the plague

** Which I only bought because my boots turned out to be so bloody awful

*** This is a filler post because Mrs Fat Lad is rubbish at getting pictures to me ;)****

**** Blimy I'm getting like Alex with all these *'s.

Fat Lad is Dazzled

2008-04-09T18:54:00.003+01:00

"Feck me it's supposed to be Spring"

"I think I've changed my tyres a few rides too early"

"I think you've changed your tyres a few months too early"

"Cold for April int it?"

"This time last year we were already in shorts and summer jerseys"

"When is this ground going to dry out"

"I'm not going to be rocketing round, I've got the last dregs of man-flu"

"I don't think I could rocket round if I wanted to"

Then. Just for a moment. Silence...

Fat Lad

Fat Lad Lives

2008-04-01T16:07:00.002+01:00

Reports of my demise have been greatly under reported.

However I still live. Just about. A week of very fine food and very little riding has played havoc with my waistline and so I'm pedalling like a lunatic to try and shrink it back to my previous *ahem* athletic physique.

There are dark and malicious rumours abound. Sightings of a 4 foot something hairy-bowling-ball-esque creature running should not be believed. Nor should the entirely scurrilous accusations of Yorkshires finest MTB wordsmith owning a road bike be relied upon either.

We live in warped times.

Fat Lad

Fat Lad Wants to Know...

2008-03-10T21:45:00.004Z

What's your favourite bit of trail? Not ride, but your one two or three hundred yard stretch of dirtly nirvana that you would put into every ride if you could.

Thinking of this I was torn between the incredibly twisty bit of heart racing singletrack on the Long Newmiller ride (Wakey boys and girls will know the one) and the trail I've plumped for below.

So I present to you:

The Singletrack That Ribbons Down Through Birkby Brow Woods.

Coming off the edge hugging drudge of the farmers field its a short but steep back wheel dragging left turn in. Right out its off camber exposed and rooty. From Autumn to Spring those heart stopping roots are carpeted with leaves handing your balance to fate. Head on and the trail turns right and back downwards, the track splitting round the topmost tree. Head right for the chicken run or left for the small but concealed drop. Downhill, speed picking up now the trail swings left momentum carrying up the small incline sneaking between holly bushes. Down again and the trail widens: left for the big kicker, right for the gentler take off or middle for the more sedate rider.

Speed well and truly picking up now the trail turns upwards for the last time, the roller coaster almost over. Hit the last section that requires loose but determined handling and your over the last smattering of root. Sharp right and it's time to get the arse over the rear wheel as you plough over the small rock section. Roll into the fire road and share the collective grin.

So what's your favourite section of trail?

I'm throwing this out to a few of you out there. Post it up on your own corner of t'interweb. I know I'll read it when it lands.

Over to you guys:

Juancho - For the Florida Perspective
Grooving Fungus - For the Asian Perspective
The Old Bag - For the Poetic Perspective
TCA - For the South of Watford Gap Perspective
Jeff Kerkove - For the Guy Who Trains Damned Hard Perspective
Big Worm - For the Other Florida Perspective

Fat Lad (about to head waaaaay north for the week)