|
Tales From the Trails
Hi all,
A bit of a different twist to the Tales this week as a large number of
us were at an enduro race in Thetford Forest, so it's more of a race
report than a ride one.
It was back in early January when James informed me that I'd been
entered into the Thetford Enduro as part of Team Addiscombe Mullet, and I
thought nothing of it until two weeks ago when e-mails started to be
circulated regarding where we were going to stay and how we were going to
get to Thetford. At this point, I started to enquire just what I'd been
let in for and found out that it was a forty plus mile race around
Thetford Forest and a number of us would be camping in a field in the
middle of February; oh, I was enthusiastic.
Now as you're probably aware, Thetford is on the Norfolk/Suffolk
border, not an area usually associated with undulating countryside and
especially not with mountain biking, the very name of which suggests the
gaining and losing of altitude as it's main purpose. Thetford does however
have a very large forest which is littered with singletrack bike trails
and miles of forest road. I, among others, was lulled into a false sense
of security that forty-odd miles on a flat course would be simple; how
wrong I was, but more of that later. Anyway, it was on Saturday afternoon
that James, Tony, Adam and I set off in convoy to Thetford, me giving
directions and Tony following. The weather was surprisingly good for the
time of year and we were all in good spirits. Upon arriving at the venue
though, we were a little surprised to find only a handful of tents and two
caravans, rather than the sprawling shanty town we were expecting. We set
up our tents whilst we still had daylight and started to explore the part
of the course which passed by the camping field. I got my bike off the
trailer and set off into the first singletrack section just as the light
was beginning to fail and found it to be some of the best trail I'd ever
ridden (despite being flat). It was so good in fact that I got carried
away and rode for a couple of miles, the light failing as I got further
and further away from base. Eventually I realised that I'd best head back
and guessing which way base was, cut up a fireroad which luckily led me
straight back to the others, who were waiting to go into the nearest town
to get supplies (beer, more beer, food and takeaway). Upon getting back to
the campsite, the temperature had plummeted quite dramatically and it was
with many a shiver that we tucked into our fish, chips, beer and whisky.
I always find it amazing that in situations where you realise that you
really don't want to be deep down, there is a real sense of camaraderie
that makes the whole experience enjoyable. Sat outside our tents in all
the clothes we were carrying and in sleeping bags, we were so cold that it
took all the willpower we could muster to retrieve another beer from the
supply box or nip into the woods, but we had such a good laugh that our
faces were aching. People from the other tents were popping across to chat
with us and there was a real Dunkirk spirit amongst us all that probably
kept us going. We turned in at about 11 o'clock, wondering where Joe and
Rik had got to, the other members of our overnight team. They finally
turned up at half past eleven and insisted on us getting up and drinking a
few more cans with them. At this point, Chipps (the Editor of Singletrack
magazine, sponsors of the race) came over with his party of drunken (and
semi-naked) revellers/racers, handed round a rather expensive bottle of
single malt whisky, chatted merrily away and took photos of me and James
with our heads stuck out of our tent flap, which will hopefully be in the
next edition of the mag (unless of course he took offence to James calling
him Potato). It appeared that they were also doing the team event, on
singlespeeds (I was the only one of our team with gears) and they started
to brag about how they'd blow us into the weeds the next day and use every
trick in the book to make sure they beat us! We finally turned in at ten
past one after all the whisky had been drunk; at least it left me warm
enough to sleep.
Sunday morning came very quickly and coldly and the decision to ignore
the food we'd bought and go out for a fry-up was made instantaneously by
all of us. Now I don't know if any of you have ever been to that
particular part of the country, but they don't seem to like outsiders very
much and don't seem to get up early on a Sunday morning. We were stared at
in the streets and must have been to every single cafe in Thetford with
every single one being closed; at one point, we actually saw one with an
Open sign and a bloke stood in the doorway but as we got close, he locked
it up and announced that it too was closed. So with a feeling that we'd
somehow been transported into the set of 'American Werewolf in London', we
gave up and did the unthinkable; we ate in McDonalds!
We arrived back at the campsite to find thousands of people and cars, a
far cry from the lonely looking handful of tents that we'd left an hour
before. We parked up, got the bikes out of the cars and began to prepare
ourselves for the impending race with a vigour that would have embarrassed
a snail. Whilst preparing ourselves, Sylvain, Dr Pete and Andy S, freshly
arrived from nights in proper beds, came over to join our ragtag camp. We
all went off to sign on and get our numbers, then moved over to the start
line where we found Hannah waiting for the off. The solo riders were the
first to set off, followed by us team riders five minutes later and then
those who had chosen to do fewer laps behind us. As soon as the solo
riders were off, Joe and Sylvain shot off the front of the pack which
contained Rik, Hannah, Dr Pete and Andy, leaving all of us team riders to
move cautiously up to the front. The five minute interval seemed to last
for seconds and then it was our turn to set off on our first of three
thirteen and a half mile laps.
The course itself was made up of a mixture of fireroad and singletrack,
with the latter making up the largest portion of the thirteen and a half
miles. The singletrack trails have been lovingly constructed and twist and
turn through the trees round bermed curves, over whoops and in and out of
bombholes as they snake their way through the forest. The surface was hard
packed mud mixed with pine needles, which made a thoroughly refreshing
change to riding the quagmire that is the trails of the South East in
winter. One thing did stand out though; as flat as the area was, this
course was going to be no walk in the park as the terrain and the sheer
distance of each lap certainly demanded a great deal of effort (both lower
and upper body strength being required) and concentration to successfully
navigate. It also had a habit of killing bikes. We had not been out for
five minutes when I heard an almighty Bang in the woods behind me; I
really thought that it was a shotgun and that the cafe owner from before
was after his revenge. Ignoring it, I carried on and was managing to
overtake a few people, all the time thoroughly enjoying the singletrack
sections which literally went on for miles. At certain parts of the
course, it's possible to see other riders a few minutes in front or behind
you as it switchbacks it's way through the forest. At the first of these I
saw James and shouted the usual Addiscombe greeting of 'Cuckoo', only to
be replied to by about three or four others who must have had no idea what
we were on about. I cut back into the singletrack, out onto another
fireroad and passed another group of solo tail-enders before powering on
and into the next singletrack section which cut like a tunnel through the
bushes.
I couldn't believe how well I was doing; in normal XC races I am one of
the ones at the back, getting overtaken and wishing that I'd trained
harder and not smoked/drank so much the night before but today I seemed
unstoppable (relatively speaking - as in good for me). I pressed on,
crossing the finish line under the hour and started my second lap. It was
here that I spotted Joe and more importantly Tony, one of the members of
our team. To get team position in enduro racing, three of the four members
have to cross the finish line having completed the full distance. the loud
bang I'd heard at the start of lap one was Tony's wheel literally
exploding - half of the sidewall of his rim blew off. Joe had suffered a
buckled wheel which meant that he had to retire after one lap. With the
knowledge that Tony was out of the running, I was praying that nothing
would happen to James or Adam when I heard another bang and fell backwards
- my seatpost had snapped at the point where it exits the seat tube. My
heart sank, I had been doing so well. I got off the bike (quite easy with
no seat attached) and considered my options. I could retire and walk the
short distance back to the camp with my broken post in my hand and my
pride intact although let the team down, I could walk back, locate a spare
seat post and rejoin the race in a much lesser position and lose valuable
time to the team's overall position or I could put the top half of my
broken seatpost back in the frame and carry on with the seat nearly
touching the top tube (and remember that it's a 16" framed jump
bike), tiring my legs out in the process. I chose option three, despite
still having twenty six and a half miles to go before the finish. I had
already wasted a good five or six minutes fiddling about with the seatpost
and my Camelbak and was destined to lose a lot more time over the lap
because of standing up but I pressed on and to my amazement, still managed
to overtake people. With the seat down, the singletrack was an absolute
dream to ride and much quicker than when I'd had a seat jutting up near my
privates; I also managed to jump out of the final bombhole to the enormous
cheer of the crowd of spectators who'd collected to watch people stumble
and fall as they tried to ride out of it.
At the end of lap two, I rode through the start/finish line and cut off
the track for a well deserved rest and to report my predicament to Joe and
Tony. Joe kindly offered to lend me his now redundant seatpost and whilst
he walked off to get it, I sat on the grass and ate a Kit Kat. Five
minutes later and with a new, long seatpost, I set off again out onto the
course, my power regained and my seat at a height that made pedalling
efficient again. I was once again in a position where I was overtaking
people (some of them for the third time!!) and was pretty chuffed with my
new found power, albeit depleted from laps one and two. I bombed round the
singletrack sections, up the long fireroad, into another singletrack trail
and 'crack', the seat fell off; I'd managed to bust another seatpost. With
a great deal of cursing, I retrieved the seat from the ground, found out
that the clamp had slipped away and managed to jam it back on in a
makeshift fashion before setting off again into the last three miles of
the course. Thirty seconds later, it fell off again and I'd be surprised
if you didn't hear my foul language back in Croydon! There was nothing
else for it but to put the seatpost down, fit the seat as best as it would
possibly go and ride the last three miles stood up. By now my legs were
aching like never before and I was having to do three revolutions of the
cranks and then coast for as long as possible before repeating. I managed
to save a bit of energy for the bombhole and another crowd pleasing jump
and then pressed on towards the finish line. I crossed the line on the
back wheel (I know, I'm the eternal poser and can't resist wheelies) three
hours, twenty three minutes and forty and a half miles after setting off.
So how did we all do then? - Joe got off to a brilliant start and was
flying before his newly built wheel gave up the ghost, forcing him to
retire after one very quick lap. Luckily for him though, there were only
three Juniors entered and by proxy of that, he came third and won a bronze
medal. Had he not suffered from the dreaded buckle, he would definitely
have got gold. - Sylvain, the French marvel, had a storming race and
stomped home in third place in the Senior category and fifth overall. He
too got a bronze medal for his efforts, in a time that would have still
earned him third in Elite and was an hour quicker than my own. - Hannah
had a blinding race and whilst she didn't win a prize, she was chuffed to
bits with her time which was quicker than the target she'd set herself by
quite a bit (I think it was three hours, fifteen minutes). - Dr Pete
hadn't been out on his bike for a while but kept up an impressive pace,
finishing just over three hours twenty with a smile on his face which
showed that he'd enjoyed himself thoroughly. - Rik was experiencing his
first race ever (what an introduction) and crossed the finish line tired
out but happy, with a time just over three hours thirty. - Andy, a friend
of the club and one of the members of our Lakes party, finished just after
Rik and was grinning like a Cheshire cat, just before he (like the rest of
us had done before him) collapsed on the ground.
And as for team Addiscombe Mullet: - Tony drove all the way from
Croydon to the forest towing a trailer precariously carrying our bikes to
spend a night in sub-zero temperatures only to get five minutes of riding
in which included about half a mile of singletrack. He was not best
pleased to say the least. - James and his horny singlespeed bike kept up a
slow and steady pace throughout the race and finished in around three
hours and three quarters. He didn't have the strength to squeeze his horn
when he finished! - Adam had a personal tragedy as his beloved bell broke
(it seems that all singlespeeds have to possess an audible alarm
mechanism) which distracted his mind from the task in hand, meaning that
his time was just behind James's. - As for me, you know how I did from the
above, but I was still pretty chuffed with my time when everything had
been taken into consideration and I really enjoyed riding the course and
the (what can only be described as sexy) singletrack.
And as for Chipps's team, they came last having all dropped out!
Jason.
|