Whinbattered...

Did the Whinlatter Challenge on Sunday as an exercise in casual indifference. It started with the clothing - camo Windstopper, baggy, three-quarters, carried on with the baggage, a Haglöfs daypack with a three-litre bladder and was preceded by equally casual preparation. Think a day of slaving over a fresh web-site after a three-hour mountain bike ride - no taper - followed by too much beer and about fours hours sleep before crawling out of bed, into a van and up the M6. The bike, erm, Rocky, my trusty Setavento hardtail with Pikes and grippy tyres. Casual, see...

So it was that I stood on the startline, pre-dehydrated, badly fuelled and utterly lacking in any motivation whatsoever. The plan, in so far as there was one, was to ride round gently, take in the views, have a friendly chat or two along the way and then eat cake and drink tea afterwards.

So much for plans. Id forgotten about pre-race adrenalin, people's tight, twitchy, humourless racefaces and the pointy elbow brigade with their points to enforce. No place for a dozy, unmotivated, slow coach like me.

Anyway... I survived the terrible music and trundled gently up the first long fire road climb and up to the first bottleneck which is the province of the casually indifferent who can't be arsed to push to the front. Walked up most of the first congested singletrack climb then pottered gently onwards watching fast people scream past on the other side of the tape.

The views were quite stunning, really lovely. Trundled down some singletrack. Marvelled that some people are even less technically adept than me. Climbed some more fireroad. And repeat. Mostly it seemed to be uphill and gradually my legs sort of woke up and we even overtook a couple of people on one of the easier climbs.

Then suddenly it was all over. My legs hurt, mostly I think because I managed to drink just one liter of flluid in three and a bit hours, which will be why I finished with burning legs and a stinking headache and proves that not only do I ride like a muppet, but I'm stupid too.

On the plus side the cake was nice, I won't be quite so pointlessly casual at an event again this year and I met some nice people along the way.

Overall, a bit of a wake-up call. If you treat stuff with disrespect, it bites yer arse. Next time it'll be lycra, bottles, the fast bike and something a little more like thoughtful preparation. But a nice day out, even if I kind of wish I'd been on the hills on the other side of the valley.

Gently Trashed In The Sun...

Summer seems to be having a last fling in the Peak. Yesterday might have been September on paper or digital calendar for that matter - can you still get paper? - but it had glammed itself up with extra glittery eye-liner for a non-negotiable, one-day only, Return of Summer special promotion.

Really I should have rested up. Stretched. Gone for a gentle stroll and fed ducks. But it was like being a kid when your mates come round, bang on your front door and drag you off down the park to play footie, or whatever the gurlz equivalent is. So the Pace was eased out of the bike cave, dusted down, lubed and seat-posted with one of those adjustable thingees and it was off up sunny, grindy, Chunal tarmac for a gentle roll around the local trails.

I don't know about you, but it's hard not to smile when you're bathed in late-summer sunshine and the trails are dry and loose and fast and familiar. Off the road and onto the Shooting Cabin the wrong way for a steady, slidey, climb on tenuous looseness. Beaming at grumpy walkers and picking lines with familiar, relaxed care.

And at the top, after failing miserably to clean the steps out of the ford yet again, I snuck around the corner. Parked the Pace in the heather and lay in the sun, helmet and pack off, gazing over at a sun-washed Kinder plateau across the reservoir's beaming blue. Funny mix of joy and sadness, brittle, temporary beauty. Filed away under summer memories and winter pending.

Then a lazy drop down past 20 Trees - there are n-n-n-n-n-nineteen of them now, I think - into Hayfield and a roll around to Kinder Res and up through the grassy field to Kinderlow End. And yes, I do carry chain-ring bolts. Yes, I have two of them. No, you don't need to pay me for them. Except in karma maybe. Though chocolate would have been nice...

And to cut a mellow, sun-breaky ride home short, mellowed back down behind the campsite in Hayfield, then crawled semi-broken back over Lantern Pike back home for post-ride bacon and egg tiger bread sarnies. Tired, happy, end-of-summerish. Just pedalling. The ducks can wait.