It’s been an odd start to the year. A month off my MTB after a chest infection/virus that has kept me coughing since November. Dr’s orders – no hard exercise, no cycling. Still managed to get a few good days walking in the Peak and Lakes.
Christmas passed. We drank, we ate, spent time with friends. New Years fizzled past with 8 hours on Scafell in torrential rain and cold drinks by a warm fire. The new year then spent moving home. Away from the city, out to the real world.
People now say hello. Dogs stop to sniff, not snarl. The smell of nature on our doorstep. A real positive move. Even the 40min commute each way has changed things – 3 short books in a week. Time to read and learn.
Ding dong merrily on high…whistle whistle whistle…and so on. This is your Christmas present, bloody well enjoy it. It’s January, I’m on Anglsey and I’m “running” the CTS trail half marathon. I’ve done this event before, even raced it to a point before, but that was when I ran consistently.
I’d not been running much in the past year, 4 runs if my brain calculates it right: A fell race on Boxing Day, two runs in the Lakes over the summer, and another day in the Yorkshire Dales. For some reason my brain didn’t take this as a reason not to run an over distance off road half marathon. Stupid brain.
Either way, Friday was spent driving down to Wales to sleep in a surprisingly nice Travellodge in Holyhead. Up at the utterly reasonable hour of 8.30am to grab some food before wandering over to the race start for a very relaxed 10:30am start. Nice, much nicer starting at this time than the previous years when we’ve done the marathon and the ultra. 6am starts are not cool.
The course was windblown and dry for a change -the last time we were here it was snowy and wonderful, but cancelled. The first few Km went with no issue as I worked to stay in the top 20 knowing that I wanted to get through the first two kissing gates then I could ease off. Finding a lung bursting rythmn I kept it going for around 4km before I knew I had to hold back. Just jog, let the HR come down, it’ll be ok.
The rocks rolled by and the terrain mellowed through the mid section of the course. A few vitamin I were consumed to keep the pain in my hip at bay, and I started snacking on some Cliff Shot Blocks with memories of the WEMBO race flooding back. I’d forgotten how it feels to be moving again, weeks of nothing at the end of the season combined with a viral infection and a chest infection had kept me sedate.
It felt good to be in some pain. Up and over the final climb before the quad and calf shattering descent into the finish area that claimed a toenail. Painful and hungry I wandered about the finish area. Now, where is the cake stand?
6 weeks of coughing came to a front when I realised enough was enough*. Three nights of no sleep for either one of us. A shitty morning at work, a doctors appointment, sitting on the couch wanting it all to stop spinning. It didn’t, it just got worse.
A week on antibiotics. Two with no bike riding or strenuous endurance activity. It took a week before I was feeling ok enough to even contemplate going climbing at the wall. The next day out walking in the mountains.
Being sick feels like it eats away at fitness bite by bite. Each time coming back for more. Never taking away less than it needs to. I can’t stand it. Sitting on my ass every night wondering how people live with this as normality.
But it lifts. The drugs do work. The Amoxicillin flows into those dark rotten places and cleans them out. Like a Judge in my bloodstream. I’ve lost something in the past few weeks, it’ll take time to come back, so take it slow.
Walk not run. Ride not train. Pull don’t climb.
*It was realised for my by Pauline, I was somewhat prepared to live with it at that stage. Bad move.
This was something I was never convinced of, I’m getting there though. The summer has seen me riding one bike more than any other, and it’s been the Spearfish.
I’ve had my Salsa Spearfish for about 8 months now. I’ve done just over 2,000km on it and I think it is time for an honest review of it. I did pay for this bike from my own money from the lovely folk at Keep Pedalling in Manchester and bar a change in pedals, brakes and the addition of some Jones Loop bars it’s been kept spec.
During this time I’ve worn out two chains, the chainrings and the cassette and several sets of pads. I’ve played around with some wider rims as well – but that’s for later and issue number 95 of Singletrack.
Rides have alternated between my normal 2 hour 30km local trail blasts, the entire of the Sarn Helen trail in <72 hours, multi day XC training days as well as the 24 hour worlds in Scotland this September. Whatever it has been I’ve reached for the Spearfish, most of my other bikes haven’t had an eye in since the Spearfish landed.
I was lucky enough to borrow both the size medium and large before I committed to buying – I have a habit of being between sizes with Salsa bikes and can go either way. First impressions were given around the steep ups and downs of Hebden Bridge on a fast test ride with two of my old XC race pals from Ireland.
65km later and I was hooked. The Spearfish descends better than any other short travel XC bike I’ve ever ridden, and is more confidence inspiring than many longer travel bikes of any wheel size. Cavaet – I don’t tend to pin it down hills – but I do want a bike to maintain momentum over terrain, especially over the sort of ground I race on.
The slacker than normal, for a XC race bike, gives the Spearfish a feeling of a much longer travel bike. The super short rear end pops the bike out of corners – without ever feeling like your near the end of the travel when pushing it down. The Split-Pivot on the suspension is perfect in every way – little noticeable bob if you have the suspension set well, and a feeling of bottomless travel.
The downside to the stock bike are the brakes -Avid junk – take them off and throw them far away. They are far to weak for the bike, the potential to go fast is limited by them, as is your ability to stop. A nice set of XT brakes sorted that out just fine.
The only other quirk of the Spearfish is the low BB height. It makes for a wonderfully stable and predictable ride and pedalling feel – but it does cause a fair amount of pedal strike until you get used to it – possibly this is just due to what I was used to riding…who knows.
The major surprise has been with the BB and pivot bearings. So far no sign of them going south – they are working perfectly. Normally at this stage I expect a full sus to be a creaking ball of hatred, but no such joy (?) at the moment as they appear to be holding up fine. Now, it has been a very dry summer- so maybe this will change. We shall see.
Overall, you couldn’t take this bike away from me. I was convinced it was the bike for me – then I spent a full 24 hours riding it up and over Fort William at the WEMBO worlds – this is one of the best bikes I have ever owned.
I’ve been neglecting this blog for the past month. Mainly as I’ve been busy getting on with life after WEMBO – sounds like a tragic screenplay that will never see the light of day. A short recap:
1) I got married – it was awesome. Can’t really add much except that it was all I wanted. Then I got to ride my bike in Ireland, which was nice.
2) I went to Cuba- it was awesome as well. More on that later.
3)I took time off – I’ve not road a MTB with any real earnest since WEMBO and it’s been a good thing. I still don’t find myself needing to ride, but I want to ride again.
4)I’ve run – only one 10km loop in the Lake District, but a run none the less. I’ve two running races I want to enter over the winter, I’ll do that later.
But mostly I’ve stopped stressing. The race prep is gone. The endless miles forgotten. The bills of a wedding yet to pass aren’t beating on my door. The phone calls, emails, questions – all the questions – have stopped.
“Why do you build me up, Buttercup baby? Just to let me down, and mess me around? And then worst of all, you never call baby When you say you will, but I love you still. I need you more than anyone, darlin’ You know that I have from the start. So build me up, Buttercup, don’t break my heart.”
I can’t get this shitty song out of my head. The writer in me wants to compare Buttercup to my race season so far; up and down with aggressive swings in luck, but still something I live for no matter how much I pretend I don’t. In reality I have a song invading my head and it’s been there for 14 hours. Get out and get your own room and leave me to suffer.
It seemed like a good idea at the time back in May trying to race the WEMBO worlds as best I could. At this stage I wasn’t too sure. Everything hurt. My arms, my legs, my face, my hair. I’d never ridden a course this hard and it was breaking me one minute at a time.
I’d given up on training 3 weeks before the WEMBO race. I was tired. The mental equivalent of cold soup. My body was as wasted as it was in the height of my racing career and it was starting to fight back. Then the excuse came along. A big crash out training one night. Knee too sore to pedal for a week, shoulder too bruised to ride a MTB at all. Part of me worried that I’d wasted all this time and couldn’t race. Part of me was happy that I could walk away with an excuse. Then I thought of Phil with his broken collar bone – I needed to man up. I just wasn’t certain I could face another abject failure after Bonty 24/12 this summer.
The normal face of a mechanic doing its duty.
The time off my bike did give me a chance to get everything else in order for once. My bikes were stripped and rebuilt by Paul the head mechanic where I used to work in Edinburgh Bikes Manchester – who nicely lent me a gazebo and Paul for the race itself. It sounded like a good idea. What’s not to like – Fort William, some beers, bikes and tools. A perfect day out. I may have neglected to mention that it was in October, and would probably be cold. Scratch that, it would be cold. Although on race day there was little mechanic-ing to be done as the bikes ran smooth – having a dedicated mechanic and somewhere for him to hurl abuse from was helpful.
Uber pit crew master Sean Wratten
The pits were split with another two riders to make things easier; my team-mate Mark Goldie racing single speed, and Rich Rothwell racing elites. Huge thanks must go to Sean our team-mate and mechanic, and Pauline who will have to put up with being married to me in two weeks. Along with Paul these two spent the day dressed head to toe in ski clothes and helping me do what I needed to do. People giving up their time is something that people forget about us “solo” riders – it’s never just us that suffers.
She who must be fed cake.
A quick recon of the course on the Friday showed a 13.4km lap with 450m of climbing and technical descents that suited me. This was not going to be a cake walk, but I felt like I could be competitive on the course. With a target of 20 laps I was aiming to climb higher than Everest from sea-level and a bit. Also, at that back of my head was a notion that I could trouble the podium.
EBC and TBP
Saturday morning saw the bikes get a final prep and wash all ready for the start. At 12 noon we all lined up and the race got underway with a fast paced climb up to the top of the World Cup XC trail before plummeting down into the woods below. A flat section along the river was the only respite before we climbed back up a, normally, red descent to the top of the Witches trail before dropping down into the pit area for the first lap.
The Bike Picture
And so it continued for 23hours and 15mins. Climb, descend, climb, descend. The racers priority was simple – ride bike and insert fuel. Try not to crash. The pit crew had a much different duty – fetching food and drinks, checking bikes and brakes every lap, checking lap times and rider positions, charging and replacing lights. Pit changes were there only interaction with me and they needed to be right each time.
View from the Pits
With 13 hours of darkness the pit crew got little to no sleep, catching 20min cat naps when they could. Every time I came in they were there feeding me, then pushing me right back out again. Bar one bike swap to check everything was working I stayed on my race bike. Nothing went wrong and used only one set of brakepads somehow – Paul was at this stage accusing me of not braking at all.
The one bike change.
As morning arrived, I’d ridden myself into a solid third place. Unless I blew up I was guaranteed a medal, but it would take the same to get a silver. The next 7 hours were weird. I lost the will to race. I just focused on riding my bike. Only if an orange jersey came past was I to do anything. It slowly dawned on me that I was already at my limit. If Tom could switch on, I was done.
Sunshine I love you.
Realising what was happening the crew were even more cautious with me and my bike – cleaning the drivetrain each lap and checking brake wear. Finally, 19 laps later, I crossed the line for the last time hearing I had an hour gap on Tom in 4th place and couldn’t be caught. I didn’t feel happy about this. I’d worked hard to try and get away from Tom but for some reason felt like I’d cheated. I know he’s faster than me on the downs and most of the ups – the first 6 hours showed this . But here I was, ahead of him and thinking of stopping. Broken, tired, and stinking I sat down in the red glow of the EBC tent and was handed a beer. This was the reason I’d made that gap – pit crew, not me. It felt odd.
Beer me.
Done. 3rd place in the 30-34 age group. Some more beer. The pits get packed around me and I mumble encouragements on how to do things. I wander over to Tom after he finishes and find him sat in a chair like a zombie, he’s wasted. I mildly wonder how I look. Jenn tells me I stink. She gets a hug for that. A shower and few hours sleep in the Travellodge before I destroy a curry and several beers. We stand in the hotel before I get called up onto the podium – it feels wrong, I’ve not done this in a long time. The medal feels solid around my neck. I sit down and sip a beer debating Weaverville in 2015. Why not?
~
I’ve a few thanks to give out:
Shona and Rich at Keep Pedalling Manchester without whom it would not have been possible to afford race food, kit and bike. Having a local bike shop that supports racers a the thing that keeps privateer cycle racing going – not on-line shops.
Ged and Alex at the Edinburgh Bike Co-Op for the loan of a gazebo for the day- my old employer, and friend/manager.
Sean at Berti Mafoons Bicycle Company for once again being the perfect pit manager/worrier/friend. Enjoy the bottle of whisky.
Pat and Pat at Ison Distribution for being willing to part with the Salsa Cycles Spearfish for a silly cheap amount that has served me well this season. I can not explain how good a bike this is.
Jenn, Steve Makin, Dave Serious, Andy, Phil, Jase and all the JMC crew, and anyone who put up with me hurting them while we “went for a ride” yes I was training. No I’m not stopping.
And finally Pauline – why you enjoy pitting for these things I’ll never know – I’m just happy you do cause we’ll be doing them for a while more yet.
Thanks to the lovely people at Keep Pedalling I managed to get a loan of the new Stooge Cycles demo for a weekend of testing. I already own a SS rigid bike for winter duties, but was interested in seeing just how the Stooge would live up to its claims of being a progressive 29er. Whatever that is.
Initial thoughts in the shop were “blimey that is a pretty bike” followed by “not a bad build weight”. Velocity Blunt 32 tubeless rims with 2.4″ Conti tyres on Shimano Deore hubs were never going to be light, but they did a lot for the aim of the bike. Lots of grip, and a bit of comfort. XT brakes and a Middleburn crank-set were polished off with some Salsa finishing kit to give a sensible build that would be very similar to what I’d have done myself – or have – on my own SS.
But going back to the looks. This is one damn fine looking bike. The lines are right, the twin top tube that runs the length of the bike with the slacked off fork makes it in my opinion. From a visual point of view the bike is faultless. And that blue…oh yes. Very nice sir.
A quick pedal home before draping the bike in some bike-packing kit before the train to Barnsley – not the Tour Divide, but somewhere anyway. The Stooge is being touted as a great bike-packing rig by some people and I was interested to see why. Initially the lack of rack and fender mounts irked me, but with more people using soft carrying systems it’s probably not an issue. It does however limit the bike for winter duties, or extra water carrying capabilities.
About that. With a large Wildcat Ocelot on the top tube the water bottle cage was pointless. I could get a 500ml bottle in sure. But I couldn’t get it out again. It also took some space out of the frame bag at the same time. So if you’re thinking bike-packing – think water bladder in your frame, or a bag on your back as there are no other bottle bosses.
With ample space out front and at the rear fitting your desired harness, Sweet-roll or back bag won’t be an issue. The fork goes out far enough that all your front bag weight is behind the hub which makes for a super planted front end and very predictable steering. Which is something a few frame choices for bike-packing do not do well.
After a curry a few beers and a running race, we took to the Trans Pennine Trail to ride home – about 90km of mixed trail, Sustrans route and bridleway with some sneaky trails thrown in the mix. First impressions were that the bike climbed well – Barnsley ain’t the flattest of places. Actually, it’s like a series of walls.
Straight, straight, BRAKE! CORNER, road.
Up and up the bike made me smile. I can’t stand bikes that wallow or flex when they climb and this was a real plus point to the Stooge – one I’ve never found on the Jones bike that it often gets compared with. Downhill though, well that is a different story. I’ll just say it, I think the back is too short. It wants to cut free far to easily on even the shallowest of off camber turns. It’s the total opposite of the front end. Maybe if you’re interested in pulling skids all day and ripping the tops off berms it’s something you’d like. But for me, it’s a down side and takes away from the bike as a whole. Secondly, it’s not the most comfortable ride. Bouncy, but not in a nice way. I was surprised by this as I’d expected the twin top tubes to flex and give a bit more comfort like a Jones frame, but it didn’t. So trading off one bad thing for a good thing – comfort over climbing.
So another unladen ride around some natural trails was taken to have a play with it as a “normal” MTB. If anything, it was even more of a hand full. In a straight line – yeah the bike is fine, I’d imagine it’d be a great trail centre style bike for smashing around on, or even a great bike for the Peaks in winter. But on technical ground, it’s not for my liking. Unpredictable even with low tyre pressure. Saying that, it was a fun bike to ride once you realised that it was going to cut out and you instigated it. But again, I’m not a massive fan of trail erosion…so not for me.
I’ve been asked would I buy one and the answer is oddly yes. But with some caveats attached. It would not be my main go-to bike. It would definitely be my “go have some fun in the woods for an hour and a pint bike”. The pricing is excellent £450 for frame and fork that look that good, throw on some mid priced kit and you’re good to go. My purchase would be based on the simpleness of the design, the aesthetics, and that Stooge are a small company doing something they want to do. I’d like to support that.
Would I sell my Salsa El Mariachi’s and replace it with a Stooge….no. But that’s just me and my old man back.
Barkness – the act of seeing bark on trees differently.
There is something about this time of year. I forget about Autumn, how nature changes around us. Everything feels nicer, warmer, more natural.
We leave the glare of sharp penetrating summer sunlight and return to the golden fluid of Autumn. The light that flows around trees filling the spaces between. Everything becomes more real in the world. The colours come out and show what they can do, the shadows are less deep, the grues have yet to emerge.
It’s this time of year that I come back to with memories of the best bike rides of my life. Racing the onset of darkness with no lights in my pockets. Descending off ridges on dry trails as the rain starts to fall. That first cold, crisp sip of harvest beer after a sweaty evening ride.
Lakeland pass raid
Perversely it also coincides with that other time of the year. The calm before the storm of cyclocross. Taking to trails with skinny tyres, searching for grip in the decaying undergrowth, working on cutting the first narrow ruts of the winter corners.
