Sunday 2nd March 2008.

Now where shall we start? Maybe with some advice? No, later. Maybe at the beginning? Ok.

Amazingly, on this wonderful, sunny but freezing morning only an easy car load of bodies turned out for what the Gollum expected to be a very popular ride in Dalby Forest, North Yorkshire. So it was that a pair of Steve's and Jason were Golly's only company for this one. While the bairns slept soundly in the back, Jason drove the GollyMobile down to the Forest and we got started around 10:30 am with Gollum doing the navigation. Below - we soon wiped that smile off Steve W's clock.

It wasn't quite so cold down there, so off we went onto the Red Route from the Visitor Centre after Steve B had shot off to pay the 7 quid parking fee. Cheers, Steve. Now the wise old Gollum knew from the last ride here behind Our Keith, that the initial section of trail from the bike hire place is just a 10 minute drag up the hillside around a set of singletrack hairpins, and not much else. So he instructed the other three to get on their way, and when they'd disappeared he snuck off in the opposite direction to meet them at the fireroad crossing, a much easier start for him.

Now it doesn't auger well for an all-day ride if you're knackered after ten minutes, but poor Steve W had arrived at the rendezvous point following a fairly hard and almost sleepless outward bound effort with some of his charges in his professional capacity. This was to prove significant later, but more so for Golly than Steve. Wait a mo and I'll reveal all.

Climb Time followed with the steady drag up before a bit of down slope started the enjoyment. I'd forgotten just how much you do have to drag up these slopes in order to reach the goodies, but all trails are like this to some degree, although this is one of the gentler ones in terms of height gained. There wasn't a great deal of incident during the first half of the trip, no-one getting hurt and no punctures. The only thing to spoil it was Steve B's SRAM X-0 carbon rear mech as it had lost it's outer jockey wheel shell on Thursday night's ride and made a point of spitting the chain off every half a kilometre. This finally got a bit tedious so we decided after the initial fast, rocky descent that we would perform surgery.

How? Now you're probably thinking we did one of those corny singlespeed bodge-ups you read about in the advice pages of certain MTB magazines, eh? Well, you'd be completely WRONG! We just put our spare X-9 mech on and off we went again. Well, I did reveal how it got smashed on Thursday, so obviously (!) we'd come prepared, and no, we don't always carry a spare mech. Some of the riders passing as we fixed it were convinced we were some sort of super-organised well-oiled machine. Today, however, even Jason wasn't well-oiled. That became obvious from the way he took all of the climbs in his stride. And after this fix, Steve B stayed with him all day.

Upward, ever upward, or so it seemed to poor Steve W's thighs as they forced his mouth open and groans to   come out. We spent an hour or so dodging the same old couple and their dog who seemed determined to travel backwards around all of the bike trails on foot. After Golly madly dragged the troupe up to near the high point we found a nice sheltered spot out of the wind, with a patch of sunlight stabbing through the trees for our much-needed lunch stop.

 

This was a few k's short of the Bike Park at Dixon's Hollow, and when we arrived there we all had a blast around it before moving onto the far end of the trails. Except that when it was time to leave, Steve B wouldn't come! He just wanted to stay and play. Ah, the innocence of youth. Anyway, after having a couple of blasts himself he persuaded Golly to pose for a video, so Jason joined him in a set-up "race" around the BMX-type track. Great laugh, and very hard work to keep going all the way around it. Then we had a go at the "Skinnies" North Shore planks, but none of us made it all the way around.

We headed for the exit, around (CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS! that's about 7 times I've used the word "around", but I can't be arsed to change it now) a couple of tight but fast berms through the trees, towards the edge of the Hollow. This was well marked by a log jump, so Golly launched off it manfully. Now this was exactly at the point where, on the left hand side of the trail, the trees gave way to open fields. And no sooner had the Gollum reached a satisfyingly high foot or so off the deck, than a huge blast of wind took hold of the Decathlon and slung it sideways, leaving it's hapless rider with a pair of handlebars which had suddenly been tipped vertical. Only one way to go on the landing - down, heavily. That hurt much. He'd just crawled onto all fours to inspect the damage to the GollyBody when there was a scream and a thud behind him, and something clouted him on the back. That was Stevie B who had suffered exactly the same fate with the wind taking his Specialized Stumpjumper out from under him. Good job Decathlons are soft, as he landed directly on top of it, and the Spez landed straight on top of Steve! Ayeeagh!!!

Now never mind the damage to young Steven, or the agony he was writhing in. The only thought in the Gollum's mind was to get the camera clicking before Steve could move, even though Golly was in some pain aswell - dedication to journalistic duty. He needn't have worried. Steve couldn't move. He was trapped, upside down, hurting, body encased in bikes, legs trapped by his own steed. All he could do was grimace until Gollum got the photies he wanted. Then he carefully disengaged Steve's legs from the tangled mess and lifted the Specialized out of the way as Steve W and Jason arrived. The next five minutes, as poor Steve B doctored himself with the latest addition to his Camelbak - a first aid kit! - were spent trying to disguise evil grins and chuckles of maniacal laughter. Well, we didn't want to hurt his feelings when he had quite enough pain to be going on with. Main damage was to his wrist, with a nice gash oozing red stuff all over the trail. No matter, it wasn't long before he was ready to roll again, hard stuff, NMBC bods are.

This outsider also landed badly and was very lucky to get away with it The damage Steve W tries to hold in a belly laugh as he looks down at poor Steve B "F off with that camera, you b@st@rd, or I'll fit it in your crevice"

We crossed the Forest Drive and picked up the start of the next Red section. Still no punctures and only one slight drama. With Gollum leading we shot along the twisty bits as we reached out to the furthest corners of the ride. And the climbs kept coming, much to Steve W's chagrin, although the rewards were much better than on our last visit here when it was very wet and extremely muddy in places. Golly kept warning the others of the approaching tricky bomb holes, but they never appeared. As is usual here, we ran out of signposts and eventually ended up back at the Bike Park! And not for the first time. Steve B had even gone to the trouble of buying a trail map at the Visitor Centre, but whoever authored that useless thing didn't bother to put the trail marker post numbers on it, so that was toilet paper. Keith got us round most of the place on that wet outing, but today we also did extra bits he hadn't, so the plot thickens!

Right, time for a deep and meaningful conversation in the car park as all four of us professed to know the best way to do the remaining Red stuff. The final decision was to follow the Green until it reached the Red, if you see what I mean. Time for Golly to crank up the volume as we hit the long climb to our target point on fireroads. This dropped us out at the edge of the forest on a public road, then onto forest road again for several kilometres (going digital, our Golly!) before reaching some payback singletrack. Funny how Quaker Oats takes seven hours to kick in inside a Gollum's porky little pot belly. It was around this time, about 3.00pm, that something stirred in his amoebic brain cell. Seeing poor Steve W getting more and more creased as the day wore on, and hearing him constantly querying Jason and the other Steve for their thoughts on good value full suspension bikes, he had the brilliant idea of offering to swap bikes with him for the last hour!

Well, this is where I can't help but launch into Preach Mode for a short while, init?

So here's some advice that you won't get as accurately from any other source on the Planet, or Middle Earth.

Don't ever let anyone tell you "just get out and ride" as once again the mags always do. They say this with the best of intentions in order to encourage take-up of our hobby. They call it "our sport", but they're wrong straight away. Sport is competitive by it's very nature. If we competed with each other out here, most of us would never see home again, just the inside of a cold, dark, wooden box. It's a hobby. The best there is, maybe, but still just that.

So! (to the unconverted Youth of Today, and Others)

You have a kid in your class. He's a bit of a swot, he sucks up to your teachers a bit too much. He always hands his work in on time. He's never late and always wears his uniform. He's spotty Jimmy from up your street. Now the problem is, you're gonna need to take some action against poor spotty Jimmy. Why? Spotty Jimmy does a paper round at the same newsagent where you do yours. Your problem is that you need to get a second round to raise some extra cash. Why? Because instead of listening to all the crap talked by the mountain bike magazines and other "experts", who tell you to learn on a hardtail and "you'll be a better rider for it" and other such imbecilic quotations, you first need to "get out and save". You'll be saving for a super deluxe bike with bouncy forks on the front and a nice bouncy spring on the back, as the two work together in harmony to create something nice to ride so you'll enjoy the experience, and not just have to put up with second best. Second best is a hardtail.

How? Here's what you do - you very subtly and slyly circulate a rumour that spotty Jimmy has been seen doing very strange things with a spoon and the neighbour's cat. That's it - that's all you have to do. Word will soon get around about Jimmy's peculiar little fetish and it won't be long before his folks decide to keep him indoors in case the Sunday Sport paparazzi get their hands on him for his story. And that's when you strike - you nip round to the newsagents and offer to cover Jimmy's round as well as yours. Why? Coz now you have two jobs, yielding twice as much luverly moolah. And that means you can tell the idiots who say "learn on a hardtail" to shove it, and get yourself a full susser as your first bike. Job done!

The only hardtail worth getting to grips with is the blonde one who serves your dad his cold pints down at the local.

Oh, there's one other thing you have to do - tell Steve W to get a susser aswell! Why?

Coz! Coz when dear old Gollum got onto Steve's hardtail (does that sound OK?) he immediately began to clot blood behind his eyes, loose teeth one by one at an alarming rate, suffer "arm pump" for the first time ever, suffer bouncing internal organs which caused a heck of a lot of gas to escape uncontrollably outa Golly's back passage, develop severe itching in each elbow crease (you can't scratch at 20mph - well, actually you can on a susser) and various other extremely uncomfortable inconveniences.

Paaarrrp!!! Ooh, sorry reader, that's another gas leak as I sit here three days later typing this. And I'm still scratching me arms. And I can't lift them high enough to scratch me beak. And the world outside the GollyBody® is permanently blurred. And the aches around the Hinterland are unreal. Honestly, the instant pleasure kick Steve got from riding my Decathlon the last five miles pales into insignificance against the pain and angst that his Specialized Hardrock Sport inflicted on my little body bits. Basically, hardtails are F 'n S.

A rare sight - Bikes First! Which bl@@dy way now?

Anyway, not far to go now, and because Gollum was being truly battered on the home run he decided to give it rice, and blasted away from the others with a mile to go. This was at the penultimate downhill section to the final fireroad crossing. Flashing over that he hit the final singletrack good and hard, noticing Jason finishing his descent on the other side, with the two being at almost the same height either side of the valley. So it was head down and away. as he thrashed the Hardrock over the stony trail like there was no tomorrow. He decided to wait at the fork in the trail which was signed Visitor Centre left and Dixon's Hollow right. Just in case there was any confusion, seeing that Jason, the infamous navigator, would be first to arrive behind the Gollum.

Minutes past. Strange? More minutes past. "This isn't right", he thinks, and proceeds to turn back carefully up the singletrack, whistling like a demented Russell Hobbs  to alert oncoming riders. And yelling "Jason, Jason!" at the top of his puny voice. Nothing came back. One lone rider stopped and said he hadn't seen anyone having trouble on the last descent. Oh-oh, thinks Golly. Just as he reached the fireroad and shouted again, he got a reply. It was Steve B, dragging himself back up the steep dual to the junction. "We went down there, because Jason said you had" he offered. "What, and miss the best bit of trail in the whole place?" retorted Golly. They waited a bit longer for Steve to get his breath back then switched into attack mode and hammered all the way back to the car park. Those two wore the biggest grins as we sat in the empty cafe upstairs in the Visitor Centre, unwinding, analyzing the day's events, and mopping Steve's blood off the floor amid dollops of cake and coffee. About five and a half hours and thirty-odd miles, we think. Plenty of technical challenges, enough climbs for a Wild Boar training session, enough engaging singletrack for any MTB artist and the drama of the Crash. Good ride.

And finally, did I warn you about the dangers of riding a hardtail?

And lastly, I have a confession, or more of a concession to make. On that last section I just threw caution to the wind and went as fast as I could, and it was the ONLY time while I was astride Steve's little weapon (no, the Hardrock) (no, the Specialized then) that it felt the least bit stable, and almost rideable. AND I still have my own hardtail frame dangling in the shed, where they all should be.

Vidz coming soon...

Keep watching and if you fancy a ride out with us, drop us a line here: bailout@midaircrisis.org.uk