Juancho seems to think this particular corner of t’interweb has become a little soft lately. He may be right. As always things are not as straight forward in the weird and wonderful world of Fat Lad and in the first two weeks of marriage I managed to be poorly with a horrendous virus for six days of a seven day honeymoon and also be allergic to my wedding ring. You couldn’t script this shit.
Heading back from the crystal shores of Cyprus to ol’blighty and I manage to pass on said virus to the now Mrs Fat Lad. Laid up on the sofa catching up with season 5 of 24 on dvd I was going to Mountain Mayhem on my own…..
Mountain Mayhem is the Mountain Bike Festival in the UK. Most of the major manufacturers are there and there is a real party atmosphere there. The chance for freebies and to rub shoulders with mountain bike legends is not to be missed. The always brilliant Pat Adams organises and runs the show and this year was it’s tenth anniversary. Oh yeah, and there’s a 24hr race there too.
The Pootle crew (somehow) had managed to get it’s shit together long enough to assemble a team. So with trepidation in our hearts and a glint in our eyes Phil, Cliff, Julie, Amanda and my good self were signed up for 24 hours of fun and fat tyres.
The night before setting off the trill whistle of R2-D2 gave me the heads up that I had a text message. A plea from Amy had come through seeing if she could swipe one of Mrs Fat Lads Asthma inhalers as all of hers had run dry. In casa Fat Lad you can’t enter a room without tripping over at least one blue lifesaver so I stuck one in my kit ready for the off.
Morning came and after dragging my lovely but chunky derrier out of bed I started to load the car with all the finesse of a lone Chuckle brother. Sarah supervised my efforts from the sidelines and 45 minutes later the car was full but I was knackered. With the motorised cage loaded to the gunnels it was time to go, a fairly uneventful drive was had despite the quite terrifying rain (passing three accidents on the way) and much much later than originally planned I arrived.
Pitching camp Mark (Julie’s husband) and Jordan (one of Mick and Carol’s offspring) mucked in to help me get set up. Phil and Elle arrived not much after and every one erected and ready it was time to carbo-load with beer and barbecue. Some time after midnight and I staggered into my tent asleep before I could begin to get anxious of the upcoming event…
Sometime in the early hours of the morning I sprinted in the direction of the toilets leaping guy ropes like a gazelle and cheeks had barely hit plastic before it got unpleasant. Drained I made my way back for some vital shut-eye and twice more before the sun rose this dash was sadly repeated.
I woke early and wandered into the communal gazebo to force a cup of tea down my gullet. With the tannin now sloshing in my guts. Phil, Elle and I wandered down to the main arena to register and to absorb as many freebies as the exhibitors would throw at us. I purchased a new trail pump as mine now blows like a… no too easy – insert your own simile ear.
All assembled back in Camp Bad Brains I was really starting to feel bad and we decided the team running order. Phil was up first with the Le Mans start ahead of him purely because he’s the only one daft enough to be riding flats, Cliff was to receive the baton next, with Amanda then Julie and myself to go. Selfishly, I admit, I opted to go last to give myself time to try and bring myself round for my lap. The club had a really strong showing this year with the following teams in attendance:
Bad Brains – Pootle Crew
Bad Brains – Its Rideable
Bad Brains – Bad Bunch
Bad Brains – Vets
Two o’clock arrived scarily quickly and we we’re all assembled waiting for the klaxon to go for the big start. Phil and Chip seemed to be having a good time waiting for the go:
and with the shrill alarm nearly 200 riders headed out to their bikes. With Phil and Chip out and pedalling away the rest of us wandered back to camp for our own pre-lap rituals and prep. Back under the tarp and after Amanda had forced some revive down me, Elle stepped up next and forced me into eating something to go with it. Julie (an endurance virgin) was pacing the grass nervous as hell about her first lap, we were all doing our best to reassure her but it was having little effect. With the continual down pour I swapped to my mud tyres and all that was left to do was wait.
Phil and Cliff rocketed around the course. Julie and Amanda both did the team proud putting in the miles and all too soon it was my turn. mark and I wandered down to the coral for the change over and pre-lap nerves got me again as I nipped into a porta-pottie to empty my bladder. Getting to the changeover tent and Julie was there and ready for me and snapping the wrap-around baton on my wrist I was out and away. Feeling not so good I would be happy to bring my time in under 1h 30 but we would have to see how it went….
Course Description
Out of the start area (the coral) you immediately turn left and after a short distance on the flat grass. Onto the “Cat Eye” climb you switch back on the field further until the hairpin and gravel for some more ascending. Gravel hard pack for a while and then a sharp right hander into the tight singletrack of the woods with multiple path options in the dense tree cover. An aural surprise awaits the riders in here but it soon goes as the woods spit you out onto a grass climb. At the summit you follow the ridge before descending across the contour of the hill losing all the height gained so far.
More flat grass and then through the foot deep water splash. The real test begins as you start the climb up through the camp site. Across the “Buff” bridge and it’s time for the “Kenda Climb”. On grass, long, steep. Middle ring for the fit, big ring for the pro’s granny for us mortals. Single-speeders it’s only what you deserve. The “Kenda Climb” eventually flattens out after a long haul for a brief respite and then it’s a brief downhill with a slight bermed hairpin before climbing some more dirt through the dense bracken. Passing the “Obelisk” the climbing is nearly done but not before the last bit of hurt. By the cottage in the woods it’s finally time to descend back to base. Singletrack descents and rolling paths back through the camp site and it’s time to hand the baton over to your next rider.
Fat Lad
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