Out of the coral and with my adrenalin up I was flying. I was actually passing other riders….. I don’t think I have ever had the opportunity to utter the immortal words “on your left”. It was a proud moment for chunky cyclists the world over. Not long after the first climb I paced with a guy on a MTB with drop bars riding solo for cyclo-cross.com. rolling up along side him I asked why he hated himself so much to be riding alone for the next 16 hours? We chatted for a while then I left him at the next climb. Peeling off into the woods the heavy bass of trip hop/dance music blasted off and through the trees as the DJ stand fired riders on. I was still going fast (for me) and I was feeling strong. I splashed through the water crossing without issue and headed on up the Kenda Climb. At about the 40 minute mark it was as if some biological off switch had been thrown and all my energy drained away into the slick grass field. My fast (for me) lap was now not even a dream and it was all I could hope for to get back to the timing tent. Mere yards later and the fickle trail gods had more in store for me as cramp settled in too.
I walked out the cramp and getting back onto the bike I managed to trundle in with a time of 1h 29m. I was too tired to even try and give Phil any good natured abuse and walked back to our camping area with Elle. Away from the coral I was bullied again into some food. Inserting my trusty ear plugs I zombied over to my tent and settled in for more fitful sleep. Sleeping right through my alarm Carol eventually woke me and bleary eyed I walked over to everyone under our covering. I felt awful. With the third lap of Sleepless vivid in my memory I apologised as much as could muster and left the guys to wander dark and cold to the coral. I met Julie at the coral to let her know I wasn’t going out and we wandered back in an awkward silence.
Like the absolute legends they are and always will be Phil and Cliff stepped up and took on the extra laps as I snoozed away. The Somme like conditions out on the track were worsening and a few teams had already had enough. Sunlight illuminated my tent and I awoke feeling no better but determined I was going out for a lap. Pulling on fresh riding gear I left the canvas(well, nylon really, but it doesn’t seem as poetic) and joined the rest around the heater. Cliff was out on a double and I necked a bottle of orange Torq awaiting his return. Julie and Amanda had got their two laps in and I was determined I was going to get mine. Before I could talk myself out of it Cliff was back I had the baton and it was time to head out into the goop.
I rolled out of the coral and as I settled in, head down and pedalling the announcers called out my name and team over the PA cheering me on as they had for all teams through the night. As I hit the first climb Jim rocketed past me tapping me on my back and he flew away into the distance. Again I started out strong with the first couple of climbs hurting but not slowing me down. But the energy had all but gone again and to make matters worse my left nipple was chafing like crazy. All I could do was grimace and carry on my jersey irritating me the whole lap round.
On the second long grassclimb Chip thundered past me and shouted in his own jovial yet loud way “You having fun young un?” speeding away with powerful pedal strokes. The approach to the water crossing was now considerably wider and slipperier spitting riders out without abandon and I was happy to splosh through without incidence.
I managed maybe a few hundred yards of the Kenda climb and dismounted trudging up the rest. I remounted later only to fly over the handlebars in a particularly glass smooth mud hairpin corner some miles later. I happened upon a guy from Birmingham in similar mood and outlook to me and we chatted most of the way back to the coral rolling where could but mostly pushing through the, by now, inches deep sticky sapping soil. I finally arrived back to the handover and Phil flew out with a determined glint in his eye. In all it had taken me nearly three hours to get round.
The bike was blathered in inch thick mud and I queued for the best part of an hour to get my steed rinsed off. In doing so I missed Phil’s arrival back and his handshake with the big man himself. I caught up with Phil soon after and he handed out the medals to us all and we all sauntered back to pack up and go home.
As a Mountain Mayhem virgin my cherry was pleasantly popped. The festival atmosphere away from the track was superb and there was a rather large amount of freebies being slung in every direction. On the course it was a little too serious from some corners but the “everyone in this together” spirit which pervades our sport still shone through. I must say a huge thank you to everyone who put up with me that weekend as I’m (to coin Mrs Fat Lad’s expression) a “grumpy arse” when I’m not well. You all did really well, Racers and Supporters together should be immensely proud! The one thing I vow however is that I’m never doing this again…. without Mrs Fat Lad in tow.
Fat Lad
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