With Hit the North being virtually on our doorstep the usual need for a days holiday had been waived and we headed out of Leeds post work leaving the new northern financial heartland behind us. With only a one hour drive to the venue my long suffering wife fortunately didn’t have to listen to too much inanity.
Pulling on site Mick and Carol were ready and set up whilst Phil and Ell, being the legends that they are, were in the process of putting up our tents. With a new shelter bought everyone there mucked in and with a sterling team effort it was up in no time. As the evening wore on more and more of the Bad Brains crew rolled in bringing more rain along with them. The BBQ was lit beers were consumed and before long we stumbled to bed, charcoaled meat and alcohol the most apt preparation we could muster for the event ahead.
Cruelly for a Saturday morning the event was a 10am start. The rain on the tent outer was pathetic fallacy at it’s best. The girls disappeared off mysteriously only to re-emerge with new club kit:
The girls had rebranded themselves for the weekend as the PootleTwo+2. We were mightily impressed.
Heading up for the riders briefing we stood around in the morning mist listening to our instruction for the day. We ambled about waiting for the kick off and we wandered to the start to cheer out our first lap riders. stAn, club leader and Union Rep Extraordinaire, had brought enough gay pride whistles for the entire event and during the confused start we blew away the harsh frequencies mixed with the onomatopoeic crunch of gears. Phil had a first lap stormer and in the coral I strapped the timing chip to my ankle and headed out for my first slog.
Riding in West Yorkshire I’m no stranger to mud. But this was something else entirely. With a weeks worth of almost tropical levels of rain the course was water logged to begin with. Hundreds of knobbly tyres later and it was now a quagmire of epic proportions. At the much touted bombhole there was the alternative chicken run and as I wimped out I slid into the first turn on entirely the wrong sort of tyres to find a guy on the ground in a quite unnatural position. The stricken rider was well attended to so I trudged on past glad of my own good luck.
The first mile and a half of the lap turned out to be a will sapping march through ankle deep muck and to be honest I was thinking of throwing the towel in when I got back to base. Where conditions allowed I’d jump back on the wheels and ride on but even when pedalling I was struggling to get air into my infected bronchiole. Where the course was hard pack there was deep puddles of standing water and when the ever present rain did stop you were still soaked through and through.
But, here’s the thing, it was a fantastic course. If the wrong side of the Pennines had had maybe a day or two of rain, then, the muddy bits would still have been wet but they would have been rideable. If the Manchester sky hadn’t have poured for the week prior in biblical proportions then it would have been the perfect mix of singletrack, hard pack and tree tunnel climbing. I genuinely felt for the organisers.
Back to the coral Phil powered on out and I set back to the camp to change my tyres. As I slumped into a camping chair Ell started changing my tyres. Keith (the Pootle crew’s very own crash test dummy) had come down for the day to mechanic and he sprayed the bike down clearing the drive train of filth. I stuck in some more brake pads wolfed down some noodles and I was out again for another lap. The times of club people riding the course were about meshed so Dave and I decided to go out and ride the lap together. Carol had been having some real issues with her bike, the poor conditions only made the situation worse and with great annoyance she decided that enough had been enough. Nobody could blame her. She’s already done her two laps and some riders didn’t even get that far.
With the right tyres on and brilliant company shared the second lap flew. Chatting with riders as we went everyone was in good spirits determined not to be beaten by the poor conditions. Back at the coral there was no sign of Phil or Steve. We wandered back to the campsite. Swapping the timing chip over Phil headed out whilst I got some food and some much needed rest. The lap times were getting progressively longer but Phil was back all too soon for my liking. Phil tiredly mentioned he was having a longer rest and Dave and I headed back out for the swamp.
Out on the course the combination of trudging through the slop and the inability to breathe had robbed me of the ability to pedal constantly. It was a long lap and Dave had the patience of a saint plodding along with me keeping my spirits up. Eventually reaching the start finish line I’d had enough now and I knew deep down it had been my last lap of the event. Back at camp I used a salad bowl of hot water to wash in and got changed into dry non-riding gear. Whilst we were gone Steve had also decided he’d done enough and left camp to head for home. Luckily Dave saw the funny side of it.
Gaining a little respite from the constant cycle of sun to showers everyone crowded in the gazebo for a while already swapping tales of the track. A little while passed and Phil, Dave, stAn and Mick headed out for one last lap, riding as a group ending with a giggle not a sprint. Once returned they changed out of soaking jerseys and grabbed a beer an event well finished.
For a first team, the Hit the North guys should be dead proud of what they achieved. It was quite simply a brilliant event with an awesome atmosphere, the cheeriest marshals I’ve ever had the joy to cheer me on and we’ll be back next year. As always with BBMBC we’ll come mob handed too.
With the race wound up I found out my hero to give him his well earned beer and congratulate him on a job well done. Some headed home but a hardcore few of us stuck around to see the day finished entirely. As the night turned to morning we all sang Mick’s Birthday in and toasted him with some orange moonshine Mrs Fat Lad had magicked up. Well in our cups we headed over to the beer tent to celebrate Mick’s birthday proper, with the bar staff handing out free shots it was working. The music was killed too early and as the lights went out and we finally took the hint Bad Brains were the only teams left standing…
Fat Lad
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