Ever so slightly roasted by our room we were the first to reach the breakfast table. A poor nights sleep coupled with feather pillows had brought back Sarah’s previously almost non-existent asthma. The better half of the Shaw double act made the decision to take up Mike’s offer of locations to drive to minimising the riding with her bad chest. All that was left to do was watch a carnivorous pack of riders fall upon the quite frankly enormous cooked breakfast before the morning classroom session.
Photographic advice sought and received I loaded the cars after receiving directions from Mike. The other guys were corralled together and headed up the valley to meet us up on the hills. Meanwhile we pulled up in Higher Street (a village believe it or not) and after abandoning Sarah’s brand new yet leaking Camelbak bladder set off to meet at the stream crossing that would be the mornings shoot meet. Heading across a churned up energy sapping field we got to a crossroads and I headed us up a steep climb to the right. For a change, I’d got lost. Yes, me, lost. Never mind the fact that the club says I could get lost in the bath I’d been given a map and been told to meet at a certain point. Obviously in the wrong place we fired down the stinking climb which was a cracking descent and took the right direction back at the crossroads.
We arrived at the prescribed point to find the stream crossing blocked entirely by a very dead fallen tree. Before the pictures could begin tree surgery had to commence. Andy set to the tree with my Leatherman saw blade scoring the decaying trunk enough for us to snap then drag it out of the way. With the trail clear I scoped the run in whilst Seb talked the location through with the rest. A smooth slightly wider then singletrack path with a kicker a third of the way down back on the dirt the track then swung to the right with a smooth run into the water, splash through the surprisingly smooth stream bottom and run out. The budding Bailey’s were playing with flash and manual exposure so Mike and I rode through repeatedly letting the light turn to pixels in the hands of our peers.
Seb stopped play to offer advice so I took the opportunity to lay on the bank under the crystal blue sky. Eyes shut behind dark plastic the sun warming me to the core a single seater plane whirred over head, it was getting very very Mint Sauce. Back on the steed my gurning had seemed to right itself and I was getting into the whole pro-elbows thing more and more. The repeated splashing was soaking my left foot again and with just one soggy foot I stopped for a bite to eat. Fairly soon Mike stopped to eat too and to maximise the shooting for the day I jumped back on still chewing my butty. Once Mike had stopped eating (something he doesn’t do often) the guys had us doubled up again for shots this time with us seemingly much more in sync this time.
Seb calling it a day for this location everyone packed up and headed out following him down the singletrack we had climbed earlier. Back to the car for me and Mrs Fat Lad the gentle climb metamorphosed into a rolling twisting smiling ribbon of singletrack launching the bike left and right and smashing across more stream crossings. Arriving at the car I flicked the bike back out of fun mode and we drove to the next section for pictures. With the wheels back on and my legendary sense of direction back in play, Seb came to the rescue just as I was about to take us far enough North to pedal into Glasgow. The course/ride leader shot off to gather the rest up whilst Sarah had me ride the new section in anticipation.
A long wide run in with no features to speak of, the wide stream (spotting a pattern here? It is the Quantocks after all) had a lip just before it making the landing a) very photographic and b) my poor feet swim even further… Soon enough the rest arrived adrenalin fuelled banter from their last descent chattering down the valley. The routine well established now I’d wind up, hit the lip at speed take off and splash.
Wind up, hit the lip at speed take off and splash.
Wind up, hit the lip at speed take off and splash.
For the last time that day Mike and I doubled up for the shooters really getting it together for the final shots. The day done the guys headed back up the hill to get back as we rolled to the car. At the B & B more critique of the days work flowed as Tea and cake was inhaled by all. Mike was the archetypal cyclist, he ate like a horse yet is stick thin. Also unusually for most Journo’s he can actually ride his bike. In a repeat of the night before yet more food evaporated in front of us despite the yet more Fawlty level of service as the chat again devolved into retro bikes and the subtle art of using cameras to make riding look as much fun as it actually is.
As always Mrs Fat Lad’s photos can be found at the end of this clicky 🙂
Fat Lad
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