Stumpy Rider was near soiling his chamois as the last episode faded. Hold your nose and find out whether the effing coward kept it together long enough to complete a lap…

Crossing the road and hitting the singletrack that heralded the first “proper” part of the lap, I was beginning to relax into things, being aware of the riders around me, looking ahead, that sort of thing. In front was an arrow marked “riders slow” (or something), which gave an inclination of the sharp right turn. But not the water splash and short climb that lurked behind the trees. It caught out the guy in front of me completely and he unclipped on the climb, forcing me to abandon my own line and do the same. Shit, not a great start. Still, the trail turned on to singletrack before heading up a short boardwalk with a gentle incline to the left. And then it went wrong.

Historically, I’ve had “issues” with trail features made from wood. This means I have fallen off them, usually at comically low-speed. However, like everything else on a bike, if you don’t think about it, you’ll clean it no bother. I thought about this section with predictable results. Poor gear selection on the run up equalled slightly off balance plus a bad line and then it was straight to the scene of the accident. It was more of a controlled jump off the boardwalk actually, and I hauled the bike to the end of the boards and made to rejoin. Clip in, spin the pedal and – THUNK! Wha-? THUNK! Ah, chain has been knocked onto granny gear. Shift back into the middle ring and… THUNK! Panic.

To my horror, the rear mech was jammed in an unfamiliar angle and closer inspection revealed that the chain was off the top jockey wheel completely. WTF?!?! By this time, I already had the Camelbak off and open and was fully prepared to break the chain and go singlespeed. My head was full of dark thoughts about how-it’s-always-me-who-lets-my-team-down and how I’d have to run the remaining 9 ½ miles. And then I calmed down. Shift back down to granny gear, reducing tension on the chain and remount the chain on the jockey wheels. A couple of clicks and job done. Relief and rage were my companions as I took off in search of pride and lost minutes, quickly catching the growing traffic jam atop the Steps Of Doom.

With bikes and riders littering the trail ahead, I walked the first section, remounting to ride the lower half. A couple of marshals shouted encouragement, as I rolled in and down before picking up the singletrack and the trail by the campsite. I felt like I’d been out for ages but I could only have been about 10 minutes in at this point. Much of the next half hour can be dismissed as singletrack and a wee splash followed by seemingly relentless fire road slogs and some relief in all-too-rare descents. Oh, and an embarrassing off when the chain skipped as I climbed off the fire road onto some brief singletrack…

Picking up the route of the old Puggy Line railway, I could see the gondola wires. The trail passed under these and crossed the DH course and with only 40 or so minutes on the clock, could I really be this close to home? Cleaning the rocky downhill section, with the noise of the tannoy not too far away, I got my answer. No, you can’t. In a big gear, sharp left ahead and then it all headed skywards again. Fuck this. The push to the top of what I now believe is called the Lazy K at least wasn’t a lonely one. A few dispirited riders lugged their bikes with me. Some rode past and we applauded. The guy next to me said he had nothing to prove, having ridden it once already this morning. I nodded, shamelessly. Rejoining at the top gave some respite in the form of some descending before climbing up to the Dirty Big Pipe Thing and a smiling marshal sitting astride a trials bike. Of the motor variety. My sense of humour was beginning to deflate like a big pinch flat as I rode through the pipe and up towards the next marker…

>> TO BE CONTINUED >>