The First Time Racer

I have never been a very competitive person. I was quite a sporty little kid until about age eleven but I can't say I was ever that focused on winning. Fast forward twenty years and as a thirty something mountain bike obsessed bloke I'm feeling the need to race against other mountain bikers. I find it hard to understand this strange urge and without too much thought I enter a forty five-ish kilometre cross country mountain bike race. I've had a bit of back trouble these last few years but I assure myself this will be cured in time for the race. I arrive at the Kielder Castle car park alone. Looking around I begin to notice a few things here and there. The guys parked next to me are well spoken veterans of this kind of thing it would seem. I quiz them but get the impression they're not about to volunteer a boat load of race winning tips. I notice some major differences between their bikes and mine. I don't notice the make and model but one is a 100mm travel cross country, full suspension job. Not the newest or most highly specked machine I've ever seen but clearly very capable and judging by the super close tread on the tyres it will roll exceptionally fast on hard surfaces. Mine is an All-mountain machine with fat 2.35 nobble covered tyres and 140mm travel. I notice one of these guys taping energy bars to his top tube. It doesn't look like he's planning on stopping for lunch and I wonder where those wrappers are going to end up. Looking around I see a few other bikes similar to mine. One or two briefings later and there's about eighty of us on the start line. I position myself roughly in the middle of the crowd. I hope I'm going to beat maybe half of these people to the finish line. Off we go and the only girl in the whole race squeezes me out as we approach the first section of single track. I figure she'll be off like a shot but I'm quickly disappointed at her progress and ability. Frustrated, I'm hungry for a chance to pass. The female rider misses a gear change and instantly loses speed on a narrow twisting climb. This should be my chance but I'm too close, on the wrong side of her and not ready. Another rider takes advantage and passes us both. The single track ends allowing me to overtake and power past a group of riders before dropping into the next section of tight purpose built trail. I'm warm now and after ten or so minutes gentle climbing I've generated so much heat I have to stop and take off a layer or two. The climb continues along forest road which seems to go on forever. To begin with I pass a few people as well as being passed now then myself. I don't feel like I'm losing places. I think I'm actually gaining some. On the descents I notice I'm a lot more aggressive than many of the other riders. I make use of a misspent youth playing Gran Turismo by taking the fastest lines through sweeping bends. I hang out nice and wide then swoop in sharply passing riders who have turned in too early and are needlessly on the brakes. Later I will see all these people again as they pass me on the climbs. Damn them. After maybe an hour or two I begin to suffer with the back problem. My lower back becomes stiff beyond description. Tight as hell, it begs me to stop. I dismount and run for a short spell to get a bit of a break from it. Up ahead I see a rescue landrover and a good opportunity to rethink this silly adventure. The mountain rescue guy asks me if I'm ok as I reach him. For some reason I say yes. "Good lad" he bellows. Looks like I'm not giving up then. I see a sign telling me I'm in Newcastleton and find more man made single track. It's not long before I catch up to a rider I recognise. We've been leap frogging each other all morning. The guy is on the brakes mid corner and doesn't seem happy on the tight twisting trail. I'm all over him like a fighter pilot looking for a clean shot. Eventually there's enough room and he pulls to one side so I can pass. I catch another rider and find myself wishing this was a one hundred percent single track mountain bike race. I tell myself I'd be winning if it was. I'm day dreaming a bit now as I follow the rider in front up a narrow stony climb. At the top I see riders with race numbers on their bars and get this awful sinking feeling as it dawns on me we are going the wrong way. The other riders look puzzled. I can see it in their eyes, they're wondering if they are lost. I wish. It's us. We've gone the wrong way. The guy in front has taken a wrong turn and I've followed him. After a short discussion we blast back the way we came hoping we've not thrown away too much time. A few minutes later we come across the green race arrows again and I follow them with a new sense of urgency. Oh you fool, you nana (As in banana.) I tell myself as I race down the sweet single track. I catch a new rider who is obviously struggling to make decent progress on the twisting trail. I'm on him like a rash until unexpectedly he hits the brakes and dives off to one side on a tight bend. I try to pass on the inside but he's on the brakes so hard the rear of his bike lifts up and swings across my path. Oh no I think to myself, we're crashing. I take the tip of a handle bar hard in the groin area. Man parts free from injury I roll around in the moist grass moaning in pain. I can see in the guy's face he feels bad as he tries to explain he was trying to let me pass. I get him to move the tangled bikes off the track while I curl up in a little ball and groan. It hurts a lot and I know it's going to take me a few minutes to recover enough to get back on the bike. The rider I followed the wrong way arrives on the scene and notes my day is not going too well, before leaving me to sort myself out. A few minutes ago I was a single track legend cutting through the air like a low flying, super fast jet. Now I'm a crippled mess picking myself up after a crash with a total stranger. I get going and it's not long before I catch more single track slow coaches. It just goes to show how hardcore mountain bike skills aren't really required to take part in this kind of race. Obviously the fastest riders will have a combination of both technical trail skill and massive stamina but I begin to realise this race will be won on the soulless forest road climbs by riders who can power on when others have nothing left to give. I manage to get past a group on the narrow trail only for them to catch me up on another long climb. Faced with a killer steep section the riders ahead begin dismounting ready for a short push. I'm riding it I shout and they move aside. I hear them comment on how it's a bit much to expect at this stage in the race. The difficult climb is really tough but I manage to make it over the crest and keep going. It's not long before the same group are on my tail again and they joke with me as they pass. I console myself with the fact that not one of them even attempted the tough climb back there. The hills are killing me and my back is reminding me it was ready to pack it in hours ago. I've lost all sense of time and haven't seen scenery I recognise for ages. Eventually after being passed by almost all the people I'd passed earlier in the race I realise where I am. I'm back at Kielder Water. By now first gear is my only friend. I inch along with legs as weak as kitten's ears. I sense another rider is catching me and look over to see the girl from the start of the race. NO! I silently scream in my head as she slowly passes me. Alone again I'm forced to begin short sessions of pushing. I'm just too knackered and even first gear isn't enough to keep the wheels turning. Every crest disappoints me with yet more climbing in the distance and I know there is one long killer climb still to come. Some flat forest road followed by a refreshing descent gives me a little respite before the long slog to the top of this last hill. It's steep. So steep, but I somehow find strength in my legs to propel me onwards. I pass some stewards and don't even try to smile as they joke about how it's not far now. The weather has turned out nice but that's no consolation as I grind my way up to the amazing view at the top of the Lonesome Pine trail. Oh how the descent is wonderful though. It's not an amazing descent to ride. Being totally devoid of berms there's a lot of hard braking followed by much sketchy cornering and furious pedalling. It's mostly down though and I even catch a rider who lets me pass without inflicting any terrible injuries on me. I swoop and whoosh down the lightly wooded trail in the blissful knowledge that the end is here. I reach Kielder Castle and finish in around four hours. Two hours slower than the fastest riders. I never did manage to catch back up with that girl. Article by: - John Dunn