In the blink of an eye, two months in France gone, all our tomorrows turned to yesterdays, all rides ridden, time to pack and leave. Where did it all go? Two months seemed like such a long time at the start, even halfway through there was no need to panic, and then, in a puff of blue smoke, gone!

Our two months at Noisetieres in the Limousin had been fantastic. When we arrived, it was tail-end winter, when we left it was full-blown spring, even early summer. I found so many trails to ride, and whole areas where I need to go back to for further exploration. I reckon I’d be hard pushed to ride them all ever, and some of them so sweet (wipes tear from eye).

We left on Friday afternoon about 4pm, the weather was warm and sunny, I wore t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. We drove North at a leisurely pace, past the Monts de Blond and the Ambazacs where I’d ridden in rain and shine, then on up towards Orleans. We stopped for coffee about 100k before Chartes, and it was freezing! OK, slight exaggeration, but it was so much colder that a frantic rummage through the bags to find warm clothes was in order. By the time we reached Chartes, and booked into our overnight accommodation, we were looking for the heating switch.

Next day, onward to Boulogne, the clouds rolled in, and it started to rain. A fitting end to our stay in France really, but it didn’t make the driving any easier. As we rolled off the ferry at Dover I couldn’t take anymore, I handed over driving duties to Carla while I drowned my sorrows in a can of French supermarket beer.

It was one of those days when I didn’t want to faff around with a map. The sun was shinning, there was a light breeze. My plan was to ride upwind, then when I’d had enough turn around and ride home with a tailwind feeling like ten men.

I set off through the lanes to Rochechouart, descended down the back of the Chateaux, then on toward Babaudus. About a kilometer along I turned up a chemin for no reason other than I just did. The chemin climbed out of the valley in a middle-ring easy going sort of way, then across a road and on toward who knows where.

And so it was for the next couple of hours, I just rode along, in the warm sun, trending in the same direction, along fabulous tracks that just presented themselves one after the other like a gift, carpeted in spring flowers, not a care in the world, lost in the moment. However, with the realisation of being lost in the moment came the loss of the moment, and I found myself lost.

I had arrived at a huge lake, with a cafe, and a bar, and not a person there apart from mowerman. There were places launching saling boats, and signs that mentioned fishing, I wondered if the place ever got crowded, maybe in August, and how it survived the rest of the year. I spotted a path around the shore, I rode it.

By now my legs and hunger were telling me it was time to head home. As per plan, I turned to ride with the wind, noted where my shadow fell, and trended in that direction, it was that simple. Some time later, I grovelled my way back up the steep climb past the Chateaux with tired legs. On the run in along familiar roads I began to feel good. Maybe not like ten men, but certainly like a man who had enjoyed a gift of a day. Twenty minutes later I was back at home with a cool beer in the garden.

It was around this time last year that I rode in the Ambazac mountains for the first time. Here’s what I thought of it then…

I spent the next three hours riding some of the most ball breaking trails I have ever ridden. Very tough around here. Yes there were some good bits, with fantastic views, but for the most part it was just too hard.

My second visit started off in much the same way, inasmuch as it had rained heavily in the days before, and just like last time, I dashed over there at the last minute to make the most of a ‘weather window’. Again, my guide was Paul Gibson, and again, he was pretty fit after a season of cyclo-cross.

The scene was set for suffering, but this time I really enjoyed it. It was just as hard, just as ball breaking, in fact some of the same route. I even had the same tyres on, probably pumped up to a similar pressure. Dudes, I probably even wore similar kit, as the weather was about the same. Only difference was that this time I rode a Stumpjumper hard tail. Last year I rode a Stumpjumper FSR.

The HT wasn’t the only reason I enjoyed it more this time though. I’m a little fitter this time, and a little more adept at dealing with the stony rocky stuff that riding in the Limousin throws up. We spent the whole afternoon riding rock, roots, leaves, wet grass, mud, and deep puddles along some fabulous trails. We were kept on our toes by the odd farm yard dog as we weaved our way along the mountainsides. We were treated to some stunning views, along with sunshine and showers. When we got back I had just enough strength to lift a glass of beer. “Cheers Paul!”.

I still think it’s bloody hard up there. You need to be fit to ride the Ambazacs, and they’d punish a careless rider, I reckon you could trash a pair of wheels every ride, but if you’re after a tough satisfying place to work on your fitness and hone your xc skills then I reckon the Ambazacs are superb. I’m looking forward to going again already, probably this weekend 🙂

Tell you what, when it rains in the Limousin it rains for the world. We are on our third day of rain now, and no end in sight. None of that mamby pamby pishy stuff either, no proper downpour.

Take yesterday for example. I was so desperate to get out on my bike that when the rain stopped for a while and blue sky appeared I changed and was away. The roads were still wet, but I didn’t mind, just glad to be out on my bike. All went well, even ventured off-road, started to enjoy myself, didn’t notice the huge black clouds creeping up on me.

Five minutes later the rain started, light rain at first, but then heavier and heavier, and just when you thought it couldn’t rain any harder it turned to hail, and it hurt! With nowhere to stop for shelter, I paddled (might as well have been) on. Half an hour later I was back indoors stripping off sopping wet kit, and feeling very cold. Half an hour later again, the sun had come out to mock me.

Today, guess what? It’s raining! But then, I’d rather be riding my bike in the rain than working 🙂

Training has been going well, very well. I’ve found some great trails to ride, and the more I go out, the more I find. See, I’ll set off with the loose intention of going to Cognac le Foret, and end up never getting there because I got tempted by stuff along the way. I’ll come home with three good hours under my belt having the planned Cagnet ride in my back-pocket for another day. Cool or what?

Of course it’s not all fun and cycling. I’ve been working on the problem of bathroom waste water not draining as it should. I’ll do that as a separate post with a food warning!

Just like as if someone had flicked a switch, spring has arrived in the Limousin. The birds are singing, butterflies have appeared, and great flocks of migrating birds have been passing over.

I set off for a recovery ride through the local lanes wearing legwarmers, and a lightweight jacket. Had to stop after about 10 minutes to take my gloves off, it was that warm!!! As I bowled along in the early spring sunshine on deserted roads I felt fantastic. Anyway, I stuck to the game plan, and only did a couple of hours easy riding. When I got back, I sat on the patio and sunbathed while I watched the grass grow. 🙂

Let myself go a bit towards the end of last season. Actually, bit of self-denial there, I should say, over the last two years, since I stopped racing. I’m now 10lbs over my racing weight. Yes, I know, some of you lard buckets would love to be just 10lb too heavy. Anyway, enough, I’ve packed myself off on a training camp in France, the Limousin to be exact. I plan on getting some miles in ready for my assault on the South Downs Way in May.

Been here a week now, and the weather has been awful. Some days it has rained all day. On thursday I did two and a half hours during which I get soaked and dried out twice! The rain stopped yesterday, but it was very very cold. I got out early, on tired legs, and after half an hour I was so cold and tired I wanted to call it a day, but then I found a nice track through a forest, the sun came out, I ate half a chewy bar, and my spirits lifted. Three hour later I was sat on the patio in the early afternoon sun, enjoying a well earned cup of tea. 🙂

I was gonna call this post ‘Return of the Magnificent Seven’, as it was a year ago that I wrote ‘The Magnificent Seven‘, and here we were again, at Pearce Cycles winter downhill series round two, seven desperados in a rough mix of vehicles ferrying downhill riders to the top of Bringewood downhill course. You may recall how I talked about the team (that’s us) operating a slick service with no rider having to wait more than a couple of minutes. Well, so it was again, but blokes being blokes, this time there was a challenge…I was driving the Landrover Disco’, with bespoke trailer capable of carrying 16 riders. The beauty of this rig is that the riders load the trailer from both ends themselves, and the Disco covers the ground fast. Let the Disco be known as the hare.

Gary was driving the big John Deere tractor with the rootcrop trailer. The beauty of this rig is that the tractor has air-con, CD player, CB radio, etc. But, although the trailer can carry 25 riders at a time, it can only be loaded from the back, and only when backed up to a suitable bank, and she’s a bit slower. Let the John Deere be known as the tortoise.

Gary and I had often joked about how many runs we had done, and I had often wondered which was the best uplift tool. So putting rider preference aside, plus the fact that any fool (me) can drive a Disco, but it takes skill to drive a big tractor, I challenged Gary to see who could carry the most riders in a day, whilst being safe, and sticking within the 15mph forest speed limit when loaded.

All went well, and by lunchtime I has 7 runs under my belt two up on Gary. The maths – hare 7*16=112 v tortoise 5*25=125. I was a little down, but I reckoned that the bacon butties would be calling to Gary from Janet’s catering van, while I had sarnies onboard.

As the afternoon wore on it wasn’t long before I was in a position to move up on Gary again, but each time I tried to get ahead I was blocked, not in an obvious way, just subtley blocked. It was funny how I seemed to meet tractors coming in the opposite direction at awkward places, forcing me to back up and lose time. Strange how there was never quite enough room to get through in the trailer loading area, forcing me to wait. I noticed Gary smiling a lot, and talking on his CB radio. I noticed Grubb one of the other drivers on his CB a lot, laughing!

By the end of the day I had 12 runs making 192 riders uplifted. Gary has 10 runs with 250 riders carried to the top. I was beaten, the tortoise had beaten the hare. So not the Magnificent Seven then, more like the Magnificent 6 v 1 🙂

The cold bright frosty weather was replaced with rain that didn’t stop all day.
The temperature rose, and the ground thawed. Fears that the event would have to be cancelled gone. Arriving at the Larkhill military base is an experience in itself. You may not approach with headlights on, you will park up, and you will go into the guard house, past the armed soldiers, where you will be checked in. At least the van should be safe. 🙂

There were just over twenty riders, split into two groups, I opted for the easier group, as did Legzakimbo (the only woman there), and we headed off toward the flat grass test area. I never knew riding around a flat scrubland area could be so hard, need so much skill, and be so much fun. After 5 laps warm up we had all worked up a good sweat, and shown Wyn our skills… Continue reading →