Despite having a late night of pre-birthday celebrations we were still up early, and out on our bikes before the cock crowed. Well, pretty early. Conditions were excellent and we zipped along the towpath shouting cheerie salutations to all we met. Carla was in the driving seat, and just after the Stewponey lock we caught up with a couple of bloaters on full sussers. Carla stepped the pace up as we passed them to deter them from jumping on, but hearing her cheerie “hello” as we wooshed past must have affronted their machismo because jump on they did. Yeah, but not for long. I reckon they lasted less than half a mile. Carla was in wicked birthday mood, and anyway big groups on the towpath is naff for all.After stopping for a birthday piss we climbed into the Million and tested our skills on a new bit of singletrack we have found. It felt good, especially as I was riding a thoroughbred Stumpjumper Hardtail. Compared to the slug I had ridden yesterday the Stumpy was like a rocketship. We dropped out of the woods, and as there were some horse riders coming in the opposite direction we joined the road about 200 metres before we would normally. This was to have an important consequence. I caught a glimpse of something lying in the wet grass, a £20 note! We looked around to see who might have dropped it. We asked horse riders if they had lost anything. We asked a group of ramblers if they were short. No takers. Being the one that found it, and it being Carla’s birthday I gave it to her. Someone obviously wanted her to have it.

We followed our usual route home, pausing to take a couple of birthday pictures. I let Carla win the final sprint and congratulated her on an excellent ride. We spent the rest of the day bike washing, car washing, and building up an appetite. I made a special evening meal (with a little help), for the official birthday tea. It had been a great day. In fact it had been a great weekend, over 9 hours of bike time. Happy birthday.

Having not been on my bike for four days I was like a dog off a leash, pedalling until my legs hurt just for fun. I singlespeeded along the towpath like a man possessed, then up through the Million, down through Enville, and back along Kinver Edge.The trails were in perfect condition and I felt fantastic, fresh and full of energy. Great for me, but not so great for Carla, who wasn’t feeling so good. However, she never complained, not a word, even when I swung onto the permissive bridleway for an extra loop. She knows that her turn will come.

I’ve fitted some RockShox SIDs with a handlebar lockout to my Singlespeed. These are great because it means I can run them really soft to accommodate my dodgy shoulder, them firm them up when I want to get out of the saddle on a climb. The only problem with them is that the control mechanism fouls the frame if I turn the bars too far. I worried that a crash could put a serious crease in my frame. Thing is I’m enjoying them too much to do anything about it at the moment.

Last weekend I went along as a helper at the first round of the Specialized Winter Series downhill mountain bike race, held at Hopton Castle. Close on 250 riders took part. The skill and daring of some of the young guns has to be seen to be believed. On a muddy track, latticed with slippery tree roots, and greasy rocks the speed at which the top riders go is incredible. They appear totally fearless, as if their life depended on saving every second. Look into their eyes as they go past and you’ll see extreme concentration.They fly through the air for yards, and land with the softest kiss of the ground. They’re so smooth. Contrast that with some of the novice riders who land with a thud, and you know that it’s only the suspension of the bike that has saved them. As the top riders approach the finish line they sprint, out of the saddle, head down, legs a blur. After just over three minutes it’s all over, some of them fall to the ground gasping for air having given their all. With a timing system that can time them to the nearest 100th of a second giving everything is the only way.

At the end of the day there was one cut lip, one suspected broken collar bone (which turned out to be OK), and two broken ribs owned by a spectator who had decided to get too close to the action, ouch!!!

How many women do you know that could do a good 2 hours plus off road ride with the boys, and still have the energy and enthusiasm for organising Christmas, not to mention feeding hungry biking visitors, driving drunken bums home from rock gigs (after organising the tickets, and map reading on the way there), coordinating bike and kit washing, car cleaning, cooking, massaging, being my sexy lover?And, what’s the best way to show them how much you appreciate them, love them, couldn’t do without them?

Saw the consultant on Tuesday for a second opinion on my shoulder. The hope was that he might be able to do something that would improve it’s mobility. He couldn’t. He told me that the risks involved were too great, and there would be every chance that I would end up with something that was worse/more painful than I have now. So it looks like I’m stuck with a very stiff shoulder.However, he is going to send me for an MRI scan to determine the state of play for the scar tissue around the rotator cuff, and the blood supply to the head of the bone. When the results come back he wants me to go along to a meeting that the consultants have and be presented as a test case. Maybe all hope is not lost.

My bro’, he’s so stylish. He’s just taken delivery of his new (old) singlespeed. It’s an old Kona Lavadome with rigid forks. It’s very yellow, and he’s fitted some huge yellow-wall Hutchinson tyres on it. This matches his yellow Corridori kit perfectly. So stylish ain’t he?

The weather was great over the weekend wasn’t it? I got out both days on my Kona singlespeed. I have been trying to pusuade Carla that she should get one, but she is unsure. However, what she has taken to doing is – if I ride my single speed she puts her bike in a similar gear, and tries to stay with it.As we rode on Sunday, we tackled some good climbs, and she made them all easily. We were on our way home, with one tough climb to finish off. Carla said that she didn’t think she would make it to the top of this one. So, as she had done so well, and I wanted her to feel good about her ‘singlespeeding’, I climbed off as the going got tough. Carla rode straight past me and attacked the climb with great gusto! Luckily (for me) she didn’t make it all the way to the top. Serves me right for being soft!

Still a bit sore from my crash in France. I originally thought it was an accident, but I’ve changed my mind. See, the thing is that the paint on the road said ‘go right’, the gravel on the road said ‘go right’, there was a large sign on the road to the left that showed it was a ‘no through road’, but Dave still turned left. Attempted murder I now call it. He knew that it was gonna be a hard week where we’d ride and ride until one of us cracked, so he decided to take me out!

Went to France last week, took my road bike. Had some long rides around the Mont Blondes area in mind. My friend Dave came along, ‘cos Carla wasn’t really happy about me going by myself.On our second day, we set of toward Les Monts, the weather was fine, and we were keen to get some miles in our legs. We had been riding about 5 minutes along lovely country lanes when we came to a fork in the road. Dave went one way, and I went the other. As a result, we rode into each other and ended up on the floor!

We lay here on the road in agony. Two daft old sods who should have known better. A deserted road, in rural France, and we’d crashed into each other. Some 15 minutes later we were riding again, in agony, covered in blood and dirt, back the way we had come. That was the last ride I did that week.

Over the last few weeks Carla and I have ridden in Wyre Forest more than we ever have before. It’s a great place to ride, if you take the time to get to know it. We had a few duff rides at first, a few dead ends and mud fests, but after a while, and with the help of a certain Mick Arms, we started to find our way around. We’ve even started discovering some new tracks for ourselves.The great thing about Wyre Forest is the lack of cars and people. On a three hour ride on a Sunday morning we hardly see a soul, and in the depths of the forest it is so quiet that we find ourselves speaking in hushed tones so as not to disturb the tranquility.

At the moment, our usual favourite haunt Kinver is very overgrown, and very very busy. So, in the short-term it looks like Wyre is the new Kinver.