Greetland Duathlon today. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to this “poxy little race up in the middle of the hills with nobody but tri lads (and lasses) in attendance” if I’m honest, but Simon said he was going so I was hardly going to jib now was I? I just felt neither arsed nor prepared and would happily have spent the day doing something else. Anyway, 5K run over the moors, 10K mountain bike section apparently around a muddy field, followed by another 3K run, presumably over the moors again. It looked like me and Simon were two of around 60-ish competitors and for once I started at the front. There was a bit of running across a field and hurdling a log before we headed up to the moors. We climbed a footpath that was pretty rocky and I was being elbowed for space by Elbows Out When Running Girl. It carried on climbing and I was sure that running isn’t normally this hard. At the summit of the climb I suddenly recognised this trail from a cheeky ride me Martin and Wal had done some years previously.

Anyway, we started to descend and EOWR Girl was starting to pull away (a bit) on the quickly-getting-narrower-and-rockier trail.

Then it happened. The Colt Seevers I’m the unknown stuntman moment. My left foot slipped on a muddy rock and SLAM – I whacked my thigh, rib and knee into the rocks and decided it would be a good idea to continue into a forward roll. I thought it would have looked impressive, me rolling over then immediately carrying on running. Which is what happened, but it probably looked like a geezer going arse over tit with his legs up in the air. The next climb was bloody awful. I was in a fair bit of pain from the fall and I kept looking down at the big glob of blood and filth that used to be my kneecap. By this point, Simon was out of sight.

At the transition, I thought “Right. 5 laps. Then another run. Take it easy”. Then I got on the bike and thought “bollocks to that. That’s what I always do”. Loads had passed me on the second part of that first run and I’m not doing “finishing about halfway” any more. So I went for it and passed around 15 other riders over the 5 laps of the course.

The only minor setback was a quick allen key session after my saddle decided it wanted to tilt skywards. By the end of the riding I was right behind Simon, which was encouraging. The course was half muddy field and half dead dead good bermy singletrack sort of twisty turny stuff. There wasn’t an abundance of overtaking places so I had to be pretty sketchy and probably annoyed some other folk. Ah well who cares. Anyway, back to the transition and off we go for the 3K’er. The marshall said I was now in 14th. In a lot of pain and now with 2 cramping calves. Down through the woods where we had to cross a bloody stream about 6 times and climb some ridiculously slippery muddy steps. Anyway, finished about 16th I think. Which I’m happy with. Simon finished 13th I think.

Turns out I’ve lost pretty much all the top few layers of skin from my knee 

8am start, and a ride 8 miles north to meet Simon, Martin and Dave. I was running a bit late so I was redlining on my way along the canal and up past the sailing club. This is no way to warm up!

Once I’d arrived (and stopped hyperventilating), we were up Holcombe Hill to meet the other Simon and the other Dave. We couldn’t see the hill as we approached as it was completely shrouded in fog. A short wait for Simon and Dave at the top then we were off on the cheeky paths down the hill…

A big loop on the moors via Darwen and Tockholes, then back towards Ramsbottom.

Plenty of mud, general talking bollocks and plenty of freezing fog at first, then lovely sunshine later.

Only one puncture following a fast rocky downhill and a sudden inability to avoid a large square-sided rock.

It’s a big ride that. I’d clocked 45 or so off road miles. I felt good though so presumably the pesky cold that’s dogged me for the last couple of weeks has gone.

The fun started a mile from the house though. On the way back I was attacked by a dog, bitten firmly on the leg and spent the rest of the afternoon being bandaged and jabbed with a needle (oh, and sat waiting to be looked at).

Here’s the leg complete with punctures and mud:

Go see Simon’s somewhat surreal “account” of the ride and more pics over on Industrial Fell Biking.

Well that cold knocked me for six. Perhaps even knocked me for twelve.

I’ve not done anything at all for a few days, and it appears to have cleared up.

So that’s why it’s been quiet ‘round ere.

I’ve got a duathlon to do a week on Sunday, so the timing of this “interlude” is pretty poor, but hey ho. It’s not like it’s on telly or anything.

That’s the last time I go for a ride on Bonfire Night. I got back stinking of fire and my throat felt like I’d been on the Woodbines for a month.

This week Michael turns 13. It doesn’t seem like 13 years ago that he was a newborn, but there you go. To celebrate we went over to Llandegla and rode the red and the black routes. The black’s relatively new.  There’s plenty of berms and fast downhill singletrack, plus the corking views of the Clwyds.

BUT.

Am I the only one that gets irritated by man-made trails covered in jumps? I like riding rock gardens, roots, drop offs, etc as much as the next man but why would I want to continually launch myself over a double or a bloody tabletop? They just mean you’ve got to slow down and roll over them.

I’m not the only one either. Loads of people riding lovely singletrack SPOILED by stupid mounds of earth that are there to earn you a ride in a helicopter.

Perhaps I should just learn how to jump and get a pair of jeans that hang down off my arse.