Kill me a son

On Tuesday we have time trial night. On every fourth Tuesday, we have off-road time trial night. This Tuesday we had off-road time trial night at Dalbeattie. Oh goodie, thought I, nice blast round the blue route. But other people had other ideas; and by other people I mean, specifically, William Montgomerie and his son Gareth. William and Gareth have planned us a route. More interesting, they said, than the blue route. I impute no viciousness to either of them - neither has a mean bone in his body. They chose the route because they thought it interesting. Who am I to doubt them? So they led the way, and we cycled up the hill, up, and up, and up to the place from which they have planned to start.

They then suggested a trial lap round the route, so we'd all know where we were going.

Man, you must be putting me on!

The route started off on one of the new sections of singletrack that were opened up for this year's Dalbeattie SXC course - also, of course, planned by William and Gareth. And there, by the start of the section, was the double down arrow sign which means 'warning! steep descent'. We're going to time trial down this? Shit! The kids, of course, flowed down it. Ross and Ryan, both still at primary school; Angus, just at high school; Keith, a little older. Riding down smoothly and swiftly - gracefully even. I can't do that. I haven't got that skill or that confidence. I could, just about, ride it. I fell off, of course. I fell off on the trial lap, and I fell off in different places each successive lap. But each lap I fell off only once, and the rest of it I rode.

And then, at the bottom, hard right onto fire road and belt along for a couple of kilometres, and then hard right onto

What?

It's a deer track, no more, twisting up through the wood. This is 'old school' mountain biking to the nth degree. And then, up into a stream bed and across 20 metres of inclined granite slab, then deer track again, climbing steeply, a bit of corduroy across a boggy bit, left turn onto another deer track, still climbing, vicious right onto a bit of the red route that's climbing so steeply that it's hard to keep the front wheel down, and then fast, well built red route singletrack twisting and writhing across the face of the hill, with the view opening out below, and then with a final swoop down a rock chute and a climb it's back up onto fireroad, blasting past the top of the Qualifier and the Slab, past the top of the Chicken Run, back around to the start again.

You can do what you want, Abe, but...

William said "I thought we'd do three laps". Steve Warner, still recovering from a hand broken in a bad fall at Kirroughtrie, decided not. The rest of us were foolish enough to agree. The kids were away first, one after another, smooth, fast, Ryan making a showy sliding turn onto the descent section. And then it was me, and William was counting down the seconds for me. Thirty. Twenty. Ten. Five. Three, two, one.

Normally when you start a time trial you're accelerating madly on that first blast of adrenaline. Not this time. Not me. Turn into the section, back off the saddle, ease the bike down through the twisting, uneven descent.

The thing is, I can't do the Qualifier. I can't do the Qualifier because I think I don't have the skill, but I also (and perhaps this more) can't do the Qualifier because I don't have the guts. It intimidates me, and I don't feel the least bit foolish about that. This wasn't anything like as intimidating as the Qualifier. But it was much, much longer - getting on for a kilometer of it - and there was mostly grass and scrub to fall into (which was just as well, because one again I duly did). And in places it was easily as steep as the qualifier. But gradually I eased the bike down. As the section began to ease up towards the bottom, Ian came past easily and quickly. Bother! I'd lost a whole minute on the first descent. Down onto the fire road, and accelerate away, trying to keep in touch with Ian. But as the fire road started to climb and twist I lost him, and then there was the sound of fast wheels behind. Bruce or Gareth? Bruce is fast, and would have started two minutes behind me. But Gareth is very fast, and started a minute behind him... it's Bruce. He shot past up the climb, and then, just as I was about to turn off onto the deer track, I heard wheels again. I stopped and let Gareth onto the section ahead of me.

Up the climb (keeping my front wheel down at the turn this time), round to the start, ease down the descent again. I knew I wasn't going to do a good time. Normally when I'm out with fitter folk I can make up on the descents some of what I lose on the climbs, but the descent on this circuit was where I was losing most. Never mind, one lap down, two to go. And gingerly I eased back down the hill.

As I blasted along the bottom fire road on the second lap, desperately trying to make up time, there was an amusing vignette. Ahead of me at a bend, a middle aged woman calling and signalling to something out of sight. Bloody hell, I think, dogs off the lead, that's all I need. I barrelled round the corner at full pelt to come upon another middle aged woman at the side of the track, hurriedly pulling up her trousers...

Next time you see me coming you'd better run

This time as I was about to turn onto the deer path it was Bruce who came up behind, and I let him get onto the singletrack first. Then, above the canted slab, I heard wheels behind me again, and deliberately rode off onto the grass to let Gareth blast past me. Lapped, which is embarrassing; but lapped by the fastest man in Scotland and someone who's very close on his heels, so not that embarrassing. I was winded anyway, and took a moments breath before riding on. Up on the red route, I made an unforced error in a tight switchback between two tree stumps. I picked myself up and got ready to mount again, and as I did so Ryan came past. Oh, the shame! Gareth and Bruce I can take, but Ryan's still in primary school.

Never mind. Onwards and upwards, and then blast out along the fire road to the start...

Where d'you want this killing done?

And so to the last lap, easing back down that descent. I was getting more familiar with it now, but it still took all my concentration and all my nerve, and I was still ridiculously slow. I was also tiring, and that hurts the concentration. And then, at the worst bit, a sharp right hand bend between rotten logs on a crazy steep angle, wheels behind me again. It was Steve. He'd come to keep me company, which was really nice of him, but it was really spooking me to have someone close behind on this section, so I yelled at him to get past me. Him with a broken hand so he can't properly use his front brake, on a descent I could only just manage with both.

Ho hum.

Down on the fire road I tried to get up to a good speed, but my legs were struggling, and I was three of four gears down from where I had been on the first lap. Then turn onto the deer path again, and up over the canted slab. My line was all over the place. Eventually at the corduroy it wobbled too far and I was off again. I tried to run up the next bit, but my legs just didn't get the message and it was more a sort of tottering amble. Back on the bike, only to lose it again at the turn onto the red route - I couldn't keep the front wheel on the ground. On again. Behind me, Steve was making encouraging noises, saying I was doing well. I didn't feel as if I was doing well, although I was riding technical single track considerably faster than I ever have before in my life. But the end was in sight now. Up onto the fire road, slam up into top gear... and overshift the chain straight off the big ring. At once I could tell just from the feel of the pedals that something's not right. Bother! bother! (or words to that effect). Freewheel down and coast up the next brae, off, sort the chain - horribly caught up in the rear mech, so attempting to pedal through would have wrecked it - then on again, find a last burst of energy from somewhere, ride the last couple of hundred metres to the line...

That way, down on Highway 61

OK, so I was last (by a big margin). I'm used to being last. I wish I was better, but I'm not, and while I can build skill and fitness I don't really have the sort of courage which will ever let me be very good, now, on technical descents. So I don't mind being last. If I'd known before we started what William had planned, I'd probably have chickened out. I'm really glad I didn't chicken out. On that course, with my level of skill, doing it at all was an acheivement. And it also showed me that if I push myself I'm actually capable of things of which I don't think I'm capable.

It helped a lot that I'd radically changed the tune of the Cannondale earlier that day, lowering the bottom bracket and dropping the pressure on the Lefty by fifty pounds. OK, so with the bottom bracket lower I got a lot more pedal strike, but it made the descents a lot less scary, while the softer front end made the bike more tractable on the climbs. One thing that didn't help was my beloved Brooks saddle. It's very comfortable, but when you need to get your weight out as far over the back wheel as you can it's a bit wide to slide off the back of.

But at the end of the night - scratched, bleeding from a gash on my leg, mottled with midge bites - I'd really enjoyed myself. As time trials go, that one was... erm... different.