If I didn’t have such sore knees I could kick myself for not riding cyclo cross sooner, I was warned it’s addictive and it is.

The Scottish cyclo cross circus came to town on Sunday (Heathall), and as it was run by the TLI, I knew I could cruise up 30 minutes before the start, sign on for a fiver and race with the big boys, so that’s what I did.

A lovely crisp winters day meant I rode the few miles to start and as I wheeled over to sign on, received a number of friendly smiles and waves, the brotherhood of “people who should know better spending their time cycling in muddy fields” is a strong one.

I met up with Gareth, my star team-mate and Commonwealth games rider and we swapped bike information. One of Scotland’s top riders was using a 2nd hand frame made from scaffold tubing, lashed on was a mish mash of components and what looked like spare mountain bike wheels. Your daring author had a top range giant alu cross bike complete with carbon forks and extras, proof indeed that winning bike races comes from pushing the pedals not pushing money across the counter.

Pretty soon most riders were doing warm up laps and chatting away, some looking at my bike and asking if I’d done this before, none believing me when I said no – why do cyclists assume if you have all the kit you must be good, why cant they just assume you’re a thrifty bargain hunter?

A quick line up at the start, I let the fast riders go in the front row and I take my place with the jokers in the rows behind. The off sees clicking pedals and frantic sprinting from the front group which instantly splits the race into two bunches within 200 yards. I get a relatively good start and leave the start finish area hanging onto the tailcoats of the front riders. We hurtle down a disused WWII runway and leap into the muddy forest at the end. Instinctively I slow down to approach anything muddy and am instantly passed. Into the wood and a dozen drainage channels mean we are bunny hopping with some mid air collisions. I am overgeared and roll slowly over the bunny hops unable to change down. Out of the wood and onto muddy singletrack we tackle a swooping bend and a tight corner onto a fireroad. Refusing to believe I can stay upright on a muddy bend I take it wide and another rider undertakes and laughs at my cornering skills. Bouncing down we hurtle towards the first running climb. I’ve secretly been practising the ancient art of cyclo cross run ups and as I approach the foot of the climb, I unclip the my right foot, swing it over the frame and as I glide up, gracefully unclip my left foot and leap gazelle like onto the climb. I haven’t practised the ancient art of cyclo cross mounts yet and at the top of the climb make a clumsy effort to mount and ride into a bush. Spiting ferns out of my mouth, I pedal frantically down a muddy road and twist back towards the woodland. By this stage the leaders are already out of sight. Into the wood for more slippy single track, another run up which is far too muddy for any graceful dismount, more mud and I swing into the start / finish area for a lap of the field. I’m totally anaerobic and wondering how long I can maintain this pace, the field is already strung out so I try and keep with the 3 riders in my grupetto. Into the finishing straight there’s another jump, I mess up and dismount a good 20 yards from it, with no sense of embarrassment I run towards it, leap over it with a ‘Wayne Sleep like’ kick of the ankles and spin away toward the airfield to complete my first lap in about 6 minutes, only 54 minutes to go!.

Into the woods again and my bette noir from the summer racing, Tommy is in front. I hear him call to his family, “you cheered me and then I fell off”, and so, thinking it a fair tactic, I encourage his family to cheer him on. Pretty soon we are a threesome as we leave Tommy behind, I’m ashamed to find later on he fell off 3 times.

By this stage I have my second wind as do most riders, we have settled into a groove, the fast lads way in front, the rest of us, plodding along and trying to pick each other off when we can. On the run ups to the climb it gets more muddied and trampled and I start to slip and crawl up. At the top, I frantically bang my feet on the pedals, trying to dislodge the mud and clay that stops my feet clipping into the bindings. Up front, my two travel companions and I see the rider from the cyclocrosser website and put our heads down and try to catch him. The laps grind by, on the flats that require no technical ability, I lead the others, anything that requires technical skills, I fall behind, but each lap I manage to smile and wave to my wife who seems to be enjoying the fun as a spectator. Into the woods, we catch the cyclocrosser website dude, who instantly pulls away from me as we hit the drainage bunny hops. He then lets out an ear piercing shout, I think he’s met one of the wild gruffolos that still live in these woods, but worse, he’s punctured!. “Bad luck” as I ride by. I later learn that he ran the ½ mile back to the start, changed his tube and finished the race - how cool is that?

A shout from behind and we pull to the side to be lapped by the three frontrunners. I’m pleased to see Gareth there and shout encouragement, along with a plea not to lap me too many times.

Towards the end it gets harder and my run ups become even less graceful, but not as graceless as the rider in front, who with a heavy mountainbike finds it easier to throw his machine at the barrier and break through it. With no idea of the time, I beg the marshals at the start finish area to ring the bell, they just smile and tell me to keep going. Into the woods again and I bounce over the drainage bumps, far to fast, with my wheels in the air my feet unclip and I land with a bump. “Nice technique” says my mountainbike friend as he passes me. Slipping through the mud I hear a shout behind, another rider lapping me, I let him through and he thanks me.

Plugging my way along the singletrack I get held up by a slower rider and although it does my ego good to lap people the two others pull away from me.

Finally they ring the bell and I know I have one last lap to go, I can’t see anyone in front of me, but then I can't see anyone behind me, so I ease a little and try to stay upright. At the last jump, I’m too tired to try anything much and simply walk over it with my bike and casually wheel into the finish to claim 12th spot or thereabouts. Whilst I was grinding out my last lap, I hear that Gareth took the win in a tight sprint from the very talented junior ride Ross Creber, so at least club honour was maintained.

It’s a shame that most Scottish cross races seem to be this side of Christmas, however, Dumfries are holding another race in February and I’ll be back to have another crack at those run ups and drainage channels.