Andrew's written in another article about cyclocross at Heathhall; I'll try not to repeat too much here. What's cyclocross? It's cross country, ridden by madmen on what are basically roadbikes. You had to be mad to ride today, anyway, because it was so intensely cold. I'm not mad. I didn't mean to ride... Although, if I really, really didn't mean to ride, why had I taken my bike and all my kit?

But first, the kids' races. The under twelves went first, an uneven assortment of children from the really very wee (six? can't have been much older) upwards. They did a couple of laps round the start field to establish handicaps. Then, the under sixteens race - the only place the Wheelers shone.

Ryan and Ross rode for the lion, and came a very creditable second and third in a field of ten riders, most older than them. Congratulations to them both!

After that, of course, us grown ups had to show them how it's really done. Andrew, Steve, Liam and I rode in a pack of about 15 riders; Andrew, of course, on a proper cross bike, the rest of us on mountain bikes. Of the rest of the field, about a third were on crossers. I deliberately started at the back because I wasn't expecting to be fast, and so was ignominiously in full view of the spectators when I nearly ended my attempt after 150 metres by putting my front wheel into an enormous hole. Fortunately I was riding my Cannondale, and in its usual unflappable way the bike just coped, and I got myself sorted out to chase after the pack.

Out of the start field, onto tarmac for about 300 metres, and then onto rooty singletrack - not very narrow, not technical, but after a short distance, extraordinarily bumpy, as if someone had felled large trees across the track and then turfed over them. I never found a speed at which the bike was at all comfortable over that, although I suspect (if you had the nerve) the trick would be to take it very fast. Then a swooping descent through a quarry, and then the first of two very steep climbs, this one about seven metres high. I didn't see anyone try to ride it. Back into the wood and a second very steep bank, about three metres high, with its approach deliberately fouled by two car tyres placed in the way. Amazingly I did see one person successfully ride that (on a mountain bike); I didn't even try.

A little more rooty singletrack, and then out into the field where a little barrier had been set up which you hat to lift your bike over - although I swear the better cross-country folk could have bunnyhopped it with ease - round the field, across the start line, and out on the next lap.

Compared to cross-country it's not a technical course. There are no big climbs, and you weren't really intended to cycle the climbs there were. The rest of the course was pretty much flat. No climbs means, of course, no descents - and there was nothing tricky at all in the way of obstacles. Some roots which made your tyres step out a bit, some (remarkably little) mud.

So how did your fine, upstanding heroes do? Well, Andrew punctured. He was doing well up to that point, and was probably in the front three. So that was him out. Liam actually did quite well, and ended in mid-table respectability. Steve's excuse was that his front brake was binding (sack the mechanic). And me? No excuses, I'm just slow. Young Dean Martin, who'd already won the under sixteens race, must have lapped me at least six times in the adults - and (although he did very well) he wasn't in the first three. But I bumbled round to take last place, just glad to be on my bike.

All in all a grand day out (for madmen). I greatly enjoyed myself. Many thanks to Dumfries Cycle Club, and particularly Dave Moss, for organising.