Am I Lost?

I have spent many years in search of riding Nirvana.

I say searched, which raises visions of some expansive and adventurous endeavour but I have not actually tried that hard. It sounded good as a tag line but, actually, what I’m looking for doesn’t necessarily require much geographical movement (other than the pedal power obvs’) or literal searching.

By Nirvana, I don’t mean the ultimate trail or location; I’m talking more psychologically. A particular place in my mind, where I find happiness and contentment. Counter-intuitively, this is not as simply achieved as just getting on my bike and going for a ride or finding some ultimate trail; but it is a great place to start!



Mountain biking has a well renowned ability to restore peace of mind to those mentally wearisome, acting as a medium for the enjoyment of the great outdoors. It can free your mind of the daily problems and give your grey matter a chance to re-charge. The simple, raw need to process the requirements resultant of your physical exertion can place otherwise distracting issues to the back of ones consciousness, allowing for more freedom of thought.

Mid climb is actually where I have some of my best ideas - be they a design for a new house i’m working on or decisions that have become all-encompassing. On the bike is a great place for quiet contemplation.
 

Be it racing, messing about in the woods or arbitrarily passing through the countryside on a warm spring/summer’s day, Mountain biking can be the conduit to a healthier mind and body (Yes, that’s right. It also has a great ability to make you physically fit and healthy, fancy that).
Originally taking up mountain biking over 20 years ago on a fairly bog standard (but I loved it) Universal hardtail (full-sus didn’t really exist back then) with narrow bars and steep angles (everywhere), one of the aspects that really struck me was the freedom I felt as we headed out from my local village and up in to the hills. For this, I have 2 Uncles and an Aunt to thank who, swallowed up by the late 80’s surge in mountain biking, would set upon themselves the responsibility of looking after me and my two cousins every weekend for a few hours by taking us on rides up in to the hills surrounding Winchcombe, in the Cotswolds.

From this, my passion for mountain has grown ever since. With it an appreciation for all forms of the sport/discipline. Be it a mammoth xc ride or a Downhill session to Freeriding and Enduro. I have even tried jump parks. I simply like riding my bike. Alongside this, I have come to appreciate the carefree, peace-of-mind that comes with it and have become increasingly aware of the benefits it harbours.

I have become more aware of this feeling over the last few years but, due to its absence more than anything. It feels like something has been missing?

There are many different ways of enjoying bikes and no ride is ever a bad ride, as they say; even the bad ones. But no-one really remembers their weekly night ride, or their Sunday morning local. It’s a bit like comparing your evening dinner with going out to a michelin starred restaurant with the wife. Only one winner right? Your local ride is a snack compared with the banquet that is a weekender with the mates. Memories are made through shared experiences; from days on the bike that include your friends and acquaintances.


Like a sinusoidal graph, my life riding can be mapped out in a similar way. I have spent large chunks of my life somewhere between the median line and the lower half of the curve; riding solo. Of these rides, I remember very little specifics. Sure, I can remember all my local loops, I know them like the back of my hand. In the same way, I know what Spaghetti Bolognese tastes like but I couldn’t recall one Bolognese meal from another; they all blend in to one collective memory.

Obviously not every ride is a solo and whilst there have been times of plenty, these have been less frequent than the former. The peaks on the graph are a more acute than the more rounded, lower half; Whilst fewer in number, they represent the vat majority of my riding memories. They represent periods in my life when I was more carefree and at greater peace of mind. It’s great to have riding buddies.

The biggest spike would be a period of some 2 years between 2000 - 2002: sixth form. With a good group of friends, some of whom still are, and lots of free time, memories were made in abundance. After this, life just sort a got in the way. Another spike would see me out on a regular basis with siblings and in-laws over a few years around 2005 - 2008.

During all this time, I have stayed in touch with those pals from sixth form (and I still have siblings). We manage to meet up on a fairly regular basis - usually on Wales trips or other trail centres. Not necessarily often, but regularly. From c.2013, I was fortunate that a few of them moved back to the area and, there followed, another really good patch. We had at least a year or so of weekly group rides. Another spike on the graph.

Over the last few years, however, those friends and family members have moved afield or become burdened with the responsibilities of adulthood or simply lost interest in mountain biking. I myself have recently taken on some of these responsibilities, with a lovely bundle of joy waking me up every night. As such, it has been vastly more difficult to ‘meet up’ and I have therefore, found myself lost in the wilderness. On my own again, riding solo.

During this time, I have found my own motivation fading. There is only so much soul searching that one can take before it just gets boring. I have tried to arrest this decline and reinvigorate my interest by introducing fresh challenges. Strava bashing my local hillsides helped for a short while but that soon wore thin. Having taken the KOM on all the descents (not really interested in the climbs), the interest began to fade again.

It has become clear to me that the social aspect of mountain biking is a crucial aspect in satisfying that little part of my brain that finds happiness and contentment from riding a mountain bike. It’s not just the trail, or the view, or even the bike I’m riding. It’s who I’m sharing it with. Of course, the other bits helps but the friends top trumps every time.

Eventing has become my most recent attempt to test myself. Mass start, endurance type events where the challenges themselves are technically and physically demanding. However, as tough as these events might be (maybe I am just unfit), I found them genuinely more intriguing as a social construct. These events have really hit the mark. Its like taking a quadruple espresso shot when all your used to is decaf tea.

In 2016 I completed the HONC [link here], a local endurance ride through the Cotswolds. In 2017, I added the Dyfi Enduro [link here] to that roster - that was mint and one of the classics. In 2018 me and my longest serving biking buddy, and defacto best mate, took on the Mendip Murmuration. Another mass start type endurance event serving up 57km of singletrack across the Mendip Hill’s, including Cheddar’s infamous Gorge.

Here’s a link to that particular days enjoyment (insert link). Lots of climbing, including one particularly bug hill; One of the hottest days in English meteorological records. My best mate by my side. Oh, and shit loads of descents too, of course. Perfect.

This kind of stuff has tested me. Tested my stamina, my attention. It has engaged my brain and served a thick portion of whatever it was that that particular place in my mind, where I find happiness and contentment, wanted for tea. Next up is the Malverns Classic Enduro. Bring it.

Mendip Hills & Cheddar Gorge

Mendip Hills; Cheddar Gorge (Mendip murmuration)

Length: 57.4km

Climb: 1,688m

Grade: Red/Black
Time: 5 hours
Rating: 5/5

Mendip murmuration

Something different; a change of scenery. Something to test my limits… of endurance, if not skill level. Or maybe that too. Something to reignite my passion in mountain biking, which is in the midst of a bit of a lull right now; Am I just unfit and suffering the consequences or has everything just got boring. Surely not, right?

A circumstance not helped by a winter that dragged on for so long I was beginning to forget what summer (or even spring) actually felt, or looked, like. I understand that statement sounds ridiculous after the summer we then had, how ironic. At the time, however, we had just come out of the winter from hell. All nicely rounded off by The Beast from the East.  Last winter was something else.

I don’t normally shy away from getting out in the cold and wet climes of a typical British winter. I actually enjoy it in some perverse, masochistic way and, if all enjoyment fails, riding through winter does at least put you in a much better place come spring to take advantage of those drying trails; and it beats the gym so?

Anyway, winter arrived much earlier last year (2017). I know, I know, its generally the same time every year but we’ve not had snow before Christmas in the Wolds since 2010 (real snow I mean, not a flurry)… [insert image of 2010] …and this time it came twice before the year was out. Then a few more times for good measure. With the longevity of shitty weather that ensued, enthusiasm simply fell away. To make matters worse, in February I came off my bike (or was blown off) whilst attempting a manual off the top of North Hill in the Malvern Hills. This was not a great idea and it tore one of the Rotator cuff (shoulder) tendons.

 

Careful rehab meant I was back up and running, so to speak, by the summer and, oh boy, what a summer. In the middle of June, me and Ash ventured down to Somerset to take part in the Mendip Murmuration; an event ran by Channel Events as part of the National Trust Top of the Gorge Festival held, obviously, at the top of Cheddar Gorge. The ‘murmuration’ being a 57km endurance ride through the peaks and valleys of the Mendip hills, including the escarpment of the Gorge itself.

From the top of the Gorge, the route took us west over to Charterhouse, before heading north and east to Beacon Batch, the highest point of the route. From here, we were eschewed through Mendip Lodge wood, Rowberrow Warren Wood and down Longbottom on a meandering path towards Hale Coombe. This included 3 genuine descents of over 150m elevation loss, which meant 3 climbs of equal gains; a sign of things to come.

The route was very up and down, making good use of the rolling topography, which was great for my legs. Taking in 4 named peaks (Beacon Batch, Crook Peak, Loxton Hill & Wavering Down plus the Gorge escarpment itself). From Hale Coombe, the route headed over to Compton Bishop, via Cross, before ascending Crook Peak in what felt like quite an arduous endeavour.

Mendip Murmuration took place right in the middle of the melting pot that was last summer. On this particular weekend we were being blessed with temperatures in the high 20’s. With a cloudless sky, the exposed western flank of Crook Peak became a bit of a slog. At only 150m it is not actually that high (relatively) - I climb hills of greater elevational change on my local trails - and, having tackled only c.350m elevation change so far, on paper this should have been fairly easy. In hindsight, it wasn’t actually that bad but I could feel the pain beginning to build.

We were already committed to the ‘long’ route however, so there was no going back. I am glad we did, however, as the view from the trig point was very impressive. Panoramic in the fullest sense of the word. Views back to Axbridge and Cheddar to the East and distant views of Wales over the Severn estuary to the west. To the North, you can see the M5 snaking its was back to Bristol and Wavering Down, which we circle back to later.

The descent off the west side of Crook Peak was cool (watch out for riders practicing their summersaults here, they’re everywhere); some big rocks. Singletrack weaving initially off the barren hillside in to dense gorse shrubbery. Fast. Eventually spitting you out in the village of Webbington. We then pass beneath the M5 and head towards Loxton Hill.

The climb was another short and sharp, 150m or so, ascent. My legs starting to feel the pain at this point. My crash earlier in the year, and subsequent lack of training coming sharply in to focus. No more so than on the next descent. We reached the top in reasonable condition. The fairly mellow gradient helping in that regard. My riding buddy, Ash, is fit as a fiddle and zipped up in no time. I, on the other hand, took my time.

The descent that followed was fast, untechnical and straight. And great fun. The chance to off the brakes and pin it was a huge relief to the lungs and, rather than take it easy I saw it as an opportunity to go flat out. At c.1.5km it didn’t last forever but it did linger in the body. A combination of a reasonably high pace initially, a ridiculously hot day, lots of climbing and a poor salt replacement strategy meant my legs were in a bad way and, as I alighted my bike at the end of the descent, both Quads and Hamstrings decided to cramp at the same time. I hopped about a bit, tried stretches and thought better of it before just resting until it abated.

A relatively flat cruise for the next 8km really helped and the muscles got back in to line. I was nursing them, it has to be said; spinning, to get the blood flowing and the lactic acid out.

To a point, it worked.

That point was the very next climb, obvs. This was the first proper challenge to my fitness (and quite a few other’s too, apparently). I took to walking to try and conserve energy and give my legs a rest. The cramp lurking just beneath the surface like a croc in murky water. My legs were simply not fuelled to tackle such a challenge on a day like this. At 42km, this was about the limit of how far I normally ride on my local trails and so, from here I was in foreign ground. It was baking, literally, and stupidly steep. I recall thinking to myself at the time that we were doing it the wrong direction.

In hindsight, I realise it was simply a precursor to an even bigger challenge. Wavering Down. Getting to the top of this was hard. The contour lines came tightly packed at this point and rather than go round, we were going right over the top. Nursing my cramping legs again, I took my time reaching the summit but, upon doing so, I re-engaged my downhillers brain. I was at the point that I didn’t really care and I was going to enjoy the descents, whether it killed my legs or not. This was a test of mental attrition as anything else.


The descent off Wavering Down was mint. From wide open Common land, with tracks everywhere, the options gradually reducing to one or two lines as we entered the woods. With the ground so dry, the lattice of roots that littered the floor did little to slow me down. Pinning it in to the feed station my legs decided to have another dance, while I rolled about on the floor. From here we re-climbed towards Longbottom before heading south, weaving between the Callow Hill and Batts Coombe quarries. There was a really cool bit of downhill that traversed Shipham Road. It was short but very sweet.

At this point I was actually on my own as I was having to nurse my legs with even greater care. Wierdly, I then caught my friend up at the bottom of the Batts Coombe descent, just on the outskirts of Axbidge, as he had succumbed to a puncture. Rather than stop, I continued to gain some time on him. He caught me back up a few kilometres later at the top of next climb; another 200m slog, which I actually managed to ride up, surprising myself. The lactic acid finally giving way a little.




We completed the last few kilometres together, rounding the top of The Cliffs and heading over the open pasture land before descending back down to Cliff road. At the top of Cliff road, we had one last click of uphill before we reached the finish line.

I took on the Mendip Murmuration, not least for the challenge. However, I have always wanted to ride through/over Cheddar Gorge and the Mendips; driving past on the M5 on our fairly regular pilgrimage to Cornwall and Devon for our holidays (and Uni), they stood out like a beacon and compelled me to click purchase. Having my best mate with me was a bonus. This was a great opportunity to do so.

I actually came across the event one day in 2017, whilst searching the ’net for something new to test myself. Fresh from completing the Dyfi Enduro, and high on the dopamine it left coursing through my veins, I was keen to testmyself again; and this really hit the spot.

The trails were fairly typical of the UK, mixing high, open common upland, typified by dry, sandy soils and grass grazed short by the roaming agriculture, with rooty, deciduous woodland, rich in detritus and thick with earth. Nowhere was particularly rocky (except for the top of Crook Peak), and the descents were not physically demanding or technical. It was also really dry, so a bonus there.

The changes in elevation were also fairly typical of middle English mountain bike country. Nevertheless, the Mendips delivered. On some level, this had something over my local trails. Maybe the fact that there were c.300 participants and it was one of the hottest days of the year; I don’t think it was as simple as that. The Mendips are just a classic location and they didn’t disappoint. Period.

Having the benefit of a way-marked route through unknown country meant we didn’t end up lost down a dead end trail to nowhere and we were offered up a nice mix of classic bridleway and private trails. I suspect there are better pieces of trail hidden away but this is a bit irrelevant. The Murmuration picks out some of the key local markers, as would be expected of such an event, and serves them up with decent trails in between. What I saw, and anticipated, when driving past on the M5; I rode it in the Mendip Murmuration.