Winter Mountain Biking

The weather has been pretty weird this winter. Just one short weekend of cold, otherwise it has been mild, wet and windy. This has left the exposed South Downs muddy and the chalk paths tretcherous and slippery. For this reason my mountain bike has spent far too many weekends hanging in the shed with an empty Trek Madone shaped space next to it.

I love all types of bikes and cycling, but if describing what type of cyclist I am, I would always say 'Mountain Biker'. Real mountain bikers are not afraid of a little bit of mud, so enough of this hiding behind the hedges in my clean roadie lycra.

In a thick drizzle I left home and climbed up the rocky, deeply rutted chalk bridleway to the Trundle. Despite the miserable weather so far so good. However, sticky mud and a strong headwind made the descent into the Lavant valley genuinely arduous.

The climb from the B2141 up to the top of the Kingley Vale nature reserve offered very little traction, every pedal stroke a desperate search for forward propulsion. The woodland drop down the other side involved a lot of squirming and slithering, bike and rider seldom going where the front wheel was pointed.

With the wind finally on my back  the climb from Hooksway to the South Downs Way was actually fairly brisk. At the top I passed the only other cyclists I met all day, a statistic that by itself probably explains the madness of my escapade! The tail wind still pushing me on I splashed along, weaving side to side dodging puddles, as the national trail levelled out towards Cocking. Maybe it was over confidence as I hussled the bike along, but without warning the back wheel flicked out to the right. As I tried to catch the huge tank slapper my front wheel squirrelled straight across the path and fired me directly into the barbed wire fence on the right. Nothing damaged I extracted myself from the rusty metalwork and looked around to make sure nobody had witnessed my muddy dismount. What were the chances? The only other people in Southern England insane enough to be out on on the Downs on a day like this were still in sight a few hundred yards behind. I set off quickly before my pride could be damaged any more.

Time was short, so after Cocking I snuck up the road to the Oil rig and along the service fireroad to Charlton. I was cold and soaked with half the South Downs still hanging from my bike or stuck to my clothing. My wife was not impressed when I squeltched up to the back door!

To be honest I would struggle to say I enjoyed the mornings events, but there was a definite sense of achievement that made it all worth while.