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Chablis
on the rocks
Finally the 'descent' began as we turned left away from the hill following a wall, original line choices were much in demand as we began to flow quickly through the mine field of waterlogged ruts and deep soupy pot-holes. As the trail narrowed and we approached a flooded gate, we came across a group of well seasoned walkers who were sipping Chablis in the midst of icy snow and slush. I logged a mental note to include alcohol on the next cold ride, brandy perhaps or a couple of fruity cocktails with Chinese parasols and
plastic monkeys. A bit more traversing across a grassy slope and we were hurtling down a crushed stone track towards a herd of hairy Highland cattle.
Man but those horns would have a Matador in a cold sweat, we slowed a little and made encouraging noises in the form of 'nice cow, please don't kill me'. I'm told they're very placid beasts but the way they roll their eyes when you get between mother and calf is less than reassuring. By this time we were experiencing a few mechanicals, chief among which was the compete collapse of Ben's Black Box crowned Rockshox Sid. Air was escaping faster than me running away from a hairy cow with BSE and blood on it's horns. Fortunately this didn't slow up the unstoppable Ben too much, who nevertheless spent more time mid-field than usual on the following descents.
After a short road section the climbing begins again in earnest and despite some spirited granny gear grinding, we eventually succumbed and re-formed the tightly knit MTBB
Team pushers. It was at this point something quite bizarre happened, Ben spotted Louise (an MTBB regular) coming from the opposite direction. This was odd, firstly because she lives near Aberystwyth and secondly it turned out the route she was on only over-lapped with ours for a short section. Double spooky and no mistake, we made sure to throw some puncture patches over our left shoulders and crossed ourselves with mini-pumps, in case the Gods had sent an omen.
I'm
just going outside, I may be some time
After a nice chat we went our separate ways and soon reached a super fast double-track with vicious hard edged water
bar 'ditches', built
of solid stone slabs. There were two ways to deal with these, the favorite
of which was the time honored speed hop.
Three or four, four foot jumps later I was really getting in to the swing of it and speeds had topped
around twenty five miles per hour, when another ditch/bar just ahead proved to be a lot wider! Falling short would have been
stupid so we exploded in to the air and cleared it with not much to spare and no style points for the dodgy landing in my case. This
was just about the only fast section on the ride and soon after we were climbing on foot once more, first on yet more of the local solid rock and latterly on snow covered bog. This was proper Arctic stuff, well above the snow line and
we had a couple of miles of three inch deep powder and boggy drifts to negotiate.
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After much Shackleton-style trudging we reached Rushup Edge, a snow covered grass descent which was a barrel of laughs, hidden boulders a
specialty and lots of curvy contours courtesy of old mining efforts moguled us on down
toward Mam Tor. All this time the weather had been changing faster than you could say Meteorologist with a skin-full, four seasons in one day and no mistake. A quick chip up the road to the Bridleway, which by-passes the Tor to the North and
hold on, the weather Gods weren't finished with us yet. They jealously rustled up a hideous blast of freezing rain and hail, which threatened to blow us off our bikes and made me feel really cold for the first time that day.
Collapsed fork
drops off
I donned my balaclava and pulled it round to cover the left side of my face which had recently lost sensation and was beginning to throb. Once down to Hollins Cross we turned left and tackled some big juicy drop-offs, the kind you wouldn't want to
hit with a collapsed fork (sorry Ben!). After a final squirt down tarmac to the car park we reckoned it one of the toughest seventeen milers around, only half the distance of some of our rides, it demands due respect in Winter. Dave who was feeling really keen, took a left turn by mistake and headed downhill away from the car park. We sent out search parties and he was eventually found pootling back up the hill to complete an eventful Winter Peaks ride. Now there was just the soggy wet backside to contend with on the drive home.
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