AFTERMATH
A pleasure to make a tentative return to this eccentric old school mountainbiking lark under the expert, if rad, guidance of DSP -
"Which way you wanna go - route A or route B?"
"Which is route A and which is route B?"
"You don't need to know that..."
The group assembled without conviction at DSP's ravey warehouse (complete with a minimalist North Shore trials set-up) in a secret location mid-Macclesfield. All efforts to linger and loiter were aimed directly at the active rainclouds overhead but were to no avail. Reluctantly we squelched out of the car park and hit the canal paths (primarily so that DSP's promise of flat riding met its quota) - whether we would have been drier in the canal than on its banks is debatable, however. Then hills. Hills closer to the rainclouds and rather draughty hills at that. Not a murmur of dissent from the group - the brake blocks did the squealing on our behalf. A brief comfort stop saw DSP beetle off to the toilets apparently to answer the call. I caught him in flagrante drying and shaping his beard under the handrier. The vanity of the man knows no bounds. Back into the moorish landscape, where hoards of wild deer froze and stared us out. The horned ones glintily eyed Pedro, I know not why. More hillage and then deep sludge, relieved by sketchy downhilling over evil, half-hidden pointy rocks. Nearing the ride's end DSP conjured up a tin shed coffee shop from nowhere then pulled back the clouds to bathe us all in radiance. Too late, the damage was done. Overheating and steaming we pedalled back in to the warehouse to regroup and heal up.
As Keith B said of Paul's rides - "Muddy. Wet. Windy. You're getting all three..." It's nice to be back.