As ever I had a plan for a weekend of riding. The basis was a loop of motorways that would take me out to the midlands and back and fit in a bunch of great trails, both natural and man-made. There would also be a mix of known and new with the chance to explore a new range of hills. My accommodation would be a shepherd’s hut in Shropshire, giving added security and electricity over a tent but little else in the way of mod-cons. I had invited a bunch of people I’d ridden with recently, but most were tied into grown up chores like doing the garden or babysitting and couldn’t come out to play on bikes.
It would turn out to be a weekend with superb riding, but with a whole series of frustrations at every turn.
Thanks to the M1 and M6 the first stop was designed as a bit of a warm up in a way. I figured a lap of Cannock Chase would get me dialled in to ride, blow out the cobwebs and get any stupid accidents out of the way. The trail delivered well but served up the first annoyance as large sections are currently closed for forestry work, slightly reducing the fun factor as diversions take in fireroads not singletrack. However I felt I was riding well and going bigger than ever on some sections with the confidence that regular riding brings. Then I punctured.
This is unusual as the surface and style at Cannock, as with other trail centres, makes it hard to find anything to actually puncture on. After a quick change I was off again, but found the rear tyre flat again before long. Fixing it again I concluded that the issue was a worn out tyre, nursed it back to the car and bought a new tyre from the convenient trail head shop.
I chalked this up to paying homage to the mountain bike gods to ensure a hassle free trip from then, but it was not to be. I headed for Shropshire.
The campsite containing my shed was so tantalisingly close to the final loop of the ride I had planned for the morning that I couldn’t resist a quick blast once I was settled. This took me up a fireroad climb past the gliding club and then plummeting down Minton Batch, arguably the definition of brilliant British singletrack as it swoops and whoops down a beautiful valley. Perfect. Or so I thought until a loud bang was followed by my rear brake not working. Investigation found a missing retaining split pin, and a missing pad. How had it gone? A rock strike? Overheating? Bad fitting of a rear wheel earlier in the day? I eased off and got back to the campsite on just a front brake.
Friday was done and the rest of the weekend had to be issue-free, right? I fitted new brake pads and was ready to be joined by my brother for the classic triple-looped Long Mynd ride. He eventually arrived and we cruised off up the road to Church Stretton.
The trouble with a classic is that it is popular, and you expect to see other riders. I was not prepared for the hundreds of them, all with “race” numbers and filling some of the bridleways we wanted. It turned out to be the day for one of these events for people who are too unimaginative to work out a long ride alone and feel happier on their expensive bike with a pseudo race plate on the front. We undoubtedly irritated some by climbing out of Carding Mill Valley on the track they were coming down, and eventually left their route on the navigationally confusing first climb to the top of the Mynd. We’d find them crowding the first downhill as they largely pushed up but managed to scatter the walking “riders” enough to get a decent blast. Irritating as it is to find the hills full of people who need organising in a crowd to get to the hills, we did then leave them behind after this.
The road climb that I always forget is as hard as it is followed, then the payoff as you saddle the hills and contour to Little Stretton, followed by repeat of the Minton Batch loop, this time with no incidents and just pure fun. We were done and the route didn’t fail to deliver as usual.
The final day was planned to be an exploration. I’ve never ridden the Malvern Hills before and wanted to see what they had to offer. Research before heading there had thrown up some real issues with conflict between mountain bikers and other users so I was aiming to be there reasonably early. I also had a map which would turn out to be excessive as the broad theme of the ride was to follow my nose along the ridge until I ran out of hill and then head back on different tracks. The views were phenomenal and the riding a mix of solid steady climbing and the rocky descents, broadly all on wide tracks but no less fun for that. It was a stunning day and the flat land spread out beneath the hills seemed extra dramatic in the sunshine as I sweated easily higher and higher.
The frustrations here? Well I’m not sure I can count the hordes of people walking dogs and strolling and generally slow to react even when they had clearly seen me, as I was expecting to find that a problem, and perhaps half past nine wasn’t early enough to start to make the most of the hills. Instead I’ll go for my Garmin Fenix totally crashing half way up the first climb leaving me with a useless lump of metal and plastic strapped to my wrist rather than a useful tool to navigate and check progress. I had to log the trip on Strava using my phone instead. Still, worse things happen, and on the plus side I scraped together exactly enough change for the carpark and spend an hour and a half out in the sort of scenery that makes mountain biking in Britain so brilliant at times.
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