Words: Rod Fountain

If Cyclocross is a winter sport then by now all the race tape and poles should have been collected, the coffee cups binned and the cowbells put on the shelf until the local pub announces they’re screening the Tour de France.

Fields and parks should no longer be racetracks, Sundays are yours again and there’s a really nice CX bike or two buried in your shed waiting for autumn to roll around again.

Really though?

Does anyone really only use his or her cyclocross bike during ‘the season?’ In Molly Hurford’s excellent book Mud, Snow and Cyclocross, she is quick to dispense with the idea that people these days only ride cyclocross by way of staying fit when the weather’s too shitty for riding a road bike. Coming from a purely mountain bike and racing BMX background the idea of the weather being ‘too shitty’ to ride in doesn’t really hold any, erm, water. So I find myself reaching for the Jake when, God forbid, it’s quite a nice day and I’ve got more than just an hour or two to throw at riding. Anyway I feel I’ve earned it, all those months slogging through slush and mud would surely have been a waste of time if I couldn’t then see how fast the Jake could go in the dry (terrifyingly fast as it happens).

Rod’s garage.

By riding ‘out of season’ I’ve fallen in love with both the bike and the sport even more. Skiing’s a winter sport, not cyclocross. I can’t help but agree with Bikesnob, the acerbic New York blogger who says that riders who pigeonhole themselves “are just a cleverly worded advert away from leaving bikes behind in search of the next big thing”. But what do you do on a cyclocross bike when you’re not training for the long winter series? Maybe my lack of experience in the world of cyclocross and lifelong lack of interest in road bikes is actually a good thing in this case because surely the answer is that you just ride it.

With no more races to enter, that I know of at least, the self inflicted pressure to get fit enough to bust into the top 10 has faded and made room for just going out for a ride and hunting out trouble. In a previous Jake Diary I wrote about the commute and how having the Jake made it infinitely more fun. However, despite scaring myself and grinning a lot I was always thinking how much fitter I was getting and of the benefits come race day.

The big experiment

With racing over I’m now just waiting and riding for fun and inevitably my thoughts turned to wondering how the Jake would go on the mountain bike trails I regularly roll my 140mm Carbon Lapierre Zesty over. Heading out for the playground of the Surrey Hills one sunny winter Sunday I dropped both seats in the car to squeeze Jake in alongside the Zesty, just as they are in my basement. The result was a disaster but I learned a lot. It’s a bit like in Ghostbusters when Dr Egon Spengler warns the others not to “cross the streams” of their…whatever those things they use to catch ghosts with are called. When asked why, Spengler replies, “Try to imagine all life as you know it stopping and every molecule in your body exploding”. Riding the Jake down one of my favourite Mountain bike trails felt like that because crossing the streams of cyclocross and mountain biking is just daft; chalk and cheese, day and night.

The result was a disaster but I learned a lot. It’s a bit like in Ghostbusters when Dr Egon Spengler warns the others not to “cross the streams”

After writing about cyclocross for the ‘ardcore Dirt Mountain Bike Magazine, both myself and Steve Walker, my team mate, were given a little insight into what life must have been like for Salman Rushdie after he published ‘The Satanic Verses’ and had a fatwa declared on him by some Iranian Muslims. I stand by the Dirt feature, as does Steve, because we weren’t trying to coerce anyone into abandoning mountain bikes, just saying that cyclocross is a very, very different, but oddly fun, way to spend time on a bike in the dirt. The Dirt forum went wild with (mainly derisive) comments, but to their credit lots of people said ‘it’s all just bikes on dirt so it’s got to be good, right?’ Bless ‘em, but even they missed the point (though I appreciated their support).

I conclude… 

Cyclocross is nothing like mountain biking, and both are better for it. It’s nothing like road riding either, though I’ve never done it and so had to poll my mates who exclusively ride road. Cyclocross is just a branch, and a small one in the UK, of the cycling tree and if you’re open-minded enough to give it a try then you might find that you love it.

MTB or CX bike…?

Or, like the Canadian mountain bike photographer Grant Robinson (an ex-Team Kona XC rider from way back), who I’m proud to call a friend, you might come to this very different but insightful conclusion: “I hate CX. Did two races years ago and can’t think of anything worse. It’s everything I hate about bike riding. Mud, cold, wet, and you have to get off an’ push all the time. Screw that. They had one here (in British Columbia) two weekends ago and there was about 4 inches of snow. The worst thing I’ve ever seen. But don’t listen to me: you should shred it if you like it!”

I’ve now written a fair few words about cyclocross and the love I’ve found for the sport, the people involved and most of all the Jake. But I could’ve saved myself, and you, a lot of time by just writing the last line of Grant’s e.mail and blowing it up to 96 point type because it cuts through all the cycling territoriality and weirdness about what you’re ‘into’.

Don’t listen to me: you should shred it if you like it!

Rod Fountain. Thanks for the tales, Rod.

Rod Fountain getting his ‘game face’ on.

Words: Rod Fountain
Photos:  www.DaveHayward.com

Adrenaline, alcohol and love make you say and do (or at least promise to do) some pretty daft stuff. Just think about how this trinity of influences has changed the direction of your life over the years, for better or worse. Maybe the scars on your body are the result of amorous encounters but it’s more likely they’re from crashing bikes or doing bonkers stuff on the way home from the pub. Ever laid broken on the ground wishing you could turn the clock back 30 seconds and re-think that line, gap or move? Course you have.

In the Dirt Magazine feature that I wrote about the Rapha Supercross event (my CX baptism) I made a finish-line claim about entering more races and said as much to Mike Rose, Dirt’s editor, on the phone between hasty gulps of restorative air. True to my word I’ve since endured two other races and can’t blame it on booze, so I guess it’s either love or adrenaline that’s kept me driving to taped off bits of field on cold, wet winter days with a big smile on my face.

The last Jake Diary was all about keeping busy in Steve McQueen’s ‘waiting room’ and how no matter where you live you can get a proper buzz on a CX bike because they’ve eschewed (except for disc brakes) the evolution that took the Klunker on its journey from Mount Tamalpais to the brutality of the current World Cup DH circuit. But despite the waiting being fun there’s really only one thing, in my mind, that a CX bike is made for: racing. I’ve raced BMX, DH, enduro, 4X and cycle speedway and all are brutal in ways only the initiated can understand, but CX combines that brutality with a fair bit of on-track comedy banter that has me laughing as much as I’m pedalling.

I was too knackered to notice it at the Rapha event but at Round 9 of the London X League (londonxleague.co.uk), my second and much less glam’ race, at the brilliantly named Gunpowder Park in Essex it dawned on me.

With last lap smug confidence I was sizing up a pack of ‘roadies’ as we entered a small descent into an off-camber hairpin when number 189 (Jamie Bishop), a veteran of DH and 4X I’d been battling with since the start hammered the lot of us off the brakes, claiming my line and forcing me into the tape as he bellowed ’do they still call that a t-bone in 4X?’ My kind of racing!

It’s all part of the experience.

There can’t be many Round 9 riders who wouldn’t choose ‘muddy’ as the adjective du jour but I’m quickly learning that whilst inclement conditions might kill attendance at a DH race it’s just how it goes in CX; after all, you don’t go surfing and expect to stay dry. But even this doesn’t dampen the comedy and it exposes the sinister side of the CX racer and how the ever-present mud can be turned to into an advantage. The marshall at the start/finish asked us to call out our muddied, unreadable numbers each lap and I heard people (half) joking about giving the numbers of their long gone rivals just to cause a bit of chaos in the results spreadsheet.

My next outing between the tape was to Round 11 at the legendary, but no less wet and muddy, Herne Hill Velodrome in SE London, a blissful 10 minute cycle from my house. OK, so you don’t ride on the fabled banking, except down it to connect two horrifically muddy sections, but you definitely feel special and connected to the illustrious history of British cycling when you race there.

It was here I realised how tight this whole scene is, and also how simple it is. It is no criticism and I’m as guilty as the rest but at a DH race there’s an awful lot of BS as people very earnestly discuss lines they’ll never hit and then bellyache endlessly about how the psi lurking in various parts of their bike is to blame for a crap result.

…people very earnestly discuss lines they’ll never hit and then bellyache endlessly about how the psi lurking in various parts of their bike is to blame for a crap result.

The mud I’ve come to expect from a CX race was there but also a refreshing lack of enthusiasm for any kind of practicing. Top of most racers’ agendas seemed to be coffee from the army trailer and a genuine zeal for sitting around and talking nonsense which I had the pleasure of doing with Kona Chamberlain’s Matt Webber who caught me oggling his beautiful Major Jake; he then shared his wisdom about the benefits of starting a race with dry feet.

Looking ahead and hoping for a gap to open up?

With over 120 riders lining up for the Vets / Seniors / Womens race there was always going to be first corner carnage and some of it sounded expensive. I heard, “How’s them carbon spokes working out for ya?” after a horrible twanging noise rippled through the pack followed by, “Not well mate” as pedals found wheel. In the very same corner, someone who knows their movie history and can spot a flat pedal amongst the pack said, “Keep away from Ben Hur” after spotting my gold flats and their potential to inflict the same sort of damage to a wheel as Ben Hur’s modified chariot did to his rival’s. The next opportunity to get mud on my teeth from grinning was at the sight of people trying to get down a descent using the ugly old ‘loads of front brake, feet off, balls on the stem’ technique which I’ve not seen in ages.

The next opportunity to get mud on my teeth from grinning was at the sight of people trying to get down a descent using the ugly old ‘loads of front brake, feet off, balls on the stem’ technique…

After the chuckling had stopped and the pack began to string out I found my targets: a gaggle of faster lads who I was determined to try and stay with and hopefully pass, for a minute at least, on one of the more tech’ sections. Braking after a really fast section alongside the fence at the top of the Velodrome’s banking the tape funnelled us into a hairpin around a post with standing room only. I lined it up, got up the inside and went for the brakes only to have the rear cable snap, making me to t-bone this poor guy and ditching us both in Brixton mud. ‘I lost my back brake!’ I offered up, waiting for the punch. Picking himself up and with a grin, he said, “That’s what I say when I take someone out, ya bastard!”.

The venue for Rod Fountain’s most recent foray into cyclo cross.

Except for the soul-destroying infield section the Herne Hill track was fun to ride and a huge contributing factor was this lake that had formed at the foot of a small descent after a slippery left. One of the marshals was squirting washing up liquid into it so it was not only hub deep but fragrant, foamy and no place for caution. Most people were gunning it so snappers and the baying crowd were all over it and I heard one bloke shout, “Surf’s up” as he got barrelled by a standing wave the elites threw up. Someone behind me bellowed, “You need a fooking ark for this, not a bike.”

I lined it up, got up the inside and went for the brakes only to have the rear cable snap, making me to t-bone this poor guy and ditching us both in Brixton mud.

But racing’s racing and no matter how many comedians you encounter it’s all about trying to drop and not be dropped. I managed to get top 15 in my class this time and for all the banter, off-track and on, I was agonising over the results sheet the following week and working out where I could’ve pulled back the seconds that might have put me into the holy grail of the top 10.

Whilst winter’s clearly not over, the CX season almost is and in yet another surprise dished up by my infatuation with this sport I find myself uncharacteristically looking forward to next September, not just because it’s my birthday month, but because the the whole league starts again and the waiting will once again be over.

In the third instalment of his Jake Diaries (check part 1 here and part 2 here), Rod tells us how much fun it can be to tear around town on his Kona Jake.

An urban bike ride never seemed like such a good option until Rod met Jake. Now he can see the city in a whole new light. Photo © Kirk le Voi

Jake Diaries part three

Words: Rod Fountain

‘Racing is life. Everything else is just waiting’ said Steve McQueen in the film Le Mans. As a quotation it’s been used to death (I’ve used it at least twice in previous magazine features) but as a sentiment it’s custom made for people who own a cyclocross bike or two. Since accidentally becoming what Rapha call a ‘King of Fury’ I’ve had that quotation rattling around in my head but it’s been dusted down, lubed and reassessed; race prepped, if you will.

Minutes after finishing the Rapha Supercross at London’s Ally Pally I’d learned there were stacks more races in which to pay for the pleasure of tasting my own puke and so with heart still pounding I mentally signed up to 2 more. But what would I do during Steve McQueen’s ‘waiting’ period?

But what would I do during Steve McQueen’s ‘waiting’ period?

Stuffing the Jake into my car I realised I’d done more miles racing it than I had just riding it and that imbalance felt great. After all, in Le Mans Steve McQueen doesn’t go shopping in his Porsche 917, saving it instead for the track (and in any case it’d never get over the speed bumps at Sainsbury’s). But by half five the very next afternoon the beautiful balance had been destroyed because I’d commuted 20 miles from South to West London and back; I’d taken away Jake’s thoroughbred status and introduced him to his other life as a weekday workhorse with a 4000 mile per year commute.

Rod Fountain hooning around the city at night. Look out for the beardy guy in slip-on shoes rampaging around if you live in London. Photo © Angus Muir

On the very first day of this very long sentence it dawned on me that I had a chance to get out of a commuting rut that I’d didn’t realise I’d been stuck in for the last decade. Since I could afford to buy my own bikes I’d never owned a road bike because of an addiction to that magic feeling of freedom that shudders up through a bike when its tyres hit dirt: road bikes just didn’t, and still don’t, do it for me. Commuting that first time on Jake made me realise that my stubborn mind-set had enslaved me to commuting on a series of inappropriate bikes because they were great off-road: a Cannondale ‘Beast of the East’, an Orange Patriot 66, a Sunn BMiX, a Curtis Racelite, a carbon Lapierre Zesty 914 and a Kona Unit 29er. All mountain bikes, all amazing off road and not once ridden through any of the three parks that lie between my front door and work unless it was scorching hot and the ground dusty.

…it dawned on me that I had a chance to get out of a commuting rut that I’d didn’t realise I’d been stuck in for the last decade

By the end of the first week on the Jake my 30 minute each way commute (previous best: 36 mins on the Zesty) had been twice extended to 2 hours on the homeward leg so I could hunt out all that terrain which only left me depressed and wanting so much more on my mountain bike but which flat out on a ‘cross bike is exactly what it’s made for. Can you hold a fast and drifty line through that line of trees? How about staying off the brakes down those stairs or death-gripping as your tyres slip and struggle for grip when the ground beneath them changes from wet grass to mud and then gravel?

When he can’t afford the hour-plus drive to get on some mountain bike trails, Rod says he is content with tearing around the local park and green spaces in the city. We think he is hooked on cyclo cross. Photo © Ian Lambert

It’s all going on in the green spaces of any town and blasting around them sends smiles for miles if you’ve got the right bike under you. On the days when I haven’t got time to leave London’s infamous roads behind in search of dirt I’m happy to stay on them because mixing it up with traffic at the speeds I can carry on the Jake makes even the terrifying start of a CX race seem tame.

It’s all going on in the green spaces of any town and blasting around them sends smiles for miles if you’ve got the right bike under you.

After 2 weeks of all this I’d lost 7lbs and found myself heading out when I had a spare hour to either slide and slug it around my loop or prowl around looking for more. If I want a legitimate mountain bike ride it’s a well worth it hour and a half drive each way which pretty much explains why I don’t get out as much as I’d like. But since stumbling across CX I’m now riding the right bike on the right dirt every day, so whilst Steve McQueen’s right about racing on the Jake, the waiting can be just as much fun too.

Thank you to Kona World for helping Rod keep the roadie dream alive…

Rod introduced his new-found affliction to mud, ruts and bike carrying last week in the first of his Jake Diaries, check it out here.

Fish out of water? Nope, he’s loving it. But someone needs to get Rod Fountain some better cyclocross attire!

Jake Diaries part two: The Big Race.

Words by Rod Fountain
All photos by Angus Muir

Lining up at round 3 of the Rapha Supercross event at London’s Ally Pally I searched for a reference point to make it somehow familiar and vaguely interesting.In terms of scale it was like a World Cup with an estimated 6000 people turning up to watch God knows what but that’s as far as I got with comparisons to MTB.

There were no other flat pedals, no other piss-pot/goggles combo and definitely no other knee pads, which I found odd…

There were no other flat pedals, no other piss-pot/goggles combo and definitely no other knee pads, which I found odd because I’d spent most of the previous day failing to keep the bike upright on the grass slopes of South London parks, in the process making mine look pretty second hand. Looking around, I was the one who turned up to a dinner party in fancy dress but I wasn’t trying to make a statement; I just didn’t own any ‘cross’ gear or knew if any existed.

Rod having an other-worldly experience; that is, riding uphill for the first time ever.

I was also at the back of a grid of over 100 riders with no solitary start hut in which to collect my thoughts and no attention focussing beeps. It all started without warning and I was swept along at the arse-end of a rolling triangle that funnelled straight into a climb. This was unfamiliar but not as unfamiliar as the fact I was enjoying being surrounded on the steep, greasy climb and wondering if I could get between the bloke in front and the taped post before the hairpin marking the start of the first descent. I couldn’t but within seconds it dawned on me that I was racing; not against a clock, an iPhone App or a mate but against over 100 others in more suitable clothing, proper pedals and way more experience.

It’s the taking part that counts. Not for Rod though, he thoroughly enjoyed the elbow-to-elbow racing action and can’t wait for the next race.

By the end of the first descent I’d made up all the places I’d lost on the climb and was steeled with a determination to hold off as many crossers as possible over the flats and climbs ahead until the next glorious singletrack(ish), place gaining, descent through a wood. And so over 7 transformative laps I became completely absorbed in this insanely skilful game of attack and defend and clawed back places to bag 29^th out of 75 in my category.

And so over 7 transformative laps I became completely absorbed in this insanely skilful game of attack and defend and clawed back places to bag 29^th out of 75 in my category.

I’d ‘got it’ and also worked out cyclocross races are won by people who can do two things really well: pedal for an hour at the edge of puking and wring the neck of a rigid bike on skinny tyres down fast, greasy, often off-camber descents. Just being good at one of these things had given me a result I was happy with and so what happened next would be pivotal: would I box up the Jake and send it back to Ben at Kona as intended or get fitter and race again in league events which I’d just found out happen all over the country every single weekend in winter? Walking through the pits I saw Angus Muir, the snapper covering the London round for Dirt Magazine, who’d been reviewing his shots.  “I thought you said this was going to be shit” he said. “So what’s with the village idiot grin you’ve got in all my shots?”

One happy competitor. Will he be clipped-in next time though?

 “I thought you said this was going to be shit” he said. “So what’s with the village idiot grin you’ve got in all my shots?”

48 hours earlier a box with ‘Kona’ stamped on the side had arrived at my house as I ate breakfast. Shovelling in eggs I stared at the box for a bit before half heartedly hacking at it with my buttery table knife because I knew what was in it. From a pretty low starting point my enthusiasm took a nose dive when I pulled out the Kona Jake, a road bike to my mountain bike’s eyes. But that was Friday, and here I was now ‘on any Sunday’… That bike is never going back in the box.

Thank you kindly to Kona World for supplying the Jake cyclocross bike and giving Rod a new passion!

For the last five years Rod has been a columnist and features writer for Dirt Magazine; a title that, until recently, has always favoured gravity over pedalling. However… In the last issue of Dirt (issue 130), the editorial content crossed borders previously unknown – Rod and Steve ‘The Butcher’ Walker (another of the magazine’s contributors) raced a cyclocross event, a feature which caused much debate and contention among readers.

Deemed ‘not rad enough’ (or something along those lines) for Dirt, Rod has now jumped ship with his cyclocross banditry and will be joining us here at Bike Magic as he explores an affliction that he never before knew; a desire to pedal, to train and to ride up hills.

We’ll leave the talking to Rod.

Jake Diaries entry 1 by Rod Fountain:

Cyclocross was never meant to happen to me but it just has and I think I’m stuck with it.

Until very recently I thought fun on bikes was pushing to the top of a trail or downhill track and pinning it back down, wheels on the ground as little as possible and barely pedalling until nightfall, a broken bike or splintered bones forced me home (or to A&E).

The crew over at Dirt Mag weren’t entirely convinced if cyclocross could ever be ‘rad’ enough, but anyone who’s tried it (now including Rod) will most probably agree that it takes quite something to win one of those races. Not sure about the goggles look, Rod… Pic by Angus Muir

Before cyclocross got its muddy claws into me the only real pedalling I did was commuting on my singlespeed Kona Unit: a 20 mile slog to endure rather than enjoy. As a writer for Dirt Magazine, riding down hills dominates my cycling life and I’ve been lucky enough to ride (OK, free-wheel) and race some lovely bikes down some even lovelier mountains. I can put in a solid race result and am comfortable in my cycling skin, although a skinsuit may be pushing it… After a lifetime of riding I thought my ideas about bikes and riding were set in a stone with just three letters carved into it: M.T.B.

After a lifetime of riding I thought my ideas about bikes and riding were set in a stone with just three letters carved into it: M.T.B.

The editor of Dirt occasionally throws some irresistible jobs my way which I don’t need to think twice about accepting, but racing cyclocross in late October in a London park wasn’t one of them…until he reminded me about the set of demo wheels he’d just dispatched to me after I’d mentioned that mine weren’t round anymore (since coming up short over a road-gap in the Forest of Dean). I’m not proud to admit that I pleaded, desperately at times, that featuring cyclocross in the magazine would offend the gravity slaves, that the bikes were nothing like downhill or enduro bikes and that seeing one in Dirt wasn’t appropriate. He told me to let him worry about that and e-mailed the brief which said: ‘Get muddy and work out if a cyclocross bike is just an un-evolved mountain bike’. At that point I wished I’d just bought my own set of wheels.

Rod in an altogether more familiar environment, tearing down a hill. Rod also loves riding his 29er and thankfully has an open mind to all cycling disciplines. Pic: Grant Robinson

The story of the cold, wet October day which unexpectedly changed my ideas about fun on bikes is in the current copy of Dirt (issue 130). What it doesn’t explain is why my carbon full suss’, my 4X bike and my 29er are now in the basement and why a cyclocross bike, the kind of bike I’ve always thought was pointless, leans on a radiator in the hallway, nose pointing at the door and only getting to rest when I do.

What it doesn’t explain is why my carbon full suss’, my 4X bike and my 29er are now in the basement…

I still don’t know why this has happened or how it’s all going to pan out so over the next couple of months I’ll be treating this little corner as a confessional booth in which to lay bare the occasionally intimate and always dirty details of how a committed downhiller has found a new love between the tape.

Thanks to Kona World for supplying Rod with the newest love in his life and for opening his mind to the world outside downhill.