It’s 9:30am and fractionally above zero degrees. I arrive early to meet up with the 1st XV only to find that they’re not nearly as slack as advertised and I’m last there. The 1st XV are a loose knit bunch of MTB riders who’ve all got together on the Bikemagic forums and have now formed an official club with tee shirts and everything. The members pride themselves on their slackness but they’re happy to have anyone along. I’ve ridden with a couple of the guys before and shouldn’t be out of my depth but it’s always a step into the unknown with so many people who previously were just a link on a website. Today names in a virtual world come alive. Will they be as slack as they maintain or is it all a front? Who are going to be the fast ones? The slow ones? Are those hard used bikes indicative of hard seasoned riders? Am I going to struggle or cruise? So many questions. Please don’t let me look like the man with all the gear and no idea!

I pull the bike out of the car, put on my shoes, overshoes, helmet and a warm top and I’m ready to go, just as a singlespeed rider decides now is an opportune moment to re-tension his chain. I’m not so sure the rest agree, what with the snow flurries in the air, but no-one says anything. A couple of minutes of transmission faff and we’re off. Starting at the top of the hill has its advantages but freezing your parts off on the descent before you have a chance to get warm isn’t one of them. Nor is the final climb home. Come to think of it, what are the advantages of starting at the top of the hill?

What goes down…

An easy drop down through the woods, running repairs on the singlespeed, a couple of fields with a surface I swear is made of plasticine and onto the first climb. Not a nice one for the first of the day, it’s long (at least by southern England standards) and steep (by anyone’s standards) and in spite of the mud-specificity of, and indecently low pressure in, my rear tyre I run out of traction even before reaching the crux section. Off and push for a bit, at least I’m warming up now but starting to think this is shaping up to be a tough day out. The riding group is well enough matched with no-one noticeably weaker than anyone else and just a couple of obviously stronger riders to keep the rest on their toes.

The next section leads down to the “Roots of Doom”. A section so hyped on the internet forums that the least you expect is something that really should be ridden on a full on downhill bike with body armour. I’d like to report that it’s a death defying challenge but you can judge for yourself from the pictures. Still, it’s about as good as it gets in these parts and it really is steeper than it looks in the photos (honest, guv!). Partly because of the aforementioned hype there are a lot of people taking it (very) conservatively at this point. The official 1st XV term for unwarranted caution is ‘mincing’. Points for the ‘Baton des Lesbos’ (full explanation, such as it is, at www.1xv.co.uk) are duly awarded for the rider displaying the feeblest amount of bravery. There are plenty of contenders.

The next big (road) climb and yet more work is required on the singlespeed (broken chain this time). The climb itself is a drag but the resulting descent is wonderful. The weather’s clearing, the sun’s coming out and you could actually believe it was spring if it wasn’t for the arctic chill in the air. The payoff for the climb is a tight, narrow, wooded descent that continues well past the point at which you think you’ve reached the end. I’m all over the hardtail in front of me, then as the second section opens out we’re both leaving the brakes well alone and praying nothing “rambler shaped” awaits around the next bend. At this speed we’re certainly not stopping quickly. Hmm, testosterone overload, it’s getting just a bit competitive now!

Stackattack

Better still, there’s a big stack happening and it’s happening to someone else. Steve’s had a ‘blonde moment’ with his front wheel being less than parallel to the trail as he splatters his way into a muddy section. Steering is something that is only happening to other people and, in an act of undisputed if possibly misguided bravery, he grits his teeth, leaves the brakes alone and stops dead on the interface of the trail and the shrubbery. Or at least his bike does. Meanwhile, in line with the laws of physics, Steve sails over the bars describing a perfect parabola before cushioning his landing in a heap of brambles. Nothing damaged except his pride but in terms of quality entertainment, it’s the best stack I’ve seen for years.

What’s next – yes, you’ve guessed it, more maintenance on the singlespeed but this time the engineer in the group is co-opted to the fettling team and the Singulator gains some tension. That’s the end of the problems for which the whole group is very grateful. The mickey-taking however continues, with “maintenance free, my arse” being among the more printable comments. It’s a tough crowd…

Even with the recalcitrant singlespeed mended it’s still slow progress. Before the next climb the first rider opts to swap the trails for the road back to the log fire in the pub. His excuse, for which he got not a little stick (and the official award of the Baton des Lesbos), was extreme tiredness. I wonder just how many of us really fancy joining him but aren’t prepared to grasp the Baton with both hands, face the ribbing or miss out on the remaining descents. It really is turning into a nice sunny day now. Still, I can definitely see the attraction of that fire and the pint of Brakespears Best.

Hint of menace

The sun’s strengthening rays and the promise of that beer spur us on as we attack (well, OK, mildly menace) the next long grassy climb in front of us. I hate long grassy climbs at the best of times but after three and a half hours of leg sapping plasticine ground it’s less than funny. OK, head down – little little gear and just keep spinning. The grassy slope runs into woodland, which is much nicer to ride, but the slope is unforgiving. In reality it’s over in less than ten minutes but no less hard for that. Some of the guys coming up behind me look to be suffering. At least I like to think they are, because I’m not exactly finding it easy and we’re not done yet.

At the top Andy’s completely covered in mud having apparently taken it upon himself to dive into a big patch of the stuff at the bottom somewhere and Jon’s missing in action. He was bringing up the rear so we wait, but there’s no sign of him. “Oh, Jon knows the area really well,” someone pipes up. “He’ll have taken a short cut and will be up ahead waiting for us”. Well he wasn’t and it later transpires that he’d punctured so that was the last we see of Jon.

I know the next drop and it’s a personal favourite, I just hope there’s no-one coming the other way. Racing through the mud at the top I pick the better line and just make it first into the deep narrow chalk gully. Keeping as much speed as I dare I leave the next rider behind me, apparently he’s bouncing off each side of the rut, legs flailing and I wonder later if it wouldn’t have been more entertaining to have followed him. Halfway down I jump off the bike to grab the camera but the first two are past before I can get it out and turn it on. Then I wait, and I wait and I wait and eventually the rest straggle through some way behind. There’s some weary riders now and it’s not the easiest of descents, especially when tired. It needs concentration and a smooth line, not easy when your legs are screaming “no more”. They know they’re mincing but they don’t care any more, the Baton’s already been awarded and the pub’s getting closer.

At the bottom of the descent the trail fairies conspire to make the final twist of the knife. For the next mile of valley floor it’s back to that plasticine mud, only it seems much worse now, and then there’s another unyielding climb back to the top of the ridge. Traction is again at a premium, which I’ve not paid and nor has anyone else so we’re all walking a fair chunk of this one. Walking is for winners – whatever you’ve heard.

There’s a cracking view at the top though…

After a strung out road spin back to the cars it’s a quick change and straight into the pub. The sun’s brought people out in their hundreds and the pub is packed. Still, we get that pint of Brakespears that I’ve been salivating at the thought of for at least the last 90 minutes and even find a warm corner to sit down and drink it. We embellish the ride stories and rag each other about missed opportunities and ‘mistaken’ techniques as the banter moves from mild exaggeration to far-fetched implausibility.

Only four hours ago, most of the people here had, for me, only existed in the virtual world of the Internet forum. Now I’m sharing with them that warm, weary, post ride feeling that accompanies the ‘craic’ and a pint well earned in good company. I’ve joined many rides with people previously unknown and without exception I’ve enjoyed riding with everyone I’ve met and have made lasting friendships with some. It was a top ride, it may not have been a high mileage epic but given the ground conditions and the climbing involved it was far from a soft option. Whatever it might say on the packaging the 1st XV aren’t as slack as they’d have you believe. But they’re every bit as much fun to ride with as they imply.