Miracles Happen...

Not long ago (2 July 2013, to be precise) I wrote about why I felt that mountain biking was not for me.  It’s true that I’ll never be good at it, but that’s no reason not to enjoy it.  All it needs is a change of philosophy.

Somehow, just facing my inadequacies seems to have changed my philosophy.  You wouldn’t think that such a negative thing could have a positive result, but it has.  It’s almost as though by accepting that I’m rubbish I no longer care whether I am or not.  So I am free to get off and walk, free to miss bits out, and free to “dab” as often as I like. 

This weekend my husband ran another of his mountain bike weekends, and this time I found it impossible to avoid.  Not only was it to be held just 8 miles from my home, but some of my best friends were going to be there and I felt it would be positively cowardly for me to stay away.  So my poor neglected mountain bike, stored for over a year with its bars turned, was dragged into the light of day.  Just to make sure I could ride it I rode the 8 miles to the event, incorporating four climbs into my route - three climbs on tarmac and one off-road. 

Somewhere along the off-road bit I remembered something I'd realised long ago but which I'd forgotten as I'd sunk into self doubt.  This is what I remembered.

For me, mountain biking is about these four things:

Riding routes that a normal bike won’t go
Seeing views you can see no other way
Discovering places you could never reach by road, and
Getting to places by routes which are wild and traffic free.

For some people, it’s not about these things - it’s about overdosing on adrenaline on a man-made trail at a trail centre.  But these trail centres are never going to be my cup of tea.

So the next day, I joined in with the organised ride (the “slow” group, of course) and with bits of walking interspersed amongst my riding, I managed the whole ride.  And the only time I nearly fell off was at the moment when I realised I was enjoying myself.

Clearly time off the knobbly-tyred beast has been good for me.  And Adstone Hill, where my moment of clarity hit me, is a simply stunning spot I shall visit again.  When I do I shall try to remember to photograph it, for the time being though, I have taken the liberty of borrowing a simply fabulous shot from someone called Glen Wood - I hope he doesn't mind!

Picture of the ancient track on Adstone Hill (by Glen Wood)