I’ve ridden bikes on the road and on gentle cross country for as long as I can remember.
This weekend I was at a “stag weekend” with a bunch of a dozen or so mountainbikers, some of whom are pretty hardcore. My first attempt at “proper mountain biking” and I was in at the steep end.
So there was me on a borrowed “Raleigh the-all-steel-bicycle” with “designed to be sold cheaply to the gullible” simulated front and rear suspension, cable operated disc brakes, and in need of a major overhaul, and there were the others on Oranges and Marins and other machines worth as much as my car.
The weekend was in Wales. On Friday we rode some prepared trails around Coed y Brenin, and today (Sunday) we did the Penmarcho Trail near Betwys y Coed.
This was serious stuff: climbs that lasted for a mile or more, and descents on rock, mud, shale, and sometimes timber boardwalk.
The front suspension was quikly revealed to have no significant travel, and the rear was only good for soaking up the effort of my pedalling. The rear brake was either on or off, with no option for fine control, and the front brake was either off or not on, with no option for decelerating the bike.
I had picked up the bike at 10:00 the night before when a generous friend spontaneously offered to lend it to me to save me having to hire one. I had no chance to adjust anything except the seat height, and I soon discovered that to engage the “granny ring” I had to dismount and transfer the chain by hand. The smallest and largest rear sprockets were simply unavailable.
Friday’s ride was an unmitigated slog, with heart-bursting ascents up featureless fire roads, and arm-pumping descents over rough stone slabs and almost-but-not-quite-jumps. I lved in constant fear of the front wheel digging in and catapulting me over the bars.
Today’s ride was more varied, with a long climb at the start, followed by a wide variety of surfaces, with lots of very narrow swooping sinlge track more or less folling the contour, and a few steep drops.
And you know what? By the end of the ride, two of the more experienced riders on modern machines had waved me past because I was “pushing” them. One kept falling off or dismounting on sections that I was then able to ride. I think I can confidently say that the plucky Raleigh exceeded its design brief.
I did a lovely comedy faceplant though. On a narrow section of UPHILL singletrack, the front wheel strayed over the downhill edge of the track. I tried to correct and the wheel dug in, turning 90 degrees and stopping the bike dead. Over I went, one foot trapped between pedal and frame, hands on the floor, and bike sort of supported by one of my legs and my bum. And me laughing like a drain.
I can’t justify buying one, but I admit it was fun.