A bit of an epic, but I don’t get to ride much these days. There are three deliberate mistakes for you to spot here. They are all of a general knowledge nature - that is, you don’t have to be a unicyclist, or a forum regular to spot them. If you want to play the game, please PM me the answers. Please do not post the answers, or any reference to them, in the thread. You may not want to play (fair enough) but please don’t spoil the game for those who do. I will post the correct answers and a list of winners in about 2 days, when the flood of responses dries up.
Thanks.
As the bluesman said, I woke up this morning…
The sky was fairly clear, there was no frost, but it was blowing half a gale. Across the valley, I could see whole trees in motion. I had promised myself a unicycle ride this weekend, but yesterday had been filled with errands and traffic jams, and this morning the wind made me feel very half-hearted about the whole unicycling thing. Any form of cycling in a strong wind is tiring and no fun.
I considered where to ride, and found another problem: route fatigue. All the accessible places, I have ridden to death. I’ve written them up so many times that some of you lot could draw maps.
Breakfasted and coffeed up to the eye balls, I felt more positive. The only option was to go to Sherwood Forest, where the trees would provide shelter. That meant the MUni: a standard KH24, with the 3" tyre and 165 mm cranks. I pumped the tyre up to about 20 psi and threw my gear in the car. No GPS: I hadn’t seen it for a while. No doubt it was under some socks on the bedroom floor or something. Still, no gauges means no numbers, and no numbers means no pressure, so the unipsychology would be good.
I arrive at the Forest Pines car park to find notices all over the place relating to a British Heart Foundation charity ride. As I prepare myself for my own ride, I notice signs showing that part of the forest is closed to people not on the ride. There is a huge inflatable “Start” gate over near the café. I do so hate it when other people want to enjoy themselves and then get in my way in the process!
I mount and ride through the car park. A young girl is wobbling along on her mountain bike. Like so many cyclists these days, she seems surprised to find that every so often she actually has to put some effort into making it move. She keeps to the bare minimum, pedalling about one lazy pedal stroke every few metres. She sees me but shows no awareness of the fact that I might want to use the path, and it takes some skilful manoeuvring on my part to avoid a collision as I aim for the start of the trail.
Once on the trail, I find myself riding against the flow of those who are finishing the BHF ride (or the first lap?). That means I pass a hell of a lot of inexpertly ridden bicycles: pedal, pedal, freewheel, dawdle, wobble, pedal… Here’s me on one wheel and apparently I’m the only one with the brains, the skills and attention span to avoid a collision. Perhaps their faith in my ability to keep out of their way is a sort of compliment, but somehow I doubt it.
Early in the ride, I pass a small boy earnestly riding his mountain bike as his mother wobbles along behind him. He looks up at me, open mouthed, then contorts his face into an archly quizzical expression. He says just loudly enough for his mother to hear: “That’s funny?” There is an implied request for agreement in his tone. This is why there’s no hope for the human race: the child is clearly intelligent, but already, aged about 6, he has been taught to ensure that his private thoughts on even the most trivial subjects are validated by seeking the approval of those whose opinions he perceives to be reliable. Social constructionism in action.
Soon I turn off onto a quieter track. Tall straight pine trees grow in a plantation to my right and left, their trunks virtually featureless, with all their foliage in the top 20% or so of their height. Pine trees are the McDonalds of the tree world: uninteresting, virtually identical, but a simple cheap option for those who want the product quickly and aren’t too worried about the quality.
The trail beneath my wheel is carpeted with pine needles so my progress is almost silent, although there are occasional patches of crunchy sand and gravel. This area of the forest is not particularly good for wild life. I do see the occasional grey squirrel. In the tree tops, I catch an occasional glimpse of a bird, too high up to identify accurately. They are either sand martins or the closely related pine marten. It could be either in a sandy pine forest!. Other than that, it’s just the occasional crow or pigeon.
Over the next mile or so, I cross the route of the British Heart Foundation ride several times. This always amazes me: go onto the boring wide trail with a good hard surface, and you find as many mountain bikes as you like, nearly all with suspension and 18 or more gears. Turn off onto the narrower, rougher, more interesting tracks, and all you find is just the one unicycle - and that’s the one you’re riding. So many people these days seem to think that operating the equipment is the same as doing the activity. I’m not sure whether they have no imagination at all, or whether they have more than I do, because I can’t imagine how what they’re doing is fun.
A few minutes later, I am away from the hordes of cyclists, and climbing a gradual slope of sand, gravel and packed mud, reaching one of the highest points in this part of the forest. The trees here are more mixed, with some oak, some beech and some chestnut. The trail becomes more winding and less predictable, with sections of undulating hard mud, sections of rutted grassy track, and some wider ballasted trails. Sometimes, strands of briar lay across my way, and I rely on the thickness of the tyre to protect the tube.
On one section, I find myself riding along a field boundary, with what looks like a root crop to my left, rutted grass beneath me, and the forest to my right. Two crows swoop over the field, silhouetted momentarily against the clear blue sky.
Then I find a fun descent. It’s not steep or long, but it is twisty, and there are roots across the path. I love this sort of descent: it’s easy enough that I will only UPD if I do something stupid, but it feels hardcore because the movement is non stop, with small obstacle after small obstacle.
- I’m almost proud not to know that 
