: The mtb bond

By: g | No Comments » |

The other week, I went for a ride. Nothing new in that, you might say. But this one was different.

Having to move back to the UK from Sydney was hard enough, both mentally and financially. But one thing I really missed almost as soon as I got here was the sweet weather I was used to and the great trails I rode around NSW and ACT.

My Cove kept me company as I frantically searched for employment in the grey skies of London. It had been re-vamped a couple of months earlier, and had yet to plant it’s authoritative Panaracer stamp on the dirt in anger. This had to change.

So once I had settled into my new job and my new unit, I decided to go riding.

I met up with a couple of local London boys and we jumped on the train, heading west to Clandon, in Surrey. The train ride lasted about 45 minutes, and we filled it with the usual banter. One thing struck me as odd. This was a bit like being in Sydney. Here was I, with a couple of fellow MTBers, sitting on a train going to a place I had never been to before, to ride our bikes. The only thing missing was the Aussie lilt I had come to know so well.

We got off the train, and rode to a car park to meet some more people. This was really weird. The sun was out and it was unusually warm for a mid-April day in England. It was nice out. And I could smell! Spending a month or two in London doesn’t do wonders for that sense, and this was my first real foray into the countryside, a fresh breeze whipped up the smell of hay and greenery into my nostrils.

When it was time to head off down the trail, we were 15 strong. I’d shook hands with most of them by way of introducing myself, and as is normally the case, I had to try and remember everyone’s name. In the end, I gave up and we had Yellow Jekyll, Black Patriot and DNA Ti!

As we swooped down through the forest, all the memories of when I first started riding came flooding back. I remember the noises of tractors in the distance, cows chewing their respective pieces of cud in the fields next to us and puddles of mud that just leave you with no option but to plough through them. It was familiar, yet I hadn?t experienced it for a long time.

Our route for that day took us on a 40-45 kilometre loop around some of the hills around Clandon. We crammed in around 750 metres of climbing, and just as much descending. We visited a chalk quarry and played on the drop-ins and doubles. We sweated up firetrail to the top of Hurtwell Hill to admire the view down into the valley (it was magnificent, on such a clear day), and then we grabbed some singletrack for the journey down again.

I was having fun. Let me say that again; I was having fun. And I was in England.

The similarities between riding in Australia and riding in England aren’t that great. Sure, there’s no Sydney sandstone to slide around on, and the cost of rail travel is still on the silly side of “bloody hell”. But the people I rode with were so similar to you lot at mtb-oz, it actually frightened me.

We had a token Aussie, a couple of Kiwis, 2 Frenchmen, a Scotsman and the others were from London. There was mindless banter. There was piss-taking. There was childish giggling. There was cake and jelly snakes handed out whenever we stopped.

I came to realise that I didn?t miss Australia as much as I had feared. Yes, some things I do miss, and they’re not hard to figure out. But I was just so pleased that people like us seem to be the same wherever we are. It’s yet another side of the sport that keeps me coming back for more.

Our very own listmeister sums up the “England is awful” mentality very well and I hope he doesn?t mind my quoting it here.

“England’s great and has wonderful countryside and riding. It’s just that the weather sucks”. How true. But summer’s coming! I’ve got rides planned for the next 3 weeks. And I’ll enjoy all of them.

Nick

 

Share the love...?



Tweet

Leave a Reply...

You must be logged in to post a comment.