Well that was expens­ive. I burned through a set of disc pads, put a hole in the side of my shoe and to top it all off, I somehow punctured my camelbak’s bladder. That’s a comfort­able feeling, let me tell you. A slow but steady stream of ice-cold water running down the centre of your back until… well, you can guess where it goes from there. Then there was the unceas­ing headwind which somehow faced me no matter which direc­tion I rode.

Despite all that, I had a bucket­load of fun. I rode trails I’d not ridden in ages. I discovered an enchanted cottage hidden in the woods. I had a bleat­ing match with a freshly shorn sheep. I blasted down the sides of fields, along fire-roads and though twist­ing technical single­track. I sprin­ted up climbs with Rage Against The Machine shout­ing through my earphones.

I got home feeling better than I did when I left, and that’s what it’s all about.