Mountain Bike Rides
The Breadlad, Trainee#2, Rod, Howard, The Ginger One, Oz.
Three days, five men, one field, two sheds and a medically inconceivable amount of flatulence, pretty much sums up this trip to Glentress, not forgetting the incredible weather, of course and the two effete individuals who opted for the more refined accommodation offered by a nearby hotel. The days followed a predictable routine, food, ride, beer, snacks, shower, pub and return to the fart boxes. Sleeping arrangements were divided along age lines, the, ahem, more mature riders in one cabin while the, and I use this term loosely, younger ones shared the second cabin. All that can be said, at least we were able to close the door in the old folks hut without risk of asphyxiation.
Our first ride was the Glentress red route, pretty much an uphill slog to the top of Spooky Woods, broken up by Cool Runnings, which is fun but in reality only serves to increase the agony. Eventually those picnic tables came into view and we took a breather before the fun started, obligatory photo’s taken, snacks eaten, Howard’s drone took to the air and with more enthusiasm than style we flung ourselves over that famous initial drop off and let gravity do it’s work. The less than magnificent seven continued in a downward direction utilising the finest tracks Glentress red route can offer. Trainee#2’s impetuous youth overtook his skill level at one point and he became the first casualty of the trip; tortoises and hares were mentioned in passing. Somewhat sooner than anticipated it was all over and we were faced with the choice between an early finish or reprising some sweaty uphill. Options were discussed, some choosing the last section of the blue route and back to the cabin, while the remainder of us gurned our way back to the Buzzard's Nest car park then up around the play area to the start of Berm Baby Berm, the highlight of Glentress. Always a gem, we followed the Berm Baby Berm and the remaining sections of the blue route back to our cabin for cold beers and salty snacks.
The following morning saw us in the on-site cafe, somewhat disappointed by the paucity of food on offer. What happened to the Scottish breakfasts we’ve enjoyed in the past? One haggis butty later we decamped to Innerleithen, the first time at Inners for most of us, being rained off the previous two occasions we were in the vicinity. The chances of being rained off today were remote, merciless blazing sun scorched the car park as we assembled our bikes, wondering if the Minch Moor climb on the red route would really be as arduous as it is usually reported. The only saving grace of the first half mile or so - it was in the shelter of trees, other than that it has nothing to recommend it, just find your easiest gear, switch off the pain receptors in your legs and grind upwards. Things eventually become easier, it doesn’t so much level out as become less steep until a small play area is reached which gave us all a bit of downtime, before recommencing the climbing, rising above the treeline onto open moor. And then it’s all over, a cairn and gasping cyclists milling around, admiring the view as they refuel. What goes up must come down, to coin a cliche and it was worth every lung-busting, leg-burning, sweat in the eyes moment; apart from one section which sneakily ascends, leaving you wondering why you can’t keep your speed through the corners until the heart-wrenching disappointment when you realise climbing has not been rescinded and is being reinflicted on our sweaty torsos’. Popping out at a fire road corner, we paused to regain our breath but only briefly once the local insect population realised a buffet had been laid on. More glorious downhill followed, featuring some drop offs which, being slightly over kerb size, were out of the Terra Trailblazer’s league and that was that, we were back in the baking car park, literally dripping with sweat and praying for an ice cream van to appear. Being godless heathens, our prayers went unanswered, so we decamped to Innerleithen in search of sustenance. Thanks to Ian from Glentress Forest Lodges - one of the good guys of British tourism.
The third and last day dawned bright blue and cloudless again, us in the residence for mature gentlefolk rose bright and early, next door in the methane motel, things were more lax or perhaps they had finally succumbed to the oxygen depleted atmosphere. If we were at work a regulation 7 failure would be on the cards, despite the door being open all night. Wetherspoons Thursday Curry Club has a lot to answer for. The mundane seven now reduced to five as our two friends of Dorothy from the hotel decided three days of fun in the sun would be too arduous. Today was play day, some cherry picking of Glentress tracks and a blat about the Freeride Park to hone our skills. Highlights have to be Berm Baby Berm again (and again), probably the best bit of Blue in the country and, for the first year ever, it being actually dry enough to ride the North Shore in the Freeride Park. The Breadlad reinforced his status as air time king of the Terra Trailblazers with his multiple descents of the middle wooden drop off while he was filmed from every angle. Just like Tom Cruise,he does all his own stunts. Eventually we succumbed to the heat and retired to the cafe, via the return loop of the Blue Route for cold drinks. 28 degrees celsius - in Scotland in May, if this is global warming bring it on.
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