2019 and all that

Holy Blog Resurrection Batman!


I remember when this was all about bikes. Well from now on it will be about all sorts of random stuff. Lego, Airfix, being a dad, Karate… and bikes.

More to follow.


Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Farewell to the Warhorse

I bought my Specialized FSR XC Pro in May 2005. At that time after a house, a car and an engagement ring it was the most expensive thing that I had ever purchased.

In the intervening 10 years me and the FSR have had some great times. We’ve done races, scouted routes for organising Hit the North, pootled with the kids (that weren’t around when I first got the bike), had big days out and recently have been thrashing about in the dark every Monday night. 

Together we’ve been through 3 forks, 2 saddles, 6 wheels, half a dozen bottom brackets, at least 4 rear mechs, 3 sets of back end bearings and numerous transmissions. In true “Trigger’s Broom” style there isn’t a lot of the original bike left.

We’ve ridden in the dark, at dawn, in sunlight and snow, solo and with masses for thousands of miles, with many close shaves and the occasional big crash. The frame is scratched, the bolt heads are rusty, the paint is dulled, the seat post is seized and there is a bend in one of the stays, but the old girl keeps on bouncing back. Well… it did until recently. It would appear that like an Alsatian of a similar age the back end has finally gone. After yet another trip to Cooksons for repairs I finally decided that the sensible course of action would be to cut my losses and get new bike.

They made me a very tempting offer on a spanky new Trek Fuel EX8 29er that had been loitering in the shop for a couple of months, but by the time I had sorted out the deposit somebody else had whipped in and bought it. Bugger. However, now the funds were in place I went off on a proper hunt and managed to get a Cannondale Trigger 4 29er for the best part of half price.

Where the FSR was long and low and matt black understated, the Trigger is big and wide and “Gulf” blue/orange shouty. The first ride was an absolute hoot, 6 Strava PBs and a dozen 2nds. And I wasn’t even trying to chuck it about as the front tyre looks a bit too “Californian” for muddy trails around Manchester.

So the FSR is in bits in a box ready to be cannibalised for spares to keep my Inbred and the wife’s Hardrock running for the next few years and me and Trigger are going to head off for a lot of mucking about.

I’ve changed bikes before, but the strange thing is that I’m actually sad to see the FSR go. The Trigger is better in every way, but at the moment it is just a bike. The FSR was a knackered, obsolete and a worn out money pit, but it was my bike.

The Cannondale has a tough act to follow, but we’ve got the next ten years or so to grow older together.



Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Brown Drinks

I’m all for the regeneration of my home town. Let’s not kid ourselves, Prestwich isn’t a village, no matter how many signs they put up to say it is. Villages don’t have M&S, a big TESCO, a carpet warehouse, a second hand car lot and quite so many bookies, take aways and charity shops. It is brilliant that independent shops, restaurants and cafes seem to be making a go of it but the whole culture of using words such as Artisan, Community, Cooperative etc really puts me off. One man’s Artisan (unless they are restoring 18 century French furniture) is another man’s Wanker. If you are good at making and selling chocolates, buns, soup, light fittings, umbrellas, or whatever, then you don’t need to dress it up and appear quite so ghastly and pretentious.

If the market outside the Longfield advertised itself as Prestwich Produce Market I would go and probably spend a few quid. As soon as it gets labelled Artisan, Community or Farmer’s I mutter the W word under my breath as I drive past.

What has this got to do with push bikes then? Well, a couple of months ago a friend and fellow Prestwich cyclist, similarly irked by the on-going “urban poncification”, sent me a link about an event being held at the pub. “Green Drinks” – an opportunity for people with environmental leanings to get together and have a chat about it over a beer. No bad thing. However, there was a long list of how to go about organising it and guidelines for how to host the evening including what should and shouldn’t be on the agenda. Really. For generations people have been going to the pub and talking and drinking without the need for a website telling you how to do it. A good idea ponced to death.

As a knee jerk reaction (and to see how many Green Drinkers had actually turned up*) we decided to host the antithesis. The Monday night pub ride. A meeting point and a time were posted on the STW forum and that was it. We didn’t even mention that you needed to bring a bike, but people managed to work that bit out for themselves. Thinking back we should have called it “Brown Drinks”, but the deliberate lack of detail may have attracted someone with unusual… err… tastes.

Since then we’ve met every week and the numbers are growing as word is spreading. The usual routine is to spend 90 minutes messing about on the trails in and around Philips then spend an hour in the pub talking rubbish. When you consider that there can sometimes be 10 or more people out including a cycling journalist, a bike designer and a prominent endurance racer the conversation strangely doesn’t dwell on two wheeled subjects. In fact, I feel a bit left out because I’ve never been in a band, owned a sheep or made an energy drink from liquidised apple pies. We’ve done away fixtures in Todmorden and Ramsbottom and have got Darwen and Rivington lined up for the near future too.

So, if you fancy an organic community bike ride with the North West artisan dandy horse cooperative keep an eye out for details on the Singletrack forum and Twitter.

8:15, at the pub.

Bring a bike, but you don’t need to be told that.


Bull Hill

*There were 5 or 6 Green Drinkers. They appeared to be having a nice enough time without the need for copious on-line instructions, but the topic of conversation did seem to be computers by the time we all got there, and I’m not sure if that was allowed.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Hit the North 4


“We’ll have to get the helicopter…”

My mind stops [PAUSE] my mind starts again. A ####ing helicopter?

There is a man down with a shoulder injury about 200m from where I am stood and somebody is suggesting bringing in a helicopter to get him out. The only place that it can land is in the main field that is full of tents and kids on bikes.  Luckily the head medic has a more realistic understanding of the situation and says that the casualty will probably be able to walk out after somebody has given him a quick once over, and he is right. Panic over.

This is Hit the North. Probably the daftest bike race in the country. What started off almost by accident in its current format has morphed into a monster. We’ve got 370 on the start list including some of the best people on 2 wheels in the country (Nick Craig, Dave Powell, Ant White, Ady Lawrence, Ian Taylor, Jenn Hopkins, Pete Hughes, Binners, Tony the electrician and Louis Canoe), we’ve got Guy Martin, we’ve got The Mayor complete with expensive looking shoes and a limo – more of which later, we’ve got a bagpiper and we’ve got several thousand Uncle Joe’s Mint Balls.

The run up to this one has been less than smooth. There has been a lot of faffing over paperwork and last minute changes. Myself and Jason are getting a little cheesed off and it hasn’t been fun to be honest. But Friday has arrived, the sun is shining, we have our signs, tape and staple guns and we have work to do. Once I’m out on the course with Jason, and David and Laura Bradshaw from Sport Sunday who have volunteered to help, things seem much rosier. This year’s course is the best yet and it incorporates about 1000m of the new trail network including some very entertaining jumps and berms. We are also hosting the official opening ceremony complete with Mayor, council officials and a very big car. I have been reassured that the car won’t get stuck at the start because we only have a window of about 5 minutes to shift it before the pack will be on it. Chris Boardman once made the news when his team car ran over him, I don’t want this to happen to happen today.

9 hours later we are done. The course is spot on, the van is loaded and I’ve probably become the first person to eat his lunch in Morrisson’s café with an axe in his bag.

Race day dawns. I’ve been awake since 2:30 and I’m running on adrenaline and espresso. Jason has had a bad night too. The event has got to the stage where we can’t afford to look stupid. People have paid a lot of money to come today and we’ve got some big names in the field too. Getting it wrong would look amateur, this is our eighth event and people have expectations. A balls up would blow our reputation and let a lot of people down who have invested their trust in us. Hence the worry about cars and helicopters getting in the way.

We open the park at 6:00 and witness a stunning sunrise over the misty valley with the lights of Manchester twinkling in the distance. Then the HTN magic cuts in. People just turn up and help! We actually ran out of marshal vests this year so there must have been more than 20 people who volunteered to get stuck in for nothing more than a Wham Bar and a handful of Uncle Joe’s Mint Balls. Jason has rethought the sign-in procedure and it works, so as the start time approaches things are running smoothly. The bagpiper pipes (we liked him, he can come again), the Youth Race goes off, the briefing is done and the pack are sent down to the start. This has been rethought too, so we get 300odd people down and in place with very little fuss. The Mayor sounds the siren and they are off… well the bikes are… the car is stuck. I’d been off moving cones so didn’t see what had happened, but I have since been informed that my four letter outburst could be heard from a good 25 metres away. A bit of shoving later and Jet the driver (that is his name, honest – he’s a lovely guy too) has the Jag speeding up the hill like a bank robber being chased by Ray Winstone. About a minute later the head of the pack comes screaming through and the race settles into a rhythm.

Once the thing is running it is the quietest time for me. Simon “Mr Sparkle” Fox looks after the marshals and Jason is riding the course checking that things are OK. I get to grab a brew and mess about with my kids for 15 minutes. I take the opportunity to chat to a couple of people then wander off to the “bumps n jumps” to watch a bit of the racing. At about 11:30 we have the helicopter non incident and I have to stifle a giggle when I hear the medic’s quad bike referred to as “Quebec One”. I decide to “Foxtrot Oscar”. They are doing their job and the casualty is safe. I’ll leave them to it.

The race finishes at about 12:20. Nick Craig wins and everybody else is joint second. After a bit of faffing we do the prizes and set about the task of tidying up. Then the HTN magic happens again. A not so small army of volunteers set about tearing down a couple of hundred signs and 1500m of tape. By 2:45 you wouldn’t know that we had been there.

So, there you have it. Hit the North 4 done and dusted.

I drive out of the park with a grin on my face and aching legs after two days of running about in hiking boots. Normal life is resumed and I have to go to Tesco and take my kids to their swimming lessons before tea. Then it is off to the pub to celebrate and talk rubbish for a couple of hours.

Thanks to Mr Sparkle and all the marshals, the litter pickers, the sponsors, the Council Rangers, British Cycling for looking after the kids, Samba Nigel and his band, Ed the Bagpiper, the caterers, the medics, STW for putting up with our forum abuse, the photographers and everybody who keeps coming back for more.

We’re already thinking about next year.

Some changes will be made but the Field of Despair will still be included.


Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Winter Training

For some reason I have started winter training even though I don’t do races*.

My logic is as follows.
1)      My FSR full susser is getting on a bit and I can’t afford to replace it. Keeping it cleaned, lubed and dry in the shed should prolong the old girl’s life.

2)      I have a single speed and a CX bike that I rarely use. They spend most of their life cleaned, lubed and in the shed whilst the FSR is taking a beating and shortening the old girl’s life.

3)      If I can improve my fitness and skill on the SS and CX between now and spring I will be a Cycling God. Apparently.

4)       I want to do the Tod CX race again (* OK, I do one race a year)  and I’d like to spend less time lying in the mud, so some skills work might not be a bad idea.

I have to report that 7 weeks into my regime it would appear to be working. Riding the SS has improved my strength and smoothed out my technique. I think. The local loop is definitely getting easier and quicker on it. The CX on the other hand has proved less successful. I’ve had two fairly big stacks on the last two rides, both on mud and leaf mulch covered cobbles, and the missus has banned me from riding it as she doesn’t want to spend the Christmas holidays wiping my bum because I’ve got a couple of broken wrist. I’m glad she has banned me because I was thinking of leaving it until the leaves have gone myself and this way it isn’t me who has given in. In both stacks the bike has landed “shifters first” resulting in a bit of trail side realignment and I can’t afford a new set of 105s. I’ll give it another go before Tod so I don’t make a complete tit of myself. Again.
PS. If you are reading this and you were one of the walkers who rather bloody-mindedly decided that they were going to walk round all of the MTB trails in Waterdale I do not apologise for calling you idiots because you are.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Getting on with it

I seem only to write cycling blog posts when I’ve done something different (for me) or done nothing at all. The last few months however have been remarkably incident free. I’ve not been anywhere exotic – like Ramsbottom or that Yorkshire, had a strop and given up for a month or two, bought anything shiny or fallen off. Life on the bike has been steady with a regular Saturday morning MTB jaunt with the missus and a week day evening ride with the lads.

Life off the bike however has been a bit fraught.

1)    I lost my job.

We got called into a meeting on February 17th after several weeks of speculation about the future of Voith in Manchester and were told by a 7ft tall Austrian robot that production was moving to China, thank you and goodbye. 56 of us lost our jobs. Cheers.

I did the headless chicken thing for a couple of days – become a white van man/mini cab driver/teacher/plasterer… then removed my head from my arse and set about the business of finding something new. I actually quite liked the idea of being a Physics teacher until I saw how much the pay was.

Roll on three months, 50+ applications and a couple of interviews and I had two job offers. One was from a set of cheeky bastards who offered me £5k less than the job was advertised for and the other from somebody serious. I now work for somebody serious – Edwards Vacuum. I’ve had to take a bit of a dip in wages but the job is good and I haven’t lost my house or had to buy a white van/taxi/plasterer’s radio.

2)    I got a haematoma

After the stress of losing my job and getting another the whole family needed a break. I’m the first to admit that I haven’t been the easiest person to get on with recently, so two weeks in Cornwall with a chunk of redundancy money and no employment worries seemed ideal. We had a cottage booked in the middle of Looe and even the weather was behaving itself.

The day after we got there I was sat reading the Sunday paper when my four year old came crashing through it and landed knees first on my lap. “That hurt” I thought to myself. By Monday I was getting some stabbing pains under my ribs and walking was causing a bit of discomfort. This carried on until Wednesday, when I collapsed in the petrol station at Morrison’s in Bodmin.

Three hours, one ambulance ride and five goolie proddings later (one administered a very hot surf-chick doctor – “Try to relax Mr McHugh”) and I was in the Surgical Receiving Unit at the RoyalCornwallHospital in Truro with a haematoma on my left nut. So there I was, propped up in bed with a busted nut and a pair of massive green pyjamas, 50 miles and £45 away from my car that was still in Bodmin and 70 miles and a further £35 away from my family who were by this time back in Looe.

There were three of us in our bay that night. Me, Terrence the Truck Driver (hernia) and Anthony the Very Old Man (very old). Sadly Anthony passed away in the middle of the night despite a flurry of frantic activity from the medical staff.

Anthony was replaced in the morning by Peter the Charming Old Bloke (fell backwards off a 5ft wall whilst gardening and landed on his ass). He even came equipped with some digital photos of his bruised ass that he showed me. Thanks Peter. He never adequately explained what he was doing on top of the wall or why he wanted to show everybody pictures of his ass. Hopefully he will take that secret with him to the grave, but not just yet.

I got out the day after with a bag of pain killers and instructions to take it easy. After that the rest of the holiday was brilliant.

3)    I got another haematoma

Not as exciting as the first one. No hot doctors putting their hands down my pants, squashed knackers, ambulance rides or photos of an old man’s arse. I just slipped in the garden and landed shin first on the edge of a stone step. My lower leg swelled to the size and colour of a terracotta plant pot and I ended up in hospital again with an infection, more drugs and more instructions to take it easy.

On this trip to A&E I had the pleasure of sharing some time with an enormous stack of tattooed meat called Lewis Collins (!?) who was in because he and his mates thought that teasing a Pit Bull was a good idea. Judging by the bite marks in his legs it wasn’t.

After 5 days of not taking it easy we were on holiday again, this time to the Yorkshire coast. Filey, Whitby and Robin Hood’s Bay were all lovely. My memories of Scarborough though will be forever tainted by the huge amount of litter and stench of donkey piss on the beach. No wonder one of the Bronte Sisters died there. She probably caught something whilst making sand castles.

…and finally, on a cycling note, my kids have made huge progress. Emily has “got” the Islabike Rothan and Ollie is riding his Ridgeback MX14 without stabilisers and any apparent sense of direction. The Islabike has been brilliant. The weather has restricted Ollie’s cycling time this summer but I estimate that we had him up and running on “pedally bike” with less than an hour spent with the training wheels fitted. I’m a very proud dad.

Right then, time to charge the lights and have another uneventful ride.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Blog update : February – May 2012

Lost job.

Got another.

Normal service has been resumed.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment