Saab-Salomon Mountain Mayhem 2006
Pimpmaster Jazz

Wow! What a difference a year makes! The same weekend one year on from the mud-fest that was SSMM '05 and the skies were a hazy blue and the temperatures were soaring into the high twenties. The course was a trimmed-down 7.2 miles of grassy double-track climbs, dusty flowing singletrack and fast rooty descents, allowing the pros to clock in lap times in the low thirties with no sign of the evil Land Rover climb from the previous year. The Cove was wearing semi-slicks for the first time in quite a while and short-sleeved tops were the order of the event. The atmosphere was one more akin to a festival than a bike race with a sea of tents and something for everyone to get involved in, whether riding a bike or not.

I got down to the venue late Friday evening with Jez in one of the funkiest vehicles on the road - a Landy 110 cab. We'd stopped in Cheltenham for pizza and had had a few beers en-route to lubricate the joints and pack in some last minute carbs. Team mate/SSMM marketing supremo Martin had grabbed us a pitch big enough for our team of unknown name (our team captain had dropped out and the agreed name had been replaced with something else... We were yet to find out what banner we were racing under), team Enigma and the Triumph team with their secret weapon in the shape of Barone von Evilgoat who had been calling on the power of the fixie Gods to help him blaze a trail of destruction and goatlove! Martin had a barbie and beers on the go, so after unpacking the tent and demonstrating how to put up the 2-second tent (taking it down proved more of a challenge...) we settled in for a nice, chilled beery evening.

Morning started somewhere around 5am where I was awoken the noise of rain hitting canvas... Arse. By 8am, on getting up, it had passed and was drying out nicely. We were in for a bit of a humid scorcher.

The Triumph team arrived and set-up a small town to cater for their every whim - previous experience rocks. Everywhere bikes were being fettled, carbs were being thrown back and drinks were being mixed with the start rapidly approaching.

2pm arrived and the gun went - we had a go situation. Martin had foolishly volunteered for the run, so Jez and I went over to cheer him on. We didn't see him go, but I'm sure he was looking damn funky. It was a shorter run then previous years and before we knew it there were riders heading out on bikes into the humidity.

In no time at all I was out for my first lap. It was time to find out if it was a wise choice going slick. I wasn't feeling great (which I think was the energy drink), but managed to get a half decent start, taking people on the first climb after they'd come past me like a bat out of hell on the exit straight. There was some sweet singletrack that was used the previous year under the Evans moniker, this time running in the other direction. Grassy climb no. 1 followed after a swift descent off the Ridgeway and a nasty, gravelly left which lead onto some grassy singletrack. You may see a theme developing here. Off-camber grassy switchbacks headed back towards the campsite, only to lead us off over some rutted grassy trail to the watersplash. Back to the campsite and climb on through to the start of the Kenda climb - over a mile of fairly continuous grassy, lumpy climbing which hurt. There was a brief singletrack respite which lead into the final climb, which then lead into the final descent of the lap. No bombhole this year, but a very fast lumpy grassy downhill with a few sneaky lumps and dips there to catch you out. One of these sneaky lumps almost got me unstuck as I entered the campsite - a small bombhole that I'd failed to notice the warning sign for. I hit it at Pimpwarpfactor 7 and attempted to manual through it, but decided against this idea halfway through the dip and consequently caught my front wheel on the exit lip. My back wheel followed suite and I found myself airborne in a somewhat uncontrolled - and more importantly, unstylish - manner. Still, I survived and finished the lap in 40-something mins, which didn't set the MTB world on fire but was pretty respectable nonetheless.

The laps, like my guts - sorry Andy Loos - started following on fast and furious after that. My third lap happened was the first in the dark and it felt great as only night riding in a shorts on a cool summer night can do. Swish swish swoop went Pimp through the singletrack! I finished this off with some chilli and a sports massage which ranks up there as one of the most painful things I've ever had done to me. I thought I was being nice supplying them with Stella as well.

The night/morning double beckoned after a few hours kip and the Barone as myself found ourselves as sparring partners, sharing the joys of doubling up with hardly any kip. The second half of the second lap started to become a lot harder than it should do and I began to suffer on the climbs. Fortunately I found a cute young lass from Aberystwyth to talk to all the way up the Kenda climb... God bless you and your lovely bottom! The Barone's fixie worshipping appeared to have paid off as well as he finished with a spring in step and a carnation in his collar. Cheeky bar steward!

More carbs were consumed in the shape of a full English which was followed by another visit to the distributors of pain in the massage tent. I took them coffee this time and was repaid by having a knot in my thigh mercilessly attacked in a fashion that made the Gestapo seem like mild-mannered gentlemen that are nice to old ladies and buy small children ice creams. Still, it worked and I was feeling the benefit of being mauled after a painful half a lap.

The last few laps followed on in quick succession and the Barone and I managed to sneak another in together, which was really cool; we got to heckle the semi-pros that seemed to feel that they had a right to barge through whether there was a gap or not. Fortunately these guys were in the minority and most pros and semi-pros were the epitome of professionalism and a credit to their teams. The other guys that are worthy of a mention are the chap with a prosthetic calf - I passed him on the final climb of my last lap. What a star. Jenn Hopkins also wowed everyone by winning female solo on a singlespeed whilst smiling for England. Wow. There were so many other tales of heroism that I could go on forever, but needless to say I felt humbled more than once during the course of the race.

2pm came round very slowly but was suddenly there, like a wall. That was it for another year. Results were already being tallied and tents were already being dismantled. I always feel a slight pang of regret when people are packed and ready for the off before the race has concluded, but then there were people from all over Europe competing that it makes sense, really.

Triumph were out of the gates as the World Cup kicked off, eager to travel on clear roads as England clashed with Ecuador, while the Thame Massive (which we'd found out was us. Thame? Don't geddit...) relaxed with some beer-flavoured carbs to watch it all on the big Saab Salomon screen. I have to confess to dozing off in the field with the sun beating down, but I don't think I was the only one... It'd been a hot hard race and I was pretty sure that we'd done alright. The weather had done us proud, the course was tough but accessible to all and it'd been a good craic.

Results are here.

Roll on next year.

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The Barone in action on the second day.

The Pimp on one of the many grassy corners.