Thetford Winter Enduro Series Round 2
Pimpmaster Jazz

It sounds stupid, but it all started on the Friday night before the Sunday of the enduro. I had planned an early night to prepare for the weekend - I had a ride Saturday morning and then racing on Sunday and I didn't want to be too tired for the event. So far so good. What I hadn't planned on was getting hammered on gin and vodka with my landlady and eventually turning in at 2am for what was - I'm very sure - a good reason, which unfortunately I still don't recall. Oops. So Saturday dawned dull and late (this was late November after all) and I'm up, if not exactly raring to go. I meet the other guys riding and unfortunately see that Pete has turned up. Bugger. Pete is quicker than a rugger captain downing a pint whilst clenching burning toilet paper between his arse cheeks and also has the technical finesse of an ballet dancer on speed. This isn't going to be a nice easy pootle in the country as was planned.

So off we set at around 9.30 with me the only rider on a singlespeed in the group. I would have been on the geared steed but it hadn't frozen properly overnight and there was a mild thaw - I was expecting mud.

We hit the trails and things were nicely firm underwheel, squelching a little but very rideable. The first couple of mildly techy climbs proved interesting with a variety of slippery surfaces, but I cleaned all bar one which had some cheeky wet roots masquerading as - well - cheeky wet roots. No matter what anyone tells you, winter riding is harder on a ss. As we got to the top of the ridge one of our esteemed party decided to head back as he wasn't feeling too hot, so we were down to just three. A bit too much wine the night before had been mentioned as a possible reason, but to be honest I was preoccupied with keeping my sausage sarnie breakfast down and wasn't listening too closely. We bid John farewell, not expecting to see him again for the rest of the day, and continued up down and o'er dale, throwing shapes between trees, schneaking down cheeky trails, drifting round trail curves and generally enjoying the top conditions. Before we knew it we were at the Corset - a local cheeky trail that is a naughty little mite - nothing too arduous or technical but very, very cheeky with it being rooty and off-camber practically all the way along its wiggley skinny length. For once there were no offs down it, just plenty of dabs in the greasy conditions. After the Corset we hit some more little beauties and came back along some old favourite bridleways which were all unfortunately pretty mucky and churned up. After a brief coffee stop by the monument, our first real stop of the ride, it was time to head back - we had a choice of fine descents off the ridge, but had to end up by the Valiant Trooper where our defector John had got himself a brew from the new (and very cute) barmaid and had very kindly texted us to let us know how nicely he was settled in. We took a favourite bridleway which dropped us down a gully into a very, very greasy sharp left (cue knee dab), over the road and into the road behind the pub. A quick stop to grab John and we headed home for tea and bacon sarnies. My legs were feeling pretty heavy, but I'd survived and banished my hangover for the time being and was glad to have got some quality miles in without feeling too knackered. Maybe I'd be OK tomorrow.

A few hours later after an afternoon of cleaning and maintenance, I was heading out again, only this time towards Cambridgeshire to meet IR Baboon, my race partner. I knew exactly where he lived but just hadn't been there for a while as IR had only recently returned from a round-the-world cycle trip. I was also now feeling pretty tired again and on auto-pilot flying towards Thetford at a rate of knots and had only had about 5 hours kip all in all since friday, and after a 3 hour stint trying to stick to Pete's back wheel and a big bowl of pasta before I left I was feeling comfortably worn out. It was only as I passed the services on the A14 (that I'd stopped at after Dusk 'til Dawn with IR and Woja) that I realised something was terribly amiss - I was heading in completely the wrong direction. Fuck. This actually took a few miles to register before I pulled over and checked the map and confirmed it - IR lived more than a few miles behind me. Fuckity fuck fuck. I carried on and managed to turn around in some village somewhere, deep in the heart of deepest East Anglia and aimed the Fiesta back towards Cambridge. I finally arrived, only a few hours after I said I would, and was immediately escorted to the pub. Whoohoo! And what a lovely pub it was - the Red Lion in Histon is worth a visit should real ales be your bag. Two Bishop's Farewell please, we'll be by the fire. We left at 11 and headed back to get some kip, discussing our strategy for the race the following day.

Now, what I haven't mentioned so far is that it was meant to be very cold for the race, so the forest floor would be stupidly dry and fast. The race leaders were expected to lap at around 20 minutes. This obviously wasn't going to be the case as it'd been raining reasonably solidly in Cambs all day, and I didn't have mud tyres for the ss. Now I know Thetford pretty well and also know that although it drains in the blink of an eye, it's not particularly great to ride whilst raining - especially in a race where there's quite a bit of traffic on one trail. It's actually pretty evil to be honest, as anyone who raced the D2D will tell you. So when we got up at 7.30 to get some porridge and it was raining, we began to expect the worst.

The IR wagon rolled into the parking area at 10am, giving us time to sign on and get changed before the 10.40 start. I had to have a quick bike faff to check everything that had been altered yesterday, and IR made it to the start line just as the gun went. So did I, but I had to stop to put my gloves on, so left a good 30 seconds after the race - hell, they need the headstart! Sure enough, both IR and myself cornered the race at the end of the first section of singletrack and started claiming victims down the fireroad. I love being a former Thetford local! The course was pretty mucky, but rideable - there were some downhill fireroads (which I disagree with on principle), some uphill singletrack (which is great) and possibly my favourite little downhill (I know - it's Thetters, but it did drop a good 5 vertical metres) which was followed by an evil little climb back to the start. Cool! Second lap underway and the course was beginning to burn a little more - it was gloopy and it seemed like Satan's little tar monkeys had been out with their large brushes and coated the entire course. It felt like you were climbing on the flat and some sections were getting a little to slick for my knackered Fire XCs and 32 / 16 set-up. Cue third lap and I was starting to hurt. Everything was beginning to take its toll, but I was glad that Paul was feeling the same. The leaders were going quicker than us (oddly enough), but I was glad to see that we weren't going slow - definitely mid-field.

End of lap four and two hours into the four hour race, I made a sneaky escape back to the car to refill my Camelbak and scoff some fig rolls. I rejoined feeling a whole lot better and began to feel a little better on the bike. Ha ha! This feeling continued until the first climb, whereby I hurt a little, but was without doubt still cooking on gas, if only at half boil. The fast people were still going fastish, but most of the two hour riders had finished leaving the soldiers to soldier on. I didn't realise however that my soldiering was soon to come to an end. I'd just been overtaken by (and had a pleasant chat with) a black-clad lady that I later found out was the ladies leader Bex Hopkins when I heard a huge BANG! like a gunshot and came to an abrupt halt. Cursing, I got ready to change the tube until I realise that the sidewall to my rim was wrapped around my seatstay - my race was over and I had a hike in front of me. I knew where I was going, but unfortunately also knew it was a fair stroll. Finally I got to the race arena, told the marshalls I'd had a mechanical, had my photo taken with the bike over my shoulder (to display my hero-ness) and then headed to the car to get some hot coffee and fig rolls, only to find IR already there! He'd backed out as he was feeling crap too; Bishop's Farewell, the root of all evil. Still, it'd been a good craic and even before we left we were discussing the January race...

I haven't got a clue who won the gents side of things, but that's not the point is it? There's a proper report here if you really want to know. Otherwise, it was a good course with a nice atmosphere and flawless organisation at one of my favourite places in the UK to ride. Be warned Thetford for I shall return, and this time without a hangover!

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IR and Pimp battling the elements. Photos courtesy of Joolz Dymond, without her consent. Sorry Joolz!