Another good turnout tonight at Sawdon. I don't know how many there were of us overall, but we more than filled the car park at the village hall. Nigel led fast group. There were nine of us to begin with: Nigel, Lewis, Russ, Sandwich Chris, Langdale Richard, downhillers Young Dan and Jim, Big Keith, and me (Old Dan?). We headed off up towards the old Pace downhill track, taking one of the singletrack routes to get there. Me, Richard and Keith decided discretion was the better part of valour and took an alternative route down. Alternative but not, as it turned out, less risky. There was some mud sitting on top of the tarmac. Keith had a wobble but rode through it. Richard had a nasty spill. His front brake wasn't working great after that either, so he set off home for an early bath.

The rest of us carried on kind of towards Bickley, I think, but had a long, long off-road climb. Then we rode through some very deep mud that smelled rank. Sandwich Chris: 'I can see it. I can see the excrement!' We tried our best not to dab. Except Lewis, who cut Russ up and nearly knocked him off into it. At the farm at the top, just past that, Keith's cleat came off his shoe and got stuck in his pedal. Luckily Russ had pliers with him.

We had a bit of a descent then, which I've done before but couldn't honestly tell you where it was. Nigel, Jim and Young Dan took the alternative, straight-down-the-bank descent. The rest of us took the easier line. It flattened out a bit after that, but there was a tree across most of the path, and Lewis - fresh from cutting up Sandwich Chris - shut the door on me: he took my line, leaving me nowhere to go. Bodyline mountain biking!

Another long climb (Lewis: 'I wish I'd stayed at home!') took us up to a fireroad where we could get onto the red route. We rode that choppy raised section that winds slightly uphill, then crossed the road and zipped along that flat bit of singletrack near Jingleby. 

We followed the red route along the fireroad on the other side of the forest drive. I heard Young Dan or Jim say 'I'm no spring chicken anymore', overlooking the fact that their ages added together would still be less than most of us.

We came back via the pig track, where Russ had the first of his random falls. Riding along one minute. On the ground the next. On the track from the top of Troutsdale it was even odder. Bit of mud at the side of the track - bang. Not that anyone mentioned it after that! Hardly anyone said 'Be careful there, Russ' when we came to anything completely safe…

There was a short muddy singletrack section, a bit like Dead Man's but different. I got a stick as thick as a frame tube stuck in my front wheel, which went all the way around to the back of the fork, prompting the first proper endo I've ever done.  

A spin down the road and we were back at the Anvil, for beer, crisps and chips. 

I thought it was because the Lapierre been french was a bit tempremental and randomly throws you off,more likely lack of concenration and not looking where i was going.Great ride,like the nickname