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Stories
Richard Dawes
Although it’s been a couple of years now since riding in Builth
the memory of the event is still very apparent and clearly painful
in my mind. Not to say this is a bad thing as the event was both as
enjoyable as it was physically taxing. Due to work and injury commitments
it has taken me three years to get round to re-entering this event
but I look forward to it with excitement and anticipation. Having
only the one event under my belt of this magnitude may make people
think that I don’t have a lot to write about however totally
the opposite is true.
I can still vividly remember starting in a mass start of well over
a thousand riders
behind a pace car through the narrow winding streets of Builth with
nothing but the whir of spokes and the clanking of gears filling my
ears as riders flew along the tarmac as one stretched out serpentine
mass. The feelings you get in a mass of people all with the same like-minded
determination to be up front of a pack like this as it hits the first
stretch of winding singletrack has to be experienced to be believed.
Hence after the couple of miles of tarmac and pace car I, like everyone
else, was glad to see the first glance of a muddy winding trail, rolling
heathland and to feel the first wet spatter of mud on my calves.
To speak bluntly, the whole event after this was then a combination
of all types of terrain from fast rolling, speed blasting firetrack
to technically challenging, slow and slippery singletrack and any
possible combination of the aforementioned conceivably possible. The
sheer amount of emotions your mind and body experience on a ride of
this length is also difficult to comprehend from the preliminary butterflies,
downhill excitement, to uphill despair to ‘Should I have raced
this far?’ to ‘Where’s my next Powerbar?’
to ‘Who put a river crossing here?!’ and ‘Where
did my tools and pump disappear to?’ All in all three years
on and this time round all I got to do is beat seven hours and three
minutes and 152nd place – be assured that this year I will be
there giving it my best shot like so many like-minded others.
Clair & Gary Jennings
4 Legs, 2 wheels and 1 brake – Builth Wells 2004
Claire, I and tandem head off to Builth Wells for the second Merida100
Marathon of 2004. The organisation is as slick as ever and we line
up with 1,200 odd others. Looking around it’s great to see the
diversity these events have: young and old, race head and cruiser,
they’re all here on a mixture of retro, racetail, trail and
freeride bikes - even the level of equipment varies enormously from
race lycra and a bottle to panniers and a backpack.Once off, the peloton
wriggles like a multi-coloured snake out of town swelling the narrow
roads before surging across the moor. The first descent has a damp
grassy surface and is consistently steep catching several people knapping
sending bikes and bodies cart wheeling into the air in front of us,
quick line changes on the tandem are not an option and avoidance action
is further hampered today as the rear brake has overheated and faded
to nothing. Fortunately the carnage bounces the opposite way from
our irreversible course and we make it safely to the bottom.
At Checkpoint Two around 30km we feel okay and push on. Next up there
is a lot of climbing including a couple of long and steep technical
sections which are a real challenge. Having worked hard to gain height
we were glad to find some cracking descents, difficult and gnarly
- just the way we like them.
Through checkpoint Three at 58km and across the moor, fatigue begins
to take its toll; luckily towards the end of the section the surface
and speed improves and we arrive at the fourth stop at 76km with spirits
lifted.
The hardest part is now behind us and we top up Camelbaks again from
the
excellent food points. We’ve been running pretty near the back
but there have been plenty of bars, ‘nanas and a fluids throughout.
We continue, speeding along the gravel to another fun bumpy descent
off the moors but alas despite 2.3’s and downhill tubes we have
a puncture and simultaneous chainsuck. Repaired and back on track
it’s on to the final stop at 89km. Just a bit more climbing
and the end is literally in sight way down in the valley floor, back
into town and arena and we’ve finished in 8 hours and 15 minutes.It’s
a real tough day though still strangely enjoyable, it’s a big
commitment but there is a huge sense of achievement once you’ve
finished and no matter what pace you set there will be someone else
doing the same, only in the last 20 minutes or so were we ever really
alone. So don’t be surprised if ‘Never again!’ becomes
‘When is the next one?’ Once the Little Chef has kicked
in on the way home.
Emma Glaisher
Merida 50 - Ruthin September 2004
First my background: A mountain bike virgin until 2003, I started
going for the occasional ride with my boyfriend, Stuart, in April
of that year. As a single mother of a (then) six year old, my opportunities
for getting out were, and still are, pretty infrequent. Fired up
with enthusiasm after attending Mountain Mayhem (as a spectator!),
I persuaded Stuart to enter us into the 50km Kona 100 at Ruthin
in 2003. I managed to fit in a weekend’s training at Rivington
the weekend before, at which the instructor, horrified by my scarred
shins, advised me to give up my flat pedals for SPDs. Good advice,
but there was no time to adapt, and I rode Ruthin on flats (my last
flat ride).
I was confident that I could get round the course, even if I had
to walk most of it, and only hoped not to be the last in. By the
second checkpoint I had run out of water, out of energy, out of
hope. My head ached, I just wanted to finish. Possibly the worst
climb comes next... I walked it. Luckily I met a friendly fellow-walker
and we had an encouraging chat about how the most important thing
was getting out in beautiful scenery and we didn’t really
care if we could get up the hills or not (but we did...). I finished
in 5 hrs 20 mins.
Fast forward... a few winter rides, getting used to being clipped
in, a couple of spring ones, then off to the Alps for a week in
Les Gets, doing cross country for six days on end. Timid on technical
sections, and paralysed with fear on downhills, I had a week of
mixed emotions. I felt like the worst rider in the country. Everyone
overtook me on downhills and I walked many sections, but found by
the end of the week I was riding more, getting up climbs I’d
failed earlier in the week, and actually enjoying some of the rocky
stuff.
One serious ride in Lancashire a few weeks later, alerted me to
the fact that France had really changed me as a rider: more confidence,
more fitness, more fun. I approached Ruthin with the feeling that
this might actually be fun - it was! After the slow start - great
for socialising, terrible for riding - I realised that I was keeping
up with people, being passed by some, but passing others. I rode
most of the rocky track that everyone seemed to be walking, and
near the second checkpoint climbed a steep little bank to the cheers
of an apparently fit and healthy bloke who was walking it.
Stuart, who waits for me at every gate, wasn’t having to wait
as long as usual...
By the second checkpoint, I was high as a kite, enjoying every minute.
I couldn’t believe the contrast with last year, where this
had been a really low point. I’d love to tell you I flew up
that long climb, but I didn’t. I got much further than last
year, met a friendly lady and we walked and chatted a few minutes.
Then I was back on for the last third and finished the climb riding.Course
completed in 4hrs 30 mins. Nearly an hour off last year. Everything
came together for me at Ruthin in 2004.
Simon Pemnerton
This story relates to the Ruthin Enduro which was my first Merida
100 though I’ve done other enduros and it made it all the
more special. After the mass start which I didn’t know would
be quite so ‘mass’ I realised I’d started too
far back and was making my way through the ranks as we made our
way up the road section - eventually grinding to a complete stop
and walking for 10 minutes. I thought I’d blown it for any
chance of a decent time but anyway it seemed like the perfect time
to take off some waterproof stuff as the sun was now warming things
up after it had looked like it was going to be a pretty bleak day.
I was fumbling about with my bike, Camelbak and waterproof when
the guy next to me leaned over and took hold of my bike, “Don’t
worry mate, I’ll hold this for you.” “Cheers mate”
I said, packed everything away and turned towards him to get my
bike back.
Then something in my brain clicked, was it the voice? A certain
set of the jaw? At exactly the same moment we both said, “No
f****ing way, it can’t be?!” But it was. It was an old
mate of mine I hadn’t seen for 10 years since we left college
stood there next to me, holding my bike, in the middle of North
Wales in a muddy ditch with a thousand other people stretched out
in front and behind in one long line. Fate’s got nothing to
do with it. Destiny!
It all went wrong for me with the start yet here was my old mate,
who I didn’t even know owned a bike. It was so ridiculous
we both just stood there laughing until the riders started moving
again. We rode the rest of the day together, paced each other and
caught up with a few stories. I met some people he was with and
he met some of the people I’d travelled up with after the
ride. He’s moving back up to the North West but now we’re
back in touch no doubt we’ll do some more rides together.
It’s only a small moment within the mass ranks of people who
rode the hills that day but I think that’s the kind of thing
that makes these events special. It brings so many people together
from so many different parts of the country something unexpected
is bound to happen - along with overtaking Keith Bontrager coming
into Ruthin. Who’d think you’d ever have a chance to
do that while you’re riding along with his name written all
over your bike.
Ian Bowden
Austrian Goulash
Now these two 59ers decided to follow the Merida 100 to Austria
after being avid followers of the series in Wales. So they packed
their beloveds (bikes of course) in shiny new bags and set off for
Linz on a mini adventure. The venue was Bad Goisern and the event
was the Salzkammergut Mountain Bike Trophy, which also happened
to be the venue of the World Championships this year as well as
the worst weather experienced in the region in living memory.
The first night of course we were lashed on the local grog, got
lost and had to flag down a local Samaritan with nothing on us to
identify the hotel location other than the room key.
Day one saw us taking some easy rides around the area just checking
out the bikes and equipment and being careful not to over do things
- after all we didn’t want to ‘bonk’ on the main
event. We took in the scenery, breathed the clear Tyrolean air and
ate the strudel. We were definitely at peace with the world that
day. The break in the weather was short lived and then came the
rain followed by more rain coupled with a very unseasonable change
in the temperature.
Good boys the night before the Trophy Race and in bed by 10pm we
felt prepared, but how naive we were. The race start was stunning,
hundreds of like-minded souls chomping at the handlebars to get
going. The adrenaline was flowing like the mountain springs. In
the 11 hours that followed in the saddle for us we experienced everything
from despair to euphoria, and from tears to delight. I would like
to thank the following people.
• All those that lined the streets to cheer us on and help
us muster up that extra drop of reserve.
• The little man in the yellow oilskins who took our bikes
and hosed them down on the top of some mountain while we eat bananas.
• All those that waited for us to return to the finish line
and raise our dampened spirits.
• The Good Samaritan who found our hotel for us in our hour
of need.
• The landlady of the family run hotel who waited up for us
every night and washed our filthy gear.
• The organisers who made everything run like clockwork.
In short all of my faith in human nature was restored that weekend
and I would ask all those who haven’t done it yet to take
their beloved (and the wife/girlfriend) abroad for a mini adventure
like ours.
Oh yes, the Austrian Goulash runs down the ski slopes by the tonne
during the Summer rain and makes huge mud pies round your brake
callipers.
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