Technical Difficulties: An Automatic Manual

By Antony De Heveningham

I need to share this with someone. I’m 37 years old, and after years of promising myself (and anyone else who’ll listen), I’ve finally learned how to manual. Thanks to a mix of body positioning tweaks and a white-hot thermic lance of encouragement from Sam, skills coach at the aptly-named Pedal Progression, I’m now a steezy back wheel god.

OK, I’m exaggerating slightly. Compared to many riders, on one wheel I’m about as graceful as a new-born giraffe. No video or photo evidence yet exists of my latest skill – that’ll require a whole new generation of super slow-mo phone cameras. But thanks to a mix of careful instruction, an access of enthusiasm, and a soft grassy surface to practice on, I’ve had a definite “level up” moment.

The beauty of such milestones has been written about in these pages before. But it also raises the slightly worrying prospect of a skills plateau. A wide, comfortable, grassy expanse where life consists of roaming aimlessly, perhaps migrating with the seasons, but always returning somewhere familiar. Doing the same riding on the same trails until I topple over sideways, like one of the old gents in a cycle touring magazine’s obituaries section.

Is progression an essential part of the sport? Is it OK to be happy bumbling along at a certain level? Does it make you a bit… well… shit?

No doubt mountain biking, even at a fairly basic level, comes with lots of benefits. Doing a form of exercise that doesn’t feel like enforced drudgery is always a good thing. Being outdoors is great for your mental health too – science says so – and being outdoors in all weathers is even better (no science to back this up, just lots of miserable winters where inexplicably enjoyable rides have made me rethink my jaundiced view of our climate). As a bonus, mountain biking for most people means hanging out with like-minded friends and having impossibly inane conversations about rebound settings. It’s an outdoor gym, psychotherapy, and a social club and support network for all but the most unrepentant misfit, rolled into one.

There’s more though. If I’m going to list the physical and mental benefits of mountain biking that set it apart from some other forms of recreation, I also need to mention mastering new challenges, particularly ones involving a bit of mild peril. Most of the riders I know seem to have the knack of putting their anxiety to one side and just getting on with it. Having to find the off setting for your fear switch isn’t a feature of all sports, but it’s an amazing life skill that will serve you well in all sorts of situations, not just at the top of a drop-off.

So it bothers me slightly when riders air the commonly-expressed view that jumping, pumping and manualling into middle age is the cycling equivalent of wearing a backwards baseball cap, or using the noun “bants” in everyday conversation – an undignified affectation which is more about creating a false impression of youthfulness than serving any real purpose. Shamefully, me and many of my friends have been drinking from this rich well of excuses for as long as I can remember. Of course those kids can fling themselves off jumps – they’re just lighter, and they bounce. Doing a silly trick like a wheelie or an endo involves knowing where the front and rear balance points of your bike are, and how to get towards and away from them – that couldn’t possibly be useful in the real world, could it? After a while of saying things like this, I figured out that sneering at better riders while my own riding got staler wasn’t a particularly good look, and I’ve started trying to challenge myself again.

I’m not, though, advocating that just you go out on your bike and hurl yourself off the nearest vertical object. Doing things properly takes planning and effort, learning new skills is no exception, and it can mean many hours of wobbling around like a fool, sometimes solo, sometimes with an audience of kids giving you pitying looks as you struggle round a BMX track. I get the impression that for some riders, it’s not so much about natural ability, it’s more that staying at their current level is the easiest choice. This doesn’t just apply to getting all rad and gnarly – the same also holds true for increasing your fitness, learning to navigate, building up racing experience, or any number of other things in this fair sport of ours. If you prefer, you can take comfort that the reason for being a bit rubbish might have more to do with the amount of time and effort required to master a new skill than any innate talent. Not everyone can put the hours in, and not everyone wants to.

If you’re still roaming the wide grassy plateau of your comfort zone, by all means enjoy the fresh air, but be honest with yourself when it comes to the reasons why. And if you want to extend its boundaries, you can. Just be prepared to invest a bit of time and effort, don’t be too proud to ask for advice, and don’t waste your efforts rubbishing the people who’ve put the work in, be it on the turbo trainer or at the skate park.

Back to the start of this story. So my bike has magically turned into a unicycle, and it’s terrifying. My natural response to being in an unfamiliar situation is to grab the brake and get straight down again. Sam the coach spots what I’m doing and offers some advice. “You’ve got a choice – keep doing what you’re doing, or go further and see what happens”. And he’s right. We always have a choice.

I’m off to the park to make a tit of myself.