Singletrack Issue 126 | Hello, my name is Jason and I’m a big scaredy-cat

Singletrack Issue 126 | Hello, my name is Jason and I’m a big scaredy-cat

Jason steps out of his comfort zone and under a combine harvester. Or something like that.

Guy Martin Jason Miles singletrack magazine

In a week or so, I’m going to be starting a bike race and I’m getting really nervous. Nervous like I was the first few times I did a bike race, hundreds of years ago.

These days I’m normally very relaxed in the days before a race – even if it’s a ‘big’ race – if truth be told, it worries me sometimes that I’m not getting sufficiently worked up about something that I’ve prepared for and most probably haemorrhaged large quantities of cash over. Perhaps it’s my age or the fact that I’m subconsciously getting bored with racing bikes.

I’m not bored right now though. In fact, I’m absolutely bricking it. The race I’m going to be doing next is 1,500 miles long. I need to take all of my stuff (sleeping bag, vat of chamois cream, aspirin, etc.) with me and I don’t know if I’m up to the job. The last time I tried anything like this was when I rode across France to meet my wife and kids for a holiday in Spain. By the time I arrived I’d spent huge amounts of money on train fares and a hotel in Madrid, I was traumatised after being chased by some blokes in the middle of the night somewhere in western France, the bike I started the ride on no longer existed and the family holiday in Spain was almost over when I got there.

Luckily this race is UK-based, so apart from some regional dialect challenges I should be able to buy food without too much bother. As long as the shops are open at the right time. That is, if I can find a shop. I’ve bought one of those filter drinking straws so that if it comes to it, I can drink my own wee or drain some fluid from a cattle trough. Which reminds me of the time I filled my water bottle with some vile metallic water from a sprinkler in a French churchyard. Hopefully a babbling brook, possibly flowing upstream through the carcass of a dead sheep will taste much nicer.

I’m worried about my relationship with GPS devices. Bottom line here is, I hate the damn things. I don’t trust them. Because of this deep distrust – of their ability to switch themselves off, explode, or just send me the wrong way through a farmyard and underneath a combine harvester – I’m constantly worried about the fact that this race requires me to follow a strict route and any deviations will result in disqualification.

I suppose I could buy all the maps and fit panniers, but I’ve only booked a week off work so I’m probably not going to have time to keep unfolding a Landranger at every junction.

I’m worried about getting a sore arse. In reality I’ll probably be preoccupied with my sore knees, throbbing shoulders and ruined calves eventually, but I know there isn’t a pair of padded shorts in existence that will negate the effects of sitting on a bicycle for 16 hours a day. I’ve written about my habitual bottom abuse (stop giggling) in this column before in the context of a 24-hour race, but I expect this one is going to be a whole new Kettle of Wishing I Was Dead.

I’m worried about the fact that my lightweight, sharp-handling, fast-climbing bike will have become a lumbering, unwieldy beast complete with large bags of clothing and tools, a dynamo front hub, loads of lights and (the horror) TIME TRIAL BARS. I’d never used TT bars until a week or so ago and while the lower drag is obvious and the bike moves forwards noticeably faster, if I’m ‘down there’ for too long I can probably kiss goodbye to any sort of neck movement for a considerable amount of time. Perhaps I can make a living out of being a Herman Munster impersonator afterwards.

But mainly I’m worried about the fact that everyone taking part in this race has to carry a SPOT Tracker, meaning that every wrong turn, mechanical problem, sitting-on-a-grass-verge-crying session and arse-kicking that I may be getting from others taking part, will be there on the internet for all my family, friends and the wider human population of planet Earth to point and laugh at.

I don’t think I could be going any further out of my comfort zone if I tried. Admittedly, I’m not being launched into space nor am I exploring the depths of the ocean, but for me this is about as nerve-racking and exciting as things are likely to get, though with any luck it’ll be a life-changing experience.

I’m pretty sure that all this worrying is part of the fun. Right?

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Mark Alker

Singletrack Owner/Publisher

What Mark doesn’t know about social media isn’t worth knowing and his ability to balance “The Stack” is bested only by his agility on a snowboard. Graphs are what gets his engine revving, at least they would if his car wasn’t electric, and data is what you’ll find him poring over in the office. Mark enjoys good whisky, sci-fi and the latest Apple gadget, he is also the best boss in the world (Yes, he is paying me to write this).

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