Is Ian ‘@hardtail_only’ Storer trapped in the past or revelling in his eternal youth?
Words Ian Storer
I’m battling the old monsters. Slogging it out (largely solo) as I struggle to get to grips with the pursuing pack. Some days it’s a good day, everything singing along smoothly, wind in the right direction, going good-to-firm. Others it’s technicals and navel-gazing, self-doubt and kit-doubt… how the heck do I appease the beast?
The van pulls up and I rush out to head off the Royal Mail. Another parcel, another new part to get me back into it and keep the stable running. Mountain biking has changed since I fell off the wagon around 2015, when new geometry and the death of many rings up front left my current bikes seemingly obsolete. Still, this latest package should do the trick and though (of course) I’m not trying to fit in, there’s always something wrong with one of the bikes. A drivetrain tweak reveals the nine-teez Kona needs a new BB. The forks on the race bike are knackered due to lack of servicing… man, the new-schooler might feel more confident on drops with a shorter stem… Maybe I can fix this with new parts?
I cut the parcel tape. I try to lose myself in the zen of bike tinkering, putting together parts as I used to build Tamiya and Airfix as a kid, but somehow it doesn’t hit the spot. The uncertainty is still there, the hankering. Maybe if I can upgrade to a new…
I’m at the local spot which has bike park pretensions and I’m making videos of my nu-skool hardtail. It’s a burly number and I’m convincing myself that maybe it just hits the sweet spot of the light/strong, racy/slack equation: a bike which could ride the Trent–Mersey canal, do a pump track, handle a rock-drop, ride The Beast. It handles nicely (pretty much like every Kona: as if a thrashy, rappy, Rage Against the Machine-esque soundtrack has started playing while the moss-clad trees fly by) and I can even weave down the smooth bits quicker than some dudes on enduro bikes, but the minute there’s a jump in the way…
Not my cup of tea anyway, perhaps I should do one of the old loops. I falter. Maybe it’s a tad too heavy for full-on cross-country though, and there’s too much weight towards the back wheel? Would the carbon version have been the better option? Was the decision to make a statement with good old steel (which should show these whipper-snappers how real I am) a mistake…
I’m at Cannock with the G-man following as he weaves singletrack at maximum volume. It’s a lofty section, momentarily exposed as we flash into a barcode of pines. There are lumps ahead – I falter, off the gas, then watch in awe as he takes a set of doubles with seatpost at full cross-country race height on his noughties hardtail.
So yeah, obviously it’s about skills not kit. I mean, what’s more praiseworthy, getting down a downhill track on a state-of-the-art rig or pinballing on a full-rigid like a youthful Steve Peat? Cross-country ain’t dead! I mean, it’s just proper riding, right?
I hit Insta and dream up some funky hashtagas like #unravelgravel and #supercrosscountry to try to justify the coolness of the old school riding I favour. Blatting along a canal with drop bars is admittedly enjoyable, but surely 100mm travel and non-curly-wurly bars give you better control on every type of surface? Hmmmnnn… no trace of a stem over 50mm on a mountain bike though. Reels with endless jumps and ‘flow sections’. Am I even riding a mountain bike – am I even mountain biking? Heck, two of my bikes have triple chainsets.
No, no, no – let’s not think about that: it’s just an evolution, just the newest way of doing what we’ve always been doing – organic off-road riding anywhere we can. Each to their own. It doesn’t matter what you ride… even if modern geo bikes look like cool noughties jump bikes and ride like cross-country whippets…
I’m splurging money on new parts for old bikes again and I’m blanking the obvious. Trying to modernise what wasn’t really broken to assuage my perceived inadequacy. It’s all justifiable. The ’90s bike actually rides pretty rad with a 50mm stem and looks ‘dope’ too, but my weight’s so far over the back it’s manual central – good in the woods, but as for climbing… Will any piece of gear ever be good enough? Will I ever attain trail nirvana, at one with the ribbon of dirt as the rapeseed flashes by – or will the disgruntlement always be mocking: the tyres too narrow, the bars too wide? Maybe I should go one-by?
I stop. The sun’s out and the scent of the yellow rapeseed sea is what I guess an old novel would call heady. I’m alone. There’s no one to judge. Just the high laughing chuckle of a skylark, the distant bark of a dog.
I’ve escaped; I’m out and I’m feeling the flow of the bike beneath me. The cranks turn. The new short stem gives me a little jolt of joy purely because it’s spangly. Maybe it’s just an old mountain bike on a gravel ride. And perhaps I am an old dog largely doing old tricks, but it’s just threaded the needle good and proper through the woods.
Suddenly I know I’m a mountain biker no matter what I ride (or whatever anyone else is riding) and I’m determined to appreciate the childlike joy of it – even if a new 1×12 set-up might just…
