Press Review

Review of Mountain Bike Instruction, appeared in Outdoor Enthusiast Magazine www.oe-mag.com.
Volume 1. Issue 4. June 2005

Please note: Since this review was published, the beginners course has been restructured to be less physically demanding.

Cracking the Skills Barrier

Just because you know how to ride a bike doesn't mean you automatically have the skills to handle a mountain bike. Veteran Biker, Jon Sparks, swallowed his pride and signed up for some expert guidance.

I don't like to admit weakness, especially on a bike. I've been riding for most of my life - touring, commuting, a fair ammount of club-level racing - and I like to think I know what I'm doing. However, as a recent convert to mountain biking, I'd gradually been forced to admit that I didn't have the skills to take me where I wanted to go.

It was time to swallow my pride and get some expert help. Having made that painful decision, I was relieved to discover courses on offer not too far from home, Rivington, on the western flanks of the West Pennine Moors in Lancashire, which was the venue for the mountain bike races in the 2002 Commonwealth Games, so it's hallowed ground.

On the appointed day I rolled up, along with my partner Bernie, to meet Ray Mazey, who runs Mountain Bike Instruction. Ray introduced us to Clare Rawson, our instructor for the day. After bike safety checks and a review of our riding positions, we were off, heading for Rivington Pike, a tough climb broken into bite-sized chunks by frequent stops to explore different aspects of technique. Things got interesting about a third of the way up at a section of bouldery track, where we received two priceless pieces of advice. "Keep pedalling" was the first. It sounds obvious: you wouldn't expect to freewheel uphill, would you? Naturally, there's more to it than that: get into a suitably low gear before the crunch, and stay in the saddle to maintain rear-wheel traction. And then just - keep pedalling. It was to become one of the day's mantras. However, it was the second nugget of advice that I really found helpful: don't focus on your front wheel but look well ahead. It's simply amazing how many obstacles melt away when you don't stare at them. Obviously this doesn't mean riding blind; what it does mean is picking a line and then trusting the front wheel to follow it.

We soon moved off the rocks onto a ribbon of sandy singletrack alongside, but the same principle held good. Now that I wasn't staring at my front wheel, it seemed to hold a much steadier line.

The final climb onto the Pike which protrudes like a large wart from the broad flank of Winter Hill, proved a good test. A steep section, made up of stones averaging the size of a large loaf, was exactly the sort of thing that I had struggled on before. I wouldn't say it had suddenly become easy, but at least it was now possible.

The top of the Pike which commands huge views over most of Lancashire and beyond, was a good spot to take a breather, and to reflect on how much we'd learned already. I'd been reluctant to take a course at all, and even more pig-headed about signing up for one labelled for 'Beginners'. But it was clear by now that there were beginners' courses... and beginners' courses. This clearly wasn't aimed at people who could only just ride a bike; it was for those seeking an introduction to proper, technical mountain biking.

And now it was time to point the wheels downhill. Time to get used to the basic descending position: pedals level, bum hovering just above the saddle, hands 'two and two'. 'Two and two' was to become another mantra: two fingers for the brake lever, two to maintain a firm grip on the handlebars. Not far down, we came to our first drop-off, a near-vertical step off the main track. It looked a bit daunting, probably the sort of thing I would have walked round before, but Clare and Ray carefully talked us through it, and then Clare made it look easy. The key thing was to push the weight well back, behind the saddle, just before the front wheel went over the drop. But it was equally important, having picked the line, to keep the gaze well ahead. "Focus on where you want to end up," was the advice. Ray was particularly concerned about a small clump of rushes just to the left of the line. "Don't look at it," he insisted, "or you'll end up on top of it. And then just go, commit to the manoeuvre and - hey, that wasn't so bad."

Suitably encouraged, we moved on to another drop-off, bigger though less steep. This one had featured on the Commonwealth Games circuit. Maybe that put me off, or maybe I was a little cocky. Either way, I veered off-line, dropped my front wheel into a hole and came gracelessly to earth. I was up in seconds, mad with myself and eager to have another crack, but first Ray meticulously talked me through what I had done wrong. The delay helped to calm me down too, and the second attempt went like a dream.

And so on down, everything slotting into place: feet level, hands two and two; joyously down the singletrack section and then to our first stepped decent. It wasn't too steep, so there was nothing very difficult, it was just a case of applying the principles we'd already absorbed, and acclimatising to the stuttering feel of a stepped descent.

We were soon back at the start. Three action-packed hours gone: it was nice to sit on a wall and scoff our butties and just let it all gently sink in.

The afternoon wasn't very old before we were climbing again, soon finding ourselves on the main Commonwealth Games climb. It was steep all the way, with some tough bouldery sections early on, and I was chuffed as well as puffed at the top. The Games riders climbed it five times! We only had to do it the once, and then straight back down, veering off the ascent track onto an exhilarating singletrack descent through woods. The only problem with descents is that they take a lot less time than the climbs. With a few more stops to look at areas like cornering and emergency stops, we were soon back at base level again.

Another stepped decent was our next obstacle, using the same techniques as we had put into practice earlier. It worked of course, but I'm sure I'd never have dreamed of riding this type of terrain before.

The day was nearly done: nothing remained but a gentle meander through the beech woods alongside Rivington Reservoir, and the slow-dawning realisation that in six hours we had learned more than in the previous six months' riding.

The day had been unexpectedly intense and immensely rewarding. I've rarely been more glad that I can, occasionally, swallow my pride.