Seeing as I am currently enjoying one of my 14 weeks ‘r and r’, I felt it only just that I should contribute to the decaying corpse that is the Moo website. Winter certainly seems well upon us as the trails turn as dark as Berni’s melanin. However, this does not seem to have shrunk the herd to any great extent with an amazing array of new illumination products strapped to helmets and bars. Those in the ‘clique’ will clearly remember the days of yesteryear when all that we could rely upon was the lumen count of candle or flint proportions (I won’t mention Berni’s smile at this point due to the racial remark in the previous sentence.) Anyway, in addition to the dark trails; last Wednesday threw us the first real under-wheel winter trail conditions following an awesome autumn to date. It was our very own Nick Griffin with the honour this week and it turned out to be a unique and eventful ride, but a very enjoyable one nonetheless.
Following an ascent via what was an alternate singletrack route, we were treated to the quarry trail in its usual rain-proofed condition. A few experienced Moos were spotted taking the easy route down. The ride leader gave a feeble excuse of putting a shovel through his toe. For others, no excuse was offered – it has been noted! At the summit of the usual drag back through the quarry, I was confronted with the sight of a downed non-moo mountain biker, clearly in distress, but without the attention of his riding partner. The rider had been downed by an errant twig on the firetrack. The rider was clearly like a ‘fish out of water’ and the usual caring and supportive nature of the moos soon came to his aid. Jim took on the role of first-aider again – remember ‘brokeback’ and the great advice ‘pump him!’ and ‘get back on your bike’ and ‘drive down to casualty!’ This time no risks were taken, although we seemed to get our money’s worth of piss taking and photos from the poor foil-wrapped lad before his rescue vehicle arrived.
After all of the excitement, we tried to pass the Maen but failed. Some failed for just the one pint although others failed for a good two hours, the former grabbing an extra lap of the woods towards Lisvane and the jumps. The torrential rain seemed to strangle the desire of Beaker and Option amongst others, who were lured by the consumption of half a gallon of old speckled hen over a nice ride on their bikes. Funny that Mr.G.Thornton ECG was heared saying “it’s just like the old days!” – dark, cold, wet, muddy and pissed as twats is a memory I certainly hold dear.
Back through the woods, (Reg is going to have a bad one soon!) and the hospitality at HQ did not disappoint – a spread of biblical proportions. Thanks to the girls behind the thing. The entertainment was again provided by our vice ‘Bryn’ (another Machen clique joke) with his announcement and presentation of the sports evening results and prizes. Congratulations to Slug and Johnsy for their awards although they were unwisely absent with winnings adding to the sundries pot. The author was presented with the silver and couldn’t think of anything funny to say, mind warped by the fear of a very large looming poisonous whiskey. The gold was deservedly (did I actually just say that!) to Option who didn’t disappoint in his promise to ‘p**s his winnings up against the wall’ with a generous full round for all stalwarts still in situ at shut tap.
What I did fail to say in my forced impromptu delivery is that massive thanks must go to Steve and Tom for organising a cracking calendar of events this year. A huge amount of work has gone on behind the scenes in the planning of all events. Planning has got to be a lot harder when you know that you will not be participating in the fun yourselves. Hopefully next year’s officers will continue the fixtures and allow you to enjoy them for yourselves. Cheers Boys!
Get the ‘Trailrakers’ on and enjoy the new club bike while it lasts. (Gordon’s old cracked ‘Willy’ has lost its rigidity and reliability and has seen its last action we think!)
Ade’s ride this week. Has he been on a feeding frenzy prior to his imminent hibernation?