Good Fighters

First up, as (I think) the newest addition to the Good Fighters gang, I ought to write a few words of introduction. I’m a professional endurance athlete of a slightly unusual breed - I’m a polar explorer. I’m the third in history to reach the North Pole solo on foot (no one’s done it since me in 2004) and I was the youngest to do so by more than ten years.

I have three major expeditions planned between now and 2012 and I do I large amount of my training (15-20 hours a week) on two wheels, so it’s brilliant to have Cannondale’s support. I caught up with the ever-enthusiastic Mike Cotty last week, and he handed over the latest mean machine to help me crank out the miles between now and my departure for Antarctica this November, a 2009 Rize Carbon 2, resplendent in Beserker Green(!), a colour I thought I’d find completely OTT, but that I’ve actually grown to love, not least because it feels a bit like the Kawasaki motocross bikes I lusted after as a kid.

I took the Rize out at the weekend to explore the off-road trails of the Surrey Hills, along with my brother Steven. He’s a high-ranking first cat road racer, so I knew there would be a hefty dose of pain involved, and when I woke up that morning to thunder, lightning and torrential rain, I knew the suffering was about to be turned up a notch.

Surrey might not sound like MTB nirvana, but you’d be surprised. I know I was; the purpose-built Redlands Trails were superb, and the Rize flattered my meagre off-road skill (for the last two years I’ve ridden almost exclusively on tarmac) by proving utterly unflappable. Compared to my last XC-specific hardtail with SIDs, a long, low stem and sawn-off flat bars, it feels like a big burly beast on the singletrack and downhills. Despite wet roots, slippery rocks and deep mud it felt unflappable where my last bike would have been twitching and bucking. Yet on the climbs, the burliness seems to slip away and the bike takes on a different character. With the ProPedal switch flicked on, and providing you’re happy to sit and spin rather than honk it out of the saddle, she climbs like a beauty.

And there’s the rub. Secretly, deep down, I reckon I’m a mountain bike god. Most men are like that - we watch Formula 1 racing on TV and reckon we’d be able to do that too, if only we had the opportunity. I’ve been mountain biking since the days when John Tomac was racing on drop handlebars and Greg Herbold was winning World Cup DH races on a hardtail, and getting on the Rize was a bit like finally climbing in the F1 car. For a while it flowed beautifully, but the combination of a killer bike, a decent level of fitness (and therefore speed), rusty skills, atrocious weather, and a healthy dose of sibling rivalry meant that something would come unstuck sooner or later. Sure enough, two hours into the ride and caked in mud, I hit a huge, wet, off-camber root at mid-corner and full throttle, and I stacked it in spectacular style and somersaulted into the trees.

Naturally my first thought was for the new bike, but aside from a trashed bottle cage (Camelbak from now on!) it was untouched. I got away lightly with a couple of scratches and bruises, and my legs were too cold for the pain to really kick in until the drive home. My brother beamed smugly for the next half-hour until he too came a cropper on some wet roots, and we span back to my Land Rover nursing our wounded pride.

Two days on, and my enthusiasm for this fabulous sport is greater than ever, and despite the wet, grey June weather we’re getting in the UK, I can’t wait for my next foray into the hills. I’ll leave you with a bit of inspiration from the inimitable Eddy Merckx (who, to my astonishment, is now on Twitter):

“Spend less time worrying about natural gifts or VO2 max. Can you ride a bit longer? Push harder? Go up once more? Do more than the others.”