Muddy Sunday

They say mud is good for the complexion and some people pay loads of money for it in health spas and wellness centres - let’s hope its true, because I got caked in the stuff during the annual GS Avanti 'Ruff Stuff' reliability trial around Knokholt.

Good for the complexion

Not cold enough
It was a fine Sunday morning (December 10) when I loaded my mountain bike into Howard’s old Range Rover for a lift to Knockholt at 9am. Parked cars were covered in a light sprinkling of frost that glistened like fairy dust in the winter sunshine. But it had rained two days earlier and although itwas cold, it was not cold enough for the ground to be frozen solid yet, just a thin layer of ice on puddles.

Ankle deep
After the sign-on, we set of in several medium sized groups and I made my way to the front during the two mile approach to the off road bits to give me a bit of slipping room for later. At the Spinning Wheel family pub we turned onto an unsurfaced road and after that into the deep Kentish woods. It became increasingly difficult to avoid the mud, either in the shape of muddy puddles or liquidised slosh, both ankle deep. I preferred those to real mud though, because they don’t clog up your moving parts and they don’t suck you down into the mire, as proper sticky mud does.

Don't scare the locals
But the sloshy mud soon has you looking like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, and you find yourself compelled to reassure groups of walkers (especially families with children) that you’re not a danger to them or their clean Sunday outfits.

Flandrian toothpaste
I kept up with some riders of my ex-cycling club for a while, but I told them to keep going when I ran out of energy and had to stop for a power bar and a drink, which both took time, partly because I had to clean the mud off the nozzle of my bottle first (the others had camel backs – definitely the smart option for this sort of thing).

Despite all my efforts, I constantly had the taste of mud in my mouth (with occasionally the added aroma of cow dung mixed in), which was due to the general presence of mud everywhere. Have you ever heard of ‘Flandrian toothpaste’ (nickmame for mud among Belgian classics riders)? Now I know what they mean. ‘Kentish toothpaste’ about says it all.

Lost (not the TV series)
The route was well sign posted (although you had to develop a keen eye to spot the blue and red arrows in the trees) and there were plenty of riders behind me, should anything happen to me en route. Despite a slithering collision with a young tree I’m glad to say that I made it safely back to the Knockholt village hall, but not without getting lost by taking a wrong turn literally yards from the finish (I was tired and missed the arrows) and adding an extra hour to my journey, all uphill.

Cake good
When I finally did arrive, all this didn’t diminish my ‘bubbling personality’ (according to Harry Lynch, the organiser) nor my finishing position, as I was ‘second woman’ (there being only two women, Sarah and myself).

Could cake ever taste any nicer than this? The Victoria sponge cake and chocolate cake at the finish in the Knockholt village hall were indescribably yummy (so was the free lentil stew and the warm welcome, but on a different level) and I’ll definitely be back for more next year.