Sitting outside a Wetherspoons in Minehead I’m feeling uneasy, slightly nauseous, and a little dizzy. I feel as if I’m swaying, like I’m on a boat, and am struck by the realisation that boats belong by the sea, and not, it would seem, outside a Wetherspoons.

Now hold that thought, and we’ll rewind a few hours. It’s mid day on Saturday and I’ve headed down to ride the Minehead for the Hope Marathon MTB event the following day. A few of us from Bristol chose to go down a day early to ride a few trails and make the most of the sun. We’ve all been lured in by the beauty of Exmoor and the love of mountainbiking.

On arrival we share some hugs and chit chat before heading into Minehead to seek out a pasty. I suggested setting up camp before lunch but could quickly sense that hangriness may set in amgonst the ranks if we didn’t get fed ASAP.

Minehead is a nice little town. It has a little bit of that trashy seaside resort about it, but in a sort of endearing way rather than being a total shit hole. It being outside of school holiday season probably helped. Wandering the high st The Flapjackerie tempts us with all manner of oatie delights, and a woman outside the neighbouring shop offers Cordelia a sample of some local cheese. She scuttles back into her shop in horror when the offer is refused, as if no vegan has ever crossed her path, and nobody had ever said no to free cheese.

We enjoy our pasties and Ayoob and I gawp over a steam locomotive before heading back to set up camp, get kitted up, and head up into the hills with a vague plan…. No GPS routing, just following our noses and using a little Strava segment search to find some natural downhill tracks. I really appreciated the spontneaity. We could have easily spent half an hour plotting and scheming on our phones looking for the perfect route and likely wouldnt have had as good a time.

Choosing natural MTB trails based on Strava segment names isn’t always the brightest idea. A trail named ‘Cuddley Bundle of Joy’ might turn out to be the gnarliest track in the world, but fortunately ‘Disney Princess Fiona’ was a cracker. Rooty and nadgery but still with enough flow to be fun and without being too much for the XC bikes. The next track we rode was similar, with good flow and a few fun stump jumps That is until the suprise stream gap made of sand bags at the bottom. Safe to say none of us rode that feature.

With the big event the next day we did well to keep things calm, save the legs and head back in search of dinner. Minehead Wetherspoons ends up being the venue of choice for cheap cheerful plates of food, and so we come back to feeling as if on a boat, and wanting to be near the sea.

On having this nautical realisation we swiftly leave the pub, and stroll back along the high street towards the ocean. I begin to feel much better now. The feeling of nausea lifts, and It’s a beautiful evening, the sun is shining low in the sky, gulls are bobbing in the waves. There are few clouds in the sky, and what few we can see are fluffy and white, a long way from blocking the sun. We walk, we talk, we sit.

I cast my eyes to the ground and select the perfect pebble. It’s flat and smooth, exactly the right shape to skim. I watch the sea for a while, waiting for an opportune moment, a breif lul in the waves. I visualise my pebble skimming off into the distance across the sea and towards the horizon, I grasp it in my hand, seize my moment, and it plops into the water without skimming even once. I smile at the futility of the whole experience. This feels like a metaphor for the folly of letting perfection become the enemy of satisfaction.

At this point Ayoob and I share a conversation about life and work, and about what satisfies us. In my chosen employment every single person I meet has been filtered through the lense of cycling. Whether they’re a tourer, a racer, a commuter, roadie, mountain biker, old, young, male, female, black, white, straight, gay, whatever. They’ve all chosen to use a bicycle, and I suspect that my daily interactions are with a happier, healthier, and better adjusted proportion of society than the average, and this rubs off on my own life.

This feels almost to obvious to be worth writing, but I’m so greatful for finding cycling and for every one of the people it’s brought into my life. Thanks must go to my parents for persevering with teaching me as a child even after going into the house crying after crashing into a wheelie bin, which is one of my earliest cycling memories.

With the sun setting on our ocean pilgrimage we take the walk back to the camp site to wind down before bed. That evening Cordelia tells me that she’s read everything I’ve written on this blog and compliments my writing. Except, she says, for the nerdy bike stuff. I like this. I’m a huge consumerist and materialist when it comes to bikes, and place more importance than is nessecary on the machine itself. It’s always refreshing to ride with people who dont obsess quite so hard about the minute details of the bike, and keep thier focus on the experience and the riding.

As somebody I’ve only recently gotten to know,  her comment on reading the blog makes me wonder if I come across in life as I do in writing. My expectation is that I don’t. I’m quite clumsy with words when I speak and often have a sense that the right ones aren’t coming to me. I enjoy writing because It lets me spill out whats in my head with more consideration.

Morning breaks on our camp ground, and today is the main event. These MTB Marathon events happen across the country and have been running for donkeys years, but it’s my first time. No route is given out before the event which I enjoy. You cant be looking at your Garmin for the next turn, or know when the next climb is coming, just follow the little orange signs, go where you’re told, and enjoy the adventure.

It had rained a lot overnight and continued to spit as we got ourselves ready to ride. Choosing kit in these times is tricky. You dont want to be sweating or carrying a jacket you never wear, but the area around mindhead is exposed and high up, so some caution was nessecary. In the end I went minimal, shoved a gilet and some arm warmers in my pockets and hoped the heavens wouldnt open for too long. We compared snack strategies and agreed that Cordelia had won, with her frame bag containing all sorts of delights including some rather posh organic digestive biscuits. My jersey pocket with a bar, some Cliff chews, and two gels felt like a poor effort but would get me round.

For the most part the 65km route skirts around Dunkery Beacon, but teases you, and dabbles up and down around the edges of the hillside for some time before reaching the summit of the Beacon itself. There is very little flat, the climbs are steep and rough, and for the most part the descents are too.

Officially the event isnt a race, but it is timed, and so there is an incentive to push harder than you otherwise might to get a decent time. Ayoob and I planned to ride together for the majority of the day and were fairly evenly paced as usual. We wanted to ride hard, but not lose sight of a nice day out, taking time to chat, appreciate the veiws, and stop at the feed stations along the way. You’ll never catch me riding past a free fig roll without stopping.

Once we’d reached the Beacon the excitement set in big time. I’d ridden this decent before. It’s mostly straight, very rocky, and absolutely terrifying to do flat out, particularly on an XC hardtail. I felt like a bull with a red flag in its face, pedalling hard into the descent, staying loose, and letting the bike fly over the loose rocks and drainage ditches. I dont often back myself as being an especially good rider but felt like a hero in those moments. skipping over huge rocks, keeping the head up and the heels dropped, scouting out the smoothest line and finding some flow in the chunk. I passed a good few riders on the way down, barely touched the brakes, and am still a little amazed that I didnt either puncture or have a huge accident. The mental highlight reel of that one is still with me a few days later.

At the bottom of the descent I made the call to crack on solo and push hard over the last 20km to the end. I was absolutely wired on adrenaline and knew Ayoob wouldnt mind. I settled into a nice rhythm, eating my last gel and giving it all the beans i could muster up the remaining climbs. It’s good to feel some fitness coming and being able to ride hard towards the back end of a 4+ hour ride.

This year has been a bit of a toe in the water in terms of racing and I’m hyped up to do a whole XC series in 2025, I will also continue to tell everyone who’ll listen about how much I love XC bikes and natural trails, and try to drag people along. If you want a lift to an event or someone to show you the best trails in the Bristol area, reach out and say hello. Or if you’ve got any ‘must ride’ suggestions for me, I’m all ears.

One by one our little crew crossed the finish line back in minehead, we hugged, high fived, collected our ‘finisher’ T-shirts, got our bikes and bodies washed, tents packed away, and headed back to the coast for one last dose of sea air and to enjoy some fish and chips, all with tired legs, happy hearts, and having well and truely taken our metophorical boats to the sea.

I’m left buzzing from a faultless weekend and some of the best riding I’ve had this year, although as people keep reminding me I do seem to be saying that every single time I swing my leg over a mountainbike. It’s no bad thing.

Big thanks as always to everybody involved in making the event happen, to Ayoob, Claire, and Cordelia for the good times, and to the sea, for being better than a bench outside Wetherspoons.