To feel confined is not something I’m used to when I ride my bike. High–speed lines where you have ample time and metres to work out your intended direction, with open apexes and room to breath, those are the trails I ride. France is home of big mountains and tight trails. When the mountains get steep it’s like it crunches the trail down to a small sliver of inhospitable track, where if you are not riding with flow and consistency you will be sliding down on your heels. Miss one switchback corner then kiss the next three good bye also. These corners are steep, loose, and have some real exposure if you come off the bike. Feeling like a scrub, but hating losing time more then looking cool, I’m a cycle–crosser. If I had been talking to you instead of writing this I will interject my French ascent of NICO. “They say it was technical, I did not notice that it was technical. It was the same as the other trails. Yes a bit steeper but not any more difficult.” Right! Witnessing some of the French men make it look so easy is really cool. Cool enough that I am building some switchbacks this winter so I can redeem myself. This event is a true test of mind, body and spirit and maybe for me the durability of my shoes.

Maybe one day the USA will have an event this cool? But I’m afraid that the promoter would go to jail and get sued. Americans with that much freedom would certainly cause big injuries. Big thanks to Ash, Melissa and the crew. It was a great time, one I will remember for a lifetime.

Sospel – Monte Carlo

SP24  +0m/-627m

SP25  +40m/-340m

SP26  +0m/-305m

And on the 7^th day, Monaco, but first we had to get there. One word, steps! Lots of them. If ever suspension set–up is tested to the max then a hundred thousand of them will do it like no other. The third special of the day was abandoned due to poor track conditions, but we still got to ride it, kilometre after kilometre of twisty loose switchbacks wind down above Monaco, the Formula 1 race track laid out in full before us.

The competition was over by this point, timing cards handed back, the number crunchers left to do their thing. The roar of tuned bikes, cars and boats screamed at us from the valley. Tarmac snaked down to the crowds that swarmed along the Mediterranean shore.

That morning over breakfast a nervous optimism hovered. Could we really be at the end? What hadn’t seemed possible over breakfast of day three now seemed within reach. The tension was palpable, two more specials, one more big up.

How did I feel? How had I felt all week? Don’t think I’d had time to think, if you think you are dead. Thousands of metres up and down, don’t know which had been tougher. I’d been after some proper riding, Trans Wales a month ago had left me feeling fit, the racing had been great but my VO2 max was never gonna allow me to hustle.

Rocks, roots, dust and dirt was what I yearned, and it’s what I got. Never before have I felt gravity like it, I’m sure it pulls harder down there in the Alpes Maritime. I’ve always maintained that downhill racing is the hardest competition out there, try doing 3-4 races a day, carrying bike and kit up between them. A war of attrition like never before, the new bike had done me proud, and I needn’t have worried about having been over biked.

Frustrated by foolish set–up choices had left me out of contention from the early stages, I had been hungry for a day of glory. With the bike now sorted the only weak link was me. Moments of brilliance (well ish…) had me in the top five on a couple of days – seeing my name up on the screen was good. Suddenly I wanted it there again. Inevitably this lead to crash, mistake and crash again, but for the first time in my competitive history I’d been in contention.

So thanks Ash, how you could possibly conceive to run a race on such crazy gnarly terrain is beyond me. In these days of cotton wool and duvets the idea to take responsibility for yourself and look after those around you was refreshing. Will I ever again have Nico Vouilloz pop up by the side of the trail and shout, “this way, go go” at me or hear Mark Weir exclaim, “that’s above my pay grade” at the end of a stage? Probably not, unless I return next year of course.