Jim Robertson

There is a sweet spot in the mountain biking calendar where everything starts to just work. Riding your bike has finally become habit, the slightly earlier start in the mornings rewarded with the golden light and perfect temperatures. You’re getting fitter, and longer rides don’t hold the same trepidation you feel when you’re a long way from home. You KNOW you’ll make it back without blowing up and panic eating 5 year old Jelly babies located in the bottom of your pocket.

Off road, the trails are dry and grippy, you know them well enough to know that each root, rock and berm has been tattooed into your memory map. Riding your regular loop is like pulling on a favourite jacket you just got together.

At this time of year, those after work seize-the-day rides also start to take on another character. Suddenly, you realise you’re packing lights, just in case, but nearly always using them. The low sun strokes the hillsides and you start to see the downs land nightlife come out to play. Badgers, foxes, deer, owls all share your space. I don’t know why it always seems to be this time of year, but I guess that because the conditions are so pleasant, riding your bike feels so effortless you can sit up and really see the world around you.

Soon, I will be seeing more night than day, I’ll be drinking lovely beer in cosy pubs and so those times on the bike will feel harder, I’ll be head down concentrating on my own misery silently cursing the red meat red wine consumption, too busy to see the world around me watch bemused as I grumble up a wet cold hill in the dark.