November Sorrow...

It’s hard to believe that it’s 2 years since I lost Gareth. Two years since I last saw him smile, heard his voice, felt his arms around me. A good friend reminded me a few weeks ago that I have done a lot in that time that I should be proud of…that Gareth would be proud of. I know she was right, I haven’t really stopped…one challenge has led into another…all with an aim of giving myself things to do to keep busy, keep focused on looking forward, keep remembering how lucky I am to have the opportunities to be doing all these things…I know Gareth would have given anything to still be here doing them too, so the thought of that inspires me to not take those opportunities for granted…kind of like I’m trying to live for both of us. And I feel like I have been doing that well…but when November comes around, it all feels a lot harder L

Riding high in the Southern Chilcotin mountains of Canada

Despite having a month packed full of jobs, trips, bike rides, races, all sorts…I’ve felt the weight of sadness and grief slowly descending to sit on my shoulders over the last few weeks. People have been asking me a lot recently if “it’s got easier?” It hasn’t, but I don’t think anyone who has never lost their partner, their closest companion, the person they had chosen to spend their whole life with can really empathise with that. Whilst I have learnt to be grateful for the time and love that we shared, and use the memory of that as inspiration to stay positive and continue to live my life in a way Gareth would approve and be proud of, it never gets easier to think of what happened, and the sorrow that I can no longer share each day with him, or to deal with how unfair it all feels and how much I miss him. I realise now, that you don’t “get over it”, when you lose your husband, you just have to somehow learn to live with it, and try to accept it, and do that in a way which is unique to you, and honours his memory. The last 6 months I feel like I’ve begun to figure this out….I’ve found a job I love, seen new places, made new friends, and started to feel confident in the new “me” and my new life, and I have felt happy again. Not the fully, blissfully content, life-is-perfect kind of happy that I felt with Gareth, a different kind, but still happy.

Float plane biking trip in Canada 2010

Perhaps starting the job of sorting through paperwork for the two of us from the last 5-10 years wasn’t my best idea at the start of the month, but it had to be done, and I’d decided to turn down full time work this winter to give myself the chance to do all this kind of sorting.

Going through paperwork like that is like reliving your life story in documents, and can bring lots of smiles as you slowly look through them and reminisce about the things to which they related…letters from the bank to say the mortgage application for your house has been accepted, from employers to offer you a new job, receipts for the decking built in the garden, mot certificates from the car Gareth had when we first started going out with each other, graduation programmes, receipts from the purchase of wedding rings, marriage certificates, a holiday booking itinerary from our honeymoon, old passport photos, a speeding ticket from the A9 whilst on a trip in Scotland (Gareth’s not mine!), and then the more recent things, that bring tears rather than smiles as I remember them. Death certificates, letters from banks, the tax office, the DVLA, passport agency, insurers, to offer condolences that your partner has died, but to remind you there are affairs you need to sort out. Many of them it has been like seeing for the first time….when they were dealt with initially I don’t think I was really taking it all in. My wonderful friend Anna took over and sorted almost everything for me, just leaving me to sign my name on letters she had written on my behalf. Looking at them all now, I know I couldn’t have faced writing those letters myself. Even now I can’t do anything but cry when I look at them. It’s still all so very surreal to think he is gone.

Ski touring in the Cairngorms

Seeing Gareth’s writing, there on paper, a sign that he was alive, he lived, he was a very real and big part of my everyday life for a long time, but trying to work out how those little signs of life can be everywhere, yet he is not? I can’t describe how confusing that is. When junk mail from random companies still arrives addressed to Gareth, it’s like someone’s stabbing you in the heart all over again. I found the speech that he wrote when he left work before we went away travelling, complete with jokes and a style of writing that were completely him, the birthday card he wrote me a week before his accident, a scruffy bit of paper where he’d written a list of all the routes we’d climbed on our trip, an article in a Science Education magazine that he’d had published….so many things, so much evidence of his life and the person he was and so many vivid memories. 

Unsurprisingly it has taken me a long time to sort through all of this, and there’s a lot of it that’s been carefully placed back as I can’t bear to do anything with it right now.

University Ball, 2004

There are a lot of difficult dates in November;

My birthday is one of the hardest, when rather than cards, presents or celebrating, all I really want is a hug from Gareth. Birthdays haven’t held the same excitement since I lost him. He used to make me feel incredibly special, loved, and spoilt. I can remember my birthday the week before his accident, when everything was so happy, we were so carefree and content with life, spending the day climbing at Red Rocks, and celebrating in Las Vegas, completely unaware of how life was going to change just a week later.

Celebrating my birthday in Las Vegas

Climbing in Red Rocks in the week of my birthday

The 12^th, the day of his accident, which I will never forget as long as I live. How life was turned completely upside down in a second…from a morning like any other on our trip, journeying to the crag together, planning routes, seeing Gareth happy, lively as usual, thrilled to have just led what he described as “the best route he had ever climbed in his life”, on top of the world….to the sheer confusion after he fell, the terror and total fear, the disbelief that what was happening was real. The subsequent rescue, transfer to the hospital, and the longest 10 days of my life which followed…when I think of them now, despite the feeling that time and life were suspended, and everything was happening in another world that wasn’t our “normal life”, I can picture and remember every day, every detail so clearly, like they are permanently etched in my memory. It feels hard to breathe again, and like I’m being spun round and round until I’m so dizzy I can’t think straight, so many emotions and memories and thoughts all jumbled up in my head that I can’t concentrate on anything for even a second.

Gareth watching the sunset on the northern Californian Coast

And then the 22^nd, the day when he finally slipped away. I remember well the call in the middle of the night before, to say he had suddenly taken a turn for the worse, and knowing, despite all the prayers, wishes, and hope I could muster, that I was going to lose him. It felt like my life stopped too that day, like I wanted the world to end, because I couldn’t see a way I could possibly carry on without Gareth. The days, weeks and months following, it seemed like someone had pressed a switch, and turned off all the colour, sound, beauty, and happiness in the world. Everything was dull, lifeless, meaningless, I hated life, and being alive. The world was carrying on like nothing had happened, and yet life as I had known it to that point was over. I had to deal with things in those days that you never even consider you will have to think about as a 30 year old. Organ donation, death certificates, organising a cremation and collecting your own husband’s ashes. I can’t begin to describe the emotions related to all of those things.

Beautiful, empty Pacific Coast beaches in Northern California

So November will never be an easy month, but I’ve tried to be positive and plan things to do on and around those days that will allow me to smile and remember happy times together, despite the sadness I know will inevitably be there.

I’ve rediscovered a love of Peak district mud and winter riding after several weekends catching up with good friends. The thrill of sliding around on wet leaves and muddy tracks, dirt splashing in your face, finishing a ride soaking wet and clothes filthy, before sitting warm and dry at the end with a cup of tea and a chip butty or a slab of cake in the café….simple pleasures.

Signs of a good ride...muddy legs....

...and a muddy grin :)

Post ride compulsory cafe refuelling

Spending time on the farm with my wonderful mum and dad, who are the most supportive, patient, understanding and loving parents I could ever wish for, taking the new puppy for walks over muddy fields and seeing her delight at chasing pheasants and squirrels (Gareth would have been impressed and tried to encourage this for sure!)

A solo trip to Coed Llandegla on the 12^th, with time to stop and think, cry a lot but laugh a bit too, and be thankful for the love of biking that Gareth gave me. I came across a section of trail that made me smile too. It literally had my name on it. It must have been there when I’ve been before, but I’ve never stopped and noticed it until now. It’s a swoopy, fast, fun section through the woods, currently blanketed in a carpet of golden pine needles, that left me grinning from ear to ear, (and therefore with grit in my teeth…must remember to keep my mouth closed when smiling during winter riding!) I know Gareth would have approved of it.

My trail :)

There have been visits to spend time, drink tea, eat cake and catch up with close friends who I haven’t seen in a year as I’ve been abroad working, and hopefully more of these throughout the winter.

There have been lovely kind messages from friends, and also from strangers, people who have read the article I wrote back in June, that was recently republished on the Total Women’s Cycling website. People who’ve been moved, or motivated, or inspired in some way by what I wrote and what I’ve been doing. It’s been really nice to read them, and think how proud Gareth would be of the effect he, and I, have had on the lives of others.

And finally to Scotland. A trip to Kinlochleven to do my first ever Enduro race (more about that next time), followed by a week spent visiting friends, and enjoying some solitude in the beautiful, wild Highlands, on foot, bike and ski. Remembering many adventures over the years with Gareth in places that we both loved.

Scotland in winter...awesome views all around

First ski day of the winter, in typical Scottish conditions...there's a great view somewhere behind me!

Beautiful, wild, remote, Torridon in winter

On the 22^nd, I decided to travel down to the Lakes, and to spend the day riding around Borrowdale. It’s a particularly special place for me, as Gareth and I had so many trips to ride or climb around here, and loved it so much that we chose to get married here. On a beautifully hot and sunny May day, we celebrated with as many family and friends as we could in the grounds of the Derwentwater Youth Hostel, an idyllic spot on the edge of the lake, surrounded by picturesque fells, and a day that could not have been more perfect…one of the happiest days of my life. We had some pictures taken up past Ashness Bridge, above the lake, at a spot called Surprise View, and I remember being up there on that day, with the most incredible scenery and mountains that we loved around us, looking into Gareth’s eyes, and feeling so incredibly lucky that I had found and was marrying the man of my dreams. 

A perfect sunny Lakeland spring day, and one of the happiest days of my life

Ashness Bridge

It’s a spot that I wanted to revisit on the 22^nd, somewhere to go to sit and think of him, talk to him, and remember. It’s also somewhere I wanted to spread some of Gareth’s ashes. There are other places where I’ve done this too, sometimes with a few friends, sometimes alone, but always in places that were special to Gareth and I, and that I know he’d approve of. Having lived a life where he was always off climbing or biking in different places, I don’t think he’d have wanted his ashes to be scattered in just one place…

Autumn view from a special spot

Ashness Bridge

 It was a beautifully, clear, cold autumnal day, and I was able to sit for a long time, with no-one else around,  just remembering…thinking of all the happy times, but also all the daily things I miss about Gareth and life together…

I miss waking up next to him, and how reassuring his presence next to me was.

I miss the familiar sound of him returning from work, switching the kettle on as he walked past, and calling “hello, it’s me!”

Big wall climbing in Yosemite

I miss him when I’m driving in the van, with an empty seat next to me where he should be.

I miss him when I’m getting frustrated at not being able to fix something on my bike, knowing that he would have known what to do straight away.

I miss him when I make a cup of tea, and it’s just one cup not two.

Local trails in the snow

I miss him when I’m pleased with myself for having done or achieved something, and he’s the only one I want to tell.

I miss him when I want a lazy evening curled up next to each other on the sofa with a takeaway and a film.

I miss him when I’m out with friends, and he’s the only one missing from “our gang”.

I miss him when I have to make a decision about something and I want his opinion and advice.

Building Inuk-shuks in Squamish mid ride!

I miss him when I’m feeling happy, and want to share it with him, or sad, and to be comforted or consoled.

I miss the way he knew when something was wrong without having to tell him, and knew exactly how to cheer me up.

Adventures together on our honeymoon

I miss him when I visit places that we’d been to together, and I can’t reminisce with him about past memories.

I miss him when I’m lying in bed, and I can’t hear him breathing next to me or feel the warmth of his body on the other side of the bed.

Peaceful van spot in Honister Pass, Lake District

I miss the jokes, the funny eye rolls, the playful teasing and friendly competitiveness that were part of daily life with each other.

I miss having someone who was always equally as keen for an adventure, and not having to worry about finding a partner to be able to continue doing those things.

I miss the daily hugs, kisses, signs of affection that were a daily part of life, and made me feel so loved and special.

Skiing in the Alps

I miss the way we used to justify to each other why a particular purchase was “essential”, knowing that actually, both of us understood each other’s way of thinking and were perfectly ok with the purchase anyway!

I miss continuing to grow older together, and the new adventures and challenges I know we would have looked forward to.

Shredding the trails in Hood River, Oregon

I miss him in a million ways L

I spent the rest of the day of the 22nd riding old familiar Lakeland trails, before heading to Chris and Henry’s house for a fun weekend of winter scrambling on Blencathra (with a new added element of excitement provided by taking 2 border terriers as our guides!), and a ride exploring a new part of the Lake District to me, around Swindale and Haweswater.

Chris and Tilly the dog walking down from a snowy Blencathra

A new part of the Lakes to explore with some brilliant trails

So it's been good to be busy, and have some time away during a difficult month, and I now have plenty of winter plans to think about..

Somewhere, not too far away, I know Gareth knows everything I’ve been doing, and that he’s happy I’ve begun to build a new life, and is proud of the way I’m doing it. Following my dreams, doing what makes me happy, and not compromising on those things because I feel pressured by society or others to do so, being true to myself, and to his memory.

There’ll be lots more adventures this winter, next year, and hopefully in many years to come, both on my own and with friends, and I know that even though he can’t be with me, Gareth will never be far away, and will continue to provide my inspiration for a lifetime of adventures…Always thinking of you Gareth xx

A little taste of Italy

So here I am, back in the dark, damp rainy North of England, with the memory of sitting drinking coffees in the Piazza, riding dusty trails, and sitting round a campsite in the evening without feeling freezing cold and wet, seeming a long way away! As I type, the rain is lashing down, the wind is picking up outside, and the thought of charging up my lights, dressing up in winter gear, and heading out on a night ride is not particularly appealing....it appears I've become a fair weather rider! It will take a while to readjust I think, and actually feel psyched to go out and ride, rather than sit and drink tea, which is what is top of the list at the moment...

Card and tea courtesy of of a welcome home parcel from Caz...thanks buddy!

Ah Italy, and the last week of my 6 month stint in Europe... and what a good week it was :)
Finale Ligure sits on the Italian coast, only an hour and a half from Nice, but a world away in terms of the feel and vibe of the place. I haven't spent a lot of time in Italy, but after last weeks trip, I'll be sure to be making some more visits...
I can't believe I haven't been to Finale before...it's an awesome mountain biking destination, has world class climbing, a pretty town complete with narrow cobbled postcard-perfect streets, clean, sandy beaches, cheap pizza, and gelato, and of course a great coffee culture...it's a brilliant place!

Awesome views, fun and dusty trails, and riding with your friends...a good way to finish the summer :)

I'd headed over after my work finished in Sospel, keen to go somewhere away from where I'd been working all summer, and relax and ride for myself for the first time in a while. There was the final round of the Enduro World Series taking place the following week in Finale, so I knew there would be friends and people I'd met before to ride with, and maybe the chance to race too. Fellow Trans-Provence guide Emily had a race entry, but needed to work, so we had been trying to arrange swopping her entry into my name. Getting my own entry was out of the question, with 600 riders already registered, and a waiting list that was rumoured to be up to 300! I was a little apprehensive about racing my first ever Enduro race as a World Series race, but as long as I didn't come last, I was just keen to take part.
I had no idea if I'd be good enough to even ride all the tracks, let alone race them, I literally had no idea what to expect. But I found I was pleasantly surprised :) The race tracks were brilliant, and suited my kind of riding well...steep, technical rocky trails with some tight switchbacks, and a fair bit of timed pedalling to weed out the pure downhillers! I was super excited about racing, and encouraged to see that hopefully I wouldn't be last, judging by the number of people who were struggling to even ride some of the technical sections, let alone race them.
The format for Enduro racing, is basically a long day's ride, with untimed Liason stages (although at this race there were cut-offs to make on the liasons), and then timed Special stages. At the end of the day (or two days in this case), the winner is the person who has accumulated the least time, ie the fastest, over the special stages. Enduro is kind of a current niche word for what I would say is essentially just mountain biking...its what most of us have been doing for years anyway! Go out for a day's riding with your friends, enjoying the scenery and the socialising on the way up the climbs, and then race/shred/shralp down the trails, eyes wide with adrenaline and delight, before regrouping at the bottom to share how much fun you've just had! Some clever marketing person somewhere is sitting in a large chair, probably stroking a cat (a la Dr Evil), laughing to himself about how much money he's making from being able to sell "Enduro-specific" products to everyone at the moment!

Pretty cobbled streets, beaches, and epic trails. Finale is ace!

The week leading up to the race was great. I rode with Sam and Toby and their friend Al, organising shuttles for a few of the days so we could maximise the amount of descending we did, and save our legs for the weekend of racing, as well as a couple of days of pedalling up and exploring with the (terrible) local map, getting lost a few times, but eventually finding some great trails. I felt like I was riding well, and it was nice to go fast, not have to worry about clients, and switch off from Guiding mode for a while! There were loads of familiar faces around to chat to, and plenty of time to sit drinking coffee or eating gelato in cute little street cafes. We managed to squeeze 2 vans and a gazebo onto one campsite pitch, and had some great chilled evenings eating tasty pasta concoctions (or pizza...well it would have been rude not to in Italy!), chatting about future bike adventures, and despairing over Sam's Desert-Island biscuit choice (Rich Tea biscuits should be no-where near the top of anyone's list!).

I was totally gutted therefore when it got to Friday and the day of registration. Emily's name was still on the list, and despite our multiple emails and a conversation in person with the race organiser the previous week, it hadn't been sorted. I was gutted, and despite a couple of hours of trying to talk to him, it became clear he wasn't going to sort the entry swop out in time for me to race :(
So once again, I had to watch whilst everyone else was racing for two days...it was like the TransProvence all over again!
However, I'd still had an awesome week's riding, and it just made me even more resolved to get some entries in for races next year :)

It was sad to leave on Sunday evening to start the long drive back to the UK, knowing it'll be a while before I can go out on a ride in shorts and a t-shirt, and simply dust off the bike at the end!

Surprise surprise....it's cold wet and windy in Calais :(

Arriving at Calais after 14 hours of driving over 2 days, it was raining and windy, and I could feel the post-summer depression starting to kick in. But fortunately, Chloe and Jim came to the rescue in Kent, with a warm welcome to their house, a comfy bed, and a feast of a meal at their lovely local pub....hopefully one day I can return the favour :)
The following day I finally completed the journey back to Cheshire, to be greeted by my parent's new very bouncy puppy that looked excited to have someone new to play with....(being more of a cat person, I've yet to decide if the feeling is mutual)...and a huge chocolate cake from my sister Clare, so a good "Welcome Home". The rest of the week since I've been back has been spent fixing my poor bike who has had a long and hard season, and tidying up my stuff after 6 months of living out of a van and a bag! It will be great to see my mum and dad when they are back from holiday this week, as well as lots of other family and friends who I haven't seen for ages....it'll be a busy winter!

New friend? Only if she stops trying to eat all my tyres....!

The other side of the Trans-Provence...

Well my summer is finally drawing to a close, and in just a couple of weeks I'll be heading back to the UK. I've had a great time here, the guiding, the recceing, the new friends I've made, the fantastic riding I've done, but I'm definitely ready for a rest now! The last 3 weeks guiding were great, riding the route of this years race, so some new trails for both Chris and I and the guests, all of which went down pretty well, especially one of the super long descents that I'd found whilst recceing earlier in the summer, named by fellow guide Chris as "Hobson's Choice"....a trail that I love, and that Gareth I know would have thought was fantastic.

Riding the classic Rochers de Bramus trail high above the Guillaumes valley

Whilst the guiding was tiring after weeks on end of riding physically demanding trails though, it was nothing to how totally exhausted and broken I feel after a few weeks of working during and around the Trans-Provence race week! There are over 35 people who I'm sure are feeling every bit as tired as I am right now and can empathise with what a tough few weeks it's been.

When I didn't get an entry for the race myself last year, I was pretty gutted, until I ended up spending a summer guiding the route of the race, and being asked if I wanted to work on the timing system during the race. It seemed like a good option to still be able to experience the atmosphere of race week, even if I couldn't race myself. Having not really spent a lot of time on the "other side" of races, the side you don't really see as a racer, I have to say I was not expecting the week to be as tough as it was.

Hours of printing and laminating!

It started straight after the last week of guiding, with a week spent printing, cutting, and laminating over 2500 signs for the race, followed by inventorising and loading up all the kit needed for the race. That's several box vans full of camping gear, timing gear, cooking equipment, lights, electricals, stationery, food, everything to use for a week for over a hundred racers and staff.

Then it was off to camp zero to spend 4 days preparing everything for the start of the race. Fortunately it was hot and sunny, and despite the days being long, busy and tiring, we did manage to escape a couple of times for a lake swim, and spend several fun evenings relaxing with a few gin and tonics.

Perfect scenic lake for a swim

Pretty Haute Provence villages near the TP 2013 start

 I remember thinking in the days before the race, once everything was starting to come together, that it felt like we were in the calm before the storm. That turned out to be true in more than one way!

The day of registration and prologue was long but still not too hectic, and I had chance to practice using the timing system ready for the race week proper, without being under too much pressure. It's a great system from SportIdent, used in lots of the adventure races and mtb orienteering I've done in the past, but on those occasions all I've done is turn up, scan my timing chip and get a print out of my results....it's a little more complicated from the other side of the computer! When there are many of the world's best Enduro racers and most of the world's mountain bike media relying on you not to screw up and to get on with the job of producing each days results quickly and efficiently, it adds an element of stress to the situation too!

Things started to get tough from then though...

That night I was sharing a cabin with some of the media team, many of whom had just arrived that evening, and were keen to catch up with Ash and his dad Chris over a few bottles of whiskey. Despite trying to get an early night, it was pretty noisy through the paper-thin cabin walls, and so it was well into the early hours of the morning before things quietened down and I fell asleep...only to wake up to the sound of my alarm a few hours later at 5.30. Starting a week as busy as the one I was about to have is not great after only a few hours sleep.

We awoke to stormy looking skies and a poor forecast for the day's racing...not what any of us, racers or staff wanted to hear with a long day ahead.

Early morning starts...Mavic tech team already working too

My daily routine during race week started early each day, with handing out racer's timing chips, sandwiches and maps for the day, followed by quickly packing the van when it returned from the morning's first shuttle wave, with all the food, drinks and equipment needed for the daily feed station and timing station. Then racing round to the feed station location and rushing to set everything up before the first racers arrived. Once everyone was through it was a case of packing everything up, racing around to the end of the final special stage for the day, setting up the timing station complete with generator, huge mavic tent, computer system and live results screen, before the first riders arrived. When everyone was safely back in and finished for the day, I made manual adjustments for penalties, printed the stage and overall results, and prepared the html version of results ready for upload to the website, and to go out with the day's press release from the media team. Then packed everything away, drove back to camp and usually ended up with other jobs to do, meaning a late dinner and rarely getting to bed before midnight each night, ready for a pre 6 am start most days.

Day 1 feed station scenes

On that first day, mid morning, the heavens opened. Dom the video editor and I arrived at the feed station location in the pouring rain, with the first racers already waiting, cold and wet. The conditions deteriorated as the storm moved in, and soon we were inundated with tired, freezing cold grumpy racers. Inevitably, as the staff member there, I took the brunt of their moans....the coffee ran out, why wasn't there more? Was the rest of the day being cancelled? Several racers ended up sat in an ambulance for a while as they were on the verge of hypothermia, and the conditions showed no sign of improving. There was a huge gap between the first and last racers through the feed station, so by the time I'd packed up and rushed around to the finish of the day ready to set up the timing station, about 15 of the first racers were already through and headed back to camp. A decision was made that I should just head to camp and set up there. When I arrived, the camp staff were understandably equally tired and grumpy after taking up and putting down tents all day in the rain, and most of them slunk off to take a break and go and drink beers. Unfortunately that meant I was the only person around, not only to work the timing station, but also for racers to ask every single question related to anything....most of which I didn't know the answer to, but as no-one else was around for me to send them to, I had to help them or figure out the answer, meaning I got further and further behind with everything I needed to be doing. I was more tired than I'd been in ages and struggling to concentrate, and then came some complicated timing problems that needed sorting, as well as pressure from Ash and the media team as to when the results were going to be ready for upload and the press release. At this point I'd had enough. It seemed as though all the racers and other staff were finally relaxing after a long tough day, and yet I was hours from finishing, and doing not only my work, but theirs as well. It was too much, I physically could not do everything I was being asked to do on my own.

All I wanted to do was go home, get a hug from Gareth and relax in each other’s company away from the rest of the world, and the fact that that was impossible made everything seem even worse…I felt so aware of his absence, and how much I missed his love and support especially at challenging times….I felt lower than I have done all summer….I was not enjoying the TransProvence, and vowed that this was the last time I’d work on the race.

I guess since I lost Gareth, my coping mechanism when I’m having a tough day has been to get out on my bike, to get away from everyone and everything and think clearly, to remind myself of the things to be happy and positive about, and to feel closer to him. This was probably the first time I’ve not had the opportunity to do that, and I was lost in knowing how to help myself and cheer myself up. When I finally got to bed after midnight that night, I spent a long time lying there thinking and silently crying. Not a good day :(

 

A much sunnier day 2 feed station scene!

Thankfully day 2 was warm and sunny, and the rest of the week continued to be too. Everyone was in a better mood, racers and staff alike, and although the job was never easy and every day was non-stop from start to finish, I began to enjoy at least parts of it! I got to see racers, both pros and amateurs, every morning, lunchtime and evening, and nearly all were friendly and chatty. It was a privilege to be able to be the first person to see who was winning each day as the racers came in, to personally hand them their results, and to witness the incredibly close battle for first place between Jerome Clementz And Nico Lau as the week progressed. In the end, Nico took the win by 1 second after 6 days of racing….unbelievable.

Fabien Barel and Francois Bailly-Maitre looking at the live results at the race finish, Fabien beat Francois into 3rd place by seconds, after taking the stage win on the final day of racing

It was hard in some ways to see everyone high on adrenaline at the end of each day, chattering excitedly with each other about the amazing trails they’d just raced down, and to not be part of that. It made me just want to be riding my bike! But there were positives too; I made many new friends, and gained a new-found respect and admiration for race organisers and how hard they work to pull an event like this off. I was lucky to have the help and company of Dom, the video editor each day, without whom the task of getting everything set up throughout the day would have been impossible. As well as this, there were Ludo, Alexei and Kevin from the Mavic tech team, who were lucky enough to listen to me jabbering away at them in grammatically poor French each day at the feed stations, Paul from Mojo Suspension who kindly serviced my forks and shock and imparted some factory tuning wisdom that hopefully will enable me to look after them better in the future, and Fay. Fay started the week racing, along with her husband Lee, but unfortunately crashed mid week, breaking her hand and subsequently being forced to watch from the sidelines. I would have been totally gutted in her situation, but she never showed her disappointment, and ended up being great company and one-handed assistance as she travelled with me and Dom throughout the day. I hope she gets a place in next year’s race to come back and shred the trails she didn’t get chance to this year!

Ash chatting to Cannondale team racers Anton, Ben, Mark and Manuel at the race finish in Menton...looks serious, perhaps the beer had run out?!

By the end of the week, that first day was almost forgotten, and although I was glad it was all over, a few days on and I’m already changing my mind about working on it again….(although I’d  obviously still prefer to be racing!).

Inevitably, in the days since the end of the race, after finally stopping working for the first time in a couple of months without even a day’s break, my immune system seems to have decided it wants a rest too, and I’ve been full of cold. Despite this, I HAD to get out on my bike and ride after spending 2 weeks off it, and watching everyone else riding their’s! It probably hasn’t helped me fight off the cold, but mentally I feel recharged already!

Late summer light on Sospel's medieval bridge

Autumn has officially arrived in the South of France since the race finished, and although I’m determined to make the most of still wearing shorts and flip-flops before heading back to the UK, it’s becoming more of a challenge in the cold mornings! Tomorrow I’m heading to Finale Ligure in Italy for a weeks riding before making the long drive home, and although it will be strange to leave Sospel and somewhere that’s felt kind of like home for the summer, I’m more than ready to not be living out of a bag or my van for a while!

I'm already excited to know I'll be back here guiding from May to September next year, but for now I'm looking forward to hopefully catching up with as many friends and family as possible in the coming months, and to some exciting winter plans in the pipeline too.... Ciao for now!

Diary of a Trail Scout

There is something about mountains that moves my soul. Just the sight of them towering high above the valleys below, arouses in me a million emotions, endless questions, and a strong sense of spiritual awareness.

Mont Blanc from Chamonix

They make me think, a lot… Of why I am here?  Of why things happen in life over which we have no control? Of what happens to us when we die, and where Gareth is now? Of whether he knows what I’m doing, how much I miss him, and how often he’s in my thoughts?

The mighty Matterhorn

Most of the very best, most perfect days of my life so far have been spent in the mountains, and so they conjure up memories too, of happy days sharing adventures of one kind or another. From the joy of reaching the summit of a high peak, far above the rest of the world below, quiet nights watching the stars under clear black velvet skies, to sharing a magnificent view of the sun setting below a horizon of distant peaks, and long alpine days where you collapse back at base, exhausted from the fresh air and exertion, but with a feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment, knowing that first beer will never have tasted so good. Those same memories can on some days though, bring on the heavy veil of sadness, that since I lost Gareth, is never far away. Sadness that there should have been so many more of those special days and experiences shared in the mountains as we grew older together, and sorrow, that the other person who is part of those memories, is no longer here to remember them with…

Gareth perched atop the Northwest face of Half Dome, Yosemite

I know I’m not the first and won’t be the last to try and explain why mountains hold such an allure and fascination for me. There are countless famous mountaineers, mountain lovers, writers and poets who have tried to do just that, and explain the irresistible draw that we feel towards them. But I think it’s different for all of us.

Climbing in the Aiguilles Rouges with Alison, enjoying the spectacular view of the Mont Blanc range behind.

They make me feel insignificant and vulnerable, just like looking at stars in a clear mountain sky at night can make your whole existence feel incredibly tiny and inconsequential. They have stood there for millions of years, through the passage of time, being shaped by the elements, quietly observing the coming and going of life. I can’t actually even really get my head around it…their immensity, age, and presence on the planet is too big a notion to comprehend for me. But I do know that it draws me even more to them, makes them seem even more silently majestic and beautiful, and to feel very privileged to spend time amongst them. I think I love going to the mountains not because I want to conquer them, but to immerse myself in their grandeur, to revitalise my soul, and to escape…

Being in the mountains allows me to feel…without the need to question what I’m feeling, and that leads to a sense of freedom that it’s hard to find in many places. To feel the refreshing breeze gently cooling your face after a long uphill effort. To feel the exhilaration of flying down a difficult, technical descent, and the mind-absorbing task of staying on your bike through rock gardens and steep loose terrain. To feel the sun warm on your body as you lie in an alpine meadow of beautiful multi-coloured flowers, with butterflies dancing around you. To feel satisfaction at having climbed to a place where only a lucky few have been before. To feel the cool, fresh sensation of rain drenching you to the bone in a summer downpour. To hear the awesome power of nature summed up in a gigantic roll of thunder that seems to rip the sky in half, and then echo for an age down the valley below, causing a quickening in pace to escape to the safety of that same valley. 

One of many fantastic trails I've ridden this summer, perched high on the mountain side

To feel unbelievably alive as you reach the bottom of a dangerously exposed trail, where you have ridden a fine line between safety and danger. To hear nothing but the sound of the wind rustling leaves, a quietly flowing stream, insects chirping rhythmically, and the sound of your own breathing. How many places are there in the world where you can actually escape to, to appreciate that kind of silence and tranquillity? Despite the sometimes dangerous games I choose to play in them, there is nowhere more calming for me, than sitting on a mountain side, high above the rest of the world, simply being.

Lying on a grassy mountain top, watching the clouds go by.

Any stresses, worries, or anxieties start to melt away, time slows down, you can appreciate the things that so many people never take time to. I can think clearly and rationally, I can find a sense of peace and acceptance of life, of all that has happened, and all that might happen, and know that somehow, as long as I can keep spending time in the mountains, I will be able to cope.

So, you might wonder why I’ve come over all philosophical, but it’s because for the last 3 weeks, I’ve been fortunate enough to have the opportunity to be here in the beautiful mountains of the Maritime alps, working, but on my own, and with the opportunity for lots of time to think and reflect.

After a couple of fun and relaxing weeks in the hot and sunny Ardeche with Jo, Simon, Jonny, Ellie and Jessie; including a bit of climbing (before it got too hot each day!), lots of swimming in the river and lounging on sun rock, plenty of beach bbqs, and consuming vast quantities of cheese and wine, it was time to head back here for some work.

Lazy afternoons by the river....never a dull moment with "Team Chaos" aka Ellie and Jessie!

Pizza night in the Ardeche :)

“Here” will remain a secret location for the moment as the trip has yet to be announced and I’m sworn to secrecy about where the trails are that I’m riding. But I’m basically spending 3 weeks scouting and recceing trails for a new week-long trip that will start next July. My job each day involves looking at one of the 6 maps of the area the trip is covering, spotting a trail that looks like it might be worth scouting, or having heard through local knowledge that it is good, and going and riding it to make a decision on whether it makes the cut or not! It’s hard to believe I’m being paid to do this J

High in the Maritime Alps, Destination X ;)

However, as fun as it sounds, it hasn’t all been easy…

Although I have ridden some incredible trails that have left me feeling pretty lucky to have discovered them, there have also been plenty where I have pushed, pedalled and carried for hours, only to find an overgrown, boulder strewn, totally unrideable trail…which I have then had to spend the rest of the day pushing down, swearing as I bushwhack through jungles of the spikiest thorn bushes known to man, and emerging with every ounce of visible skin ripped to shreds, or teetering precariously on a too-narrow ledge where the path has collapsed, bike in one hand, the other gripping onto the rope/chain/wire/whatever has been placed to pull oneself across an infinite abyss below. In fact, for every great trail found, there are probably 4 or 5 rubbish ones. I have never spent as much time taking my bike for a walk as I have in these few weeks! It is a very rewarding job, but at times intensely frustrating. There are trails that look like they must be amazing on paper, a good gradient, following features such as ridgelines or traversing the side of canyons, but on the ground they just don’t make for a fun trail. But that’s all just part of the job…not every path you explore will be a piece of trail riding gold….and when you do find one….all the rubbish ones are instantly forgotten! There are a few that I will be smiling about until I get to guide guests on them next year! I have certainly had a few adventures! J.

This one was a good find!

Logistically, doing this on your own can be challenging too. The trails I am looking for have a strong emphasis on minimal climbing, for maximum descending, as in the trip, we’ll have the use of shuttles. However, on my own, that either means pedalling up a loooong way at the start or end of the day, or doing some nifty logistics of leaving the bike at the top, driving to the bottom and leaving the van, then hitching back up.

Mountain traffic jam

I’ve done a mixture of both. The pedalling is hard, not least because climbing up a switchback alpine road for over 1000m of altitude gain, on a full suspension bike with 2.5 inch tyres, in the sweltering heat of the south of France in high summer, is a massive slog! The hitching in comparison is fun! I guess being a blonde female on my own helps (hee hee!)  but I’ve not had to wait more than 5 minutes for a ride yet, and I’ve met a lot of really nice people who have had the pleasure and amusement of me having a conversation in French with them. I even got invited for an amazing lunch in a beautiful mountain chalet of one family who gave me a lift! It’s actually been a great way to really practise my French. I haven’t seen or spoken to an English person in the whole 3 weeks, there aren’t any here! So I’m forced to speak French or I wouldn’t speak at all! It’s nice to now feel I’m at the point, where although it’s not perfect grammatically, I can hold a conversation for a good length of time on a whole load of random things, and I’m constantly learning new words and phrases.

It’s nice having had some time on my own too. Although I wish Gareth was here, as I’d have preferred his company on these adventures to being alone, there aren’t a lot of other people I can think of who I would want to have spent 3 weeks here with.

I spy an amazing trail...

That can have it’s downsides too though…you definitely ride a little more cautiously when alone in the mountains, especially on little used routes, far from the help of others should anything happen. I’ve had a system of telling Ash my planned route for the following day the night before, and then a text to Emily each evening to say I’m back safely. I haven’t really felt afraid at any points....I actually love the feeling of being alone in the mountains, it’s an incredible feeling of remoteness, wilderness and adventure. If there are sections that are too committing or difficult to ride, I get off and push, after all, no-one can see me anyway so I don’t feel bad about it!

Remote, wild, beautiful

But last week, feeling tired from over a week of riding long hot days, I had a crash. It was one of those totally unexpected ones, on a relatively easy flowing section of trail, which made it worse as I was going pretty fast, and I was absolutely in the middle of nowhere. Maybe my concentration was a bit off as I was tired, but my front wheel came too close to the edge of a narrow section of singletrack, dropped off the side, jack-knifing the wheel and throwing me over the bars, to land on my side, skidding along the gravel trail. I can’t believe I got away as lightly as I did…some painful gravel rash and skin loss all along my right arm, a (still) painful hip and shoulder, and a sprained thumb. I sat on the side of the trail after the crash, feeling pretty shaken, and suddenly very aware that I was a long way from help, on my own. It was one of those occasions where I just wanted to call Gareth, tell him what had happened, simply to hear his voice calming me down. There isn’t anyone now that I wanted to call, so I sat and cried a bit because everything hurt, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself, and because no-one was around to see me.

Just as I was sticking dressings to the bits of my arm that were leaking blood on the trail, and very randomly given I hadn’t seen anyone else on any of the trails I’d been on all week, I heard the sound of bike tyres on gravel, and turned to see another mountain biker approaching! He kindly stopped to check I was ok, and seemed as surprised to see me as I was him. We ended up chatting for 20 minutes or so, about bikes (he was on a Specialized Stumpy Evo too....good taste J) and trails, and he then proceeded to show me on the map loads of good trails to try. Perhaps the crash was a blessing in disguise? Anyway, we rode together for a couple of kms, until he turned onto a different trail, and it was enough to give me back a bit of the confidence I’d lost in the crash.

The following day I crashed again, ripping open a big split in my shin, immediately rushed upon by hundreds of flies…lovely. I decided it was probably time for a day off.

Injuries: an unfortunate part of the game!

For some reason, maybe the crashing and the fatigue, or being away from anyone I know for a while, I felt really down for the next couple of days. Despite being on my bike, in a beautiful place, doing something I love, it just hit me again, for the first time in a while, how much I miss Gareth and his huge presence in my everyday life. There’s not a lot I can do when I feel as down as that, and I guess it’s the first time in a while I’ve been on my own, and not had to be busy thinking of other people to take my mind off it. The best solution is normally a lengthy amount of crying, until I run out of tears, and thinking of any number of incredible memories of perfect days and moments spent together…I guess that’s what got me thinking about mountains..

Anyway, I’m doing ok again now, I know Gareth would be really proud of what I’ve done this summer and happy to see me enjoying life again here in the mountains. I definitely feel like he’s looking out for me somewhere near whenever I need him too….there’s no way I should have got away without breaking any bones in my last crash ;)

It’s back to guiding for a few weeks at the weekend. As much as it’s been brilliant trail-scouting, I’m looking forward to knowing that I’m going to be riding Amaaaaazing trails every day again…whoop!