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It come’s round every year, the Mosquito London Cyclocross Team Champs. Having spent a winter successfully avoiding the agony that is cross racing I get called upon once more to make up the numbers in the Mosquito team. This winter my lack of racing has been impressive by even my standards, the team champs would be only my second event of the season. Being now the Mosquito/Londoncyclesport squad we boast two teams for the race, so I take my rightful place in the B team, bit of a relief that as it means I can’t pull down the placing of the high flyers in the A team.
So the day dawns wet and cold (don’t all Sundays in the cross season?) and Thomas and I head off to our day in the mud. Thomas races first in the Under 12’s, has fun, gets peeved because someone falls off in front of him, gets over it, plays with his mates - perfect day for a 10 year old (and for a 45 year old come to think of it).
The main race starts in a muddy field from where we channel into some narrower singletrack and the positions soon settle down, at least they do where I am - no idea what is happening up front. So I trudge round for an hour around a pretty challenging but enjoyable circuit and trail in gloriously mid-field.
Afterwards in the canteen, riders chat and bemoan the end of the cross season, whilst I can’t help but applaud my good sense in not having spent every sunday for the last three months suffering like I have today. Truth be told, I’m not tough enough and I admire those who are - give me a road race on a hot summers day and I’m your man but a winters cross racing - youv’e got to be tough for that.
Back home Thomas discovers a good way to supplement pocket money, when dads knackered and he’s got a dirty bike….

So, whilst Hugo, Ian and Simon were doing Mosquito/Londoncyclesport proud at the National Cyclocross Champs (Hugo 6th in the Juniors, fantastic result) I was plugging away round some distinctly mucky Kentish lanes in the company of the other participants of the Old Portilian’s Reliability Trial.
Distinctly ‘old-school’ it was too. None of the gloss of the Sportive, just pay your five pounds, slurp down a cup of tea and away you go for 100km of lumpy riding in the company of riders a lot fitter than oneself (in my case).I had the company of team mates Matt and Iain for the first 20k or so until Matt punctured which left me hanging onto the the wheels of the fast bunch I had foolishly attached myself to. Not for long though, once the hills got longer I was ‘out the back’ and on my own and feeling pretty lousy. So for 30k or so I trudged along on my own, hauling myself over the Ashdown climb and on into Edenbridge where Matt and Iain rejoined me. Good to see them but on the other hand I also knew it meant trying to hang on again rather than suffering on my own and as the dreaded Toys Hill loomed

I knew there would be plenty of suffering ahead. Matt kindly waited at the top of the climb and we rode in together to the Village Hall for bacon rolls and cake - perfect post-ride recovery food!
A good day and good company. Pity my legs hurt so much the next day though

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(Photo courtesy, Andy Jones)

It appears to be catching on, this cyclo-cross lark, especially with the – shall we say – more mature cyclist.

The record field of well over 500 riders for this year’s national championships in Sutton Coldfield included around 120 veterans on the grid for the 40-49 age group.

Now, 120 riders trying to reach the opening left-hander in pole position is quite likely to lead to some kind of argy-bargy – although vets generally handle their bikes very well and are keener than most to get home without any broken bones. But I was rather expecting the first corner to be the problem, rather than the actual grid.

And so the rider sprawled on the tarmac in front of Neil Simpson of London Phoenix and myself was getting short shrift. We weren’t even over the start line, for pity’s sake, and were already pinned on the barriers watching a 120-man bunch fly by. This fella was scrabbling to get up and get going, his back wheel refusing to co-operate, while Neil and yours truly scrambled all over him, muttering unpleasantries. I feel a bit guilty now, in the cold light of day…actually, no I don’t.

Having started halfway up the field I was now looking at around 80 riders to chase. Oh well, start from scratch, don’t panic and pick ‘em off.

It’s amazing how many people you can overtake simply by riding smartly and not making silly mistakes. What had seemed during warm-up a rather dull course – dry, featureless and lacking any running sections save a couple of planks – was actually pretty challenging. A few sharp little inclines had people struggling. A short section of woodland had riders hitting the brakes and taking poor lines. Those with too much air in their tyres were slipping on grassy corners as the off-camber surface took its toll on the unaware and unsteady.

So without unduly forcing the issue and hammering myself to the point of going into the red I weaved through the field as best I could and spent the whole 40 minutes overtaking, which is, to my mind, always preferable to having people overtake for 40 minutes.
The only downer was finishing third in a three-way sprint for the line but there was literally nothing left in the tank by that point. 40th overall, 12th in the over-45 category. No complaints, but hoping for a tough course next year and a clean getaway from the grid.

While us lesser-knowns were frittering around many minutes adrift, the great – and incredibly nice bloke – Nick Craig was crossing the line with his arms in the air having won in his first year as a veteran.

No great surprise there, but he did turn up again the next day and give the leading men a run for their money in the elite race. Respect to Mr Craig!