Prologue: Welsh Cyclocross League round 10, Llandaff Fields, 15th December 2013

2013 was the year of no racing. That's a weird way to start a post about a race in 2013. Let me explain.

I've never really raced my bikes much. The occasional cross country or longer mountain bike race, hill climb or time trial coupled with a handful of cyclocross races every season. Every year I've told myself I'll take 'cross a bit more seriously, train properly for it, and then never bothered. So, in 2013, I used the need to save a bit of cash as an excuse to take a year away from racing in general and 'cross specifically. Find out whether I don't miss it one bit, or if a year away makes me want to come back and throw myself in headlong.

Definitely the second one.

It had been a good year and I'd stayed fit as a fiddle; probably the fittest I'd ever been. I'd banged the cowbell and drank a beer or two at a few mountain bike races and not for a moment wanted to be the other side of the tape. But as soon as 'cross season got under way, I was making plans for 2014. I'll get a new 'cross bike, I told myself, maybe go do the Three Peaks again. Then race properly in the Autumn. Take it a bit more seriously. No, really this time.

So much for no racing in 2013 then, as I lined up for a second 'cross race of the year. The first loophole was the last race of the Western League in early January (2012-13 season, I told myself). I allowed myself the final round of the Welsh League to assess what my form was like; whether a summer and autumn of chaingangs and chasing like-minded masochists from Cardiff Ajax up hills had improved my engine. And to remind myself of the pure sweet hell I had been away from for 11 months.

And pure sweet hell it was. Early morning rain followed by dryer weather ensured a course that was almost exclusively heavy, sticky mud. Three forced dismounts per lap, plus two sections which where there was not much to choose in time between riding and running.

No racing all season = no gridding, so shoved myself in as first of the rest in about 40th place and sprinted hard from the gun. Arguably too hard, as I then spent 3 laps drifting slowly but surely backwards as my legs tried to remember how to cope with the constant onslaught of full-gas sprints, climbing off, running with the bike, and climbing back on again. The course was becoming ever more chewed and four dismounts per lap became five as I cocked up another tricky section and elected in my adrenalin-addled brain that it was quicker to run, trying to ignore protests from legs not accustomed to any running whatsoever, never mind running hard through ankle-deep mud carrying a bike.

Holding off a man with tinsel in his helmet. About as good as it got. Photo by Rob Warren

The heavy mud was taking it's toll on my bike too - lap 4 began with alarming noises from the rear mech and the tell-tale slack-then-tight feedback from the chain as mud clogged the jockey wheels and threatened to pull the rear mech off the next time I so much as looked at it. I stopped to clear some mud, made no difference. Stopped again for another go/ After stopping for the third time in 500 metres and wondering whether there was anything I could do to fix the problem, or it was worth continuing until the almost inevitable writing off of my rear mech and retirement, two riders in fancy dress overtook me. Time to throw in the towel then.

So, a humbling experience and some lessons learned. Despite some promising dismount/remount practice in the couple of weeks beforehand, my technique getting off, carrying and getting back on the bike all largely went to pot once my legs were full of lactate and my lungs on fire. I may be fit but I'm not race fit, having done very little to get myself used to riding to riding on the limit for 50 minutes. And I'm still terrible at getting round slippery tight turns.

Still, on to 2014, and as much racing across as many different categories as I can manage.