Never say never

There are many things a man should do before he is forty. And having done those things, he should never ever, even under the most provocative of circumstance, try them again. Right at the top of my list are practical experiments involving body parts and the ground, and event based racing. Well any racing really because of a well documented lack of skill, fitness and motivation. Balance that with a surfeit of grumpiness, lycra xenophobia and a blossoming hatred of riding the same lap. Again, and again and again. And, er well that’s it really, about that time I just pack up and go home.

So no one was more surprised than I as somewhere between the secret project that cannot be named, buggering off to the other side the world for the best part of a month and trying to find even the smallest crack* in my work diary, that I’ve taken on team captaincy for the a 24 hour event held sometime in the not distant enough future.

CLIC-24 isn’t a race. Which is good because the slack crew, who failed to step back quick enough when I shouted out a volunteering email, and I aren’t going to be racing. We’re going to be raising money for CLIC-Sargent which is a silly name but that’s about where the funny stuff stops. It’s a fantastic charity supporting kids with cancer and their parents. And if – and I really think you should – spend some time reading their web site, you’ll be both amazed and saddened by what you see.

After ten minutes browsing around, I would have signed up for 24 hours of almost anything. Note the careful use of the word, almost. And don’t confuse my love of riding bicycles with the prospect of being marooned with 500 other nutters, especially after last year the event was essentially held underwater. And while – in the little Spirograph which represents my mind – I’m seeing myself Nelson-Esque dishing out serial laps to my underlings, realistically I’ll be putting down any mutinies with an extra beer ration and getting back out there myself.

Flickr - From Neil Cain

Oh that looks fun. I’ve spared you the mud. Be grateful.

And hating every minute of it. Still, straining for an upside, it does present an opportunity to annoy the rich people in the firm to handing over quite alot of cash. Between now and actually having to earn my sponsors cash, I intend to avoid any of that training nonsense and, instead, ensure my burgeoning bike collection is race-prepped – because the rider certainly ain’t going to be.

I fully expect a full on dither come the selection crunch, bringing with it the likelihood of borrowing a trailer and chucking the whole lot it – just in case. And while there could be a technical argument that I would be somewhat over-biked riding the SX Trail over the course, I’d much rather think of that as slightly under-terrained.

Please don’t let it rain. Please don’t. Because of the web of lies that will bolster my sponsorship efforts, I’ll be guilted into an out of tent/on a bike experience for which the words ‘fucking horrible’ were brought into existence for. Oh and talking of cash, on receiving confirmation that the Somerset Inquisition is ready for some new heretics, then I’ll be posting the justgiving link here. Quite often πŸ˜‰

* In terms of white space not apportioned to endpointless meetings not something smutty, as I know at least a few of you were thinking. Me too πŸ™‚