We’ve all heard that rather vapid homely that one should only regrets things done rather than things avoided. Clearly written by an innocent never having travelled on the tube, Voted Conservative or been introduced to Tequilain a mexican bar while playing poker for proper money*

If you’re still feeling in need of advice, there’s a rich multi-media seam to me mined from Yoda’s ‘do or no do, there is no try’ which is still brilliant through to imposible is nothing which really isn’t. If we throw in a bit of edith piathwhose biggest regret has to be being marooned on autoplay on every French radio station since 1983, we’ll finally arrive at the point.

I do feel a tad vexed having avoiding getting properly fit before withered-carcass(tm) was already way over the hill, and accelerating in a wobbly way to brittle-boned destruction. There’s a tinge of retrospective angst around being a bit too round for many years where beer and pies were staples of existence. But mostly I regret two things; not buying a 29er earlier and entering a stupid event to race it in.

The Solaris has been a bit of a revelation. We’ve established it ‘rides like a bike’ but what’s become apparent is it’s quite a fast one. Stat Geek Stravary tells me how many seconds quicker all over the place, but that’s better represented by a big grin on my fizog when the top and bottom of lumpy bits arrive more quickly. Hauling a stone and half less over dry and dusty trails is a happy meeting point of fun bikes and new found fitness.

The race however was a bit of a horror. Located in the Welsh equivalent of Deliverance, it’s defined by a series of plunging river valleys divided by extremely lumpy geography festooned with enough trees to ensure you hit at least one. Distance wise, it’s a mere 50k which sounds relatively unchallenging before an elevation profile reading 1600m is factored in. Even that on what has been seasonally unexpected dry trails has the feeling of a good, hard day out for a ego fuelled man who is somewhere close to decent shape.

The weather tho is – as ever in our storm lashed country – a bit of an issue. Rain between now and Saturday turning trails into the kind of endless misery I foreswore to never cross my tyres again after Mayhem. The weather on race day itself has moved on from raining – oh yes now it’s forecast to snow. Is it possible to regret the weather? No? Fine, I’ll have to settle for being bloody angry then.

And before anyone tries rationale and logic, talk to the hand – I’m not interested. I am fully aware we’re still in Winter and climatic conditions as described are not unusual, and – yes – mountain biking is a four season sport, and – yes again you bloody swot – it was indeed me who put in the entry. Since which, I’ve had a not entirely miserable time getting somewhere close to being able to actually complete it without medical assistance, or throwing the bike at a tree and demanding to be airlifted to a decent claret.

And now it’s going to snow on me, my new bike and what remains of my will to live. Obviously being inside warming by the fire while happily quaffing a nice pint while the rugby is on may be a regretful activity when compared to exposure, frostbite and slithering head first into trees. But I reckon I could handle it – it’s like guilt, ignore it long enough and it goes away.

Sod that. If the not-at- all- 4WD ice cream van can get me there, I’ll have a buggering bloody go. Don’t expect me to enjoy it tho.

Version one of this post was a Strava rant, but having found myself writing groupdynamicwithout a hint of irony, I felt you deserved better. Having just re- read version two, I’m not sure you got it.

* Although in the ‘for‘ column, finding the ‘miscellaneousdeduct able column while submitting the subsequently eye watering expenses should be mentioned for balance.