The Best Laid Plans
By Matt Barton
“The plan to pace ourselves was out of the window and it was hammer time!”
I don’t know about the others but I’d been looking forward to visiting Unit 23 in Dumbarton, Scotland since my last visit there 2 or 3 years previously. Sparky was with me for that Ride On event weekend so he knew what was to come but Rob had never been and Benny had never been any further north than Darlington, so I knew that their tiny little minds would be blown by the gargantuan amounts of wooden waves and wedge formations.
My missus often says that us BMXers couldn’t organise ourselves a trip to the loo and maybe she’s right but spontaneity and ill-preparation are key to a life on the edge in my book. And with that said, the hotel rooms were booked, pick-up times arranged and a strategy for a 5 hour dose of Unit 23 was hatched. Yes, 5 hours. We would pace ourselves and not smash ourselves in like idiots in the first 30 minutes and revel in that glorious ache the next day that only BMX riding gives you. So myself and Sparky were picked up by Rob and Benny in Rob’s Limo-van in North Manchester at about 12.30pm and soon after, we were blazing up the M6 northbound. It was just before 5pm when we checked in at the local Premier Inn, shit dropped off, back in the van and all grins knowing we’d be riding in a few short minutes.
I don’t think that the Enterprise Transporter could have gotten me to the door of the unit any quicker and a few moments later, the punter in front had paid for his kid’s entrance and then it was my time. “I’ll have until 10 please” I said all chuffed. “You can have until 8. That’s when we close”, was the response from the dear behind the counter. My arse fell out. A bit of too-ing and fro-ing later we were resigned to 3 hours of the wooden heaven and not the life-ending 5 hours we’d reckoned on. The plan to pace ourselves was out of the window and it was hammer time!
And that’s what we did. We went mental for about 60 minutes. Hall 1 bowl was our chosen method of warming up and after about 3 dips in, the lactic acid build up in my thighs was threatening to derail the next 2 or so hours. That bowl is something else! So while I reintroduced oxygen into my system, I watched Sparky roast the 7ft quarter nearest to the other half of the Hall 1. You could almost see the heart emojis pouring out of him as he repeatedly blasted 6 foot airs on said quarter while occasionally laying the Table down.
I couldn’t stop myself and went into the other half of Hall 1 to try a line that was way above my pay grade but fuck it. When in Rome and all that. The line didn’t quite pull off for me so I settled with pulling it, crashing on landing and jacking my thumb. I fucking hate manuals by the way.
Rob was getting his manuals loaded up in both sides of Hall 1 and his pre-pubescent face was lit up like the Eiffel Tower on the eve of Y2K. The realisation of the infinite possibilities that Hall 1 has to offer being almost too much to bear. Benny had sloped off to Hall 2 on the hunt for something rhythmic to ride, being the trails disciple that he is.
After a while, myself, Sparky and Rob wanted to sample Hall 2. On arrival there, it was no surprise to find that Benny had sussed out the nuances of the rhythm section and so we joined him so that we could all look really shit at the side of him. “What’s it like Benny”, we said to him. “It’s alright. Just do this. Just mind that…..” he replied before we took turns at coming face to face with death on the first jump! What a bell end. It didn’t take long though before we realised that we were in over our heads and promptly left the wooden rhythm to the locals and headed over to the plaza-esque set-up around the corner. Time for Benny to look stiff!
None of us have stunt sticks on our bikes so manuals, spins and wall rides were the order of this section of the arena for us. Sparky put his bike down and unleashed the Canon camera thing and promptly started to bark orders at us. “Do this, send that, hold your bike here, stand there while I twizzle some knobs and look like I know what I’m doing with this thing”. And like giddy little skippers that we were, we obliged.
I did a couple of reminders to all my 44 year old bone structure (flat-bank to wall rides) that my street days are behind me generally, although the curved wall ride was fun and I had several rides on that. And so did Benny. He’d never really done them before but having taken on board my message of speed being your friend, he picked curved wall rides up quickly……as in first fucking go! What a knob! Rob wasn’t keen on the curved wall but he did pick up wall rides on the long, straight section to the left of the curved bit. Not bad for a destroyer of pain-au-chocolates!
Sparky got a load of pictures and then we went back around the corner to ride the volcano/wall ride thing and to send a quarter to flat bank hip gap thing that was once more, a bit out of my comfort zone but hey, in for a penny, in for a pound? After numerous attempts, I finally managed to follow in the footsteps of one of the local 13 year old rippers and pull said gap, only to be told by the nipper that it was opposite for him. Thanks kid. Thanks for the kick in the bollocks. No etiquette, these kids these days! (N.B Seriously though, the kid was good and with no sign of an ego too. He was cool!)
Neil Porteous showed up at 7.30pm and drew us back to the rhythm section with some handy hints and tips. I don’t know if it was a general lack of Iron Brew in my life or lack of skills but with the best will in the world, I wasn’t getting through those humps. Ally-ooping the nearly vert wall wasn’t working for me and carving it opposite wasn’t much better and with a speed wobble over the 3rd jump giving my sphincter cause to consider doing an elephant’s trunk impression, I submitted and headed back to Hall 1, as did everyone else.
This is when Neil proceeded to stomp his authority over the bowl and show us lines that we were never going to get close to accomplishing because (A), we were beginning to wilt, (B) we haven’t rode comparable bowls anywhere near often enough and (C) we’re just bottom feeders in the world of bowl riding. Still, our jaws got plenty of stretching done whilst watching Neil hit big highs and transfers, so that was something! Neil also managed to convince the lady running the place, to allow us an extra hour which was a treat, even if all we could do was flop about the place like fish that had been landed for 10 minutes.
We waved the white flag at 9pm, said our thanks and goodbyes to Neil and headed off to the pub for a couple of pints. 5 pints in Benny’s case. Chatted to some Northern Irish chaps for a minute or too but being the sensible, boring types, we declined an invitation to join them for much merry-making (I am really sorry for being un-sociable guys, if you’re reading this!). Then it was off to our pits.
I gave myself the short straw on room allocation. I volunteered to share a twin room with Benny who, after several pints, is rendered useless as a human. He must have woken quite quickly for his first piss of the night and “couldn’t find the light switch” for the bathroom, so decided in his wisdom that if he aimed his todger in the general direction of the bathroom, some of his piss would find it’s way into the toilet bowl. Apparently not as I discovered a short while later when I needed the first piss of many! Upon turning the light on, I was faced with a Crystal Maze style challenge of finding a safe route to the toilet bowl. Ffs!!
The following morning we decided against the £10 hotel breakfast and opted for the £8 item at the local Morrison’s. We left with that pregnant feeling and hit the road south, stopping off at a pump-track located in the middle of some housing estate near Motherwell. We flopped about a bit on that and cried about not having anything similar in our part of England and then called it a draw. I gave birth to healthy baby shit at some services an hour later and soon after, our escape from reality came to an end.
Note to self: Book my own room in future and check websites, not Google!
Ride On folks!