Video: UK Gravity Enduro Round 2 Innerleithen

Having spent last season watching everyone getting stoked to ride and having a blast on their bikes throughout the series I leapt at the opportunity to get on the other side of the tape and see what this enduro lark was all about. With so much hype, and rightly so, about the current series and the direction it has been taking, I couldn't wait to get stuck in and see what it was like from the view of a participant. So, I did what many did that weekend. Packed my bags with an assortment of clothes, pads and all the energy gels, gizmos and bike parts I could summon.


I arrived at Innerleithen late on Thursday night. After spending the previous good few hours on the M6 with rain lashing the window’s I went into the weekend with a view to expect the worst. With the rain coming down with an intensity that would justify a para-biblical tale it certainly looked grim. The forecast gave us a slim glimmer of hope. Sporadic showers over Friday and Saturday before the heavens would indeed open on Sunday. Maybe it would hold out. Stranger things have happened, or so I consoled myself As I awoke on Friday morning at five AM with the arrival back into the UK, and subsequent jet lag, still ringing in my ears I wandered around the pits. I couldn't believe how many people had turned up a day before practice. Let alone the race had begun. Campers, trade vans and tents littered the car park and annexed field. At about 8:00, I bit the bullet and stirred my friend, James. “Let’s go ride some ‘duro!”. I was almost certain that’s how you’re meant to say it according to Pinkbike.


We set off to go sample stage five. Having started before the earliest of early birds, Charlie Williams and his crew, had a chance to finish the transitions it seemed like a logical choice. It also meant that, unbeknown to us, it’d throw us in the deep end and get us set up for what Innerleithen had to offer. Fast, steep, rough and wild. Propper enduro. A large serving of humble pie for anyone who said that enduro riders (enduroists?) weren’t as technically skilled as their downhill counterparts was readily on offer.


After sessioning our way down five and subsequently on to the other stages there was one general consensus amongst anyone we met. Riding it was fun. Racing it was going to be hard going. Well over twenty minutes worth of racing on rough, fast and punishing terrain. The sheer concentration it took to keep the bike rolling on stage three, let alone the chronic arm pump, greased up roots and knackered legs, was monumental. It was a root fiesta. Ever got two sets of earphones tangled together? Imagine that times a thousand. Then covered in baby oil. That’s the best I can do justice for the rooty madness that ensued.


So, tired, slightly battered we went to bed after two hard days practice. I, myself, clocked out at about 8PM. Blaming the jet lag, however, deep down I could admit that I was a tired, tired man. Due to my somewhat embarrassingly early night I rose and shone at the unenviable time of four:three0AM. The rain drumming the tent canvas in a way that can either prove to be slightly hypnotic, or in my case, it was an ominous alarm of the day to come. I wasn’t concerned about the steepness of five. Having ridden it in seeding I actually felt really comfortable. I knew if I could just stay on my bike that my pace was okay and the anticipation of riding it in the grease again filled me with nothing but excitement. stages one and two were proclaimed by all to be brilliant. Fast, flowy, with just the right degree of steepness to keep your on your toes and the bike accelerating without it ever really getting out of hand. It was the thoughts of stages two and three that kept me pondering.

As my name and number was called to head on to the stage to talk to Steve Parr, the event organiser, I had a very strange sensation that there was something distinctly “blind date” about the whole thing. Needless to say, Steve’s laid back and affable nature immediately put me you at ease as the Commissaires checked my bike and then I was on my way. Just as I was leaving the rain truly came. In torrents and buckets. I considered myself lucky. I had the warning and timing in my favour to run and get the coat that I had otherwise planned to leave. Catching up people who had left earlier, it was blatant that they had not been so fortunate. They looked as though they had been plucked from a 90’s Take That video. Only with admittedly less fur coats, stupid sunglasses and lacking the all round sense of decorum.


In the end it turned out that the sheer volume of water that came onto the tracks actually helped. As the day wore on, more and more dirt was being taken by riders on to and over the roots. Removing their deadly sheen and meaning that, although still hard to maintain speed over, the roots had lost their venom. The rocks sadly weren’t so hospitable. I can’t imagine I was the only one to come a cropper on stage two.

Soon, as the day wore by the weather teased with the idea of turning into sunshine. In the short spells we had it almost became, dare I say (bearing in mind I was in a water proof and it’s Scotland so it’s very much circumstantial) sweltering. Steam was pouring off the hillside and trails. The early smugness I felt for bringing a jacket quickly evaporated with some of the rain as I realised I had nowhere to store it. Bags are not for “enduroists” - or so I have heard.

With the weather somewhat mimicking the harsh climbs and steep descents in it’s erratic, changeable nature, I headed to stage five. As soon as I stopped on top of stage five, waiting for my turn. So did the weather. The roulette wheel that is the Scottish borders climate settled on rain. It was with great sadness that everyone heard about somebody, who later turned out to be Si Ward, had quite a serious fall and the air ambulance was on it’s way. Needless to say the stage was initially postponed. I think we all know that when a helicopter is called in it’s serious and racing definitely takes a back seat. Soon enough the stage was confirmed as cancelled. The concern for the injured rider quickly overtook the disappointment of not riding five again. That’s not to say the en mass, mega gravalanche style exodus from the top of five and the heaving rain wasn’t fun but I think I can speak for everyone when I wish Si a speedy recovery and hope to see him at a future event.

Upon getting back to the car, hosing my bike and subsequently myself down I was eager to get home. A mixture of jet lag and fatigue majorly contributing to my decision. Having clapped duly at the podium presentation I said my goodbyes and left. My mind already well and truly on Afan.

Film: Will Sanders// www.facebook.com/willsandersfilms?ref=br_rs
Photo's: Doc Ward//www.facebook.com/Docwphoto
Words: Henry Quinney