Stanmer Stumps

It was one of those rare days, the sun was out, it was a weekend and I got a last minute pass to ride my bike.  Usually in the circumstances I look at the bikes available to me and find enough good reasons not to ride, eg that one has a puncture, the brakes are a bit grabby on that or the bike has the wrong tyres, but not today, I grabbed the nearest bike and headed out on to the Downs.

First time in shorts and short sleeves for as long as I can remember and it felt good, I had chosen my Focus mountain bike, ever since the bike tried to fail my South Downs Way attempt we have had something of a stormy relationship.  I don’t think I have ever had a ride without a crash a broken chain or cramps from the feeling the bike doesn’t fit right.  But not today, the bike felt good, it seemed to fit, there were no gear problems, the birds were singing and we were floating along almost in unison.

I didn’t have a route choice in mind, I just followed my nose and (perhaps unsurprisingly) ended up in Stanmer Park. 

The trails had wintered well and with the recent weather were dry and dusty, giving back just enough grip to let the bike lead the way through the trees and the tight and twisty singletrack.

I’d been riding the trails for an hour or so and was heading onto the penultimate section before heading for home, I’d nailed that steep climb I rarely mange (which Gibbo can ride in all conditions) and was settled into the flow of the trail.  The bike felt like it was steering itself, carving its own route and my mind started to wander, as it often does, onto something other than what I should have been thinking about when, suddenly, it hit me, or rather I hit ‘it’! 

I wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was, all I knew was I was lying face first, more or less in the centre of the trail with a bike nestling neatly on top of me.  A few checks to confirm nothing was obviously broken (me not the bike) and thoughts turn to, what did I hit? 

Whilst lying on the floor, still with the bike on top of me I could see one of the many Stanmer Stumps that reside just millimetres from the side of the trail looking looking particularly pleased with itself.  Stanmer stumps are tree stumps, small enough to hide in the undergrowth, but big (and sturdy enough) to make their presence felt when drifting just beyond the edge of the trails.

I unclipped my feet from the pedals and tried to assess the rest of my injuries, a bruised thumb, a scuffed arm and dead leg seemed a small price to pay.

As is tradition, I tried to ride off the dead leg, it was fine in the saddle, but as soon as I tried to stand the leg couldn’t cope with the turning motion and I stopped dead, it was a surreal experience.

I was determined to make the most of the good weather and managed to ride back home ‘the long way’ avoiding any steep climbs that might necessitate getting out the saddle just in time to get told off for being late home.