KinesisUK Hell Of The West 2012 - Report

Somehow, for Hell of the West, the Spike gang have managed to put together a route that is equally horrific on a crosser or a mountain bike. While the mountain bikers were smashing it up the WidowMaker and jumping the South Hessary drainage ditches, they grovelled like girls on the climb out of Widdecombe, waving bye-bye to the 'crossers flying past. 

The plan was this - it's not a race, let's do it as a group ride. We'll stick together, sing a few choruses of 'We are the world', group hug halfway round and conga to the finish. But as they say, no plan survives first contact, and as soon as the hooter went our merry bunch trampled over each other in our bid for stardom. Personally, I sat at the back and had a good chance to look at the various kinds of bike people had chosen for the day and I think I saw everything apart from a balance bike, which coincidentally was the only thing I was capable of riding at the finish. It also appeared to be some folk's opportunity to reel out some Frankenstein bikes - cross bikes with wide risers, s-works MTBs with cross wheels and tyres. It was the cycling equivalent of getting dressed in the dark. 

If they had a man with a flag walking in front of them, some folk would still get lost. As befits someone as sartorially elegant as Toze; HOTW was well marked with blue on green arrows and the traditional bits of tape hung in trees - textbook stuff. 

In the years to come we will erect some additional cairns around the moor to indicate places where different riders imploded. The warning sign of Dexter's impending doom was when he asked me how far we had done. No sooner had the words "27 miles" left my lips before all the bounce went from his bungee and he moonwalked out of sight. Ben discovered that gravity had doubled on the climb up the WidowMaker, but Big G surpassed them all by needing to stop for a snack…on a downhill…2 miles from the finish. 

With energy gel running down my leg, it was always going to be Man v Food when we got to the Accelerade food stop. Sometimes, my policy of never eating anything bigger than my head can be over-ruled and Rory's photographic evidence of my muffin-stuffing is a source of huge amusement. Nice spread, as the teacher said to his pupil.  

There's a knack to moorland riding, and trail centre heroes need not apply. True moorland riding kung fu involves the ability to differentiate between an inch deep puddle and a pond, knowing when the shiggy will swallow not only front wheel but also your handlebars, and the ability to have stone face while inwardly weeping. Leave your momentum at the door when you get on the moor- it's just hurt locker all the way. But at Hell of the West, it's the variety that just nails it. You're not on any one type of terrain for long enough to get irritated - at least not too irritated. I have to confess to a minor monk-on on the final road section, but the 46 mph maximum speed down past Hay Tor swiftly top trumped that. 

What is going to be really interesting is next year's event. Now that we've seen the full loop, and know where particular bikes excel, how will tactics change? Will I change to a crosser? Will I just try to smash it on the early rough sections on my MTB to gap the skinsuited? As long as Hell of the West happens in 2013, I'm happy. Can't fault it, haven't stopped  talking about it, 57 miles in length and 6500 feet of climbing, job well done. 

Words: Jay Horton

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