Comfort zone

It is a big brave move for me to go somewhere new to me without company and get out on the mountain bike.  All manner of things go through my head.  First thing is will I actually find the place; I am not renowned for my car navigation skills.  Second concern normally relates to things like toilets, car parking, followed by a dose of worry about the weather.  Third concern is how to bail out - if I don't know the area, I don't have a map (ordnance survey maps don't really cover trail centre forest tracks particularly well); if I have a mechanical I can't resolve at the side of the trail will I be able to get myself on foot back to the start.  Fourth concern relates to falling off; will the centre be busy enough that if I whack my head or break my collar bone someone will come along soon to help me out, and if not will there be phone reception.  My brain loves to find fear where others might discover excitement.

So despite all the above limiting factors on my teeny rodent brain filled with confusion and fear of the big scary world, I found myself working out the drive to get to Coed y Brenin trail centre.  Turned out it was just two roads but 50 minutes drive from where I was staying.  Simples.  A5, A470, what's to go wrong.  And indeed nothing did go wrong.  Car parking was spacious, pay and display not bad, and the toilets were a thing you can only dream of, incorporating also showers, a cafe, a visitor centre with trail maps and a bike shop.  Signage was huge and bold, and options clear.  I picked my route, and I set off.

Not a day to fall off I felt, given that I was alone in the big dark woods.  The first singletrack section therefore presented me with problems, rocky technical climbing is not my forte, and indeed I have been known to topple over on such terrain before.  I soon found I had become the mistress of the foot dab, and made my way up the winding hill, and then along the swooping descent.  Bike seemed to be sluggish and handling slighty sloppy, and on arrival at the wide forest road post descent it became clear what had happened.  Puncture.  Rear tyre.

So this was interesting.  Bike upside down on the grass verge, tyre levers, new inner tube and pump all out of the bag, and I set to work.  Quick release and disc brakes are a little piece of heaven in these circumstances.  Twist, release, lift and out comes the wheel.  A couple of lads rode past, and nodded at me.  I smiled and got on with the job.  Another group of lads passed, not even eye contact.  It's kind of refreshing to find this mainly male environment is not sexist, boy bikers don't feel they need to stop to help a perfectly competent and well equipped woman to deal with something as straight forward as a puncture.  Job soon done, and my self confidence soaring as I have managed to cope with the most common problem alone.  Suddenly I know I can do this, I can go out alone to unknown terrain and I will survive.