Last night’s mid week night ride took us over toward Ranmore and the White Downs at a furious pace.

We were joined by some of Jem’s friends and Nicola which brought the group to eight riders. It quickly became apparant that fitness levels covered a broad spectrum, with most of Jem’s mates in the top half of the group. I managed to hang on to them (just) and at dusk found myself hooning down the descent off the White Downs toward Westcott at high speed.

Given that I was the only rider on a hardtail and limited by my knackered forks giving only a couple of inches of travel I was quite surprised at how the Inbred handled. The more I committed, the smoother the ride got, so much so that near the bottom of the descent I swear I heard my bike meow!

I don’t think it was the laughing demon on my shoulder whispering unseemly thoughts into my ear. And I don’t think it was the vibration from the rock hard trails that were leaving the bike and me definitely shaken and stirred. I don’t think it was the clouds of chalk dust left by the riders in front either and it’s definitely not any sign of improving MTB skills.

No, my bike definitely meowed! Groovy!