17.93 seconds. Hell Yeah! 
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Is there another exercise that is as much fun as railing a berm at 6.30am. Trying to beat the clock riding a little bike. Being 57 years old and feeling like a teenager is now a thing you know, or as some might say ‘Don’t let the old man in’, and I’m determined not to, nor should you. 
 
Every-time I visit my family just outside Brighton, I have to visit the Velosolutions Pump Track just next to Hove Lagoon. It’s phenomenal, exceptionally great fun and that’s because it works, meaning that in my limited experience of the number of pump tracks I’ve actually ridden, some work and others do not, they don’t flow and its hard to get the continuous rhythm for an entire lap.  But let me tell you, Brighton and Hove Pump Track works.  I was hoping to visit Brighton for the round of the National series being held there but sadly the timing meant I would miss this. However, a bonus of the event being held there is that they installed a timing strip, and with a simple downloadable App on the Velosolutions website, you can pitch yourself against previous riders and their times. 

What I didn’t realise, being a technical kook, until I’d stopped the timer, is the App analyses your time and slots you into you position on the rankings board and that’s the whole purpose when the vents are running. Anyway, after that enlightened moment of being a total numpty,  the game was on to beat the clock. 

Adding myself into the Over 40’s category, my initial goal was just to get a benchmark time and then, as long as my legs held out, keep attacking my own time. 

Pump tracks make me feel physically sick, actually I think the correct term is nauseous. It feels like each lap is a high intensity, full on lung busting, leg burning workout. If you’ve competed at BMX racing, that will serve you very well in terms of skills, but unlike racing there is no pedalling; just pumping, technique, line choice and doing all you can to avoid dabbing the brakes. 

My first official time put me in fifth with around 18.5 seconds. Looking at my username ‘ChunkyBrother’ there on the screen sitting in fifth; I was officially stoked. I rested, I recovered, and went again. A better time, I moved to fourth. I rested and went again, and again, but annoyingly I forgot to start the timer on the next two laps and as I leant over my bars feeling light headed, I knew one of those laps just felt really fast. I hit my lines, I pulled some clean manuals, and certainly carried my speed out of the berms. I knew that on the rankings, the leaders top time of 18.02 was a real stretch, so I settled in and aimed for third place which as I recall was around the 18.25 second mark. 

My next lap, I made sure my legs were warmed up with half a lap, gathered myself, started the timer and rolled in, getting my speed up meaning I would cross the timing line as fast as this 57 year old bloke could. The lap just felt like a lot of fun. I railed every berm, no braking, I carried speed and used every opportunity to pump some more speed out of my bike, I went high when needed, and held all of my focus on the track ahead. I came back to the resting spot, lent over my bars again, feeling ever so slightly like I wanted to pass out, and stop the timer, waiting for the analysis. 

Boom 17.99 seconds. I’d gone sub 18 seconds and gone straight into first place. Hell Yeah, I was stoked with that. I was also 21st overall for anyone thats timed themselves on that track. 
The problem with putting that time in was my own competitiveness. In my life I would not really call myself competitive. Once upon a time Clay Shooting, yes maybe, but that’s more about beating your own scores to get better, I’d never win if I looked at the scores already in. At BMX racing in my forties, I found a competitive streak that I relished. I think you had to be because everyone else was, but then I broke my foot and that competitive streak was replaced very quickly  with the fear of consequences, mainly my wife! Now I can hear my mind, the ‘fight not flight’ mode telling me to ‘fight’ and go for the overall top twenty and a better time. I needed to beat my 17.99 seconds, to push that distance a little further away from second place. But to reach the top twenty I would need a time of 17.85 seconds. 

I went home that day, determined to return the next day and beat that time. But the weather changed, and for a day or two and the wind meant there was absolutely no way I was getting a good time. I waited patiently, even did a little visualisation, and two days later I was ready to roll at 6.30am.  I’d met a lovely chap called Dan a couple of days earlier. He was a 50+ BMX racer, riding a space like race machine made by Mongoose, and a far cry from the eighties version I was accustomed too. Each morning we exchanged laps and chats while recovering, and on this particular day I could not get below 18 seconds, and I was getting tired. I decided that one more shot was all I had in the tank. I took a few breaths, gave myself some words of encouragement and ripped around on my final lap. 

In surfing, towards the end of a session you never say ‘one more’, as that often puts a jinx on the session and the waves go flat resulting in the paddle of shame back to the beach. What we say ‘I’m going in on the next good one’ and that takes the pressure off.  On this occasion, one more lap was all I had. I ripped around the tarmac, blowing like an old steam train and on my return, Dan said that it looked fast. I wasn’t so sure but I hit the timer, the analysis began, and BOOM! 

I’d beaten my own time with 17.93 seconds and that made me so stoked. I’d not moved up in the overalls but that’s OK. That’s target is for another day. What meant more to me was my own personal improvement over the whole week. As per every visit, the shared energy at pump tracks is top drawer. To avoid the scooters, go early. As my friend calls them ‘the in the way kids’. Not all of them but the real young ones, who’s Mums sit on the side lines, transfixed on their phones oblivious to the carnage they cause; its the same for skate parks. Go early, join the other old farts trying to stay young and you’ll get as many unhindered laps as you can handle. 

There is definitely a South West road trip on the cards, and my bike, a DMR Sect Pro has given me a week of endless fun, many days of tired legs, nausea, and burning lungs; and that’s exactly why I love pump tracks. Here’s to the next lap. 

My latest bit of paint on plywood is called ‘Noise’. I’d written the words before I’d even thought of throwing some paint on a piece of plywood,  and I hope the words offer an insight and some context. A moment at work led me to coming home and writing down how I felt.

I believe we all have some element of mental health, but how it affects us, and how we manage it will take various paths.  When I worked with Veterans scarily now over a decade ago, our charity set up an art workshop and studio space for veterans to work. Their paintings, sculptures and images were an outpouring of  their emotions. There was anger for sure, feelings of loss and dark memories that had to be shared, and I’m so grateful to have witnessed them work, and also share that time with them. On that note  shout out to Steve Woods and Mike Warne who, behind their trauma, are truly amazing humans with some serious creative skills.

Creativity is so powerful, and a means to gain some respite, or regain strength and focus.  It’s also really good fun and the process of creating whatever is pretty damn rewarding and better than the final piece itself. To be honest I’ll probably end up with a pile of plywood behind the shed with some random painting on them, but the enjoyment in acquiring that pile of wood will be an expression of experience after another. 

Sometimes noise is my enemy. Maybe I’m sensitive to the chatter or the unnecessary loud conversation on the next table in a cafe. The bloke on skype in the pub, the lady telling her mate what she’s been up to, about 100 decibels louder that she needs to when the person is right there next to her. The radios on a building site, 20 feet from each other but on different channels, that confusion of music, that will drive me mental.  Add the noise of tools, banging, cutting, or shouting; I’m done.   So these words below, well, have a read, and as for the painting, well that just came out in scribbles, lines, words and a bit of splatter!!

‘Noise’ 

Hands against the wall
Flat palms resting
My back feeling  the cold plaster
Gazing down at the floor
A daze of sorts
The noise again, the noise offends
Please just stop, turn of the music
Turn down the chatter
The verbal chaos
Enough is enough
I stand there, quietly taking time out
Moments to adjust, to recalibrate
Then I’m back in the present
Nothing has changed
The noise continues
Frozen like Ice, waiting for the fog to clear. 


Footnote: If you do suffer from any mental health, please talk to someone. Organisations like Mind, and for us men here on Cornwall there is Man Down. As they say. It’s good to talk. 


Art Piece is Acrylic and Pencil on plywood.