Mick Extance Experience Review - 26 Jan 2025

[Fiddlesticks]

https://mickextanceexperience.com/ultimate-off-road-day/

 

Never being one to turn down an opportunity, I recently took the last spot on a Mick Extance experience day with eleven other headcases from the biker gang* to which I had recently been inducted.

“Off-roading?”

“January?”

“Wales?”

“Ah, go on then, you only live once.”

It probably didn’t help that Friday night was a five-course Chinese New Year banquet, Saturday was a day on the bike, culminating in a plate of chips which may or may not have been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Sunday morning then.  Up at six for an hour and a half drive down to Oswestry after an eventful night praying to the porcelain gods.

So here we were, in a converted schoolhouse full of enduro bikes, Pan Americas and Stark Vargs with knobbly tyres watching the obligatory safety video.  It was to be a day of wheel spinning, muck spraying, high-octane tomfoolery and anti-social behaviour thinly disguised as self-improvement.  Cover the clutch, see.  Most important.

A list pinned to the wall had my name against a number.  The same number in the changing room had all the gear I would need for the day in my size.  For a moment, I forgot about the questionnaire I’d filled out a few weeks prior.  And the waiver.  I don’t remember the exact wording, but it was along the lines of “Don’t come running to us if you break both your legs riding one of our bikes”.  Fair enough?  I guess so.

We were bundled into a muddy minibus and driven up a hill to base camp where the bikes were waiting.  After a bit of a demo and in-person safety briefing (“cover the clutch, very important…”), we got to choose our steed for the morning session.  Being a bit of a traditionalist, I went with the Beta 350.  My first time on an Enduro bike.  Mirrors?  Speedo?  Gear position indicator?  Rev counter?  Indicators? Neutral light?  Not required.  From here on in, there would be only fire roads, mud and rock trails and gnarly obstacles to overcome.  Such fripperies held no place in this world.

There was ice on the ground in patches, but after the first half hour, we were all burning enough calories that we didn’t notice the cold.  Riding these trails is physically demanding.  I took to standing on the pegs, hands over the bars, not being too rigid with the steering input, allowing the bike to find its way between the rocks, ruts and roots.  The knobblies proved themselves time and again and confidence grew with each sketchy bounce and swerve.

Suddenly, I hit a big rock and was thrown backwards on the bike.  My throttle hand gave an involuntary twist, and the bike lurched dangerously forward, creating an unwelcome feedback loop which could only be rectified by…

“COVER.  YOUR.  CLUTCH”

Some people learn by reading.  Some by listening.  The rest of us need to make the dumb mistake at least once before we get it through our thick heads.  At least the waiver didn’t come into play.

From then on, it all seemed to click.  Speed was more a function of slipping the clutch in second gear than any real use of the throttle. Steep obstacles were best approached in second rather than first, as first would just run out too quickly.  Momentum was your friend.  If you judged it right, you’d get to the top of the hill with not too much speed to spare and cut the power to the rear wheel to prevent accidentally launching yourself into the trees beyond.

Braking was another area which differed from road riding.  On the road, you would normally rely primarily on the front brake, with perhaps only 10 or 20 percent rear to add a bit of balance and stability.  Out here, on loose, slippy ground, the rear brake was your friend.  This took some mastering, particularly as much of the time we were riding stood up for the sake of better balance.

This was an area where the Stark electric bikes held an advantage.  Not being encumbered by such an outmoded contraption as a clutch allowed both brakes to be operated by hand.  Combined with the instant torque and responsiveness of the Varg’s 80-horsepower motor and long battery life, it made a good case for itself in this kind of setting.

Was it lunchtime already?  Back to the hut for a brew and a sandwich.

Given the weather, our instructors had opted to stay on one side of the valley for the day, but the whole venue spans 1500 acres of private forestry.  Evidence of recent storms in the form of landslips and uprooted trees dotted the landscape.  After a half-time debrief, and a bit of fettling and trail repairs on a few of the bikes, we headed back to some of the more challenging trails.  Steep descents gave way to puddles a hundred yards long and as deep as your rear tyre.  We bounced down staircases of slippery rocks two feet high into deep muddy ruts, too narrow for the bike and both feet to fit.  Through forest trails, sketched precariously into the side of the remote mountain.

And then… the big one.

We all lined up at the bottom of a climb so ridiculous, so outrageous in its sheer impossibility.  In the middle of this steep quagmire of doom, there was a step up at least as high as the top of the bike’s front wheel.

“There are two ways up,” said Pete, our instructor.  “Easy or hard?”

Surely a trick question?  After everything we’d gone through, everything we’d learned, how could we walk away without giving it a try?

“There is no TRY, only DO,” said Pete, like a very tall Yoda.  “You have to attack this one.  Don’t dip the clutch.  Give it everything.”

One by one, we bounced up to the formidable obstacle, only for it to throw us sideways or back down the hill.  Eventually, though, everyone made it up to the group at the top.  I made it on the second attempt, falling to the left immediately above it.  My first spill of the day, but I’d bested the Giant, and I was happy.

So that was us.  A group for whom the word bedraggled was surely invented. We had conquered the vast wastes of the backyard of Dakar Legend Mick Extance and come away victorious.  Older, wiser, and certainly wetter than we had arrived, but victorious nonetheless.  I hear there are plans afoot to return and some talk of learning to powerslide a Harley Davidson.  For now, though, I shall simply enjoy the comfort of my Tiger Explorer and never again complain about wet roads, potholes or the odd spot of gravel.

 

*Wirral Advanced Motorcyclists.  Kind of like the Hells Angels but with a more hardcore criminal ethos.

 

Pictures taken by members of the group.

 

Edited January 28 by Fiddlesticks

[Simon Davey]

Absolutely brilliant. Mentally, I rode every part of your excellent descriptive post, but physically, I wouldn't even think about it. 

Thanks for sharing. 

[RAYK47]

that looks great, i would love to do something like this some day (i have zero off road skills)

[Fiddlesticks]

6 minutes ago, RAYK47 said:

that looks great, i would love to do something like this some day (i have zero off road skills)

It was my first time, you'd be amazed how quick you pick it up.

 

You can even go as a complete non-rider and they start you off in a field, before moving you on to the rough stuff.

[bonio]

Great write up mate. Ta.

You've just helped me decide. There's place nearby in Norfolk that does a thing like this, but Norfolk isn't known for its hills... I think I'm going to head for Wales if I can.