Mountain. Bike. The two terms hadn't previously been on even a casual acquaintance footing in my vocabulary, so coupling them and going on a weekend's course as a complete novice was always going to be a challenge.
I hadn't even been on two wheels for around 10 years, but I figured it was just like riding a bike. Little did I know that I would sustain a chipped tooth just two hours into my initiation, though given it was caused by eating a crusty bread roll, I wouldn't even be able to claim thwarted bravery.
My rite of mountain biking passage took place in the Quantock hills, 10 miles north of Taunton in Somerset. The brochure's promise of "relaxed riding and socialising" was persuasive enough for me to commandeer the company of a fellow beginner and, as Annabelle and I rolled up to the secluded Crowcombe Heathfield youth hostel, our home for the weekend, we were looking forward to a gentle introduction.
The dorm-style accommodation promoted an immediately friendly atmosphere, and we soon got to know our fellow riders and course guides, who drank reassuring amounts of lager as they told us what to expect. They diplomatically stifled their surprise at neither of us having ridden a mountain bike before, though after a few beers, various unrealistic-sounding mile distances were being bandied about. Thirty-five. Twenty-eight. Four.
Dave Goodey has been the professional - and amiably mischievous -driving force behind the Rough Tracks biking tours for the past 12 years, and has honed an operation that he assured us promotes fun and a sense of personal achievement. We retired to our bunks with a renewed sense of optimism about our chances of survival.
After breakfast the next morning, we were given our hire bikes. The other riders all had their own, and were a friendly mix of ages, though worryingly united in their appearance as well-practised enthusiasts. Annabelle and I were the only ones needing to have the gears explained to us, for instance, but after an incident-free practice around the grounds, we were ready to join the group.
Unfortunately, our brimming enthusiasm was dented by the initial ascent, which took place up Quarry Hill, a vertiginous slog that even the guides regarded with thinly veiled contempt. We were told that we "shouldn't be ashamed to walk it", to us as unnecessary an instruction as you'd give to someone at the bottom of 25 flights of stairs on a unicycle. The group eventually - some more eventually than others - assembled at the top, where the guides took us through some basic riding techniques. We practised weight transference over a couple of benign bumps and were lulled back into a sense of security as we meandered through some lush woodland to our first descent.
Suspiciously, it had a name - the Chimney. The guides described it as "a bit technical", for which read: "involves recklessly tearing down a rock-strewn gully". We'd been told to gently "feather" our brakes to temper our speed, but I was employing more of a 15-tog duvet to mine in a desperate attempt not to spill over the handlebars. Somehow I made it down unscathed, though a chimney hasn't been descended that ungracefully since Santa drank too much sherry and lost his footing on some loose roof tiles.
At the bottom, the pack broke out their high-protein energy bars and traded biking banter. Annabelle and I shakily opened our Homer Simpson chocolate biscuits and acclimatised to the adrenalin levels.
The rest of the day, though gruelling for unfit bodies, was slightly more beginner-friendly. We rode up and down the combes with a bit more of a chance to appreciate the surroundings. The immediate beauty of the Quantocks is the diversity of the landscape for such a relatively compact area. The type of rolling countryside that Britain does best is complemented by shady forest that snaps under your tyres as you whiz through, and low-lying scrub as a foreground to views that almost take your mind off the exertion.
The lesson that you quickly learn about mountain biking is that descents cost, and hills are where you start paying. In sweat. There's no ski-lift arrangement to get up to 900ft, and it's on these climbs that every excuse you've ever made not to go running or to the gym comes back to haunt you. The guides were skilled in euphemistic descriptions, so "a quick tootle up along the ridge" always meant another mile or two of thigh-punishing incline, though luckily the group was a model of patience and encouragement.
Towards the end of the first day, it felt like a cruel rural version of an Escher painting, with even the descents feeling like uphills. As the advanced group headed off to take on another couple of combes, the rest of us thankfully freewheeled down to the local scone emporium for cake and a pot of tea. Back at the hostel, Dave and his staff whipped up a hearty meal, and Annabelle and I, having done over 20 miles that day, were almost too tired to stay up for more lager.
If day one was difficult, day two was a different proposition altogether. For starters, you've got all the aches and pains pre-installed, including in my own case the twin beacons of searing agony where my buttocks used to be. Quarry Hill wasn't going to climb itself, though, and I had a mind to hit the Chimney like Fred Dibnah with a personal vendetta.
E ven after a day, we had increased levels of resilience, and the bikes seemed to respond a bit more forgivingly. This time as I hit the rocky downhill gully, I tried another piece of advice: I'd been told not to look directly at any obstacles because you then have a tendency to ride into them. This is a surprisingly easy feat with your eyes shut, though, predictably, I found myself halfway down the Chimney without much in the way of bicycle beneath me. Now my bruises had bruises.
We pushed on for the rest of the morning, and felt like one of the mountain-biking gang by the time we dismounted for a welcome pub lunch, no longer defensive about our lack of stamina or inappropriate choice of energy snacks. Some of the group headed out for a last chance to defeat some stubborn undulations, but by then we'd got wise to what that meant in reality, and we enjoyed a very literal tootle along the gorgeous country lanes to the hostel.
Our fellow riders, some experienced newcomers to Rough Tracks, some satisfied regulars, commended us on our perseverance and the way we handled the more terrifying, sorry, "technical", aspects of the course. Quarry Hill and the Chimney are not ideal starting points, but it was good to come out the other side having been thrown in at the steep end.
The sense of achievement is what makes weekends like this worthwhile, and for beginners they reassuringly eliminate wasted time getting lost, repairing punctures and sitting around for hours looking at the scenery and eating ice-cream. The surroundings are another obvious benefit of off-roading - although your calf muscles might be protesting, at least you're riding through a 20-mile-long picture postcard.
Mountain bikes are the ideal vehicles for the route of course, as opposed to, say, your old three-speed racer. They are efficient on most terrains, easily take just about anything that you throw at them, and just seem to roll over any obstacles - rocks, tree roots, small labradors.
Aching in a good way, we cadged a lift back to Taunton station. It had been an exhilarating trip, but there were definitely certain tender parts of me that were extremely thankful that cars don't have saddles.
Way to go
Getting there: First Great Western (08457 000125, firstgreatwestern.co.uk) runs Paddington-Taunton. Rough Tracks (07000 560749, roughtracks.com) offers mountain biking and maintenance weekends in the Quantocks and all across the UK; weekends from £95pp, with weekend bike hire from £55. It also runs European tours, including France, Spain and Portugal.
Other courses : Discover Adventure (01722 718444, discoveradventure.com) runs group tours and charity rides across the world. It has beginners' weekends in the UK in association with Rough Tracks in preparation for their road tours. Saddle Skedaddle (0191-265 1110, skedaddle.co.uk) has easy-going beginners and maintenance weekends in Derbyshire (£135) and the Cotswolds (£185). Penshurst Off Road Cycling (01892 870136, porc-online.co.uk) offers tailor-made tuition packages at a rate of £18 per hour (for up to six peo ple) and bike hire at £8 per half day (for local accommodation details, call 0906 2941191, kenttourism.co.uk). The Chain Gang (01392 662262, thechaingang.co.uk) offers tours in the Dordogne, the Loire Valley, Provence, Burgundy and the Bordeaux Winetrail. Lets Offroad (020-8402 6652, letsoff roaduk.com) has UK-based tours, including the Quantocks, North Downs and the best purpose-built centre in the UK, Coed-y-Brenin in Wales. Accommodation is in quality B&Bs, and they run all-women weekends. Beginners are well catered for.
