For the second time this year I found myself with a new bike to ride. This was also only the second time I'd bought a bike before riding it. Nearly nine years ago I'd dipped my foot in the suspension pool, now I was giving up not only suspension, but disc brakes and gears.

Singlespeeding is clearly madness. My friends, even the mountain biking ones, said so.

Warming Up

So the bikes come down from the roof rack and I spend five minutes plodding round QECP car park with an allen key, fettling the Singleator device which turns this normal bike into an idiot machine. I notice that some bikers have started looking at the bike. One-nil to singlespeeding, and I haven't even put my lid on yet.

Off up the access trail, the bike feels great. Jump on, put your foot down, go. So simple. Lovely. Two-nil. As we go along the road and up the shallow gravel path it starts to get slightly uphill and I want to change down. It's not a problem though - just a bit more oomph required.

Humble Pie

Before I know it, though, I'm facing the little squirt of a climb at the back of the park. Short, but fairly steep and covered in roots, I've seen this slope get the better of many people with gears. In the dry. Today it's like rice pudding. I figure the only way to do it is with a run up, so I go in pedalling like an epileptic hamster. As I get onto the roots I'm down to no speed at all and having to stand on the pedals, to no avail. No chance of getting up this damn thing.

After spending months dissing the kids who ride up here on dual-style hardtails and end up pushing them up all the hills, I'm now having to do the same with what looks from a distance like an XC whippet bike. Make that a small portion of humble pie, please.

I'm walking and my back is instantly in pain - that's two goals in the singlespeeding net in quick succession. Two all.

Easy Bits

After busting my legs on the shallow climb up to the next orange marker, it's down the longest descent in the park, leading back to the car parks. Fortunately this is a run where I tend not to brake or pedal all that much, and the gear is about right for the pedally bits anyway. It's so quiet without the derailleur slapping the chain about that singlespeeding goes three-two up.

In fact I was a lot more bothered by not having discs, and I would have been bothered by the lack of suspension if it weren't for the fact that the snakebite pixies were unusually on my side for once.

Mincemeat

Back up the access road, it's time to climb the gravel trail up to the barbecue areas. This, I know from experience, is quite doable in about middle-third if you keep the momentum up, so it's quite possible with the 36/18 I've got. Still bloody hard though, and as I sit waiting for Richard at the top, I'm steaming like a fresh turd in winter (hmm, that analogy's a little too good for my liking).

So, I've got up the hill ridiculously quickly. But I've made mincemeat of my riding buddy (bad etiquette in my book) and I'm shagged. It's like singlespeeding was awarded a penalty but missed. Three-two it stays.

The High

The next section, after a slippy clay firetrack, is the rooty singletrack which contours the hill above the A3. The first half is always great and on the SS it's no different. Momentum is good for this trail, so the bike's at home here. The second half starts to climb though, and is hard work. Negotiating The Tree requires either a balls-out slide over a root, or a carefully-picked line and a bootful of power out. I go for the latter and realise I can't boot it out. Still, I get a rest by leaning casually against the tree.

Next up is a moderately technical climb which I love. Technical enough to be fun but it hasn't thrown me off for as long as I can remember. That's with a granny ring though.

The first bit is too steep. Frustration again. But determination gets a grip and I'm back on to stamp my way up the rest. I make it to about 10 yards from the top with a "woohoo!" of satisfaction - I didn't think I'd get that far!

Cleaning Up

After finishing off the orange loop and then doing most of it again, I'm spent. My outer quads feel like they're on fire and my back feels like it's been hung up on butchers' hooks. Time to go home and put the kettle on.

Getting the hose out, the singlespeed appeal is apparent again. No gunky, cruddy, fiddly mechs and rings to clean. A sprocket, a ring and a chain. Easy. Four-two.

The Afterglow

When I got home I mulled over the day. I was hurting like buggery. I'd failed to ride a couple of sections because I'd kitted up with a bike that was clearly the least suitable one I owned for the task which I'd just set it. But then that was half the point, wasn't it? Out of a bunch of people out there that afternoon I had proved beyond doubt that whatever I was, I was not in the running for 'sharpest tool in the box'. I was very blunt and rusty. Possibly so much so that it may have been tricky to even work out what kind of tool I was at all.

And so, in injury time, singlespeed took it five-two.

Epilogue

Before long my singlespeed had 23 more gears back on it. I just couldn't hack the sheer power needed to get the thing up the hills. But now I'm a bit fitter, I'm going to build one again. When the old Kilauea gets resprayed, it'll be singlespeed. I'm even buying a Chris King sprocket for it - commitment or what?