I have no idea who first suggested the idea of a cyclocross night race, but when my girlfriend said that she was entering it I thought I had better do the same. Anna had been in the pub with a group of friends known as “Rollapaluza” when the idea  (Probably inspired by a few pints) was conceived. The race was to be held on Saturday 31^st October- Halloween- at Herne Hill Velodrome, and was cleverly given the name “Muddy Hell!”

Rollapaluza are a company responsible for reviving the roller-racing scene. Each month they run a number of roller racing events in and around London in pubs and clubs. Their events are renowned for their electric atmosphere, generous prizes and most of all- extremely fast competitive racing.

Rollapaluza had been looking for a new and exiting event and with the help of a few members of the Velo Club de Londres, they began to put together plans for the event.

Now although I absolutely love cyclocross, I must admit that my bike handling skills are not too hot, so riding around Herne hill’s cyclocross track (which is quite tricky) at night is probably not one of my better ideas. And imagine my distress when I found out who was in charge of the layout of the course- Philip Glowinski. Philip is Geraldine’s son (who used to do the evening 10’s) and my girlfriend Anna’s brother. Philip’s cycling philosophy is- the muddier, rockier, faster, higher and just plain harder, the better!

In the weeks leading up to the event my mouth would run dry when I heard Philip was to be given a healthy budget for his task. I came out in a cold sweat when I heard he was to be in charge of a tractor and a digger! I would occasionally suggest that a nice easy “flat bit” would be a good idea, although he didn’t seem to agree.

Anyhow, I was signed up to race and before I knew it, race day had arrived. I arrived at the track early to help Anna set up a stall, but more importantly, to get a look at the track in daylight. As I pushed my bike to the edge of the velodrome, the scale of the event really hit me. In the velodrome infield a number of marquees were set up and towering over them all were several floodlights.

I decided to check out the area of the track behind the velodrome first. I set off looking for the tell tale signs of Philip’s handy work. It all seemed to be normal until I reached a right-handed berm (a high cambered hairpin bend). But to my surprise I nailed it first time leaving me feeling quite confident. But that was only to last a few more metres.

As I re entered the velodrome infield the track led into the beer tent. Yes, beer tent! And in the middle of the beer tent was a 40cm high plank of wood. There were already crowds gathering, heckling any rider who clipped the planks as they ran over.

After that there were two more sets of planks to jump followed by a series of “whoops” (a series of 7 bumps about 1ft high). This was more tricky, but with plenty of welly and a bit of luck I got through them. After that lap I did a few more before returning to my car for a drink and a “sit down” and pondered how much tougher it would be at race speed in the dark, with 60 other riders.

My race was the “Senior” and was last of all. Throughout the night there were a number of races. Wilf Sinclair managed a very impressive 3^rd in the junior race.

The atmosphere built and built and as more beer was drunk and the floodlights powered up, there was a massive buzz about the place. My parents, brother and a few friends even came down to lend support.

9:00pm- Race time! Probably the craziest race start I’ve ever been at. Among the silhouettes of other riders were racers dressed as witches and zombies, and even the rock band KISS. There were also a number of semi pro riders including 2 guys from Belgium.

I reaped the benefit of knowing the track designer and got a grid slot on the second row of the start line. This was it- my mouth ran dry and my heart started to pound. “Thirty seconds” said the race commissar. Then the whistle went and all hell broke loose.

I got a reasonable start and tried to find the wheel of some regular rivals. After a quick lap of the velodrome in field, we cycled out into the darkness of the single-track section.

It was total madness, bikes and riders flying everywhere, all you could see was the backside of the rider in front of you.

As we entered the beer tent for the first time, the roar of the crowd was deafening (it was about 1000 strong) and the flashing lights from the cameras made you feel like a Hollywood star.

At the end of the first lap I could hear my brother shouting “push on! You’re doing well”. I felt good and was in a good position, and was surprised when I found I was actually being held up on the technical sections. I quickly pushed my way through and forced a gap.

Next lap- Brother: “Nice one nipper- keep it steady!” I nodded at him, and then about 100 meters later crashed. The riders I had passed quickly flew back past, and I had to begin the task of clawing them back in. I managed to catch them again on the technical section, and forced my way through. Again I created a gap and as I passed my brother again, gave him another nod as things seemed back on track. Then CLUNK…………… My rear wheel jammed locked. I jumped off my bike and frantically set about fixing the problem. The problem was that in the dark I couldn’t see the problem.

As riders streamed past I panicked, and after about 30 seconds I’d had enough and threw my bike to the ground! Then I heard my brother “Don’t throw it you muppet- pick it up and fix it”. Like an embarrassed schoolboy I picked it up and with the help of a marshal, found that the quick release had opened up. I stuck the wheel back in and off I went.

After that I threw caution to the wind, I pushed the pedals as hard as I could and took a few risks, I decided that if I crash again, it wouldn’t make that much difference.

Head down, bum up, I found a good rhythm and started to work my way up the field, until the penultimate lap I spotted the rider I had been in front of when I had my tantrum. I chased as hard as I could, trying to bridge the gap, but by the finish line he still 10 meters on me. “Oh well, damage limitation, youth” were my brothers words of wisdom. I managed 12^th and even with all the drama had a great time, the Belgium spectators jumping the fence on the last lap and throwing beer on me was a highlight. And the following Thursday I was famous! Inside the cover Cycling weekly was a picture of a “green ghoul” and behind him a very small blurred shape of a Redmon jersey!

This really was an amazing event- and the good news is it’s happening again next year!