I am something of a lapsed devotee of mountain biking. The Boardman’s job was to tempt me back
Halfway down the rutted, slippery track on the deserted North Downs, pellets of mud bouncing off the tyres and into my face, I remembered why mountain biking in a British winter can be such fun: it’s the grown-up equivalent of leaping into puddles. Getting grubby is half the point.
I am something of a lapsed devotee. My own ageing mountain bike has lain idle in a garage for several years as I took to the more straightforward pleasures of road cycling. The Boardman’s job was to tempt me back.