An exercise in learning to mountain bike reminds Hannah how much we take for granted.

WORDS & PHOTOGRAPHY HANNAH

For some, becoming a mountain biker is a gradual process. A sort of metamorphosis where you start with a bike and gradually end up as a mountain biker. For a variety of reasons, not everyone experiences this incremental development process. Perhaps they don’t learn to ride a bike as a child. Or they do, but stop riding as they get older.

I grew up with bikes, but only the merest hint of religious ritual in occasional staid church services – the Father Christmas fiction was maintained for many years, if that counts. I’m a divorced mother of two with an enthusiasm for nudist beaches and beer. My youngest child recently described me as being ‘a bit wild’.

So as I joined a gathering of Muslim women in Grizedale Forest for an ‘introduction to mountain biking’ weekend, I wondered just how different our worlds might be. Although I hoped my enthusiasm for mountain biking might rub off on them, I worried that my frame of reference, life experience and attitudes might be too different, my presence intrusive, or worst of all, offensive.

They had come from all over the UK to see whether a couple of days in the Lake District would be enough time to find out what it is that has mountain bikers whooping and hollering their way through the woods. It felt like an honour and a responsibility to be allowed to join them, and I hoped I could add to their experience in a positive way.

Making plans, sharing the excitement.

Up with the larks

The weekend was a collaboration between Aneela McKenna, mountain bike guide and founder of Mòr Diversity; Charlotte Inman and Rachael Walker, mountain bike guides for Sisters in the Wild; and Amira Patel, founder of The Wanderlust Women. Word of the event had spread through a variety of networks, bringing together a collection of women who shared the goal of trying something new, but whose experiences in the outdoors, and on bikes, varied considerably.

Some had bravely travelled alone, while some had come with friends. A trio of mums, Nosheen and Naida had come under the (ring)leadership of chief mischief-maker Noreen. Others like Madiha and Hamera came as a pair, with each other for support. Some had been to the Lake District before, but for others it was a first trip.

As we made our way from Windermere station to a bunkhouse outside Coniston, the Lake District was certainly putting on a show: a warm evening, the glow of the sun on the fells, and spectacular waterfalls tumbling down the hillsides. I was just as enthralled as those seeing it with fresh eyes.