Listen. That silence you hear is the sound of a slain dragon. That lovely gloating feeling you get when you settle an outstanding score.

The artist formerly known as Track & Trauma was today. It began at 5am with the usual force-feeding of porridge, then a 150-mile hike off to Wales. En route, I got a text from Martin - "Gorgeous weather!". When we crossed the Severn Bridge, the sky turned black, so I replied to Martin's text - "about this lovely weather ...".

We pitched up next to Martin and started getting ready. Queen Madge II cruised scrutineering and I placed it next to Martin at the start line. Martin tells me that he's expecting 12 laps today, and he couldn't decide which of us should be first and which should be second.

Since the race was starting late, we walked the track a little with the Wee Yin. It was absolute trauma. There was a really nasty zig-zag section between piles of old tyres, with ruts and bomb holes a foot deep. This would have been bad enough, but everything was just powder - it had not rained here in weeks. Martin commented on how this was excellent sand training - just like the real thing.

I then could have sworn I heard him say something about jumps. I double-checked, and followed where he was pointing. There, right after the start, was a motocross section with about half a dozen big jumps and a tabletop. I know absolutely nothing about jumping. Martin's advice was short and to-the-point - "don't land on your front wheel". So we're riding on brown talcum powder, with zero grip, and we've got more jumps than a box of frogs. At least it couldn't be worse.

Being an ORPA race, we have to do a sighting lap (which is an unscored and untimed lap). I was off like a bullet from the start, beating everybody to the first corner. We started over the jumps, and I made a complete mess of the first one - straight down on to the front wheel. The second one was better, and the third, but I was struggling to get grip - the bike was all over the place.

We went through the nasty zig-zags, Martin hot on my heels. The Missus shot it on video - I was sat down and paddling to keep the bike up, Martin was just coasting behind me on his pegs.

We set off across a field and then turned a tight left hander. Imagine a cliff covered in 12 inches of brown talcum powder. Now imagine that you are trying to ride a motorcycle down it. Scary. Very scary. All you could do was let go of both levers and hope that the engine braking would be enough to slow you down - it was like ski-ing as the wheels slid over the dust and powder and I careered down the hill. Sir Isaac Newton was in the driving seat - this was a fight between rubber and gravity - there was only going to be one winner.

Round a tight right-hander at the bottom, and we started off back up the hill. Same powder. Same steepness. Same zero-grip. But gravity was still winning. Myself and four other people slid right off at the steepest part of the hill. I christened this hill "MOAH" - "Mother Of All Hills". When Everest was a little boy, he wanted to grow up to be as steep and nasty as this hill. I recalled my own comment about Queen Madge II - "I have yet to find a hill she couldn't get me up" - and thought that I may have found one right here.

I walked the bike up a little, re-mounted, and got up the hill. A tight left-hander and it was back down again - same surface and lack of grip. Tight right-hander at the bottom and then - guess what - straight back up again. We zig-zagged our way up and down three times in total. It was knackering.

Through the trees, some seriously off-camber stuff with about a 50-foot drop to the right, and into a farmyard. I turned a corner and the course reached a dead-end - there was this huge haystack in front of me. I was about to turn the bike round when a two-stroke roared out of nowhere and climbed up and over the haystak - all fifteen feet of it. Somebody had a real giggle when they set this one up I thought, and roosted over the top of the haystack. The drop on the other side was quite, em, exciting.

More fields, a really nasty gully where we had to ride up a stream, and then into another Motocross section with more jumps, but bigger this time. Scary at first, I got those jumps nailed and was flying through the air by the end of the day. The Missus, shooting some of this on video, was heard to say a surprised "Wow!" as I leapt into the air. Queen Madge II was solid as a rock, and never missed a single landing.

I fell off at least a dozen times, and snapped a lever after about 10 minutes. I'll let you guess which lever it was, but the clue is that it's always the same one.

When riding into the gully, I heard a bike behind me so I pulled over to let the guy past. It was Martin. Do you think I could catch him? Not a hope.

That said, Fate was smiling on me. I came in at the end of my 3rd lap with 1 hour and 4 minutes to go. I came in at the end of my fourth lap with 35 minutes. This meant that I was doing approximately 30 minute laps of a 7-mile course, which is not too bad at all. This told me that I could get a fifth lap in just before the clock run out, and I'd still be on the course so I'd get a sixth lap in.

I figured that Martin was more than 5 minutes behind me (but catching up to lap me again) so he would come in the wrong side of the clock and not get another lap. As it turned out, I came through the gate with four minutes left, and Martin came in 1 minute after time was up. This gave me the lap back. The Missus saw that I had a couple of minutes to get through, and was jumping up and down like a frog on a pogo-stick. Nice sight it was too, made me smile.

Knackered, and my right knee killing me where I had dropped the bike on it and twisted it really badly, I set out for my sixth lap. I knew that I had to finish this lap, or it was DNF. The bike was holding up well - these AJPs are tough - and I owed it to her to do the same.

30 minutes later, and a completely shagged but very chuffed me made it through the chequered flag. Six laps. Same as Martin. OK, there was some timing chicanery involved (he was much much quicker than I was) but it's still a real six laps of a very very tough course. More importantly, it's almost 4 hours of non-stop riding. No pits. No stops. None. Except for when I fell, in which case there were lots. But every time I fell, I just got back on and kept going. That is what enduro is all about - just keep going. That is what Dakar is all about - you just have to keep going.

Martin told me afterwards that he only did six because he didn't want to upset and demoralise me , but he didn't count how many he did - he thought he had done 10 at one point. Given that he only lapped me once, and got caught by the clock, I don't see how it could be more than 6. The Missus concurs.

The Wee Yin looked like some urchin out of a Dickens novel when I finished the race. She had been playing with tyres and rocks, and she was absolutely filthy. I told her "where there's muck, there's luck" - nothing wrong with a muddy child at all. Especially one wearing a grin like that. She got helmeted up, and went for a wee ride on the bike around the field, squealing away as she does. It's the highlight of her day, and mine to be honest.

So I am particularly pleased with myself. Not only did I ride without stopping for four hours, I also put in a very respectable 6 laps (not including the sighting lap). This on top of a 300-mile round-trip drive. Put another way, that's 2 x liason stages and a special stage inbetween. On powder. Very similar to a Europe-Africa race that happens every year. Hmm.

So I have nothing on the radar now except trail riding on 29 September. To tell you the truth, I am looking forward to having a rest next weekend - it's been fairly constant for the last month. I can work on the bike, and give her a little TLC - she has looked after me. I will also do the same for The Missus, because she has looked after me too. I could not do this without her.

And nobody kicked me off my bike.

Download the Manic Mission Information Pack for the full story ...