There's a couple of ways you can show your Missus that you really really love her:

1. Take her to an enduro


2. Buy her a offroad bike


3. Have your Dawn to Dusk entry confirmed by post, on Valentines Day

We'll probably get round to (2) in the future, but I can safely say that we've done (1) and (3).

I mean, roses? Wouldn't last five minutes on an enduro - they don't even have any wheels.

The entry confirmation arrived today. It said "your entry to Dawn to Dusk has been ACCEPTED". The big bold letters jumped out at me from the letter, I could almost hear them laughing. "OK, accepted. Be careful what you ask for - you might just get it". I said that finding my race numbers was an omen.

So now the doubts start. Am I up to it? Am I healed enough? Am I ready? Will I ever be ready? How many bones do I have to break before I just accept that some people were born to ride enduro bikes and some weren't?

Enduros are like olives. Stop laughing please, bear with me - I'm trying to be serious now. I'm not quite sure if I like olives. I ate my first olive about 9 years ago. Wasn't sure if I liked it or not, so I ate another one. Been doing exactly that for the last 9 years, and I'm still trying to make up my mind.

Enduros are sort of the same. You start the race, nipping round this muddy track with bikes flying past you everywhere. You're knackered. You hurt. You're sweating worse than a turkey at a christmas party. You think to yourself "am I enjoying this?". You tell yourself "don't be daft - of course you are". You say "yes, but am I really?". You're not sure.

You get to the end of the race, and there's a vague feeling of achievement. You open a can of Red Bull and you debrief with the guy parked next to you as you both get changed. "How about that rutty section up there with all the roots? Wasn't that just pure evil?". Or, "that bit through the trees was hell wasn't it?".

You pack up the bike and start kaing your way home. You get your breath back. That bruise on your leg - where you got it caught under the bike as you fell - starts to hurt. Your thoughts turn to the next enduro. You get home and, before you've even washed the bike, you're straight onto EnduroNews looking for the next event.

Enduros are olives.

Half of me - the half that has respect for Physics and the fragility of the human body, is terrified at the prospect of doing one of the toughest events on the calendar riding alongside (read "on the same track as") some of the best riders in the country. The other half of me is like "should be a blast, what could possibly go wrong?".

My Dawn to Dusk team name, since I put one on the form, is "Seemed Such a Good Idea At The Time". How appropriate.

That said, I've spoken before about comfort zones. How can you ever expand your comfort zone if you're always inside it? If you don't do things that terrify you, how will you ever conquer fear? I have a great bike for the race - an AJP PR3 - which will be the lightest and most nimble bike on the course. My bike skills are decent - a million miles away from where I was 6 months ago. I can go as fast or as slow as I like.

Out trail riding with Martin tomorrow. Van all secured, sat out in the driveway, and Madge all ready to roll. Maps and compass stowed away, spot of navigation to be getting involved with, and the weather forecast is good.

I will be onthe bike for the next 3 days - I have the AJP Action Day on Saturday, and then another "Try and AJP On a Real Enduro Course" event on Sunday (which Chief is coming along to). Maybe he'll have the same "olive" experience.

Ultimately, I am not racing against anybody except myself. Which is fine, as long as I don't come second. That would be embarassing.

And The Missus was very happy with her 200cc 4-stroke roses. All 89kg of them.

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