That was when it happened. That was the moment when it started to go a bit wrong today.

It started out well enough. Jasper - ex-Army Sergeant, his mate Harry - who recently sold the electrical wholesale business he's spent 37 years building up, and Dan - just turned 21 and an electrical engineer whose Missus had bought him an AJP gift voucher.

It was a Level 2 day - so we need things to be tricky and tough. Harry had been riding trials for about 30 years, and Jasper was a veteran of the British Enduro Championship. They were there to test out the AJP bikes and see if they fancied one. Dan, coming from Motocross, was also a bit capable on a bike.

As for tricky, Nature did that on her own. The downpours of the last few days had blessed us with deep puddles and slimy, slippery clay. Within 5 minutes, Martin was off - Harry and Jasper right on his heels, and I hung back with Dan who was a little bit slower since trees and horribleness was a bit new to him.

We got through the first waypoint - a place called Tinehead Wood. At the end of the slimy and slippery track, there is a sharp off-camber right hand bend - I nearly hit the Police Car there last week. I use it as a gauge of who we have out with us. Normally, we get at least one person falling off at this corner - it really is that nasty there. Today, everybody sailed through it. This was a marker that we had some pretty capable guys out with us.

I had been quite chuffed these past few weeks, commenting to Martin that I'm not falling off the bike. He kicked by confidence in the nuts and told me that it's just because it's been nice and grippy and dry - when the rains come then it'll be a different story. He was right.

When we got into the woods, it was so slippery that I wasn't sure whether it was my front wheel or my back wheel that needed the attention - the bike was all over the place. Everybody's bike was all over the place - it was proper carnage. It didn't look that slippery, but that was deceptive.

With Martin well ahead along with Harry and Jasper, and me bringing up the rear with Dan, we made our way across an open field. It's somewhere that we were always winging a bit - there's no path there. As I crested the brow, and could see the valley open before me, I started scanning the treeline and the tracks for Martin to get a feel for how far ahead he was. As I did so, I saw a Land Rover approaching us. It skidded to a halt and I started to take the helmet off - expecting a bit of a telling off from the Land Warden.

It wasn't the Land Warden, it was Robert the farmer. Not only that, but this was his field. So it was now absolutely pucker for us to be there - no problems anymore from the land warden then. It turns out that he's riding as a marshall at the World Enduro Championships in Wales in July. Darren Wheeler is racing, courtesy of MidWest racing, and Robert is well in with MidWest so he got a gig as a travelling marshall - in the world championships. Nice.

I spotted Martin down at that bit of horrible mud where I end up every week and I pointed him out to Robert. Robert told me that an Army Land Rover got stuck in there on Wednesday, and he charged them a hundred quid to drag them out with his tractor. We rode ahead and caught up with Martin.

Now, Harry and Jasper were there to evaluate the 200cc bikes, but Jasper was riding a bike that I call "The Baby". It's Martin's baby - he's assembled it from various bits and pieces over the years. It's a PR4, with a 125cc engine that has been bored out to 150cc. Which means that it is big, heavy, and doesn't have a massive amount of power. Martin likes it though, calls it his fat girlfriend - "a bit of fun to ride, but you don't brag to your mates about it".

So, Martin's great idea was that I would swap Madge (a 200cc PR4) and take the baby. The swap being done, I realised that I now had a bike with a slick rear tyre - not good on a muddy and slippery and slimy day.

Dan got stuck in the mud and, as is now customary, I ended up knee-deep in the soft clay to help him get out. Martin, having a ball, was riding as quick as he could and was well ahead with Jasper and Harry. We caught up with them again in the little woods where we've set up the enduro course.

The thing about woods is that the ground doesn't get sunlight because of the tree cover. If the soil is clay, then it stays wet and slimy for weeks after even the slightest shower. The water sits just below the topsoil, evaporates, hits the leaves and tree canopy, condenses, then falls back to the ground again.

There are two hills in our woods, and a little loop - we go up one hill and down the other. Today, nobody was getting up the hill - and it's not even that steep. I got halfway up on The Baby, before being dumped on my arse. I took Jane, who Dan had been riding, and gave it a crack - sailing right up. Martin made it up on the PR3 he was riding, and I threw the gauntlet down: "OK, so how about you get up it on the baby?".

Martin, always game, too the baby and set off up the hill. It took two attempts, and much swearing and roosting, but he crested the brow of the hill. Not with any style, but he did it. He rode down the other hill and dismounted. "Your turn".

It stopped being funny on my 5th attempt. The problem was that the hill has a double bump on it. Normally, when it's dry, you can use this to get a good jump and it actually looks quite stylish. When it's wet, you can't get any speed up and the mud robs you of all momentum. When you get on to the hill itself, you have no speed and no forward movement so you're relying on grip. But there is no grip - especially with a slick back tyre. I roosted, I fell, I slipped, I slid, I u-turned, I did everything except get up the hill.

I rode back down the the bottom - again - and took off my helmet. At least that's a good thing - my descents are improving, even in slippery mud. The technique for going down a slippery hill is actually rather straightforward - you get to the top and analyse the hill. Then you ask yourself this question:

If I was a football, starting from here, where would I roll to?

Because when you start down the hill, you are at the mercy of gravity in exactly the same way as though you were a football. You also need to stay off the brakes, since this just puts gravity in control. Bizarreley enough, you have more chance of controlling the descent if you speed up since it keeps the wheels turning and able to steer. This new-found knowledge of mine needs a bit of balls to be developed to exploit it properly, but the first time I came down the hill I realised the secret. And I have a failed front brake at Tea til Dusk to thank for it.

Martin said "OK, let's go. We'll call that one-nil to me then". The guys looked at me. I said "No no no. No way. No way you're going to bang on about that one all day" and turned the bike round for another shot. Martin, watching me set off up the hill - again - turned to Jasper:

"You better hope he pulls this off, otherwise we're stuck here till this time tomorrow until he does it. The blue touch paper is lit, make sure you retire to a safe distance".

Fate smiled on me, and gave me some grip. It wasn't a lot of grip, but it was enough to get me to the top in a not particularly stylish or visually pleasing way.

We stopped for lunch in the usual place and started chewing the fat. I was soaking with sweat and took off all my gear, hanging it over the tables to dry out a bit. I kept my t-shirt on. It is a white t-shirt, and has the Dakar logo on the front of it.

Jasper saw the logo, and turned to Martin:

"Do you know that there is some nutcase planning on doing the Dakar on an AJP? Apparently he knows you"

Martin looked at Jasper, then looked at me, then back at Jasper.

"Yes". He nodded towards me. "It's John".

Nothing more was said. The topic of conversation changed quicker than if you had been talking about bra sizes and your mother-in-law walked in the room. It may just have been me, but I could feel an air of awkwardness settle.

We made it as far South as we can get - right down to Tilshead - and what a speed we were going at. The puddles are deep down there and Dan took one a bit quick. What was Dan a few seconds ago, was now a huge tidal wave. He bounced out of the puddle and onto his arse. I knew what had happened - his engine had sucked in a bunch of water, stalled, and that's what threw him over the bars.

Martin was miles ahead, and this gave me the opportunity to un-drown my first bike. On my own.

I opened the bumbag and pulled out the allen keys. Off with the seat, off with the air filter - it was soaked. I wrung it out, gave it a big squirt with WD-40, and put it aside to dry. I took the spark plug out, more WD-40, and put it aside to dry. Tipped the bike upside down and turned the engine to remove the water. Unscrewed the float bowl of the carburettor to drain the water, and put everything back together.

A few seconds of turning the starter, and the bike roared into life. My first drowning, dealt with in less than 2 minutes. My Jedi skills are improving.

As we approached Tilshead, I knew where we were going next. It is the most horrible track full of deep and narrow ruts. What makes itparticularly evil is that the grass has grown over the top of the ruts so you can't see them and this makes things a bit exciting. At any given moment, you don't know if you're in a rut or not - until you try to turn. Occasionally, you'll get a glimpse of a rut through the wrong grass, and you'll try and turn towards it - you go where you look. If you're already in the rut, then you are fine. If you're not in the rut, then you'll have a bit of a problem.

I "had a bit of a problem" at about 40 mph. I saw the rut, turned towards it and was already in a different one. The bike slipped sideways and high-sided me through the air. I flew about 10 feet and landed right on my left shoulder. The guys behind me declared that it was "spectacular". My shoulder thought so too. The time was 3:03.

The human body is designed to take shock progressively. The bones towards the outside are actually weaker than the bones nearer the vital organs - natural crumple zones if you like. This is so that the outside bones brak and shatter to absorb impact and protect the vital organs. The thing is, that I don't have a collar bone in my left shoulder - I have a steel plate running between my shoulder and my sternum. So I took the full impact of this fall right in my sternum and it hurt. The pins started poking through the skin, and they hurt too. Not good.

We only had a few miles left to ride, so I pressed on. We got to the end of the trail, and I saw Martin looking at this very steep and slippery climb up on to the mountain bike course. I thought "no, not today, please no", but Martin was in miss-cheef mode and suggested that we all might like to go up there.

There was a fallen tree over the track at the bottom and we had to drag the bikes over it. The ruts on this hill were nearly a foot deep, and filled with slimy clay. There would be no grip at the best of times, and even less when you have a slick tyre. I made it halfway up the hill and fell off after the back end just flew sideways. Already knackered and hurting, I picked the bike up. As I did so, I lost my footing on the slippery clay and sort of fell over as I tried to hold the bike up. I done my back again, bringing the cowshit injury back to life. THAT hurt.

Looking up the hill, I realised that I was going to have some more picking up to do if I tried to get the rest of the way up, and I had to have respect for the fact that I probably couldn't pick my bike up anymore - my back is fucked. I turned the bike and set off back down the hill.

I rounded the corner at the bottom and realised my mistake. I forgot about the tree. I don't have to pick my bike up, I have to get it over that tree. It took me fifteen minutes to pull and push it inch by agonising inch. I was sweating, knackered and hurting. No Martin. Nobody else. Just me. The bike fairies weren't going to get it over the tree, it was down to me and me alone. The PR3 would not have been so much of a problem, but the baby was 15 kilos heavier and it was slippery and horrible.

It was about this time that I started to consider the merits of setting fire to my enduro gear. I got back on the bike and started riding up the hill and I caught up with Martin and the others. Martin asked me if I was OK, his face looked concerned, and I asked him if he had petrol and matches. He understood, and didn't push it.

When we got back, Harry and Jasper didn't even stay for a cup of tea. They got changed, said their goodbyes and left. I've never seen that happen before. I don't know if it was the "nutter / Dakar" comment or something else, but something wasn't right.

Martin, seeing that I was totally miserable, gave me some words of encouragement. He pointed out the drowned bike, the slippery downhills and the getting up the hill on the baby - all of which were beyond me less than a year ago. He notices a huge difference in my riding, and we all have days like that.

Matches still in the wings.

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