mid life crisis

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So, what do going to the "pictures", travelling on a bus for half price, and getting served in a pub have in common?

What does the word "master" conjure up in your mind? For me it's the image of Yoda or tanned and wizened old white- haired Eastern mystic types, with straggly white beards and the wisdom of living for nearly 150 years. People who have been there, done it all, and for some noble reason known only to themselves are prepared to patiently teach what they know to some impetuous young upstart ("Hmm. Help you I will"). A young lad who at some point will give it all up in a fit of pique and race across the Galaxy, only to realise his mistake and come humbly back to the aforementioned sage before the closing credits, usually to prevent himself from being on the receiving end of a damn good kicking. What it definitely doesn't conjure up is images of sporty young men in the prime of life and bursting with fitness.

So can someone explain to me why the Masters category applies in the year you turn 30? Thirty. The big three-zero. That magical age at which youthful confidence gives way to self-doubt, odd sprouts of body hair and the realisation of one's mortality. Or something like that. Allegedly.

No way do I consider myself old enough to race Masters. I don't even consider my dad old enough to race Masters, never mind the super-duper-grand-veteran-masters category that they've had to invent now that you get old so young, if you see what I mean.

So what gives?

There are those that will say I'm just being paranoid about middle-age, but in these classless, ageless modern times, middle age isn't about how many years you've lived, it's about how old you feel, and the whole point of mountain biking is to have fun, and all those other youth-culture values supposedly epitomised by the Pepsi Max ads, er, dude.

I know plenty of people who are in danger of going from young to sprightly without passing through middle age at all. Don't let those white beards fool you, people like John North and Sam Cook are younger than they look, certainly in attitude. And they can whup the ass of anyone who argues. Likewise I know people who are young in years but old in ideas (pipe smoking Young Conservatives anyone?). Where do these old before-there timers fit into the scheme of things?

Look at the Worlds and the fuss about Ann-Caro and the Juniors/Seniors debate. If the issue is so blurred at 18 because the abilities are so similar it's worse at 30. One category that covers abilities from the back of ex-Sports racers to the front of ex-Pro/Elite can't be right, can it? It gets more and more concerning as Gould, Baker, Craig and friends pass their 3Oths and the chance of finding them on the same starting line as me increases.

Those in favour of these age limits will claim that it has increased the size of the Masters field and made the overcrowded Sports class smaller. Yes, OK ,but race timetables mean that you're still all out on the course at the same time, with a mere five minutes or so separating the classes, so the congestion is just as bad as it ever was. In fact it's worse. There are now two start line argy-bargy sprints to the first corner. One in the artificially bloated Masters field and another in the still not inconsiderable Sports class. If all you wanted to do was make the Sports class easier to manage you could split it into Sports 1 and 2 based on ability. Or Sports class by age. Or you could promote some of those kidding themselves that they're good by winning Sports all the time up into Experts.

Until the age limit for Masters gets raised to something sensible (65 spounds a about right - free entryon production of a pension book), there's only one thing for me to do.

I've got to start lying about my age.

March 1998