Trail Dog T-shirt: Ink Shack Week 9

He usually knows it’s on when I walk down the stairs in a pair of riding shorts, or when I pull on the knee pads or slip into the Five Tens. As soon as my helmet goes on and I click the buckle, he’s there. He’s ready. No messing, no faff. Game on.

I probably don’t need to further his excitement but when I ask him ‘shall we go for a couple of laps then?’, his eyes widen, his mouth drops open, his eyes firmly fixed on mine. He’s still fairly calm, after all he’s not even seen the bike yet. I get that out of the shed though and that’s the final piece of the puzzle. It’s confirmed… we’re hitting the dirt. Yelps of anticipation, running around in circles, warming up the paws.

There’s a purity to it. The simple pleasure of going batshit crazy fast as you can down a slice of singletrack is as addictive to him as it is to me. I’ve got two dogs, the ‘lads’ as I like to call them, but the riding thing is just his… and mine. The other one isn’t keen as there’s nothing to fetch. Our shared love of the dirt has become our little ritual. Our special little thing. We usually ride/run together a couple of times a week and he absolutely loves it. He thrives on it.

He’s usually in front and his approach is the same every time. There’s no overthinking things, it’s simple. It’s flat out. As soon as he hears the gears click at the top of the hill, or he watches me dip into the frame as I release the dropper, he’s ready. Now he yelps with elation. Downhill time. This trail dog can sprint faster than me, corner faster than me and appears to have a sixth sense for when it’s time to get airborne. Inside lines are second nature. He drifts, he scrubs, he rails berms and I’ve even seen him tweak a whip. If he bins it (which is very rare), he just carries on. If I bin it he’s in my face with a lick straight away to check I’m ok. Some boy!