Guilt is a very corrosive emotion. It nags and niggles and eats away at you from the inside. Insidious thoughts begin to pervade your waking hours and darken your dreams. Its even worse when the cause of your guilt is based and founded on your own wilful neglect of something that once was so special.

Once she was your world, your everything …..(there’s a song in there somewhere?) the sun rose and set with her. You spent hours and hours plotting how to snatch more illicit time together –  coming up with evermore elaborate schemes to weave her further into the fabric of your life. The time before you met and caressed her for the first time seems distant and indistinct, a pale colourless insignificant shadowy existence to which you hardly give a thought now.

Then, with a creeping inevitability things begin to change. It’s hardly noticeable at first. That fierce protectiveness you first felt for her begins to fade. Her appearance suddenly seems less important. The pair of you are no longer the centre of attention in a crowd, the envious glances are coming your way less often and you can’t help suddenly starting to notice some of her short comings. Short comings brought about by your own neglect.

These were a fair reflection of my thoughts the other morning as sounds of distress and groaning came from underneath me, and no I’m not talking about making unreasonable early morning marital demands of my poor long-suffering wife……

I’m talking about my 2012 Lapierre Zesty 314. This was my dream bike. Bought brand new at a time when the Lapierre brand and the Zesty in-particular seemed to be the darling of every magazine tester on the planet. You couldn’t open a magazine or look at any of the bike review websites without seeing a picture of some bronzed riding god with calf muscles chiseled from granite nonchalantly tail whipping a Zesty over a road gap or impossible for mortals double. The accompanying review would promise a riding experience so sublime it would make even an average mountain biking bozo like myself into some sort of riding god. Besides it was black and gold and achingly good-looking, what was not to like?

At first like all new relationships there was as I alluded to in my opening soliloquy a period of almost blissful happiness. It was apparent straight from the first ride that the testers hadn’t  lied. The Zesty was indeed a very, very good bike. I was faster, smoother and braver on it straight away. After a few tweaks of bar and stem length and a pair of the faithful Maxis tyres that have graced all my bikes for years I was setting Strava times round my favourite trail centre loops that summer of 2013 that I haven’t come close to since. And inevitably since I was enjoying riding it so much I rode it more, which made me fitter and faster anyway. That summer the Zesty and I ticked off a lot of riding. Lots of the northern Welsh trail centres such as the Marin and Penmancho, loads of laps of the faithful and fast Llandegla and even a fair bit of natural riding around the Peaks and Macclesfield Forest.

Of course it couldn’t last. One thing about having a bike that’s so much better than you are is that of course the limiting factor becomes the skill (or lack thereof) of the pilot. The inevitable happened and of course I ended up getting rather too personal with a couple of trees and the dirt when even the famous sure footedness of the Zesty’s suspension couldn’t save me from my own ineptitude and over-confidence. So a couple of ‘offs’ along with a busy period at work when I was living out of a suitcase far from home for a while meant riding of any sort was curtailed for awhile. The Zesty sat for long periods in the garage alone and unloved under a pile of car parts and surrounded by half empty tins of paint as life just continued to get in the way.

When I did get out to ride I was woefully short of confidence and fitness and with a chain lubricated with more sawdust than teflon the whole experience was a bit underwhelming. Of course it couldn’t be my fault, it must be the bikes so to recapture my riding mojo rather than cleaning up and servicing the poor Lapierre I indulged in a vanity steel framed hardtail  build to ‘get back to my riding roots’. Wasting time I should have spent riding scouring eBay for bargains I built a beautiful blue 853 framed hardtail. It had everything from a Ti railed saddle to the must have at the time Thomson stem and seatpost. It was a thing of beauty.

It was awful to ride. Painful. I think I rode it about six times before I realised that at my advancing state of decrepitude and pitiful skill level I really needed to be on a full suspension bike if I wanted to be able to get out of bed the next day. So the hardtail went on eBay and was snapped up by a lovely young lady from Scotland who looked like she had both the skills and supple spinal discs that I lacked. It was a chastising moment.

So back to the Zesty I went with my tail between my saddle rails. I DID CLEAN HER UP HONEST! Well, I think I washed her and lubed the chain and pivots but some of the magic had gone. A bit battle-scarred now with cable rub marks and peeling frame decals the Zesty was no longer the belle of the trail head car park. Things had moved on, single rings, big wheels, plus size tyres, the Zesty had none of these things. I did upgrade the brakes after a buttock clenching skills course with ‘The Don’ Neil Donoghue caused all the fluid in the squeaky Formula R’s to spurge out all over the front tyre, but that was about the sum total of my attention.

So on we struggled for the next couple of years the Zesty and I like an old married couple keeping it hanging together for the kids sake. I felt guilty about neglecting her, but then I wasn’t spending enough time around her to justify any effort (I told myself). When we did spent time together I blamed her when it wasn’t going well. If only she was younger and had bigger and more bouncy tyres I’d tell myself as another innocuous section of single track defeated me.

So last year I began another torrid affair after becoming obsessed with reports that 29″ wheels would solve all my performance problems. More furtive internet shopping and deliveries of illicit parts in plain cardboard packaging resulted in the poor now twice spurned Zesty having to share garage space with a smart green younger model with modern advantages like single ring at the front and bigger tyres. However like the blue interloper the pretty young green thing has failed to completely evict the faithfully Zesty from my affections. Yes she’s younger, flashier and on a smooth trail faster but it’s still been the faithful, reliable older stager who’s been my companion of choice more often than not during this spring and summers tentative riding renaissance.

Now I’ve brought you up to speed with the history of my infidelities and sometimes neglectful relationship history with this poor blameless machine we can return to the sounds of mechanical distress coming from underneath me as I toiled up the seemingly endless three-mile uphill slog which marks the start of Llandegla’s trails. It seems my maintenance regime of occasionally hosing the bike down and even more sporadic random applications of lube to the chain had finally taken its toll on my faithful steed. The grinding noises coming from the depths of the bottom bracket area with every pedal rev and the rhythmic clonking sound emanating from somewhere on the rear triangle every time the suspension compressed both pricked at my conscience and worried my wallet. Factor in the reluctant to up shift drivetrain and a front fork that had an action so sticky and unpredictable it reminded me of a pogo stick and I sensed our relationship was at a crossroads.

As I ground up the hill I mulled over my options. I could of course do what I’d done in the past, waft a can of GT85 over the bike and ignore anything that failed to fix. Or I could spend money….. but should I call time on my relationship with my fine French steed and enter the wonderful world of choosing a new ride, or do I keep the faith and expunge my guilt about neglecting the Zesty by lavishing some cash on her? Now, as I’ve explained I’ve never had a problem on spending money on new bikes and new projects, but in a similar vein to the cheating husband who thinks nothing of whisking his mistress off to New York but would begrudge taking his wife to a B&B in Blackpool the thought of spending money on the Zesty seemed to give me thrombosis of the wallet.

It wasn’t so bad I convinced myself as the crest of the climb approached and I entered the first section of serious singletrack. A bit of lube,maybe even a new chain or even a couple of cables and all would be well. The fork just needed a good squirt of lube under the wiper seals – yes nothing to worry about here. Then lost in my thoughts up rushed the first set of doubles on the trail. Now good riders clear these minor obstacles in a single fluid motion, rider and machine in perfect harmony. My preferred technique is to approach too fast to roll them but not fast enough to clear them, panic, grab handfuls of both brakes and pogo over them in a pathetic parody of a cross-country pro pumping the trail for speed.

Now you don’t really need the brakes to ride uphill so apart from a couple of quick squeezes in the carpark they really hadn’t been needed as I approached this section with my usual aplomb. All was going well till I reached the frantic braking stage ……. then as both levers came practically back to the bars and with very little reduction in my forward velocity time seemed to slow down somewhat. Or did my mind speed up as imminent disaster approached? Not sure. Anyway, I remember thinking ‘ahhhh, the brakes probably need adding to the ‘to do’ list then’ as I hurtled over the first compression with all the grace of a baby lemming falling off her first cliff. Then as my poor long-suffering front fork bottomed out with a sickening clunk and rebounded in an uncontrolled and very violent manner I had time to wonder if the Zesty was taking some sort of revenge on me for all the neglect over the last few years? Was this some sort of karma for all the times i’d shoved her back into the garage caked in mud and pine needles and left her festering for weeks? Anyway no time to worry about that because here comes the second compression …… I was at this stage still vaguely in control of the bike and some frantic pumping of the brake levers as well as producing some truly blood curdling squealing had taken the edge off my speed. Then as I stood on the pedals trying desperately to centre my bodyweight as recommended in all good magazines the chain gave up its struggle to stay attached to the worn teeth of the front ring. I’ll draw a line under the next hundred or so yards of out of control weaving and bucking and leave it to your fervent imaginations. It wasn’t pretty or elegant or quiet but man and machine did eventually come to rest still vaguely attached to each other at the side of the trail.

I won’t bore you with the details of the rest of my day in the saddle. It’s a long drive to Llandegla and I wasn’t about to cut it short for little problems like a lack of brakes. Besides  de-glazing the pads with the file on my Leatherman (never leave home without one kids) restored a modicum of braking action. Back at home however and with the poor old Zesty clamped firmly into my work stand it was time to consider my options, and to ponder where exactly it had all gone wrong between us.

Well it was clearly all my fault. Underneath the sticky gears, worn out brakes and crusty bearings the bike that had wowed me back in 2012 was still there. Yes, she might not have 27.5′ wheels or a 1 x 11 gear set and her suspension design might not quite be as cutting edge anymore compared to the latest bling bikes on offer…….. but fundamentally the Zesty is still a much better bike than I am a rider. Even on my best and bravest day I’m not going to be riding her anywhere close to her limits anytime soon.

Its me that’s withered as a rider – a lack of time, confidence and fitness has left me woefully short of even the modest standards of a few years ago. I do wonder if subliminally  my neglect of the Zesty was an attempt to make the bike as crap as me so I could off load some of the blame overtime I dabbed on a climb or bottled a descent that I used to be able to clear. Or I could be over thinking this and it just because I’m a fundamentally lazy, feckless bad person when it comes to looking after two-wheeled companions.

Now I’ve finished publicly flogging myself in front of my regular readership of 10 or so random internet surfers what have I done about my guilty woes? Well, I’ve replaced my brake discs, pads and expunged all the manky black brake fluid in favour of nice new fresh from the bottle red Shimano stuff. The bike now responds to my often panicked squeezes of the levers as it should. I’ve cleaned, lubed and adjusted all the bits of the drive chain and now the chain moves as my thumbs command it. The suspension, well that’s going to have to wait for another payday. It’s cleaned, lubed, re-pressureised and ultimately I know it needs a full rebuild kit lavishing on both the fork and the rear shock. However, the way I’m riding at the moment a little drop off in suspension performance isn’t going to be the limiting factor in my riding.

So am I a new man? have I learnt my lesson? are the Zesty and I fully reconciled and looking forward to the future together?

Who knows? I’m still casting longing glances at the Cotic website waiting for the price of the new Rocket frames to drop……………