Mud and obstacles: this is cyclocross, off-road bike racing on skinny tyres

“Wear Lycra.” These are not, on the whole, words I welcome on a Sunday morning. Neither are, “The brakes aren’t great,” nor: “If at any point you feel scared, just pick up your bike and run.” And yet I found myself in Lycra, looking out over the fields of Essex to Canary Wharf on the horizon, legs quivering, while Ben Spurrier of Vicious Velo attached my pedals to a Condor cyclocross bike.

Cyclocross, for those who aren’t Belgian, is a mix of road and off-road cycle racing. You whirl around a pitted, humped, gravel and grass track, thundering over logs, across ditches, up banks and through woods, on a thin-tyred road bike – the sort many would use to commute to work. It’s a way for keen cyclists to stay race-ready in autumn and winter, and for the rest of us to see what life is like as a ball bearing.

If, like me, you’re having a lifelong love affair with adrenaline, then it’s glorious. If, like me, you recently got such a heavy concussion from falling off a borrowed bike that you lost all sense of smell, then it can also be gloriously nerve-racking.

I am a keen cyclist in the sense that I am keen to never go anywhere near public transport. I cycle about 100km a week, all year round, wheeling to work through hail storms and baking sunshine, and treating those two imposters just the same. A bit of heavy braking, white-knuckle freewheeling and thigh-grinding hill climbing is gruelling, if not completely unfamiliar.

I’ll admit that, as I cycled into the Redbridge cycling centre, having set off an hour earlier from my flat 12 miles away, I was thrilled to see that there were people on the course with shorter legs than mine, even if they were children and had apparently been born in the saddle: cyclocross is definitely a family affair, with races for children, teens, women, seniors and veterans. There were bobble-hatted teenagers, the inevitable competitive fathers, women with blue rinses, coffee-sipping mothers and cheerleading children lining the route, soaking up the unexpected autumn sunshine.

I was entering the women’s race; by far the smallest group, just eight strong-legged ladies and myself lining up for the starting bell. Did my fellow competitors have any final words of advice for this novice?

“Just enjoy it,” said the woman on my right. “Go at your own pace, don’t let them push you around and remember, it’s inclusive. You’ve got just as much right to be here as anyone else.” I could have kissed her.

In order that my first lap of the race wasn’t cycled blind, I’d spent a few minutes earlier going round the track, checking out the twists and dips; the obstacles and tight corners. Suffice to say I still fell off, sliding on some greasy nettles while trying to turn an 80 degree angle downhill.

I practised dismounting and shouldering my bike to climb over some wooden hurdles; I ran out of steam halfway up a camel hump, skidding into a patch of brambles as I bumped over a ditch, and I nearly lost my way along the threads of white ribbon marking out the course.

I also discovered that when a rider coming up behind you shouts “Left!” it doesn’t mean they want you to move left, but that they’re coming up on your left. Sometimes they shout “Inside!” or “Outside!” as you go around a corner and sometimes they simply scream “Rider! Rider!” to let you know that someone with legs of iron is screaming up behind you.

Despite the rocketing levels of adrenaline and testosterone, cyclocross is actually an exceptionally friendly sport. Everyone I spoke to offered me advice and support and, once the race had started, the track was lined with strangers shouting the kind of encouragement usually found in the titles of a self-help library; “Don’t look back!”, “Go for it!” “Don’t be scared – be fast!” There was even a young girl with a bell, sitting on a grassy bank, ringing each lap and calling out encouragement to every rider.

The race lasted 40 minutes. I was lapped by the winner of the women’s round and overtaken by so many veteran men that at times I felt I had the whole course to myself. My heart soared, my confidence grew and, as I got to know the course, I started to whizz through on a wave of exhilaration. While my race time will not bother the history books, I don’t think I actually came last and, when that final chequered flag waved, I could happily have carried on for a few more laps.

But instead I sat in the sunshine, drank a cup of tea, ate a banana, and watched the men wheel by.

Follow the Vicious Velo blog for details of its next event

Three places to try or watch cyclocross

The Whiteley Wood Outdoor Centre, in the Peak District near Sheffield, will host the Yorkshire Points Round 8 on 23 November.

Coed Y Brenin in Wales is a cyclists’ dream. Woods, gravel paths, hills and beautiful views.

For races in Lancashire, Cumbria, Manchester, Liverpool and Cheshire, check out the North West Cyclocross League.