Two days challenging myself to live my dirt biking dream – a train and trail weekend with Alex Snow Off-Road.
Some adventures start with a big dose of doubt. And a slightly wonky rib.
In early May, still recovering from an injury and carrying a fair bit of apprehension, I joined my husband and our friend for the Alex Snow Off-Road Train and Trail experience in Tiverton. Riding a dirt bike has been a bold entry on my bucket list for decades: swapping the tarmac for countryside trails and taking on the kind of riding that felt equal parts thrilling and terrifying. On a bike designed for it.
What followed was two days of mud, adrenaline, bluebell woods and, at one point, an accidental river dip that turned the trip into a brief spa break. There were tears. And laughter. There were steep rocky descents that I loved more than I expected. And muddy ruts flanked by nettles that I absolutely did not. It was ‘type two fun’ – the kind that leaves you tired, proud, and aching in places you didn’t know could ache.
Funny to think that the first bike I ever rode – as a little kid – was a dirt bike. Only briefly, but still. Back then it was all noise and freedom. Certainly no skill or ambition. I suppose I always fancied trying it again as an adult. And so here I was, finally doing just that.
This blog marks an adventure shared just before life shifted dramatically. The last adventure my husband and I shared together. And so, what follows here is a tale that holds joy, grit, and the kind of memory that now carries deep meaning.
Alex Snow Off Road
The Alex Snow Off-Road Train and Trail experience is a two-day motorcycling adventure designed to build confidence, skill, and a healthy dose of grit. Based near Tiverton in Devon, the format is simple but effective: one day on the training ground, one day out on the trails.
The first daywas spent at the dedicated off-road facility, on private land, where we got to grips with the GASGAS bikes and learnt the core techniques needed for trail riding. The focus is on body position, throttle control, balance, and braking – plus plenty of practice mounting and dismounting, which I needed more than most. I was the only female rider in the group (never any surprises there), and my bike, a slightly lowered GASGAS 250F, was still far too tall for me. There was no elegant solution, just repetition and a bit of clumsy determination.
On the second day, we took everything we’d learnt and put it to the test out on the green lanes of Devon. The group was split in two, with those more advanced heading one way, and those of us a little less confident (!) heading a different way. The terrain varied from gravel tracks to muddy ruts and steep climbs and descents, offering a real-world challenge in a supportive group setting. It wasn’t about tearing up the countryside on our knobbly tyres; it was about applying skills, building resilience, and enjoying the ride.
Accommodation wasn’t included, so we stayed at the nearby Premier Inn in Tiverton, which made logistics easy. The group was small, the coaching was hands-on, and the atmosphere was friendly, if quietly competitive. It’s a format that works: structured, immersive, and just tough enough to feel like an achievement.
Nerves, Ribs, and the First Loops
I turned up to the weekend full of apprehension, quietly convinced I’d made a mistake. I can ride; on road, off road, and on much heavier machines – but this was something else. A new environment, a new bike, and a very real potential to hurt myself again. Just a few weeks earlier, I’d cracked a rib riding a mountain bike at Center Parcs. I was still healing, still tender. I mentioned it to Alex when I arrived, and he gave me a casual nod: “Yep, we all do that.” Reassuring, I suppose. But also – say what now?!
Despite the nerves, I was excited. I wanted to learn. To rise to the challenge. I did my best to push the anxiety down as far as it would go and focus on the task at hand: getting on that bike and riding it.
The first morning was all about control and technique. A winding loop had been set out on a large sloping field, and our job was to build our skills bit by bit as the morning progressed. I was definitely the slowest in the group, but I worked hard to implement what I was being taught, and to have a bit of fun too. I went the entire morning without falling off, a badge of honour I wore with pride!
After a couple of hours, it was a genuine relief to head back up to base camp for a drink and a snack. I was exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally. But I’d made it through the first loops. And that felt like something.
Loops, Woodland, and a Muddy Rut
After a short break, it was back to the field for more of the same; looping around in various formations, practising the core skills to embed them completely. Throttle control, balance, braking, body position. Repetition was the name of the game, and slowly, things began to click.
Before lunch, we took a route through the farm and into the surrounding woodland. It was both fun and tough, a chance to see where all that morning practice might come in handy. The terrain was uneven, muddy, and unpredictable. I got stuck in a deep rut after making a poor decision on my line through a gate and needed a bit of coaching to figure out how to get myself out. But I did it – slowly, steadily, but without anyone else manhandling my bike. I was proud of that. I might have been slower than everyone else, but I kept going. And still, I didn’t fall off.
After lunch, which was provided, we headed out for a ride through the lanes and woodland surrounding the training centre. The site is huge, and it was a real joy to get off the field and onto what felt like proper trails. It was still very much training – we stopped for top-up notes and demonstrations at different points, then practised specific skills on repeat to build confidence. For me, it was all quite technical. I had to concentrate hard just to keep up.
Riding Through the Bluebells
At one point, we reached a steep, rutted incline, the kind of challenge designed to test everything we’d learned. And our bravado! The idea was to take the bikes up gently, using balance and throttle control. But I’ll be honest: I chickened out. I was tired, sore, and knew I’d be putting myself at risk. My husband and our friend tackled it, but I wasn’t the only one who opted out.
Because I was sure I didn’t want to do it, Alex took me and another rider on a separate loop while the others continued up and down the track I was avoiding. It included a stretch of woodland trail lined with bluebells, and it was honestly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever ridden through. I absolutely loved pootling along that path. It was stunning. And although I felt a flicker of disappointment for not attempting the hard bit, I also felt like I’d been given something even better.
The afternoon continued with more loops and skill practice out in the woodland. By the end of the day, I was absolutely exhausted, ready for a bath, bed, and maybe a medal. But I also noted in my journal that I was buzzing.
Still no falls. No incidents. No terrible rib pain. It was tough. Yes, I gave in to the chicken and skipped one of the exercises. Yes, I started the day so anxious it would have been easy to go home and not bother. But I didn’t. I stayed. I rode. And I had a fantastic experience.
And honestly, if the whole thing had ended there, I would have been quite content.
Ruts, Hedges, and Digging Deep
I woke up on day two knowing we were off on a full-day trail ride – a mix of Devon’s tiny country lanes (the kind with grass growing up the middle) and green lanes. It’s bad to say, but I wasn’t overly keen. I felt the same as I had the night before: like I’d had a good time, and wouldn’t be too bothered if the second day didn’t happen. But trail riding was what I’d come for – the freedom, the flow – and I really wanted that.
The group of twelve or so split into two. Five of us – me, my husband, our friend, and two other riders – joined Alex for the day. We rode miles around Devon, trying out different kinds of green lanes. But if I’m honest, it didn’t take long for things to unravel.
I can’t remember if it was the second or third section, but I got myself all out of sorts on a rutted track and came off the bike, landing in a hedge. I got myself sorted, accepting help pulling the bike out, and tried again. A little further on, I did the same thing again, and this time I got my hand caught. I had a full-on meltdown in my helmet. Crying like an idiot. Ready to go home. After not falling all day the previous day, my pride was seriously dented. I was shattered, physically and emotionally so, and really had to dig deep.
But dig deep I did. I carried on. I wasn’t the only one to fall off, and I didn’t actually hurt myself. The mud and hedges were soft. I just felt, well, meh.
Rocky Triumphs
The morning carried on, and I slowly relaxed into it. I fell at least once more, maybe two or three more times, I can’t remember what the count was in the end. But I was able to enjoy the trail and put some of those day one skills into practice. And that felt like something.
The trails continued to surprise us with their variety. To my delight, I discovered that I actually enjoyed — and was pretty good at — steep rocky descents. I felt bold and in control, navigating the terrain as it dropped away downhill. Reading the ground came naturally, and I was confident in my clutch and throttle control. Yes, I was slow (very, very slow), but I earned compliments for my steady riding, and that felt amazing. That part was genuinely fun.
Then came a woodland section, the kind of trail I’d love to hike: soft but not muddy, rooty in places, and winding deep through the trees. It was beautiful, peaceful, and I soaked it all in.
A Dip in the River
We tackled a handful of water crossings through the day. The first couple were fine, but one in particular got me, and got me good. To be fair, it wasn’t a simple crossing. There was a curved line to one side and a drop-off where the river deepened. The first rider fell in, which didn’t help my nerves. Alex stood in the river to guide us through.
I tried to channel the confidence I’d built on the rocky descents, but halfway across, my tyre skipped off something submerged, a large rock or a log, and I went tumbling in. Full-body immersion, minus my head. Cold, wet, and spirit thoroughly dampened. Thankfully, I hit the kill switch, and Alex managed to rescue the bike without damage. I stood dripping on the riverbank, shoulders slumped, feeling sorry for myself.
The next section was a boardwalk followed by a muddy lane, and I’ll admit I just couldn’t face it. I was finished. Alex kindly rode my bike through. I was pleased for the help.
We stopped at a petrol station for a sandwich lunch. It was late, I was very hungry, and was pleased for a break to dry off and reset. The final hour of riding was gentler, and one lane in particular stood out: a farm track that led through a gate and opened onto moorland. Wide, open views. Big skies. Absolutely gorgeous.
Back at base camp, we regrouped with the more advanced riders. They’d spent the day honing their skills on technical terrain and sounded exhilarated. And despite my falls and river dip, I realised I was feeling pretty good, too.
The Overall Experience
Dirt biking is no joke. It’s physically demanding, mentally relentless. I was tired, aching, and soaked to the skin. I nearly gave up more than once.
But I liked it. It was type two fun: uncomfortable in the moment, satisfying in hindsight. My favourite trails were in the woodland, especially the bluebells on that first afternoon. I cried more than once. I fell off a lot on the second day, which knocked my confidence. But I kept going. I dug deep. And I felt – feel – like I accomplished something. It was a bucket list tick.
I wish I’d been stronger. Fitter. More confident. Taller, even. My eight-year-old self might be disappointed. But I was complimented often on my riding, and that meant a lot. It was challenging. It was rewarding. And I’m glad I went.
All things considered, I don’t think I’m destined for a dirt bike career. I love road tripping, with the option for gravel and the occasional bit of dirt, but I’m no Itchy Boots or Girl on a Bike. I’ll stick to watching riders who thrive in that world, rather than joining them.
Alex Snow is a brilliant instructor, and he’s built a setup that offers even someone like me the chance to learn, not just about riding, but about resilience. Even if my experience wasn’t all sunshine and triumph, I’d trust Alex with my learning again.
Please don’t let me put you off. This is, believe it or not, a recommendation. The train and trail two-day experience is thoughtfully designed, and I’m grateful we did it. I think my husband and our friend felt much the same; it was good to do, but we were ready to call it a wrap.
I could have slept for a week afterwards.
A Few Final Words
I’ll be honest, I’m barely holding it together as I write this. I nearly didn’t. It feels so raw, so exposed, to talk about what I didn’t know then would be my last motorcycling adventure with my husband.
The train and trail weekend was something we both really wanted to do – for the sheer fun of it, and in the hope it might sharpen our general riding skills. Both boxes were ticked. We laughed, we learned, we pushed ourselves. But the truth is, a line was drawn just a few weeks later. A before and after I never saw coming.
I wish I’d written more about our motorcycling adventures. I started but never finished the journals from our ride to the Sahara and back, or our pootle through Portugal. Maybe I should. Maybe I will. For my own memory.
Motorcycling – mainly road trips, but also somewhat wild weekends like this – was such a big part of our lives. It was our shared joy, our way of chasing our dreams, our way of being in the world together. And now, I have to admit, it just makes me feel really sad.
My bike sits in the garage, expectant. I haven’t found the courage to ride it since May. Part of me hopes that desire will return. Part of me wonders if I’ve already decided that chapter has ended.
