I adore mountain biking, and everything about it: the stress-busting physical effort, the thrill of danger, and the all-too-rare time spent in nature. It’s socially acceptable playing-in-the-mud for adults, and great exercise too.

But when summer gives way to autumn and winter, light evenings to late-afternoon darkness, it becomes hard to find the time to get off road. The bike is cleaned and sent to the back of the garage, and fitness and technical skills are left to erode for a few months.

This is how night-time mountain biking came about: it was born of necessity. Riders began strapping high-powered lights to their bikes and setting off into the wilderness, regardless of what their watch or calendar told them.

Riding over supposedly impassable roots, rocks and inclines is an act of defiance to mother nature, and riding at night is further rebellion. The result is a mind-bending sport where people chase a narrow tunnel of washed-out light up and down mountains. They say there are lots of advantages to riding in the dark, not least that the trails are clear of slower riders, and the lack of peripheral vision you get with the bright, focused spotlights used makes you feel like you’re travelling twice as fast.

Inspired by stories of these night rides, and in the hope of extending my summer hobby to a year-round way of life, I went to a forest in north Wales.

I’d made contact with Ian Owen, co-founder of Oneplanet Adventure near Llandegla. He’s known to his friends as Badger, presumably because he comes out at night. He turned his hobby into a job four years ago by setting up a mountain biking centre, and once a week invites friends around for a nocturnal ride.

I arrive late in the afternoon, as hundreds of tired and muddy daytime customers are making their way home, and over a cup of tea I’m introduced to the regular group. Each of them looks faster and fitter than me, and knows the trails intimately.

One of them, Sal, explains that she has a broken leg from an accident several years ago while riding in Canada. It won’t heal and is permanently bolted together. But it doesn’t stop her completing the routes here in a time that puts most to shame.

I’m conscious that I’m way out of my depth as the group decides to tackle the red and black courses. Mountain bike trails are labelled like ski runs: greens and blues for beginners, reds for competent riders, and blacks for experts, show-offs and journalists too embarrassed to protest.

Before we set off, I’m given the equipment I’ll need. Surprisingly, this is nothing more complex than insect repellent and lights – albeit £250 worth of lights.

A battery like you would see in a laptop is securely strapped to my top tube, with a cable snaking up to something on my handlebar that would look more at home on the front of a rally car.

I accidentally sting my eyes testing it out: it seems like overkill, but I’m assured it will feel hopelessly inadequate later. The idea is that the further up the trail you can illuminate, the faster you can go and the safer you will be. The problem is that the course is so winding that the light won’t always point where you’re heading.

I’m offered lots of advice as we roll away from the cosy confines of the centre towards the start of the run, none of which sounds likely to work: “Keep calm, follow the rider in front’s beam and try to predict where the course will flow,” they say.

As soon as the lights of the building are behind us, and the terrain turns from car park to mountain path, the sort of wriggling and twitching route that’s usually such a pleasure comes out of nowhere like a narrow, tree- and rock-lined tunnel: shock after shock, every few seconds. The closest thing I can compare it to is that sick-to-your-stomach feeling you get after slipping on the stairs but catching the banister, or fumbling crockery, only to catch it safely. It’s like that brief moment, which comes with a fraction of a second’s joy and relief afterwards, but for two and a half hours.

Torchlight does confusing things that human brains are not trained to interpret. The usual clues you make use of are simply taken away from you. The only way to tell if you’re going up or down is by how hard you’re working and how fast you’re moving – there’s no visible horizon, and the spotlights seem to flatten out the ground.

One second you’re struggling up a steep climb, the next, gravity is dragging you back towards sea level at a frightening pace. Occasionally a jump will sneak up on you, and the first indication that you’ve hit it is that you’ve been tipped ungracefully into the air. Puddles, too, have a habit of disappearing altogether, until you feel them spray your back.

Sharp turns are truly terrifying because you don’t know when they will end: the light shoots off uselessly at a tangent. Similarly, when jumping, the light shoots skyward, and the landing area becomes a mystery.

During daylight hours I’m a fairly regular and competent mountain biker, but at night I find that the sport adopts an altogether less approachable manner. Riding generally clears my mind, but here I am reduced to nothing but legs and lungs and reflex actions.

Despite this, I have a huge smile on my face. I’m giggling to myself, between sharp, involuntary yells of fear and muttered curses, but giggling. This is terrifying and fun, both at once, all mixed together.

After what seems like days, but also like minutes, we come to a gravel road, climbing again up to the peak of the mountain. We sit two abreast and chat over the last section as we slog up the incline, gradually burning away our excess adrenaline.

Snowdon rises up into sight as we crest the peak, 60km or so away. It sits below a black, star-filled sky, unpolluted with city lights, which fade down to neon blue and then orange.

This is one perk of riding at night that nobody had mentioned, and it takes me by surprise. I place a glove over my lamp and pure, cloaking blackness rushes in to hug me. There’s no trace at all of the noise of civilisation, or its light. Even during the chaos and confusion of this ride, the beauty of the place is staggering. We modern creatures are so removed from night-time and darkness that it is almost surreal to be somewhere like this.

A loud whoop from someone up ahead interrupts me, reminding me why I’m here, and I sprint off to catch up.

I aim for the sweet spot between going fast enough to close the gap, but slow enough to avoid plummeting over the edge of something so dreadful that the paramedics will have to wait for dawn to climb down.

And that’s the thing: this is not a dose of safe and secure fear, like a rollercoaster, that has no fangs. It’s a sport where your senses and reactions keep you from getting hurt, or don’t, and that’s part of the appeal.

Arriving back at the centre, I’m unsure how well I did – but nobody seems to care. I’m met with high-fives, handshakes and a cup of tea.

“If you’re safe and you’re grinning, you did just fine,” they tell me. I’m certainly grinning. In fact, my cheeks hurt almost as much as the rest of me.

• Oneplanet Adventure, in Llandegla, north Wales, offers bike rentals, guided rides and riding skills courses. For more information visit oneplanetadventure.com or call 01978 751656. Matthew Sparkes’s cycling blog can be found at stopreadingthis.com

Safety tips

• Riding a trail at night makes life much harder. Choose a route you know well, or at least arrive in time to ride it once during the daylight so you can spot any potential dangers.
• Whether or not you choose to wear a helmet on the road, when mountain biking it’s vital.
• Wearing eye protection is also a wise idea, as branches and other obstacles can appear with little warning. Glasses or clear goggles will help to keep your eyes safe from scratches.
• Never go out alone at night: if you crash, it could be a long time before somebody comes across you. Taking a charged mobile phone is also a good idea, as long as the trail is somewhere you can get a signal.
• In the forest you rely on your lights. Make sure you have enough charge for the ride you’re planning, plus extra in case of a puncture. Turn them off when you stop to save power.
• Keep your speed in check, at least until you get used to the artificial light.

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