Decembivi - cozy but failed.

 I enjoyed last week's bivi so much, I thought I might do it again this week.

I thought I'd go all-out comfort this time and take my (c)13 year old one man mountain marathon tent out with me.  Double skinned and relatively spacious and about the shape of a hooped bivi, it would give me a feel for whether I want a hooped bivi or not.

It took me a while to pack everything up.  The tent took up so much space in the handlebar bag, I almost left my sleeping mat sitting in a pile of things on the kitchen floor.  Somehow I managed to ram that in an overly stuffed saddlebag and set off with an afternoon snack in my rucsac and a box of soup to heat before bed time, hoping to eat properly in a pub sometime in the evening but not really making any solid plans.

I had lunch before I left then set out about 13:30 into cloud which had descended all the way down the valley, the new "waterproof" leggings being put straight to the test after their first wash.

This should have given me clue as to how wet it was out there.

 I dropped to the bottom of the Rivelin Valley, thinking I'd make my way over to Longshaw then Chatsworth but somewhere along there, I decided to hit the Ladybower, climb up the other side and head for summer meadows.  I could come home over Stanage and take an easy line home in the morning.  I climbed up the other side of the valley, all the way along to Rodside but in a fit of boredom, changed my plans again and promised myself to ride some trails I hadn't ridden before.  

 

I'd plotted a route earlier around the back lanes and few bridleways near Bradfield so I dropped over to my route - heading almost all the way home to do so.  I circuited the edge of Loxley, probably no more than 700m as the crow flies from home but over two steep sided valleys away.

My ride was indeed more lanesy and each new bridleway had been ridden before at some point, although many of the interconnecting roads were new to me.  Some of them were incredibly steep and reminded me of Wales.  

It's amazing what you'll consider when you're bored.

 

I managed to find pleasure in the lanes until the light finally disappeared completely at about 4:30pm.  

A couple walking spaniels told me "This road only gets steeper".  Whilst that would always be a perfect reason to ride on by them, I realised I was off route and was in the middle of interrogating the Garmin to figure out which way to actually go, hoping to find myself on something a bit more technical than a road climb.  I doubled back, towards the valley side lower down, "Aye, I would" said the bloke as I rode away.  Rude.

A little further down the hill I found exactly what I was looking for - a lovely Byway that yes (you guessed it) I had ridden on before.  My eyesight was failing me in the fading light and condensed rain on the screen of the Garmin though and I was sure it was directing me right to the bottom of the valley.  I descended and found myself in Wharncliffe.  This is not what I was after.  

The long slog back up the road was hearbreaking.  Finding the other end of the Byway I had missed was even more hearbreaking.  I carried on up the road.

Away from the noise of the town, I slopped into a driveway to a field, blocked by a tree branch and sat on my mat to eat my afternoon snack.  Not one car passed and I was out here doing it, not stuck at home.  That's all that mattered.  I put on all my riding layers and laid my waterproof trousers over my legs to stay warm.  

Back on the bike, the Bontranger light went on in flashy mode to pierce the cloud and both rear lights went on.  I dropped into the Agden reservoir catchment then climbed back out again on a steep trail which had me off and pushing more than once.  It was definitely enough to warm me up from my stop.  

So much so, I stopped for a wee in the woods.  I turned all my lights of so as not to be spotted by any passing dog walkers and made my way into the trees by what light was left in the sky (not much and I nearly fell over quite a few times).  The swirling clouds had a lighter grey tone to them.  Enough to make me think the moon might eventually appear from behind it resulting in the kind of night I was looking for but despite craning my neck, the moon was nowhere to be seen.

The bridleway over to Mortimer Road passes two farmhouses - one at a distance that I was happy to circumnavigate at a distance, having been here before.  The second house sits right on the bridleway, its outbuildings spill across the road I was on.

A large dog stood silently in my path.  Uh oh.  I do love dogs but a dog in its own home has space to guard so I was a bit nervous about approaching it.  I did so slowly, talking reassuringly.  "Hello, are you going to let me by?"  He trotted over and gently jumped up, big paws on my thigh as I stood astride my bike.  I stroked his head and told him he was lovely.  Not a bark, not a growl but he didn't trot off either.  I suspect he was a big puppy.  Big paws, a big head, spindly long legs.  

He jumped down and I started riding again but he stood in my path once more.  I didn't want to ride past and be a moving target, or take my eyes off him.  We had another chat.  "There's a good dog, can I go through your gate?".  The owner surfaced from an outbuilding, "what's the dog got?" He was pleasant enough  though, wrapping up with, "It's a bit late to be out isn't it?" 

"I'm on my way home now", I lied, swinging the last gate open to disappear onto open moorland once again.

I looked at my Garmin through the pitch blackness - 5:15pm.

At the end it was straight over onto Mortimer road then I picked my way over to the bridleway that stretches out onto the moorland.  As soon as I turned off my tyres dropped into a hub deep puddle that 4x4s have carved, parking off the road.  I hoped it wouldn't be like that all the way across.  

Thankfully not.  After the gates, a hardcore track forged its way across the hillside.  I was done with technically challenging for a bit so this was very welcome.  Of course I'd been here before and last time it was swathed in purple from the heather.  This time I tutted at all the waste that was strewn around the hillside though - tissues were everywhere, tucked into every nook of heather like spoils from an angry travellers site - until I realised that the splotches of white I could see at the extremes of my vision were snow. 

The splotches of white increased in density the higher I climbed, though always clear from the trail which had obviously seen some footfall over the last 2 days.

Through the darkness I saw a tiny headtorch by the trail.  "Nothing like a midnight bike ride" said the bloke, "Nothing like a midnight walk, and it's only 5:30pm!"  Stupid daylight.

When I ran out of trail, the snow started to cling to the gritstone slabs that have been laid across the moorland tracks and I rode unclipped, my heart in my mouth.  To fall off here would mean one foot planted firmly in deep sticky freezing bog and it was WET.  Any stop had to be controlled and tight.  I would have to plant my feet within 15cm each side of my pedals to keep them dry. 

I pushed out a steady cadence all the way across, passing gritstone features without even glancing - not really knowing where I was on the map.  My destination, I decided was Back Tor for dinner.  

It was further than I remember and compounded by an internal need to get off and walk the really tricky bits.  Several of the bog bridges I had crossed without flinching - much better than my last trip - and any that were slightly uphill were easy because all I needed to do was keep my balance and pedal.  The downhill ones, I bottled.  Any need to touch the brakes and I could just see myself skidding sideways into the blackness, never to be seen again.  Drowning in peat is not high on my list of ways to go.

So I walked them and I walked the slippery bits that had no slabs, trying not to sink but trying to carry my bike over the landscape - and that was no easy task. I dreaded seeing a Park Warden who would likely send me back the way I had come and give me a stern telling off.  

At one point I thought I saw a head torch heading across the moorland towards me but when I looked back it was gone.

Finally Back Tor appeared.  The wind had finally come out from somewhere, a gentle snow-cooled breeze cutting through the night sky.  I headed round to the lee side of the formation, looking for a good tent pitch.  I did find one, on a bank of heather, well drained, topped with snow but still out in the breeze.  

I decided to make dinner and think about it.

I scrambled the bike over to the rocks, leant it up and searched for a sheltered spot.  Right at that moment, it started to rain.  I found the sheltered spot though and decided I could wedge myself and my cooking gear in it and watch the rain fall outside.  

As I shimmied between the stones, I realised that the headtorch I had seen had been the glowing lights from the pub down at the road.  The shower and the breeze had at least thinned out the cloud so that visibility had returned.

I went to light the stove and as soon as I reached for the match box, I instantly knew there were no matches in it.  It contains nothing more than a little extract of midge coil wrapped up in cling film, my highland trail stash.  Thankfully, I did still have a lighter with me as backup.  I tore the side off the matchbox to act as a match wick for the meths stove, momentarily hoping it wasn't covered in some fire-proof coating, and promptly dropped it in the meths.  The cardboard took well, the meths soaked cardboard took even better.

My nook was really cosy with the fire going, though I'd sat down with my feet pointing up hill and soon found that my core muscles and tired hip flexors couldn't hold the position indefinitely.  Despite my best intentions I had to plant one hand on the wet rock and another in the wet ground to get up sharply as cramp wracked my right leg.  At least I managed to do it without knocking over the soup and the fire.

I sat back down 180 degrees, squeezing my legs as far into the overhang as I could so that only the slightest of showers and the occasional drip off the rocks above fell onto my hooded back.  I made my decision there.  Eat this, fuck off home.

The soup was brilliant, so was the prospect of bed.  Had I been convinced I'd be warm and snuggly, I'd 100% have stayed out but I was convinced I'd be wet and miserable and come home exhausted on Monday staring down the barrel of a day at work (but not "at" work).  Also, 7:45 is no time to be going to bed and having forced my heavy bike through 1345m of climbing, I wasn't sure I had much left in me to tire myself out and go anywhere sheltered to sleep.  I was already missing my bivi as I could've got a decent kip in the hillside hut if I weren't relying on a tent pitch.

I got up from my feed stop and quickly battened down the hatches and loaded up the bike.  Lights streamed down the valley, flashing red - a plane? No, just a car on the distant A57.  I could see civilisation from here.

I packed up swiftly and bounced across the last few paving slabs and rocks to the fast line off the moor.  After just a few metres I stopped again, this time to pull up my hood under my helmet to keep the rain off and to add my woollen gloves underneath my riding gloves.  As I coasted along the sandy trail, I caught a glimpse of something moving fast next to me.  A mountain hare, bright white and bouncing through the snow.  Only a leveret, it was just a little bigger than a domestic rabbit.  She ran along the trail with me and infront of me then once out of the beam of my light, beat a hasty retreat at an angle.  I felt like I had seen what I needed to see.

The surfaced trail took me back to the parking lot where the last few hikers were packing up their gear.

The descent had cooled me right down so I took the opportunity of stopping to do the gate to sort out my head gear for the ride home.  I pulled my buff back down round my neck and added my fleece hat underneath my hood.  Proper kitted out.  The only think I couldn't be arsed to do was put my waterproof trousers on.  They're just too tight to get on  over boots (though shoes are fine) so I've had it on my to do list since my last trip to cut the stretchy lycra piece that's just too tight for a boot to slide through so that they're suitable for throwing on and off at a moment's notice.  I was too close to home to bother.

Also, I had a fucking big hill to climb.  

The hill is steep and long and last summer, in the middle of my training for the BB200, when I was crawling home up this hill, my dad's mate phoned me to ask my about supporting a friend in PBP (Paris-Brest-Paris).  I gave him that exasperated brush off of, "I'm a bit busy now mate... dying!"  Remember the days when I used to have to walk this???  Well, that was at the end of a 200km weekend and here I was, scurrying home from the Peak with my tail between my legs after only 45km.  I'm not sure I can call riding up it progress, but ride up it I did.

I persevered to the end of the road and joined the A57.  All kinds of permutations apply here but I chose the easy one - sit in with the traffic all the way to the bottom then ride up to Crookes on a steady incline leaving myself only the drop into home to do.

I broke when I hit the top of the steady incline and instead of sitting on my laurels, I turned onto the off-road in my own back yard, slid through the trees at the top of the quarry (too many dabs for my liking in the wet) and dropped back to the allotment path leaving myself the rollers of bole hills to execute (not too bad).  I nearly cried when I reached the flat bit though - the bit where I know there are no more up hills to do.

My friend Alan is running 256 miles in December - starting from 1 mile on 1st December, he will run up to 16 miles on 16th then drop down again back to 1 on 31st.  I said I'd like to join him but know it would be irresponsible to take on so much running straight away from (virtually) nothing so I'm there in spirit, walking running (or biking) - to force myself to do something every day.  I was hoping to get 60km on the bike on day 6 at least but the clock timed out at 56km(or something) so that will have to do.