Looking for help or "1 - THE COME-BACK"

The preamble 

On Friday afternoon I was crying in the carpark of the GP surgery. It wasn't crying. It was sobbing.  

An all-encompassing grief for the loss of youth and vitality. Mourning my demise. If this is what ageing looks like I don't want to get old. I was desperate to get my hands on a prescription to get rid of "Glue Ear." This annoying condition has me deaf on one side, the fluid in my eustacian tube will not drain. I have nothing to listen to but the drone of my own voice, my breathing and my heart rate. The prescription was locked in Nhs beaurocracy and right then, right there, that prescription was my only hope for a return to a normal life. When I speak, I feel like I'm shouting at people. At work it isn't great. I've stopped exercising due to the noise of the asthmatic heavy-breather chasing me everywhere I go. To top it all off the boiler failed and I couldn't fix it.

So I cried. Then I rang nhs 111 and went through the menu system.

Here's the commentary:

• • •

Hi. Please tuck off and use the internet. 

If you're an idiot or luddite and need the internet texting to you press 1.

If you're still sick press 2.

If you have covid fuck off.

If you don't know what covid is yet look at the internet and fuck off.

Do your teeth hurt? Press 1 

For all other illnesses Press 2

Please wait to be diverted to your local nhs. 

If you have covid fuck off.

If you don't know what covid is yet look at the internet and fuck off. 

Do your teeth hurt? Press 1 

For all other illnesses press 2 

If you have covid, fuck off unless you're actually dying.

If you're actually dying, ring 999.

Are you still here? Press 2.

Once I had navigated this menu, I met the most compassionate person in the nhs, the automated queuing voiceover who reassured me I was still seriously ill and someone would be with me shortly.

After calls back at 1am, 6:45am and 10am, I finally had a new GP appointment at the walk in centre to go through the same stuff all over again but finally got my prescription back in my sweaty tear-stained paws. I celebrated with my first haircut in 18 months, lunch in town, a trip to Boots the chemist and a shower at the gym on my way home.

The cycling bit

It was important that I got this sorted because at 4pm I was heading out with Landslide for my first bivi out in months. I know exactly how many months.

My last out was in June on the Jenn ride. In July, August, work took over my life. I feel fortunate to occasionally love my job and sometimes I don't mind long hours but I spent every Saturday recovering and Sunday getting ready to go back. For a short period it isn't a problem but sometimes it does go on and on with people taking more and more and more liberties over my life.

I'd finally found another balance point where I could get a day or two for me. 

L arrived on time and patiently chatted to TSK while I searched the house for random selections of bike- packing gear that had become disparately spread out around the house. The only thing lacking was a functional tool bag but I carried Landslide with me instead. Drama ensued when I realised, despite the warm evening, I couldn't survive with a bumbag and frantically transferred everything into my rucsac.

• • •

We hauled up and around Bole Hills, over to Coldwell Lane, through Fox Hagg into the setting sun and over to Stanage Pole, keeping one eye on the clock to make sure we arrived at the pub in time to eat.

Chris shot off down the causeway at warp speed, a testament to the lots of riding he's been doing while I have been a deaf granny. 

Also, I was wearing my sandals and not wanting to break toes on a crash and I was still struggling to get to grips with my bike again. The road held no such risks and we plummeted into the Yorkshire Bridge pub only to find they weren't feeding non residents so Chris rang the Ladybower whilst I loaded my stuff up and started the sprint over there, as soon as he said we had 10 minutes to place our order.

Glutes engaged.

• • •

L ordered. I bagged the table. We sat out in shorts and down coats and drank our usual and pretended everything was normal. We were quite convincing.

The only thing to get us moving was the sense of chill in the air. I went to the loo. The speakers played out Stephen Fry reading "Harry Potter". It was calming, soothing, womb like compared to the chill air outside. I wanted to stay. Clever marketing people.

We started the steady push up the rocky steep track onto the moor, walked out of cold air and into patches of warmth.

I mused about letting my streak of 30 BAMs go. I pondered that one day I would regret it. Would this be that day? My first in a new streak also felt good though.

-1- 

The Come-back.

L was questioning our sanity. Maybe we should've just curled up with Steven Fry in the toilets.. What? Sure? Sleeping in toilets. Yeah - like normal people. Have you heard us?

Then we noticed the moon, almost full, over the trees below Stanage North end and it made everything OK again.

• • •

We intermittently got on our bikes riding over towards the Derwent Edges. I got off more than not, my skills and balance just done for. Something wasn't right with my seating arrangement but I just put it down to the play in my dropper post because I sure as hell wasn't going to mess with it in the dark.

By the time we got near the summit I was done for. My core ached, my arms ached and my legs had no power in to pedal. For the third time I wobbled over on the gritstone slabs and fell onto the peat bog.

• • •

Thankfully it was dry and I did not even sink. I reverted to my current work mode of a determined trudge. At least I'm successful at stomping.

We passed a number of tents on our way but what I was really looking forward to was the rocky nook that Landslude and I reccied on another trip. We passed other features or stopped to water the heather before reaching our destination, manned by 2 other camping groups already.

In a gesture of not-quite-defiance I sat on a rock. I was exhausted. It wasn't the riding though. It was the week. It was life. I was so tired of it all.

• • •

Thoughts of just riding straight home played on my mind as the city twinkled in the distance but L convinced me there was another spot just around the corner and offered me jelly beans by way of motivation but I've eaten so much crap recently it just didn't appeal.

We put on head torches and trousers to keep the breeze off and busied ourselves rigging camp amongst damp earth and lichens, sheep shit and gritstone. Layers went on and bags rolled out. L set about brewing up his second meal of the evening. I sat and stared at my "Apple and Custard" desert and one aged tea bag. I wasn't really hungry but felt a little left out of the camping experience. Foggy cloud rolled in across the moor to complement the greyscale effect with backlighting from the now-obscured moon.

L asked if I felt better now, being out in nature. My flat answer was "not really" as I stared out at the grey. Damn it must be bad.

• • •

For a moment I lay down in my bivi bag, not even in my sleeping bag yet, and stared at the moor. This was ridiculous. Out of sheer need to do something other than wallow in my own depression I fired up my stove. The meticulous rigging, finding a sweet flat spot within reach, the slow unpacking of kit, the glow of the flame, the careful water pour, making tea with the leftover water or packing the lid down for it to brew.

I stirred the water into the custard powder, set the pouch on my lap inside my bivi bag and waited with the lights out for my mood to brew into something better. There was only distant sound from a few motorbikes. All other campers were either sound asleep or buffered from earshot by the gritstone crag.

Not quite enough water to make liquid custard but more like a fist-sized patty of yellow mush containing apple chunks. Still, the semi-solid mush tasted like egg custard from out of a tart and it was warm and actually it was good. Really good.

The tea went down well. I enjoyed cans of (I don't know what) and we talked - and didn't talk in perfect balance.

Each of us picked our own spot but gradually nature shaped us into a perfect L with my feet sliding down hill to gently butt up to his shoulder.

I adjusted my tyvek a little so that I didn't rudely kick him in the head all night.

When we went off to sleep I closed my bug net but I had a restless night, constantly getting up for a pee and in the end left my bivi open to the elements to let it breathe. For the first time in ages I slept outdoors without coat, gloves or hat on.  

An intermittent breeze occasionally flapped things but I just lay still and listened and watched the darkness until finally I relented and dug out my ear plugs. 

The dew had fallen outside the crag and I closed my frame bag to stop it getting any wetter but we were dry under the protective shelf of gritstone.

At 5am we were woken by grouse, seemingly debating these strange objects that had arrived on their territory. I knew L had to be home to take his son to football but I snoozed in for a while and he busied himself with his breakfast. The grey clouds disappeared in a whisper of breeze and by the time I was properly awake, colour had returned to the world

"Now. Now I feel better."

• • •

The porridge I brought had clearly been around for some time but eating it was better than not. It had a slightly acidic tinge to it. The coffee had been ground down to fine powder and topped up multiple times so it was very good.

I wobbled my saddle around to see how much play was in it. It slid back and forth on the rails taking my bag with it and I remembered it was a new saddle which I had bunged on there in a rush one weekend with a plan to fix it properly next time I rode the bike. Ok. No wonder my core was fucked and my undercarriage chaffed.

• • •

We watched a kestrel browsing for its breakfast then Landslide set off and left me with the spiders and the midges who made a sudden appearance as soon as the temperature hit just the right level and the breeze became less consistent. Despite the warm start to the day I put my gloves on.

Aware that we were reaching more sociable hours I packed up all my stuff but it was already warm enough to just sit out - given that I needed to stay in my waterproof trousers and long sleeve coat, just to keep the midges off.

• • •

For an age I just sat and stared at the moor - drinking it all in. Listening, watching, being. Finally I was happy again and I had some time to myself.

Ever since I started this bike packing journey I've had my eye on events - TNR, the winter ride, BB200, Braunton150, HT550, Trans Atlantic way. I realise I've never actually done it just for the joy of sitting around doing nothing. There's always somewhere to be.

My nothingness was broken up by the steady pitter-patter of mizzle.

Realising I had waterproof everything except socks I decided I should lay those tracks back towards home. I had two very important things to do before heading back to work that evening:

• Pack up my shit
• Eat some more
• Sleep some more

I stripped off the warm layers, left on the waterproofs as the mizzle matured into full-on rain and put on the thick wool socks I'd brought to sleep in in the hope they'd keep the rain off long enough. 

As I left the crag the lads from the other tent were teetering around in jeans and teeshirts and dressing into puffer coats to "keep the rain off". I left them to it and enjoyed the descent all to myself except a group of 4 female runners also enjoying the weather.

• • •

I took all the off-road I could to get home. At the road I could have turned left for the easy road ride to Bradfield and a roll down the valley road to home. Instead I turned right towards the bridleways.

The climb out of the gully on the road was easy -peasy on the mtb compared to the last 8 weeks of riding my confused gravel/road gear ratios on Dignity. The secure saddle position did wonders for my agility despite being tired from a night out.

Even the oncoming roadies were cheery. Clearly they hadn't wetted out yet. Then I left them all behind and climbed up 4x4 tracks to the farm, clanged through gates, said good morning to farmers and paused at the bridge over the river Rivelin to watch for the dipper before clattering through the allotments to home.

My socks only just wetted through. I was relatively warm and happy. Without a hot shower at home I reverted to sleeping-off my ride. 

I addressed the eating part by sharing dinner with TSK then drove over the Snake Pass in a contented fog to score myself a hot shower in the comforting environment of the same chain hotel in which I have spent many an evening, then passed out for the best sleep I would have for the rest of the working week.

Kielder Dirty Reiver 202(0)1

Knowing what I now know about the Dirty Kanza, the Reiver - its namesake in the UK - brings a little discomfort. While the battle to reach the line for sunset might be a rewarding experience in Kansas, in the UK, I found a superior sunset from the Moors above Kielder Reservoir than the head-netted midge crew out of the breeze down by the lake shore. Still, that is the end of the tail. (tale).

I wasn't really supposed to be there. 2 years ago I thought that in April, the Dirty River would make a good sharpener for the Highland Trail. The event was rescheduled for September, then cancelled for the following April then delayed to September 11th 2021 which is, of course, too close to the 3 Peaks. So I withdrew (or so I thought)

When the 3 Peaks was cancelled in the middle of my HT-550 rehab, everything that I had been training for evaporated. I let work take over my life and pretty much stopped riding my bike.

The first few reminder emails about the Dirty Reiver fell on deaf ears - I withdrew from that, right?

I went into my email to check - no evidence of a withdraw! and the last email from the organiser announced no refunds. Well, it's not like I had anything else to do.

Against a backdrop of unrelenting workload I squeezed in a 30k ride, a 100k ride, a hilly 60k ride and an even hillier 100k ride then in the last week I went for a 7.5km run (bite me, I felt like it). At least if I couldn't ride the hills, after 3 months onsite in steel toe cap boots, I could run to the finish. I actually had Friday off work to pack and travel up. Unfortunately, because I wasn't bike packing, I forgot fuel, matches, food for cooking, leaving me at the mercy of race snacks and venue food.

The hospitality at race control could not have been better. Unphazed by my slapdash approach to booking (nothing) I paid on the gate for 2 nights camping. I was reassured I had arrived, checked in and accommodated. I pitched my van in a row with other tenters - made a priority to race register and get food. The vegan burger I scoffed with a garnish of midges from underneath my head net was washed down with lemon ginger tea.  I was dreaming of the promised pasta party but the burger and chips filled me up nicely.  I couldn't complain really - I could have brought my own pasta if I'd wanted it.

• • •

Filled with food and needing a break from looking at the world through green mesh, I retreated to the back of the van to piece together my bike, food, number water and clothing and fill a small Tesco feed bag for the 94km food station. In fact, the food I stashed here was for me to transport to feed station 3. Knowing I struggle to skip meals, I packed in one of my dessicated meal food pouches for the feed station offering hot drinks so I could manage my skipped lunch by at least eating dinner.

Also, up until feed station 3, I estimated (at my pace) I would have zero minutes for sitting around doing anything like eating.

The tent went up in the darkness but, after months of bike packing my little two man tent feels like a cathedral and I spread out.

The only pillow I'd brought was the one I bought from ASDA last week to replace a shit hotel pillow. It was ultimate luxury as far as camping was concerned.

The alarm went off too early. I ate race snacks + peanut butter sandwiches for breakfast in preference over cold-brew porridge. At least the caravan cafe was open for coffee, drank in my tent while I dressed, avoiding those pesky midges.

I debated taking my spot tracker on the ride so TSK could follow my progress but in the end the battery was flat so I sprinted back to the van to drop it off rather than carry excess weight around.

Back at the start line I realised one of the zip ties on my number had disappeared. The large crowd left me no chance of getting over to the registration tent to pick up a replacement without being dropped by most of the field so just hoped that one zip tie (and the number) would last the day. I would put up with the number flapping about on the descents. Komoot were handing out stick-on route profiles so I attempted to stick down my number with the sticky strip of plastic showing the profile for the 65k ride. It didn't work and just made things even more flappy.

A group of around 800 people huddled and swatted midges then we were launched after speeches, up the castle road. Cue 20 minutes of being passed on the hill climbs then patiently sitting-in on the downhills. Why my bike rolls down hills faster than others' is beyond me. Sitting-in behind one particular sleep downhill I felt momentary impatience then decided I was probably better off surrounded by a few sensible people to temper my inner recklessness. I wasn't on a mountain bike today.

I got chatting to a few people, formed a 'club' with another rider as we talked about passing courtesy + with a Derwent Valley rider who agreed with me everyone else had gone off too quick.  I bumped into a "Belgian" and we chatted about the 3 Peaks for a while.

The first 20km flew past in a blur, clearly I was steaming! Then I realised I was riding above myself and found my own pace The next 25km crawled past as I stopped being carried along. I noticed that there wasn't really much to look at - trees passing, different kinds of rock surface, the wheel in front, occasionally some rolling lumps in the distance. It was a vast continuous high plateau lacking in distinct hills and valleys. I was actually missing Wales.

At the top of the final climb before aid station 1, I shoulder checked before switching lines to pass a slower rider and starting the descent. At exactly the same time the woman behind called "passing on your right". To avoid the inevitable wobbly confusion and avoid crashing on the grass up the middle, I held my line, kept the power on to finish my pass a left her to figure it out. After a few angry calls of "on the right" she finally figured I wasn't moving and called "on your left then" into my mostly deaf left ear.

The guy behind was horrified, "who does she think she is?"

Things got even weirder at the next hill when someone pulled alongside staring at me on the approach to the descent. My brain, given a choice between concentrating on the impending loose gravel descent and asking, "I'm sorry, do I know you?" chose the former.  My challenger kept pace, kept on staring and just as we tipped over the edge skidded his rear tyre as he almost ran into the man I was overtaking. I uttered an audible "Jesus!" before reverting to the business of dodging an overhanging tree branch. I'm glad I didn't engage in further distracted conversation as I would have been wiped out by a jaunty pine.

• • •

As the day went on a repetitive behaviour emerged of him spinning past me, MTB legs all a-twiddle, only for me to pass him and his comrades later, standing around. It was skiers vs snowboarders without the snow. I got to nodding terms with his female friend but silently avoided his gaze for the rest of the day.

• • •

I managed to drink. I managed to eat a few snacks but I was kind of ready for the descent to the 45km feed station.

More than anything I really needed a pee but was mildly concerned there might be a queue that I didn't have time for. Instead the perfect forestry lay-by appeared on a descent where other riders would be passing too quickly to be concerned by an abandoned bike in the trees.

Finally, peace and quiet. Amongst the trees, gold crests seep-seep'd at each-other in flocks. I realised I'd seen zero wildlife in 3 hours. With 16. 9km/h on the ckock - it felt faster but this was going well - I was ahead of schedule. Still, I didn't get off at the aid station. I stuck wine gums in my jersey pocket and two jaffa cakes in my gob before setting off up the hill again.  After the initial hubbub of the aid station party atmosphere, quiet descended once more.

At the top of the climb as we popped out of the trees onto the moor, I realised how the morning was so good. A chunky head wind blew as we turned to ride the other way.

The field thinned out so that intermittently I was riding alone. The view point so eagerly anticipated from my recce occurred just as I was thinking "Well this breeze will slow me down" and "I don't want to stop here and get cold" so I hesitated tolook at the view while I put on a windproof and then dropped like a stone back to Kielder and our first cut off point of the day, while others stopped to take a photo.

• • •

A nice lady pointed out the 65km route turn and the sensors bleeped reassuringly for those of us silly enough to carry on. Mentally I'd linked aid station 2 to the Kielder cross-over but there were 30km between the two so, "I'll wait" started to turn into desperation.

For a little while we rode along the main road. I knew where the second feed station was but from my sofa reconnaissance, I hadn't really noticed the long stretch of A-road where everyone who passed me did so at such a speed I could not possibly grab a wheel. Thanks to the boring road I had a full plan as to what I would do at the aid station with an energy drink top up being the main priority. Better to ride with it in drinkable liquid form than carry the undrinkable powder around.

It did not matter that it wasn't where I expected it, as soon as I saw a man in a vest with a 5 Gallon water Jerry Can and a tub of chocolate bars, I asked for a bottle refill. It wasn't until a lady with 5 border terriers started feeding her dog water from a bowl with her hand explaining he's blind I realised I'd just stolen water from the Dog's Trust charity walk I felt guilty for as long as it took me to realise they only had 1km to go.

• • •

At the actual aid station Rich Pipps was waiting for me, smile in hand and as I dropped myself and bike in a heap where I dismounted. He plied me with my feed bag. I packed the chicken curry away, demolished most of the Doritos and banana and thankfully, despite a lovely chat, he reminded me about the cut off just around the corner. I had 20 minutes. I took 10.

(c) @RichPips (slightly provocative - look carefully!)

Still it was nice to happen upon a friendly face. Elaine (owner of the legs above) who I had met on the Jenn Ride appeared at my shoulder. After I fed her my last chips at Seathwaite she had gone on to source food at the next pub and handed her leftovers on to the next tired rider to be refused service.

Pass-it forward - the joy that keeps giving.

• • •

Our next loop had big brutal hills and alarm bells had already started to go off with me, that my gear shifter was stiff and my gears weren't shifting back up the block without a little kick to get it moving. I resolved to use the shifter as little as possible.

When the really big hill struck I stopped getting bottom gear. For a while I persevered, then later fiddled with the adjuster (to no effect) then walked a bit. Frustratingly I had been enjoying the company of a chap from Bedford in a checked shirt (we didn't get to names) but the shirt continued on his way as I couldn't hold his pace with my trudge on foot

Eventually that sweet spot for a pee appeared and with an un-burdened bladder, my brain found the confidence to dig out an Alan key, tighten the cable and accept that having bottom gear was worth losing the top 3 gears on my rear block

I didn't really need them and I sure didn't have the time to look for them. I caught up shirt and rode with him again for a bit. I got into a rhythm of riding with a other individuals or a few different groups.

They all went up hill faster than me and either I caught them up while they rested or waited for eachother or I actually out- descended them because I'm a strong believer in the preservation of momentum and my bike goes downhill faster than most. My number continued to flap in the wind. A chap passed me at 3pm and announced we were, "probably going to miss the cutoff". I thought this was unfair and improbable but wasn't sure what time had been lost to facing with gear cables & bathroom breaks.

I managed to stay upright and check my pace notes at the same time, confirming we had 1.5 hours to do about 40 minutes riding. Still, now I had my bottom gear back I was happily dancing on the pedals to keep the speed up. On my plan I was to pass through the cut off at 4:15 and it closed at 5. I passed at 4:08, a little up on schedule and knowing that cut offs ahead of me only got "more relaxed": an 8pm one at the Dam for anyone riding into darkness and the 10 pm cut off on the line.

• • •

I started watching climbs rather than kms. They were easy to count - some monster long ones, some circulating surely towards landmarks - transmitter masts, cols, we sailed through the checkpoint, hardly noticing it, except Elaine who met up with her marshalling husband there - much to his relief

My legs were still turning the pedals but a blister was starting to appear inside my thumb and my tush was prickled and bruised from climbing and insufficient saddle time-in-training.

Dropping down from the transmitter I steered my front wheel on the narrow strip of clear ground swept away by 380 wheels before me & hoped I wouldn't drift off my line because I was travelling at ouch miles per hour. 

The facilities of the next aid station were a gift. About 8 riders were in various stages of packing up ready to leave or eating whilst huddled up on the steps.

I checked in with the guy who thought we might miss the checkpoint and asked him if he was happy or disappointed that we didn't miss it - he wasn't sure

There was a bit of a party atmosphere with most getting ready to set off on their Last hurrah.

One man arrived after me and left before me.

I hardly looked at the food on offer from the race crew.

I acquired water for my chicken curry pouch, a coffee, a packet of prawn cocktail crisps and the attention of a moggy who not only came for a purr and a stroke and head-buts but took residence on my knee whilst I ate my dinner.  I didn't argue. This was rather nice as my knees had just done a long downhill so were cool, despite the hot day & Kitty provided a little extra warmth. I wasn't going to bother putting leggings on as I'd only get too warm later.

After extracting myself from the cat I washed my hands (again) and face, got some Zinc Oxide tape for my blister then set off on my way, sending a text to TSK to intimate my impending success. He knew I was only worried about the first three checkpoints. I'm not sure why but I only had 3% on the phone - definitely no photos for the album then!

I waved goodbye to the jolly crew and didn't see anyone coming the other way on the way in, as I made my way out.

The crew started to pack up and I thought I heard someone say "Now we have to start taking a serious look at the ability of anyone else to finish" I might have been imagining it. I had every intention of finishing.

At least I had to prove to myself I could still get ready for a 200 in 6 weeks.

At the bottom of the hill we went straight across the road, back onto gravel and into some farmland tracks before starting back up onto the moors again.

The guy who left ahead of me was just packing away the coat he'd had on to warm up after leaving the aid station. I assumed that, given my fatigue levels and a sudden tendency to need to weave across the whole track to make it up hills, he would catch me up. He never did.

• • •

It was 6pm when I left the aid station. I needed to keep a close eye on my average speed which had dropped to 14.6 kph including my stop. The notes said there was a dam cut-off at 8pm and I had 27 km to do. Without any mechanicals I would make it easily. With all the people gone though, the day seemed to peak. First I disturbed a large deer which I only heard and did not see, though my hallucinatory gland did think it might have been a Sasquatch. I watched a buzzard hunting for mice amongst tree detritus from the felled forest. A little further along a roe deer spotted my approach and pranced with me for a few metres before disappearing into the trees.

As the light faded colours to tones of grey a flock of (presumably) blue jays frolicked through some trees, each displacing the next into flight till they ran out of trees then went back to the beginning

• • •

It wasn't quite all downhill but I really did enjoy the last km which was a clear curving descent down to the obvious long, straight dam. I knew there would be questions but I was ready for them.

I stuck my back lights on after the feed station in case any vehicles came up behind us but now it was time for the front light too.

Yes Mr Marshall, I have 2 good lights, I also have lots of food, water and clothing. I time-trialled across the long flat tarmac. Partly to keep out of the wind, partly to convince them I was still strong.

• • •

There's an aid station cut off on this dam in the Keilder Ironman and I played the same game in 2016, running tall and strong with perfect running form to persuade them to let me continue on to the end of the race where I finished at 10:30pm.

On the other end of the dam I nodded to the medics, poised to attend to any deflated exhausted people, then was jumped by another marshal checking my number in the radiance of my Exposure light. I mentioned the guy behind me, "aye, we'll look out for him". I suspected I was about to become the last rider on the course.

I believe the Marshall was the same guy who organises the Iron distance triathlon (though I couldn't be sure) and wondered if he remembered me heading off at 5pm to run another 5hour marathon to finish exhausted in the dark. Nothing changes eh? I resolutely climbed away from him into the darkness looking strong so he wouldn't change his mind and come running after me.

When I crested the hill and started descending the other side the familiar flapping of my unhinged number started and after being momentarily dazzled, everything suddenly went dark as it flapped up to cover my light.

I hastily tore it off and stashed it in my handlebar bag, I'd have to be anonymous for the last 20km.

• • •

Around the corner I faced up to (honestly) one of the steepest slopes of the day. I hauled up it till my legs shouted out through my rasping lungs then got off for an ickle walk. To be fair, I needed the change (rest), I moved faster because of it and the sun was just dipping so I stuck on my windproof for the inevitable downhill chill.

My bike light was adjusted to varying levels of brilliance depending on whether I was going up or downhill. When I reached the top of the moor everything got properly spectacular. "That there" was what I had come for. The golden glow across the horizon, fading to Orange, Gold, Navy, Royal Blue then Purple. The sun hidden somewhere behind lenticular clouds which fluffed grey with a gold lining and a crescent moon glinted off to the side.

• • •

Just as I thought it couldn't get more painfully beautiful an owl flew across in front of me, its head and body silhouetted by the sunlight like a winged comet in silhouette. I soaked in the last of golden hour before the light was gone and the stars started to emerge from the blue.

After a while, Simon and the Medic started following me. I hoped that wouldn't be it for the last 23 km, having a truck trundling along the trail behind me.

Thankfully the route went downhill suddenly on the sketchiest descent of the day to the Keilder shore path. The truck couldn't follow me. This I was not, however, the time to face-plant into one of the many bushes overhanging the track. I rolled carefully.

On the main track I whistled at the sculptures (I couldn't remember if one was a listening sculpture of sound). The sculptures did not answer back.

The Lakeshore path was like single track without anyone on it. I zoomed in and out, up and down. Occasionally Simon and the Medic would appear on an adjacent forest track or crossing and cheer me through in between taking down tape or uprooting direction signs. Now I knew no-one was behind me.

I'd been reckoning with myself what time I'd finish. It wasn't really important except it was really important it should be before 10. The 16 kph timeline promised 8pm but I was running just below 15kph - in fact 14.6kph.

• • •

At least 14.6 wasn't actually dropping.  It was my terminal velocity.  I could cruise on for hours like this now and I felt like I do on one of my epic long night race efforts. For ease of calculation, I used 15kph and reckoned between 9-930 maybe 945 at worst. 

I had been looking forward to losing elevation where the disappearance of the sun would be offset by the shelter of the valley and the retained heat lower down. Ha! The water mass sucked all warmth out of the air and I felt both hungry and chilly. I considered putting leg warmers on but as the legs started to slow, my stomach churned. I managed to wrestle a banana from my carradice without stopping and decided to tough out my cold legs - knee cramp and all - for my glorious finish.

I literally counted myself into my last 2km and still managed to cheekily deposit a banana skin with the medic rather than looking for a bin in a deserted car park at 9:30 at night. There was the stone bridge that I'd run across during my triathlon and then I spilled onto a lane and the gentle glow of lights from the pub and a cheer went up then clapping and whistling and I dinged my bell in acknowledgement and excitement that I could soon stop. One hill to go. More dedicated cheering, somebody brought me a badge and a meal ticket but all that was left was a place to lean my bike and a lukewarm chicken pastie which left me more suspicious than fulfilled. The lovely people from Komoot left me a couple of pressies - a spoon and a hip flask.

The hip flask was in a cardboard box so at the time I didn't know what it was but it had been in somebody's pocket in the pub so it was warm and I cradled it in my hands like a precious thing and thanked them profusely for my unknown gifts before burying my face in my pastie and looking around me at the feast I had obviously missed. I could have murdered an Erdinger!

The leggings and waterproofs went on my chilly legs that were well overdue a warm layer after the dark night time breeze: I added a wool top and windproof then pottered out into the night air. I mostly free wheeled towards the tent. Now that I'd finished I was just another body on a bike, pottering around in the dark.  No excitement, no cheering, just exhaustion. 

For the first time all day I didn't have to keep going. I had no moisture left in my body. What I craved the most was the bottle of San Pellegrino I had in my tent. When I reached the uphill slope to the campsite my legs didn't want to bend anymore so I climbed off and shuffled my way across the field, lifted the bike into the van then unearthed my beautiful, soft trainers.

Inside the tent I drank my water then peeled off grubby layers, using my relatively clean leg warmers to clean the worst of the grime from my body before folding into my sleeping bag and passing out before my head hit the pillow. All thoughts of a late shower before bedtime dissolved into sleep.

Last entry on the finishers page