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.
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| (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.
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| Last entry on the finishers page |
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