Le Plan

Every year that I commit to racing I like to have a training plan. In my triathlon days I subscribed to Joe Friel's notion that there's only one thing worse than a bad plan and that's no plan at all.

With long distance racing its often been more of a flexible list of good intentions - I've treated it as an indicator of where I should be each week rather than a definitive set of must-do sessions. I still don't have a perfect plan but this year I seem to have improved my ability to make it into something relevant most days of the week.

I try not to get too worked up about missed sessions because the important part is being happy riding my bike - or whatever else I've chosen to do. This doesn't always work out. For instance, I've had a particularly productive turbo session today and it has been like a gateway into the future.

I improved my fitness. I got the fast twitch muscles moving. I spun my legs around in circles. I got the Waltbike app working on my phone. I got my music playing on a new phone. I got the measurements sorted on the Watt bike so next time I can just walk up to it and get going faster.

I learned I increased my mobility afterwards (which I wasn't expecting). 

I learned I need to remember a sweat towel and a dry bra for the walk home.

It was about a quarter of what I had planned for the day but nevertheless it felt great and I will still feel great tomorrow instead of feeling smashed.

• • •

Still my brain will punish me against the plan but without the plan I am nothing.

Then I remember next week is a rest week or as I call it - an opportunity to catch up on all the hours I've missed this week.

You see, I'm tricking myself because by planning nothing in my rest week I can have four more sessions just like todays, still be ready for next week and the mathematician in my brain can be silent and consider itself well and truly caught up.

• • •

I learned that at this point there everything to be gained from a quick spin at intensity or just turning the legs. No harm in getting out just for a couple of hours and I learned that there 25 weeks to go which means the next 4 weeks are baseload.  It feels less important.  Before this kind of racing my longest plans were 20 weeks long.  HT is 6 months away and I don't even know if I'm in yet but I start here, I try not to flogg myself too much and we start chipping away.

What's important is to ride and love riding, run and run freely. Breathe.

Adventures in Pemberley. Of sunsets, beasts and failed bonfires.

 “Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add colour to my sunset sky.”
― Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds 

 My adventures in bike packing for the 2021-2022 season were finally ready to begin.  On Saturday I set myself the task of sorting out all my electronics for the weekend and it took me all day to find elements of my set up that had long since fallen into disarray.  

On Sunday the struggle continued and I finally left the house at 1pm.  A bit earlier than last week... baby steps and all.  

By the time I realised I'd left my camp pillow at home I was at the woods already and didn't intend to retrace my steps.  I'd just have to hope it was going to be warm enough tonight to not need my insulated coat as well as my sleeping bag.

The weather gave me no excuses this week.  After messing about in my own valley on the rough-stuff (I was only imagining a short ride), I was pleasantly surprised to find myself at Redmires reservoir in time for the sun starting to dip and the water beautifully still.

People stagger towards the reservoir with cameras and binoculars. Even motorists are polite and calm.  I swing up to the Causeway. I haven't been here for so long.  The final approach to Stanage pole silhouettes a small family group enjoying the sunset but I think they're worth a snap.  I'm just disappointed I didn't catch the outline of his flat cap.  Too Yorkshire?

 Mist floated in the valley and a grouse croaked in the tussocks.  I looked on over my future home (which obviously I will turn into a massive refuge for everyone to use).

I whooshed down Stanage as the sky turned ochre and bounced off the crags and the bracken.  An army of photographers in camo gear were stalking something in the woods but it didn't sound like they'd had much success.  I was finding gold by the trailside.

My bladder was doing it's usual response to the coffee I'd drunk 3 hours ago so I decided to ride up the hill towards the public loo instead of carrying on down to my first stop at the reservoirs (completely forgetting about the toilets at Heatherdene).  Still, the mistake was disguised as achievement as I cycled past this gorgeous holly-bush flushing in the setting sun.

 

Since I was halfway to Burbage edge, I thought I'd give that a go in the sunset too.  Halfway along I pulled up a boulder and positioned myself to consume biscuits and chocolate with the last of the sun's effort whilst boulderers and runners headed back to their vehicles.  I felt smug knowing my day was not over.

Some boulderers stayed around for the moon-rise, hot on the heels of the receding sunshine.

I realised the need to get moving so continued to Longshaw past the closing cafe and onto the estate grounds where it would have be rude to neglect the final blush over Shatton moor with the reflection in the lake before tackling Frogatt and Curbar in the dark.

 I managed not to fall off in front of giggling teenagers on Curbar - which is an achievement only guaranteed by the lack of giggling teenagers on a chilly November evening.  I enjoyed the sparkling lights spattered below.  The luring sight of fairy lights in a gigantic world.

I marvelled what the hell the light pollution was coming out of Calver village then realised it was the beastly Chatsworth estate and was suitably incensed.  I'm sure Mr Darcy would have agreed.

There was nothing left to do but descend to Chatsworth to take a closer look.  I think the lazer light beam might have been turned off by the time I got there.  I certainly didn't notice it.  You can pay £14 to go and look at it if you like but I took it in from the other side of the hill, after slogging my way across the grounds on the sketchy bridlepath.  The fog on my light caused a light display similar to that of travelling at warp speed through the milky way in the Starship Enterprise.  Apologies for the blur - the erm... stone wall kept wobbling. Still, the pic is kind of worth it. No soft focus, that's the fog.

Through the wood then... what to do next?

I made a few navigational errors trying to recall the Peak 200 route - one of which ended in me fully going through a gate - bike and all - before realising there really was no path and re-tracing.  Still, now I found that bit of the route I had misplaced previously under a fug of fatigue.

I didn't want to end up in the Haddon estate at this time of night as I wasn't sure if I could get through and also was going to get me out of the way of where I wanted to be (which was able-to-get-home-in the-morning).  So I intruded upon Mr Darcy a little more and headed for the start of the Monsal trail.  That end of Chatsworth is very much about dodging the cow poo, then avoiding the "private" signs until finally there's a big push up a steep hill to the Monsal trail.  Just as I reached the top, a deep guttural growl emitted from the treeline next to me. 

It was the worst moment, topping out on the push, out of breath, not yet on my bike and ready to sprint.  I'm not nearly flexible enough yet to jump on over my saddle bag and survive without ending up a quivering wreck on the ground so I took to shouting "woah there", making my voice sound as big and scary (whilst quite terrified and incomprehensible) as possible.  I didn't hang around to find out if it was fox or dog but it did not pursue so things seemed safe.  I was also hungry so after finding a cutting which had trapped warm air and kept the fog out so I decided to stop and brew up and hope that the beast of Pemberley did not smell my dinner and come to investigate.

The fuel was to be another experiment.  I bought wood pellets like those which go in this little gadget and make stove along the lines of a nice safe camp fire.  I thought they'd be a cool toy for enjoying on one of my luxury bike rides.

Of course I didn't bother with the gadget and instead tried burning the fuel in my little Ti Stove - firestarter and all. Long story short, having burned 4 of my storm-proof matches and half my lighter fuel, I gave up, put the fuel back in its box and dug out the liquid stuff.  Of course at 8pm in the bottom of a railway cutting I didn't notice that everything was sooted up good and proper.

My other experiment was the 1000 calorie food sachets from Expedition foods.  After last week's lacking experiences of the 450 cal version. The water quantity stated seemed a little low so I used the last of the fuel burn to brew up a little more water to supplement the original dose - figuring there would be nothing bad about chicken rice stew. Unfortunately I also squished about 100ml of the extra water up inside my coat, fidgeting whilst waiting for it to brew.

The last bit of brewing was accompanied by me wiping the soggy mess out of my coat.  Fortunately the instructions were accurate and I'd brewed enough water and I wasn't disappointed with the quantity of food.  The quality of the food was that of a dessicated food sachet approximately as described on the contents.  It didn't taste of potatoes so it was an energy success that's useful to file for future reference.  I got another 3hours riding out of the night and didn't snack too much in bed.

Only when I came to packing up did I realise I'd not put the lid back on my camelbak and my remaining water stash had gradually been seeping out into the leaves.  I did the best thing I could come up with which was riding to Millers dale where the toilets are always open.  I drank the last of my water on the way which was essential having just downed 800g of almost re-hydrated food.  It's quite a long way to Millers dale when you realise your tyres have got a bit flat and your saddle keeps dropping down a bit.

Still, I made it, took a few minutes to enjoy the facilities and plan my route home.

I'll admit I was a bit spent and I couldn't afford to stop nearby because I had to be in work by 11am on Monday - preferably much earlier - so I had to get most of the way home before camping up.  I opted for the road interspersed with some good bridleways.  Then I made some foolish decisions to check out a route I'd done only once before, bailed and ended up in the bottom of Deep Dale.  An exercise not to be repeated... except for the horrible bridleway in and the equally horrible bridleway out through a hoof-trodden field filled with bombhole cow foot prints and a steep slope.  I have no idea how I didn't topple over the bars - even with the dropper down.  I had to hunt for the exit gate in the fog and turning my Exposure light on didn't help because that just illuminated the water particles in the air.  Once I found the 6 inch wide exit gate, I also found the tumbled down wall where other bikers (and presumably the majority of normal-to-only-slightly-obese people) had also entered the bridlepath.

Through a combo of lanes, the Pennine Bridleway and Limestone way and assorted other PROWs I arrived back at Peak forest then whooshed down to Bradfield and tanked back along the Hope valley bottom to a reliable spot I've used before.  A bit of a cheeky one by the trailside but it was 1am and no bugger was likely to discover me.

No photo this year and last time I used it I clearly took a last-minute shot before clearing up.  It is an emergency spot after all! Full disclaimer for my dysfunctional brain.

The bivi went up in record time and I set up everything for the night.  Then I got in and found the large tree branch I'd camped on top of.  I wrapped myself around it and moved my helmet to the other side so I could avoid the conflict.  

Despite my clothes and body being warm to the touch I shivered for (what felt like) about 2 hours, annoyed because I didn't want to wear my coat because my head was on it.  Eventually, whilst fidgeting about trying to spread out my spare fleece and windproof top over my legs, I found my spare wool top which I'd carefully tossed into my sleeping bag earlier.  I put that on then promptly passed out like a light.  The next thing I knew, it was 4:45am and someone was making their way through the gate next to my spot.  They said nor did anything and I fell asleep again.  I was tempted by a lie in but the second alarm at 6 had me awake and hungry for more food - it was 10 hours since my last meal after all.  

I packed up and rode over to the Ladybower Inn to push up the bridlepath that avoids the A57, all the while enjoying the scenery, the misted trees and trying to ignore the sound of rush hour traffic.  Eventually I stopped at the stream where the remoteness from the road and the noise of a small waterfall serve to drown out traffic noise and allow for a peaceful place to brew up.  

I prepared carefully and thankfully, what didn't seem to be enough fuel, was successfully eked out to produce enough boiling water first for porridge (that's serious dedication to prioritisation) and secondly coffee.   I was close to a breakfast of coffee and sweets but held out for the porridge.  I wonder if this is what Stu meant by growing up?

At the top of the trail there was another pleasant surprise.  A fellow overnight camper - on foot this guy - to pass the time of day with as he was heading out and I was reluctantly heading home.

On the final climb I nearly went out of my way to avoid those few extra cars but the drain on my time resource had me stick to the road as far as Moscar Lodge.  Close passes were few and far between for once and I even had a white range rover wait until it was safe to pass at a distance.  I must have been looking fat and wobbly.

The ride in across the moor tracks and Rodside politely delivered the final parting shot with a view through the unfolding fog bank over the shroud that covered the city in a blanket of grey.  Just a few peaks waved up around major heat sources in the city.  It was a freakish display which the camera only partially captured.

I dropped through the fairy glen, unable to commit myself to the road - or the steep road up to the house - I instead diverted through the woods on an easier climb - but reverted to walking anyway.  This was as much about being tired as it was dragging out the last of the weekend.

I got more out of myself by walking in on Monday morning, crusty, coated in soot and sweat and exhausted from 3hours 50minutes sleep than I would have had I spent Saturday night out.  I had my computer on and straight into work and meetings, paused at 11:30 for a shower and second lunch then departed for a micro-kip at 3:30 before working a bit late to catch up the day again for a Tuesday meeting task.  All in all it was one of the best cover-ups for an epic weekend I have ever masterminded.

Pleased with my comeback weekend at 70km in 12 hours with all the faffing that went on. Another 18 on Monday was icing on a very filthy cake.

Next time I'll not forget the pillow - probably just something else.

I rode out, poked about, ate dinner, ran away again

I've been training for 2 weeks now. The first 2 weeks I stuck to the plan until this weekend. On Friday my head fell apart at work and I did little work. The headspace fug continued into Saturday. I think it's alcohol induced having cooked with wine and drunk the rest between us. The weekend was spent planning motivations for adventures instead of having adventures; working on my bike, not sitting on it.

I took the important decision to ride the Cotic to race this year and spent Saturday transplanting parts so I could ride it and enjoy it and Sunday finding all my stuff and loading it up. The enthusiasm to go out camping outweighed the weather hesitancy and so I loaded up and rolled out at 4. I quickly realised I had neither the lights nor the plan to cope with a 4pm start. However the ride through the woods in the sunset was apleasure and I surprised myself by riding a short ramp I've not completed before. I've still not completed it but I got further up it than I ever have before.

With a bit of saddle position faffing I hit my road climb in time to put the lights on. I also took the opportunity to inadvertently figure out which of my Spot batteries were dead.

I hit the boulders descents cursed myself for tumbling down it Why? Why? Why? Then remembered it was dark and the bike was loaded.

I was tempted to just camp in the woods but instead headed towards Stanage then diverted to a disused building for a spot of dinner. I had new fuel to test so decided a concrete floor would be safest and most reliable. I didn't fancy getting buffeted about on Stanage or committing to the Derwent valley as I started to feel a bit rubbish and washed out.

Up on the open moor with the sun gone, the wind whipped through me so I stopped in the lee of a stone wall bridge to add layers. Huddled down there was the happiest I'd been in ages. Chilled out and a bit elemental and ferral but I wasn't going to camp right on the access track.  The wind also occasionally sneaked around the edge with a chill and threatened to blow everything away. I packed up and ventured back into the cold,  relieved by a sit in the grass and wriggling into new layers. Several hares watched me with hollow eyes as I approached and then disappeared into the darkness when I got just out of reach.

• • •

I made it up to the building and kept the lights on low so as not to bring attention to myself. There's only a couple of sight holes in the clouded-over glass that point towards the Stanedge Lodge but I was moderately nervous that the blazing roaring flame from my stove was genuinely too visible.

I burned a hole in my gloves and was genuinely relieved I wasn't under canvas or in a confined space. I'll give that fuel a miss in future! Despite the shelter from the wind the place was still cold and unnerving. Wind whipped through the eaves accompanied by eerie booms from fireworks in Sheffield. Critters from another world would not have been out of place scurrying through the long grass and tumbling down the chimney. I put on all my layers: waterproof trousers over my windproof shorts and thermal coat over my waterproof coat and tried not to set anything else on fire. I ate my dinner in the red glow of my head torch, concluded the meal was insufficient and resumed my plan of not bothering with a bivi this time around. I wasn't nearly knackered enough to sleep through the noises, graffiti and sense of confinement and not nearly driven enough to find somewhere suitable outdoors.

I loaded up all my cooking gear, risked removing my thermal layer and continued along the trail to its end. It was soggy in places requiring a push where I didn't have the grip on my tyres. The descent to the road was shortlived though. I tossed my bike over a fence without my lights on to avoid drawing attention to myself and cursed through impaling myself on barbed wire. It was a relief to be on friendlier territory & I was pleased to find one of my more regular farmers has finally given up on his nearly impossible gate latch and replaced it with a loop of twine. It was certainly enjoyable to be shoved all the way back to Sheffield by the howling wind while I relaxed and watched the last of the fireworks exploding green and gold above Stannington.

At least back on home turf I felt warmer again in the valley and had the energy left to tow my lungs and legs kicking and screaming up the offroad climb instead of subjecting my ego to the road pavement climb hike known as "my road direct".

I walked through the door at 9:30pm, chilled out and just a bit hungry but mainly content, that I made it out for my first (if what, somewhat abortive) loaded ride.

I AM NOW BETTER EQUIPPED FOR SHITTING

6th November. I'm just going to come out and say it. I'm entering the HT again. I hope lots of other women will enter but also, I don't because I want to get in. I know I'm not the fastest but I do keep going so I will try not to let imposter system creep in and be confident about my plans and, now I know that I can complete it I will work at getting faster at it with a little more confidence.

If you're reading this, sorry, it's not written for you, it's therapy for me.

I can't stop thinking on it so what I do at this point is write it down so my brain can move on, get on with my life & get on with training.  Yesterday I wrote a long list of reasons for spending money on my race and my bicycles, one of which came down to "I am now better equipped for shitting" as I replaced my unreliable and slightly weighty cat hole digger with a sturdier yet lighter version.

Anyway, as if I need a reason to do the HT again, I will give 4.

• • •

1. Because I want to. I want to experience the push of competition (even if it is just against the clock) and the draw of the mountains -at all times of day.
2. I want to race it with people - and different people because every year I've met someone new in those dark places at the bottom of Glens. Let's face it I've done enough solo riding to last a lifetime.
3. I want to meet my other selves again. Right now I'm getting on great with the person who actually springs out of bed at 6am every day to go training (no really, I am).
4. 4. I like riding my bike all day. To celebrate my decision and possibly remind my future self just what a good idea this is, I'm dedicating a Saturday morning to a short compilation of honest ways I will improve on last year (after the training is done). Yes it is a list of excuses... but excuses I have learned from.

General

1. My startling routine was nailed. Well done me. Same prep next year

Day 1 - Tyndrum to nearly Fort Augustus

2.    I didn't keep going long enough. I might have avoided the heavy frost but I was still very cold. In finer conditions dropping right down would also bring me further along on day 1 - easily. The weather predictions were accurate - those that were further North would have been better off.

Day2 - Fort Augustus to Contin 

The climb over from Invermorriston was much more fun in the daylight.  It was the first time my feet hurt like hell in the wrong shoe choice I need to learn to love that place just a little bit more to make any progress there. This time I said I'd never do it again (Ha!)

The new bit was really enjoyable. 

3. Bring better shoes

4. Less languishing

Languishing over coffee in Cannich was great but it would have been best to go straight to the stores & get resup done earlier/arrived in Contin earlier. In Covid times it would have made no difference because the shop shut at 2pm - long ago. I hope they'll be open next year but one thing is certain, I'll not overlook my "emergency rations" in future & will scoff them in place of stopping early. I had more than enough food to see me to the hotel.

5. Dont buy 20 minute pasta, stick to cold food /pot noodles. 

I carried that shitty pasta a long way with other food onboard! Getting resup in Contin seemed like such a milestone, I didn't know what to do with myself when it didn't happen so I just stopped. Stopping became the early decision, therefore my only plan. Another 4 hrs would have easily got me to a stop before loch Veitch or a dry crossing before the worst weather hit. Gain - 4 hours. 

Gosh a lot happened on day 2

Day 3 to Contin to OBH

6. Have some faith now in Inchbae
7. Carry the hotels phone numbers in your bag/phone. I can not love the ride over to Croic more. Some speed! The Glens! The rivers!
8. Not getting stuck at the hotel is a skill.
9. Use cat holes more - enough said

I stopped around 7:30 pm. Would have been 5:30pm had I not arsed about up & down the valley with stomach troubles. So only a 10-11 hr day with 8 hrs riding. 4 hrs gain to be made.

Day 4 - O B H to Drumbeg. 

This was a full day but there's a few things for me to remember.

10. Be brave on the N loop. It is an enigma but one that you love. Also it was nice to do it all in daylight

Hotel to resup was 16 hrs for me.

11. Having company is a great motivator even if you don't always believe it at the time. 

I liked my companion but for a while I found myself wondering if we were missing out by chattering noisily through this great wild space. I had been there on my own before though. This was something new and different and we whooped down the descents together, happy-excitable for dinner. For the first time in days I pushed on into the night, passing my companions and happy to not be last for once.  It was the first day I believed I'd have company for a while.

Day 5- Drumbeg To nearly Ullapool.

This is a weird one. All the hours are there in my day. I was up early, got brunch at Ullapool with Javi and then turned my back on the lunch crew who then cruised past me not much later as my wheels (or rather feet) fell off. It was another case of "the wrong shoes Grommit". So 1 applies:

1. Wear the right shoes. 

I recon I'd have saved 3 hours of the 8 it took me to move over Ledmore had I been comfortable on my feet and also riding the cotic. There was a lot of lying/sitting around and walking.  During my recce on the Cotic I rode a lot more along the side of the Loch.

In 2020 I'd have physically done much better at the HT but then I'd still have been on the wrong bike so lesson learned. Eventually I might perfect it. (I won't perfect it). With reference to not languishing, I don't for one minute regret the full meal eaten in the OBH On the Crossing to Ullapool I was driven by the promise of warmer weather and it did not fail to disappoint. I enjoyed my night ride and again, experienced satisfaction in leap­frogging someone else in the night

Day 6.-Ullapool To Fisher field.

I faffed in Ullapool, deliberated at the outdoor shop and ate Icecream & had to kill time before eateries opened. It will happen somewhere on every ride so I'll not claim that one. 

I left about 10am. If I write about the new route into Fisherfield it will be rude. I will claim 1-2 hrs of boggling my brain over the new route and sitting about because my feet hurt. Those hours will also include stomping about in the heather trying to decide whether to stop or carry on. Generally though, I was happy with my day. 

Day 7- Fisherfield to Kinlochleven (+ Torridon)

I left Fisherfield late. There was a lot of sitting around. I was slow getting out. Left at 10, got to Poolewe at 4pm. I was tired but also didn't want to leave. I'll take a 3hr bonus for an early morning & some more gusto on my feet.

The Tollie Path - I knew would not be easy (even if it is easier than Postie). With the fast roadie bits to Kinlochewe to keep my inner timekeeper motivated, I pushed on with only a minor stomach complaint and achieved Kinlochewe in the same timeframe as the Postie two years earlier when I was just a baby trail rider and had packed too much shit on a heavy bike.  

My brain thought I could poke on to do Torridon, and fly home in 2 days so I all-nighter-ed over Torridon. I can't necessarily say that gained me any time at this point. Losing a sleep here, slowed down the rest of the ride.  A bit of false economy although it did keep me in closer not-the-lantern-rouge contention.

Day 8- Torridon to Glen Afric 

I'm going to put my punctures here because they officially started on 29th at 1am. That's how I also spent far too much time in Dornie recovering from my all-nighter then proceeded to stop far too frequently in order to nurse my feet during the climbs... and the flats and it's about this point I noticed my BB was on its last legs. Eventually I lay down on the other side of GA and slept for 90' before stopping properly at 8pm. I am taking 4 hours for this day, though I probably squandered 5 hours. 

Day 9-Glen Affric to Devil's Staircase 

I left in good time and resisted cafes until FA. From 8am to 3pm, there was some resting but nothing extraordinary. It was 5pm when I switched Garmin at FW. I sat on a rock or chatted to a runner for a while + I brewed food (or coffee?) leaving KLL. The body was willing to carry on but the brain said no so I pitched in the darkness. However, I wish I'd descended Devils Staircase in the dark because I walked it in daylight anyway. Whether I claim the 7 hours rest here as a saving is debatable. I doubt I'd pull 2 all-nighters but I have now saved 23 hours so the question of an extra 5 hours sleep is moot. I'm having it.

Day 10-Devils staircase to Tyndrum

I can't claim I might've done this any faster short of avoiding standing around waiting for a bull to do it's thing, not bothering to change my damp bib shorts 4 hours from the finish line, not riding with a fucked up BB. Sod it, I'm having an hour.

Total savings - 24-29 hours.