Dirty Reiver 2022

 Last year I trained for the Dirty Reiver in 6 weeks through a process of gradually increasing the distance and resting.  I call it a process - I went with what felt right.  The timing of it last year made it my 3 Peaks Cyclo-cross replacement ride and as-such, it took on all the importance of an event one has trained for 6 months to achieve (or 6 weeks!).  This year, it was in April.  One month before the start of the Highland Trail.

Four years ago when I first conceived of completing the HT, the Dirty Reiver seemed like a good warmup event - 200km of gravel one month before the start date.  Over the years, it seemed like a bad idea since it often takes me a month to get over such an effort and I didn't want to be knackered for the HT.  Somehow that went out of my mind this year and I entered it.  

Now, it seems like a good idea.  In absence of all other training, I might as well cram like a teenager before A levels. I had enlisted the company of my sports massage therapist, Helen, who (during lockdown) has ditched ultra running in favour of bike packing and had done proper training for the DR, and everything.  She persuaded me to take two days off work and we drove up to the event campsite on Thursday. I spent most of Wednesday rebuilding my bike after I got a hole in my lauf forks so packing was frantic and chaotic to say the least.

Our camp was very special.  I'd brought a substantial ammount of kit but only my two man tent, not realising we had to park cars away from the tent space.  Helen had brought a 3 man tent with a big porch but not much stuff.  Between us we had the perfect pitch.  We'd sit outside and I'd chef up fresh food every night then we'd pack everything away into her tent in the evening to stay dry though the overnight dew.

On Friday we went for a shakedown ride around the reservoir.  It was an absolute pleasure.  We rode the trail in reverse to what we'd do on Saturday so we got to see the sculptures properly.  We ate an apple in the sunshine overlooking the sparking water.  We stopped at the sailing club for icecream and tea then took the road for the last part back and troughed our way around the green in the village - the new finishing route to avoid the last bit of trail damaged by the storms 6 weeks ago. Whatever happened on Saturday, we'd had the best day on Friday.

Back at the car, I cleaned off Helen's bike as she'd not had chance nor inclination after her last long trip and we rigged her Garmin mount.  I had some structural retention work to do on my feed bag.

We slept pretty well the night before a race.  Getting up to go for a wee in Kielder is sublime because of the stars and you walk to the toilets craning your neck to see the stars.  There are so many it becomes impossible to pick out the major constellations. 

We pottered up to the start on time the absorbed the usual amount of shuffling around in a big group before the start and we could actually get on our bikes.  Every woman for herself was the slogan.  I held my own better as Helen is tiny next to me but then I was pleased to see her slink past me on the first climb with a smile saying, "ha! Survived the start".  I wouldn't see her for the rest of the day.

I knew I'd be slower than last year - but by how much was unclear.  I also didn't care nearly as much what happened to me.  I tried to keep riding sustainably and ended up quite warm as I couldn't be bothered to stop to take my knee warmers off.  Finally, at control, I stopped to oil my chain some more and remove some layers.  Unlike last year, I actually had a sit on a bench, stretched my back and scoffed some jaffa cakes.  After the climb to the sculpture, I added my windproof then set off down the descent, making my way through a group of triathletes who were sitting on their brakes and then caught me back on every climb.  I also blew up a bit so stopped on a pile of gravel to eat a ham and cheese cracker-sandwich for my lunch.  A lot of people asked if I was OK as if skipping lunch should be normal - weirdoes.

Next the sprint was on to meet the cut-off.  Last year I didn't need to worry about it.  This time I sneaked through with 5 minutes to spare.  Bollocks, I said to the guy next to me, does that mean I'm committed now?

On we went.  My legs were tired now.  I had a little walk. I was only 65km in but already I was feeling tired.  It's been a month since I've ridden that far and mostly that was on the road.  The walk was more about being in a different position for a little bit though.  The mountain bike has become my default ride position so new bits of my body were aching from being on the gravello.

I had forgotten most of the bits of the second loop of the ride and it's some of the nicest terrain and I seemed to be surrounded by some nice people too.  The friendly folk at the back.  I also stopped at the van serving water to top up my bottle as it was absolutely bone dry and I was getting desperate.

Before I was ready for it, we were out of the forest and back onto the road for a stretch before the next aid station and the next cut-off point.  I knew I had to get a wiggle on to make the cut off again and started to put some real effort in.  I thought I'd try and catch someone and work with them to speed us both up.  The guy in front of me stopped just as I caught him up to "get a drink" bollocks and the guy behind me sat on my wheel like a useless appendage then as soon as the next hillclimb came up, sped past at an unsustainable pace after I'd tired myself out dragging him for 3 miles.  Twat.

The trails restarted and I made my way as quickly (and politely) as possible to the aid station and panicked while looking for my food as the organiser kept reminding us there was 5 minutes to get to the aid station that was 5 minutes away.  I was so annoyed, I only had enough time to say "Hi" to Rich and Tom after  I finally found my feed back and then poured a can of coke in my bottle before hammering down the trail.  I got stuck behind a lady skidding down the switchbacks with full brakes on and swore at myself for not taking the direct line down.   I dropped into the cut-off with 30 seconds to spare but was cut off anyway by a volunteer.  

Now, I'd already rationalised cut off as this: I would be stoked to continue and finish but if I was cut off I'd also be fine with that decision and save myself another 5 hours of battling a brutal headwind.

So I argued momentarily about closing the cut-off over 30 seconds early cut off ("over" because they'd already cut it off when I got there) - I mean there's hundreds of people there working on GPS time ffs, but basically, I remembered I'd got lamb chops back at the tent and well, if I didn't go back then Helen would just make herself a pot noodle and I'd get back in the dark to a finish area that had saved me a shitty pastie and life would be a bit crap.  Plus, I was in training for something bigger.  This was just the warm up event.  

So, I pretty much sailed past the cut off onto the shorter 135km course without a bother.  I tried to enjoy the route and both sped up and started to really engage with my surroundings but I remained pissed off about the early cut-off I mean basically I wasn't getting my money's worth.  I saw a newt on the trail which was nice.  I went through the dam checkpoint pissy because they said "you look great" which made me think, "because I have 65 unspent kms in my legs" and I enjoyed the company of the fast people zooming past to finish their 200kms before I'd done 135.

I grumped at the woman on the finish line about being timed out early - sorry - I was quite happy really - and I ate stew curry and drank my cup of crabby orange squash but still, it was better than a half-baked pastie that I stuffed down my throat last year. I walked back down to my tent and called out "hi honey, I'm home" to a snoozing Helen.

The shower was luke warm but heyho, it happened in daylight.  The lamb chops were delicious.

Looking for Love

On the last day of March, I decided "this is it, Highland Trail - now or never".  

I've been crap this year.  Some self-inflicted crapness.  Other external-factor-crapness.

I've 7 weeks to go.

On Friday morning I set off for the day with no excuses.  On my ride to work I was going to quit work early, go home, pack my bike, be on the road early on Saturday, stay out all weekend". 

I got into work. We got an email from Alan.  "7weeks to go".

"Oh *&$)! ALAN. I KNOW"...

"we've put one of your favourite bits of the race back in".

"Oh Alan, I love you". Little happy dance in the office - yes this was all out loud.  Yes, my colleagues were bemused.  

I enthusiastically explained to them what was going on.

Then I forgot about it, left work at 8pm  and got home exhausted at 9 and flopped into my dinner then went to bed.

On Saturday morning though, I did at least load my gear on my bike then remembered that I have a new wheel with a new block.  So I thought I'd put on a new chain and smaller chain ring so I was race ready.

At least the new gear helped me feel better going up the hill - once I'd squeezed past the queue of labour candidates trolling our back yard trying to win my vote.  Stopping me getting out on my bike is not how it's done.

On the bridleway out of town I was pleased to see my friend EP who has recently moved back to Sheffield.  We had a catchup and EP asked where I was off to.  I explained how gammy my last few months have been and that I'd lost the love a bit and so, honestly, I was making it up.  I was going out..."in search of the Love".  Yes I was off to find the Love.

She went home and I bravely headed up the side of the hill.  I wanted to test out this new gear and wheel and sure enough it stuck to the trail like a dream and I cleared something that currently, I shouldn't technically be able to on my fully-loaded steel bike given my current perceived fitness levels. 

Things were looking up.

Next stop was for pre-lunch at the Apple Shack but unfortunately it's still closed (till April 16th if you're local and wondering), so me and my hungry belly crawled on up to Fox Hagg where we sat on a bench and troughed honey roast peanuts instead.

It was insufficient and in my rush to get to the Peak, I cut a corner short then remembered the existence of two pubs in Lodge Moor.  The 3 Merry Lads looked more appetising - mainly given the sunny bench out front, sheltered from the wind and something to lock my bike to.  Beef stew and a half pint of beer were demolished.

The ride over Stanage and down the Causeway was better for it.  Some passing hail showers made the descent chilly but the sun came out again at the bottom and lapwings entertained me on the other side, vying for supremacy in the nesting stakes.

I dropped to the Ladybower, dodging the Chinese students who insist on walking four-abreast down New Road.  The beer caught up with me and I popped into Heatherdene toilets for a wee and a moment to re-dress and warm up after the hail storm.  I slipped onto the lake shore path, hoping it would be starting to get quiet by now.  This was a pleasant trundle to get me away from the busy areas quickly.  It worked and I found myself pushing up a deserted and plush green steep to get out into the Edale Valley on the other side.

Once there, I couldn't resist the draw of Jacobs ladder - so much for avoiding the busy.  A 70 year of the Peak Park anniversary hike / run (it was hard to tell which) was drawing to a close at 4pm with a steady stream of backmarkers making their way off the hill.  I contributed in my own small way to the rememberance of the trespass.

The edge of Kinder was peppered with hikers so I almost felt privileged to be on the Bridleway pretty-much alone.  The ride over to Hayfield was absolute blissful solitude.  I stopped in to say hello to Charlie and then stopped to take a break at the info-board.  I had the place to myself.

My plan was to enjoy the ride over to the main road then turn right to drop into Glossop for some dinner.  I didn't really care if it was petrol station sandwiches by the time I got there around 7pm.  I'd already had a rather hearty meal for lunch.  Instead, by the time I got to the road, I'd enjoyed my solitude so much that sitting on the main road into Glossop was the last thing on my list of desires.

Instead I turned left towards Hayfield, intending to pick up the Peak 200 route at my earliest convenience and maybe drop into Hayfield to pick up some scran instead.  

I missed the first turning for Lantern Pike which - with hindsight - is probably a blessing as it would have been a fuckton of extra climbing only to come all the way back down again.  

Instead I passed through Hayfield and turned off to pick up the Peak 200 after the Pike.  In doing so I completely forgot to pick up any food at all or more water.  Still, I had enough with me if push came to shove - and push I did.  

Coming out of East Hayfield my legs were shot and my body was not in a good mood either.  Still, the sunset did a lot to dull the pain.

I waved to mum and dad on the other side of the wall (in Manchester somewhere) and watched as the lights on all the tall buildings pinged on in the fading light.  A few nervous moments when I thought I was going to be besieged by offroad vehicles but they passed along the main road and I felt no need to duck for cover... except of course to brew up some food.

Tussocks, ditches and walls passed but nothing had any water so I continued my steady trundle until I did find running water.  

A stream crossing the trail gave me some hope but I had to climb a gate to access sitting and sleeping facilities.  A farm was too close and a vehicle pulled slowly along the road and into the house - possibly wondering why someone with a head torch was loitering at the gate.  

I carried on.  I knew where there was water and aimed for there.  Sadly, as I headed down the hill, the temperature also dropped like a stone.  

I filled up my bottle at the appointed spot and scouted around for a bivi.  Nothing was flat enough so I carried on even deeper down the valley to the next stream where I have stopped before.  My previous spot was available but I noticed a gate I hadn't seen before.  

Behind the gate was a shitting spot.  Disgusting.  Human poo, tissue paper everywhere.  Well beyond it though, on the other side of the stream, was a perfectly flat spot.  It even had a tree for company.  I went to check it out and found that it did indeed have enough flat space for a bivi between the tussocks and was out of stench range of the toilet.  The tone of the stream was just right.  Yes, it was a bit close to the Manchester Airport flight path but sometimes everything is.  The main problem was, it was fucking freezing.  Still, I was as tired and hungry as can be so I stopped.

The bivi went up quick.  I got completely changed into sleeping clothes.  Berrated myself (again) for forgetting my down coat and wore all of the layers instead then got out my stove.  The SateBabi was DELICIOUS.  It may help that I've never had read Sate Babi but the dessicated sachet version was so good I'm not sure I want to ruin it by tasting the real thing.

By the time I got around to eating, my stomach had shrunk so much I struggled to finish all the food but force-fed myself to the end.  After all, I'd spent the fuel heating up, I wasn't going to waste the thermals.  I also recognised the signs of dehydration so brewed myself a very full mug of herbal tea, turned my headtorch off and looked at the stars while I shivered and finished my brew. 

Let's be honest, this didn't look like it was going to be much of a night.

Sure enough, I lay in my bivi bag and shivered some more.  Closing the lid wasn't helping me to warm up.  I found whatever remaining clothes I could (wind-proof and slightly damp teeshirt and wrapped them over my legs.  

I got up for a wee. No better. 

I checked all my bags to make sure I hadn't stashed any hand-warmers anywhere - no joy.

I ate an energy gel in case my calories were still to low.  Not sure where that came from but it really shouldn't have been in the bottom of my bivi bag.  It didn't help.

I felt like I'd been lying there shivering for 2 hours but checked my watch and it said 3am. OK, so I managed some sleep then.

I got up to pack up and get riding, reasoning it would at least be warmer on the bike.  Then I thought of crashing in the dark and freezing to death or my lights suddenly dying (I'd left them on the bike instead of taking cold lumps of metal into my chilly bed).

As soon as I got up I knew I wasn't going anywhere for another hour.  I had another wee, shivered and got back into my bivi - which was at least toastier than being outside.

At 4:15 I woke up shivering again but at least recognised that if I got up and brewed breakfast now I'd be on the trail in about an hour and the sun would be making an appearance.  While I still knew where my bib shorts were and knew that they were dry-ish and warm-ish I put them on to avoid them getting wet in the bivi bag or any colder.  I put everything else back on top - leggings, goretex trousers and sat cross-legged with my sleeping bag over my legs and feet.  Finally, enough to keep me warm whilst I wrestled with the camelback to unfreeze the opening which let me access the water inside. After 5 hours of misery, suddenly everything felt super-worthwhile.  The ice which had cored through my bones during the night now sparkled prettily in the headtorch while I looked up at the stars and watched Cassiopeia fade into the lightening sky.

Porridge and coffee later, I was ready to pack up and I finished the job without a headtorch as the first daylight infiltrated my tidy little valley spot. I won't go so far as to call it sunshine.

I wasn't too surprised to see that the condensation on my bivi bag had turned to ice while I cooked breakfast.  What I was surprised to find was the amount of it stuck to the underside of my sleeping mattress.  Why didn't I bring the thermal one!!??

The great thing about sleeping in a cold valley? The warm up as I pushed the loaded bike back up the steep bank to the way home.

By the time I got to the tops again, the sun was already risen and the gentle re-warming began.  I dipped in and out of shaddow as I climbed up Rushup Edge.  Instead of diving off towards Peak Forest, I continued along the edge towards the direct route home.  I wanted my first ride back to be gradual enough to give me Sunday afternoon to recover and be able to ride to work on Monday morning and I wanted to get that sunshine and a sleep back at the house, not disappear back into the cold fog.

I was also hungry again so, after happily riding through a bunch of bogs which were perfectly frozen to a spongy crust, I found myself a nice sunny spot on the Pennine Bridleway with a flat rock and took out my stove to make second breakfast.  I'd eaten the porridge already so second breakfast was the leftover chocolate pudding from the night before.  It was perfectly made - just the right amount of water. I brewed it for the right amount of time and managed to mix it in properly so there were no crusty dry bits lurking in the corner of the bag.  I'm getting good at this dehydrated cheffing.

I sat still, I listened to the skylarks and I enjoyed the peace before the descent back into the chaos of a sunny peak district weekend.  While I ate my pudding one walker climbed the stile on the footpath behind me, with a cheery "hello".  Another early starter avoiding the crowds.

Well, I could've stayed up there all day but I'd run out of food so I carried on to Mam Tor road then dropped down the broken road into the valley below.  I've never ridden the broken road descent loaded before but it was fun.

In Hope I got distracted by the thought of a savoury breakfast and fell into the cafe with outside seating.  It was now perfectly warm enough to sit outside in the sun and I scoffed a bacon buttie and tea and attracted the attention of the neighbour's cat - though he lost interest once the bacon had gone.

All that was left was the ride home.  After I'd used the Causeway to get out to the Peak, I opted for Burbage or Houndkirk to get home.  Burbage came first so won out.  I can rarely resist a gritsone slab so spread out there to consume biscuits and sweeties - reluctant to waste the sunshine.

Once the elevation was attained, I high-tailed it all the way back into town along the road from Lodge Moor, intent on getting home and doing... well more eating really.

Not sure I found the love for riding my bike any more than when I left the house but I certainly renewed my relationship with the outdoors again and can feel the cloak of winter lifting.

Things feel possible again and that's good.