SO many Audaxes I need to squeeze them all into one post.

My last two rides before 'cross really takes over have been like chalk and cheese and have lifted me up and then broken me down.

After my DNF in Scotland on the 600 I entered a 200 DIY the week after to get my August ride in and then entered another 600 one month later.

In the meantime I decided I didn't trust myself to finish the 600 so I bunged another 200 in the week before in North Wales - a notoriously hilly one - to offset the flat 600 and the flat 200 I did on bank holiday weekend.  Both passed too close to Scunthorpe - a place where I am actively spending my working week too.  So the Welsh 200 went ahead. 

The forecast was unbelievable for 1st September..  Around 50 of us set off from Old Ma's tea room at 0800 for Pistyll Rhayader, stopping at Chirk on the way.  Whilst guys rushed for the shop, I sat and drank coffee and ate cake.  Chirk is too nice to rush.  My ride plan was to cruise the time limits and enjoy myself, saving my legs for next weekend.

The first hills started and I really enjoyed them.  Sure they were taxing but not stupidly steep and gloriously gloriously remote.  I chatted to Steve Ogden who was out to try and improve his hill climbing and Shaun Hargreaves, nursing a calf injury but sporting his fixie regardless because "a 200 on gears aggravated it last weekend so it clearly doesn't matter".  Both regulars on the Audax scene, it was a pleasure to spend time with them and it did my ego good to keep dropping Shaun on the descents.

I stopped in a shop before lake Vyrnwy which was a relief as the tourist facing service was shockingly slow.

I got my coffee and ate my pre-bought sausage roll in full view as the staff were too busy to care. 

Some sportive riders on our ride chided me for my saddlebag but then I caught them at the top of the hill suffering Di2 issues.  They soon passed me back. 

In Bala I headed straight to the Eco cafe for more coffee and cake and received a hand written receipt so I had her sign the time on my brevet card.  Around the corner I met Steve looking for the speed of a convenience store as I was trying to get my Garmin to load / start.  He suggested my battery had died and was right.  He saved my bacon from a Trep meltdown.

I stuck the Garmin on charge on my spare battery and headed off back into the hills.  As I descended  a steep slope musing about how you never really get the hill climb time back on the descents, I met a slow-moving tractor - just to prove my point.  It took him a while to find space to pull over but he did it just ahead of a large 4 inch deep patch of gravel across the road.  I suspect that also saved my bacon.

By 6pm I was really rather hungry.  I knew the pub at the last check point was closed and we were instead relying on an info control so when I happened across another pub 2 miles before the control, a quick (badly informed) maths reckoning concluded I could be pushing the time limits but I knew I needed real food.

I ordered a burger and pint of lemonade and just as I was finishing the last of my chips I was excited to see Steve go by.  I caught him on a hill climb and we had a little chat before I surged ahead, knowing I'd see him soon.  I actually felt a little guilty about leaving him to the darkening potholed descents but he caught me up soon enough waiting for some never-changing roadworks traffic lights.  We rode into the darkness together. 

He was out of water.  After my lemonade, I was down to a couple of mouthfulls of drink left in my bottle.  My bat-sonar detected a Spar behind us at a junction so we doubled-back and I repayed the bacon-saving by sitting with the bikes whilst Steve got water and juice which we split between us.  Pace picked up again on the flat as we gossiped away the evening with our life-tales.  We arrived at the finish just after Shaun and sat about talking crap with the organisers until gone 10:30 pm.  It was a brilliant ride that left me relaxed, yet brimming with pride.

In similarity my 600 start was quite relaxed, with a 200 in the bag for September the 600 was only really worthy of having a go.  What a lot of commitment for just "having a go".

My hotel was booked last minute but ended up conveniently close to the start - all looking good so far.  I went to register but no-one was there so I kicked-off my Garmin only to find that none of my routes were on it.  I rushed back to the car and spent the next 15 minutes uploading routes from my work laptop email onto Garmin Connect then transferring from my phone to the Garmin device.  I slithered in to the organiser with 5 minutes to go, caught the end of the briefing then set off with the peloton to ride into the wind.

Boy did we need it!  We had a man-down within 30 minutes.  I dropped off the back just long enough to make sure he'd got up again then battled hard to get back on the group into the headwind. 

They were knocking out 26kph on the fens.  I am usually chuffed with 24 kph for the first 80k so was worried about burning out but the truth is, I'd have been trying even harder to make 21kph on my own so sticking with the group was my top priority and I tied my urethra in a knot whilst others dropped off the back for a pee. 

I held on as long as I could and then drifted along on my own for a bit until a railway crossing got me a few more companions but I couldn't keep up with them either so I let it all go.

I walked into Chatteris Green Welly Cafe alone, only to meet the impressive and lovely Judith Swallow in the undesirable location of the loo queue.  She was on the other 600k ride, travelling in the opposite direction.  I took a moment to chat and embrace as she was on her way out.  I timed in then, heeding warnings not to spend too much time, opted for a flapjack in a packet and a milky instant coffee.

I also bumped into Steve in the queue for food which was nice to catch up.  With riding most of the morning with Shaun, it was like 5 days of working week had never happened.

It also felt like the beginning of the end already - only 12:00 and I was knackered.  I got outside and it was raining so more time was spent coating-up.  I was on for a late lunch

Back on the road, the next stop was at Great Dunmow and the end of the first chunk of 173 kms.  The route passed through Cambridge which I confirm I still have little time for with its tiny streets of meandering gormless tourists.  I had a sandwich in a petrol station for lunch and paused to remove coat and rain legs.

A young couple caught me up and towed me out of town.

I really liked Dunmow although I almost missed the control as I didn't fancy a pub but control was at the pub.  Near miss!  They had ran out of baked potato so I settled for a Sandwich which brought me to the uncomfortable position of having eaten two lumps of white bread and very little hot, real food.  I left a little depressed with only a civilian couple out for a bimble on their bikes before dinner to draft for a while... and in the end I was towing them along.  Only 3 people were on the road behind me.

I enjoyed the last few Essex hills before the long slog to Boston started.

The intermediary control was at Whittlesey which we passed in the morning.  A promising-looking place with a marked square and toll bar building.  No toilets though and the suggested petrol station control was closed leaving me to retrace my steps several times to a little corner shop to furnish me with cold coffee, a sausage roll and the most delicious, hot home made samosa.  The 3 guys behind me were joined by 2 more but people split with some going home to a DNF and the rest continuing on.  I was joined by an older chap who was pretty quiet.  We rode together for a while but then I started with the dozies so started looking out for a convenient stopping place.

A bench presented itself with a nice comfy-looking water pumping station behind.  Never mind that the constant buzz of the A15 was not far away - I would sleep anywhere.  I'd calculated I was 3 hours up on time and I would sleep right back up to the time limit, give or take an hour to get myself sorted then get myself moving again.  I unfurled my bivi on a fine mat of ivy, put on my oh-shit coat and lay down. Shoes off, I was happy as anything with a quick look-up at the starts and the canopy of trees above.  I farted into my bivi for extra warmth and pulled the hood over my head.  Nothing, nothing would keep me awake.

My watch sounded 2 hours later and I could hear the spatter of rain and resolved to wait for my 2:15 alarm but the onset of shivers fixed that decision and gave my body different ideas.  The effort of rolling up a 6ft tall bivi was enough to warm me up then I ate the last of the sausage roll for breakfast and headed towards Boston for coffee.  Then I discovered that my rear tyre was flat.  I walked back to my bench, pumped it up again to see how it went and started dealing with the concerned enquiries from the fast lads, starting to head back the other way in the Fenland Flier ride.

10 minutes down the road I decided to just fix the puncture at a nice walled bridge giving me excellent cover from the wind and somewhere to lean the bike. 

It was around 5am when I arrived at Boston and I'd been dreaming of a cheese burger for about 12 hours but unfortunately you can't get that at McDonalds at 5am so I did with a bagel instead.  I felt neither full, nor appetised when a Romanian guy with a BMW and a swagger like a drug dealer started buying everyone espressos. 

Steve and I had another chat and he very kindly gave me a confidence-boosting speach about me being a stronger rider than him and he thought he would finish.  Sadly I think I left all of my strength and courage in the Welsh hills.

I left him (wisely) to his porridge and pancakes and rejoined the road, riders now consistently streaming past in the opposite direction but Judith Swallow now long gone.

I decided that Romanian guy had definitely put cocaine in the espressos as a steady string of riders who I had previously been riding with came flying past me at a frightening speed. 

I plodded on to Lincoln alone, eventually spilling onto the canal towpath where I was finally joined by the couple on the tandem.  We exchanged some stories of our days before they drew ahead as soon as we hit the road.

When I arrived at Lincoln I made a beeline for the first cafe I saw but it was closed so I rode on looking for a cash machine.  I was 2 minutes ahead of time.  I asked a Deliveroo rider where I could find a decent cafe.  He regretted there were plenty of decent ones but they were all closed so I would have to make do with an indecent one.  Crap, it was 9am Sunday morning wasn't it?  I had a steak sandwich in Subway, struggling to understand the server's northern accent and friendliness.

"Sorry, I was in Essex this morning".

I looked at my watch, Shit it was still this morning.  She laughed suspiciously at the deluded lady.

I sat in the square, leaning against a wall watching my bike.  We'd come a long way together.  I hardly dared look how far it was.  A homeless man shuffled by in wool trousers and coat, sandals and a silk nightdress.  He was better dressed than me.  We smelt about the same.

I got back on the bike and set off for Goole.  First there were Wolds to climb up out of Lincoln - some respite for my legs which quite enjoy hills and my bum which really needed a saddle break.  Beautiful sunshine, some roadies whooshing past and stragglers on the Fenland route in as much trouble as me and then I bounced over a crack in the tarmac and whoomph, my rear tyre went flat again.  I crossed the road to a driveway which got me out of the wind and off the road and sat down on the concrete to set about the repair getting nervous that my tyres were getting old or my bag was too heavy.  At least I found the glass which had been gradually whittling away at the new inner-tube and could rest assured that the problem was fixed but my only spare tube had a wonky valve which, after all the effort of pumping it up, unscrewed with the pump head.  I stood up and cleanly kicked the wheel right across the concrete driveway.  This at least kick-started my brain into action and then I calmly unscrewed the valve head of one of my punctured inner tubes, fitted it to the new tube and started again. 

I toyed with the idea of riding back into Lincoln to get a train to Sheffield and going out to get the van on Monday but riding my bike for another day didn't appeal so I decided to carry on, heading North West now towards the Trent. 

I was on familiar territory from my Bank Holiday weekend ride and stopped in Kirton Lindsey for some respite and food.  I remember this as being around dinner time but the lady in the shop wished me "good mid-day" and went on to have a monologue with herself about how she should greet me at "1200hrs".  I say monologue because I stared at her blankly, not knowing how to reply.  "There were a lot of you here yesterday, is there some kind of event on?" 

I glibly told her I was the end of it and, thankful for clear weather, went and sat on the kerbside with my bike to avoid further questioning.  At least the village toilets were free, open and clean.

The fens to Goole were going to be a nightmare - turning 270 degrees of wrong direction - South, West, North, East a bit, then North then West.  Not long with a tail wind before you're unceremoniously forced to ride into a head wind for a bit.  And then the rear tyre went flat again.  All out of inner tubes.  I pumped the tyre up to see how long it lasted and the answer was, about 4 miles into the next village and with blackening skies, I walked a way to find a bus stop to set up my repair service.

Trust me, in the meantime I considered calling for a taxi to Sleaford but that seemed like it might be expensive. 

I considered riding back to Sleaford but that would involve retracing my path into the headwind - also not popular. 

This time a blown patch was to blame.  I replaced the patch, pumped up the tyre and it held.  No excuses for not finishing and plenty for not being finished in time.  To add to the embarrassment I had 100 Sportive riders to deal with coming in the opposite direction.  100 awake, jolly, exiteable sportive riders - everyone offering a cheery hello for my pissed off and exhausted brain. 

I had a little tail wind up the Trent where I expertly avoided riding into Scunthorpe to go and sleep on the Alsatian dog belonging to the security guard in my site office.  The only thing stopping me: that I didn't have my work pass in my cycling wallet.  I rolled dubiously into Goole at 6pm, starving hungry.  Whilst I should have been chasing down the time limits, I was instead, ordering tasty Mac meals, hot apple pies and coffee, more glorious coffee.  I wasted further time changing into fresh shorts for the night time riding and was 2 hrs behind schedule when I left and headed back into the headwind and setting sun.  It felt like abject torture to be passing the exact spot where I sat and decided to push on to the finish in favour of riding back the way I came into the headwind back to Sleaford only to find that I was heading out to ride back the way I came into the headwind to ride back to Sleaford.  All sense of achievement had diminished.

Not much makes sense after that except for the village of Haxey where, looking for a place to sit down and eat my stash of crisps from Kirton Linsey, I decided to throw the time limits to the wind and sit on the swings to eat my food.  It was the happiest I would be for a while.

Gainsborough was next up.  I thought I was going to die from a steady stream of boy racers close-passing along the A631.  If ever there was a reason to stick to a time schedule, Gainsborough at pub-closing time on a school night was it.  Yes, I was now riding at 15kph.  My wheels had fallen off and it was late!  Then the footpath was a tree-rooted pavement which would have been a) illegal and b) would have snapped off my feet and arse - also leading to certain death.  Pulling into town I found a petrol station to control and witnessed my first ever drive-away at a fuel station as a young voice shouted "fuck you" at the CCTV then roared off in his plate-less hot hatch.  I spent the next two hours dodging a red Vauxhall Corsa which continuously close passed me until I dived into the bushes behind the scary phone-box, extinguishing all lights and watching him prowl up and down the street a couple of times whilst I put my leggings and extra layers on.  Who knows?  Perhaps he was just delivering pizza and I was paranoid.  Perhaps he wanted to scare a girl on a bike. After a while he gave up looking, or whatever it was he was doing. 

In Lincoln it was now 11pm.  Retracing then not getting lost on the Canal.  Constant back-tracking.  Some, "Oh, I'm here - always wondered where that came out".  I started up a hill again, not sure why I was going up a hill but happy to be standing up for a short time then I seemed to go back down before urgently needing to go back up again.  Damn this was cruel.  I decided to take a walk.

I cycled as far as the end of the streetlights then found myself a tree for a pee and a bench to sit on.  I faffed for a while eating an apple then pushed my bike so far up before re-mounting.  At least I was to quickly turn out of Lincoln onto more minor roads, just in time for SLEEPYTIMES!

According to my Garmin, from Lincoln, the route trended gradually downwards.  It's obvious from my trendline that I gradually fell deeper and deeper into lala land, my average speed hitting 15kph then 14 then 12 then 11.

Everywhere I looked the view was the same.  A grey bowl of concrete where my light shone and nothing else but lines of plastic carrier bags along the side of the road filled with sticks and lined up one after the other.  Occasionally a gateway broke the monotony of the plastic carrier-bag-weeds, a black and inhosptable gateway to darkness.  There was no moon or stars just darkness and then I was talking to Brian from work and asking his guys to wear their PPE and planning our test programme but then I would wake up still talking but Brian wasn't there and still the world was grey and the carrier bags rolled by so I closed my eyes to think about something more interesting.

This time I talked to Matt until something rustled inside a carrier bag and so I sprinted in case a deer was about to knock me off.  The rustling continued and I thought it might be a dog so I sprinted and sprinted until I had no more and then realised that the noise was coming from my coat and I went back to sleep.  Who knows how much time this went on for?  I did have enough mental capacity to watch the distance to my next turning come down each time I woke up but then I reached Digby and it was a village with stuff and things - like bus stops and I found the perfect shelter to keep the wind off.

Sadly the bench was made of iron slats but I could sleep on anything.  I put on all my layers but couldn't be bothered to get my bivi out.  I spent 10 minutes checking my phone to text TSK I was OK but sleeping and trying to persuade my body that it didn't really need a poo so I could sleep soundly for 40 minutes before waking up shivering uncontrollably.  I added my final layer - waterproof trousers - and set off into the dark still wearing my Oh-Shit coat over my waterproof with my hood snugly crammed under my helmet.

I was, of course, off-course, having missed the turning I had been so carefully looking out for but took an alternative route which didn't add too much distance.  Of all the wrong turnings in all the ride, I picked the wrong turn that did least damage.

At 3:15 I arrived at Sleaford McDonalds but couldn't face human interactions to I overshot to an ATM and got a statement from there.

I had done it.  I had actually ridden 600km in one effort, between two showers, with one change of clothes.  I didn't really care that I was out of time but then I wasn't really glowing with pride.  It was embarrassingly hard and depressingly difficult.  It helps only slightly that others suffered with the wind and punctures and also thought it was hard.  I was not sure, not convinced, if it was something I would ever be motivated to do again, the point is, it was over.  In my preparedness, this time I had proved that I was still too stubborn to quit.

None of that needed thinking of then though.  I took the wheels off the bike, put it in the front of the car, blew up my mattress, unfurled my sleeping bag and with a streetlight shining straight in my face and an air conditioning rumbling and gassing outside the van window, I slept for 7 hours straight, waking only to email the organiser to let him know I was OK and stop my Garmin. 

That was Audax for another month.

The Borderlands Late Season Explorer

Me (in green) and TSK (in blue/yellow) at the start, thanks to Rob Imrie for the pic. 
My camera stayed firmly in my bags this time.

The night before the Borderlands was wild and windy and I foolishly forgot that although the Tipi is strong in the wind, it can be a bit flappy.  I shouldda parked it near the road (hedge).  I shouldda booked a hotel but I didn't and so, the night was disturbed and shit but hey, when I got up the next morning my RHR had dropped down to 46 so yay for that.

Uneventful beginning in that it was brilliant and fast. I got in with a decent group and when they dropped me I had a steady stream of riders to draft or ride alongside for a chat including Derby Mercury Fixie and Tache.

I got recognised for my blog on TAW by a fellow racer, which was nice and talked to a lot of people about the forks.

My clothing choices were perfect in a thin, long sleeve patagonia top and my wool Isadore jersey and Rapha shorts. I coated up when the rain fell and when I stopped everything dried out pretty quickly.

I went out fast into the head-wind to do as much riding as possible before the U turn at 150km, meaning I would get as many hours as possible of the tail wind home before it dropped at 7pm.  This was the only bit of weather planning I managed.

On the way to Eskdale Muir, I got dropped by the group then Tache caught me up and we chatted for a while side by side before he surged ahead on the climbs.  It started raining properly this time and I stopped first to put on my rain coat then caught him up also coating-up.  "I knew I was gonna get wet but I dinnae realise it would be so soon".  You and me both sunshine.

He rode ahead and then I was caught by Derby Mercury Fixie.  I shamelessly wheel-sucked for a few miles.  I mean whilst I would have got on the front and done my bit, he seemed happer at 23.4km/hr rather than 21 kmph.

We all puddled in to Eskdale Muir tea shop to be treated to sausage and beans on a bagel and coffee.

After Eskdale the sun started to come out again on and off.

Really, I should have dropped the idea of racing the headwind as at Gretna the route turned east-then-west and all bets on the North South wind were off.

I bought a few snacks from the control for later, made the man's baby smile then nipped back into the shop to get the receipt I'd forgotten what with all the chatting.

After Gretna I saw TSK riding the other way and he gestured to me to stop.  He had not recovered from the sickness he's suffered for the last two weeks and was riding a loop to the finish.  I kissed him goodbye and set off on my journey alone.

As I set off up the climb to Alston, the sun came out properly for the first time and I tucked my water proof away.  I felt good as I was ahead of quite a few people.  I enjoyed the climbing and the wind riding but battling through this section used up a large proportion of the day and a large proportion of my energy so only a few hours of tail wind were left.  I bounced up the cobbles in Alston to the tea shop but now I felt like I'd burned myself out.  Still, it was nice to know that I had done "the hard bit".  Tea and cake went down well and I got to see the highest village in England in the sunshine.

The cafe wrote me out a receipt so I had to stop at the petrol station to get a time stamped one instead.

Down the hill was wind assisted and I took great pleasure in cheering to all the other riders going in.

I enjoyed every moment of the ride back to Langholm and was still in my shorts and jersey going back.  I did a double-lap of the village deciding where to eat.  I really fancied a sit down meal but the pubs didn't look tempting enough for me to go to the effort of locking my bike up outside so I ended up in the chip shop.  I have thought a lot about whether my meal choice in Langholm affected my outcome later or I should have gone to the shop for a salad or a sandwich but the haggis was too tempting and 1.5 hours later I was at Eskdale Muir feeling fine and chatting with the staff whilst eating apple crumble and custard and throwing a double Gin Mudra at the Bhudist temple as I rode past. Look mum no hands.

When I left Eskdale Muir it had started to drizzle so I put on waterproof coat, knee warmers and my rain legs and set off slightly warmer and now into the night proper.  I was blessed with sightings of: an owl; a hawk I thought was going to pick me off on the climb; two hares - one which I chased down the road for about 300m before he found a turn-off he wanted to take, the other which sprang 4 feet into the air to clear the grass at the side of the road; and most alarmingly, a deer who, captured in my headlights had a think about darting into the road in front of me until I roared like a lion which scared it into going the opposite way.  I think I frightened myself as much.  That was good for a few adrenaline points.

As I pulled onto the A7 in Selkirk it started raining properly again.  Thankfully I was already wearing all the layers so I didn't need to stop.  I stayed on the main road all the way back as there was hardly any traffic and found myself a cash machine to do the midnight control

At 00:10 I gingerly  rode back to my van through the drunk Herriot Watt students then climbed into the van and stripped off all the wet clothes and crawled into the sleeping bag for 30 minutes kip which would get me back onto my accellerated programme (a 1am departure from Gala).

My logic behind the short sleep was a turbo kip which wouldn't give my body chance to seize up but just enough to let my brain think it had had a sleep.  In reality, I didn't know whether to stop or not but as it was raining I decided 30 mins sleep couldn't hurt, it might even give the weather chance to improve.

 When I resurfaced it was still raining.

The couple next door had just got back.  I had missed my alarm (I never turned it on).  They were the only reason I woke up.  Otherwise it could have been a big mistake on my part of sleeping through the control... or was it?

I sat up and TSK attempted to pour some real Waitrose food into me.  A grain salad went down surprisingly well.  I chowed back some smoothie, rejected the cookies, stuck some random salty snacks in my pockets then started shivering violently.  I put on 3/4 length leggings, long waterproof Omm trousers and my Oh-Shit coat with my Omm waterproof coat over the top with a hood to keep my head and hair dry.  I know I was in Scotland but in August I really shouldn't have been dressed up the same as I would for a winter commute.

 I very grumpily set out back into the rain, trying not to accuse TSK of it all being his fault because this was most definitely my own idea and I then hated myself for being so stupid.

I didnt have half the things with me that I meant to but I was fed up with standing about in the rain so I started riding my bike.  I wish I could tell you I had instantly felt better but I didn't.  I got a bit lost in town then sat on the A7 for ease.   After 5 minutes in the Oh-shit coat I was too hot so stopped to take it off.  I stopped in a bus shelter which was actually a box of swallows, pissed off at me for disturbing their nests and I got tweeted at and dive-bombed in the darkness for 5 minutes.  My gloves were already sodden and slapped noisily onto the bench.

In Selkirk I went too far up the A7 road, missing the turnoff for the nice, local road that runs alongside the river.  Realising my mistake late, I turned off down a footpath which steepened then turned into two tracks of concrete flagstones with cement between them and a handrail down the middle.  I know I'm good at bike handling but I just prayed there were no steps and slithered my way down, praying I wouldn't slide off as I was likely to knock myself out on the handrail and no-one would find me till 6am when someone's dog started to lick up the remnants of my spilled brain matter (yes I was wearing a helmet and I should shut up).

The footpath did not deliver any steps, it did however deliver two tarmac speed bumps, presumably to prevent moped use which succeeded in lifting both of my tyres off the road in quick succession.  I have no idea how I spilled out of the bottom still alive.

Through Selkirk and onto the Moffat road I was soon reminded of the horror of this road's surface.  It hurt my bum when  I sat on the saddle and my feet when I stood on the pedals. My right big toe in particular was suddenly hammering into the toe box on my shoes.

As I reached the top of the first rise and started to go downhill the snoozies started.  I nearly lost it on a few corners and often found myself swerving across the road as my brain lurched me awake just as I was about to crash into the undergrowth. Each time the immediate rush of adrenaline kept me alert for around 20s before it started again. This was not safe but there was nowhere to go to be safe.

I  checked the profile. Not only was I but half way up the climb, I also had a very steep section at the top to do. I had only ridden 30k of an 80k out. The back would be the real killer and it wasn't like I didn't know what was to come as I'd ridden this route on the 400k ride: 50km of climb followed by repeating this broken road.

Even the lauf forks weren't giving me any respite and where I was climbing I was out of the saddle, giving my bum a break but resting too much on my hands and wrists which were starting to feel over used and acheing badly where I leaned on them. With the broken road surface and my dehydrated head I felt like my shrunken brain was bashing into my skull with every pebble and headaches seared through me.

Raindrops ran down my light making patterns on the road and the light reflected in the occasional drip off my helmet made me think a car was coming but there was nothing there.  Occasionally another rider going the other way cheered me on with encouragement to keep going but then they were gone and I had the blackness to myself again the the falling off - but not quite - would recommence.

As I approached Yarrow Feus I could see a bright light in the distance.  In between the feelings of anger at their inconsideration for my eyesight, I also thought I would use their light to help me find the paracetamol in my frame bag to at least end my headache.

As I realised it wasn't a street light but someone's outside light, set well away from the road, my thoughts of paracetamol turned to thoughts about stopping.  It was a very attractive prospect.  I decided to go back.  I turned around in the road and started riding over the section I had just done. It was hard and it hurt. If I kept going I would have to endure this pain later. If I stopped now that would be it for my RRtY and my PBP pre-qualifier. I shrugged, I could deal with that.  No! Wait! What was I doing?  Throwing away 8 months of rides! Then I remembered the Super Brevet and  turned back around and kept going. It felt good. 20s later I was falling asleep again.

15 minutes later I thought I could stop there and get Andrew to come and get me.  I could give Andrew directions to Yarrow Feus but there was nowhere for me to shelter in Yarrow Feus so I kept going.

I  got off to push the bike up a  small slope to do something different for a while. 20s later, I tripped over the pedal as I meandered across the road half asleep.

I got back on and rode for a bit. At least it was quicker. I checked my average speed.  For the rest of the ride when I had been being slow my average was 20kph. Now it was 14.9. I hadn't even stopped to rest and I was below the ride allowable minimum speed. I hadn't even reached the steep bit yet.

I tried going back again and then remembered that road surface. If I was going to stop I needed to find somewhere Andrew could come and find me in the van. I was literally getting to that point where it was no longer safe to continue.

Unfortunately with the rain and my slow speed, I was getting colder and it didn't even feel safe to stop either and now I needed to pee as well. The though of pulling down wet leggings was almost too much to bear. The thought of pulling them on again really was too much to bear. I carried on snoozing down the short descent before it turned up again onto the lake shore. I had forgotten about this lake. I was sure there was a campsite or a car park here.  2h 45 after I left the van, I started looking for the car park.

I tried to think positive thoughts to keep my mind off the pain and the darkness but I just ended up thinking about shit at work and I tried to remind myself that I was out here, enjoying my bike to get away from the shit at work but that just made me cry because I wasn't enjoying riding my bike either.

I tried thinking bout Ireland but it just made me feel sick like I couldn't cope with the excitement and the pure perfection of that race.  I was jealous that I couldn't just roll out my sleeping kit then and there.

Why was I even doing this? Was I even enjoying myself? (NO). I used to have a rule that if you're not enjoying it anymore stop but that was before I discovered racing. Would I enjoy racing now? What did I buy this bike for? What will I do with it if I don't enjoy long distance anymore? Why is it no longer comfortable? Why cant I keep my eyes open?  Why did I convince myself I can enjoy this when clearly I can't?  Who am I doing this for?

I  knew I needed to eat but all I had with me were crisps and marmite cashews. I fancied sugar but had none. I downed he last of my sugary drink from some time ago and only had water. I left the sweets I bought at Gretna in the other waterproof in the van. Why did I change my waterproof?

Finding anything else would involve stopping and touching with wet hands things that I didn't want wet hands to touch, like my jersey pockets, still dry thanks to my Omm waterproof.  My sleeves were piss wet through though, thanks to the hygroscopic motion of water up sleeves from my wet gloves.

Finally some tents appeared on the lake shore and across the road a wooden building that looked like a village hall, glowed cheap blue paint reflections through the rain.  Some kind of outside light flickered ominously like every bad poltergeist movie there ever was.

I randomly wondered if there would be any shelter by the building - a porch would do... or the toilets!  Those ones - right there!  By the signpost! Now then! Hopes were dashed just as quickly.

My rapid dismissal of any qualms about the prospect of sleeping on a floor covered in someone else's piss were just as quickly dashed by the disappointment of a pay-machine (would I have the right change?) which said 'shut' on the price. Double slap-down.

Round the back, the disabled loo was firmly locked (no pay to pee here) but it did have a plastic lean-to roof shelter which included that elusive dry patch of concrete.

My fate was sealed.

I rang Andrew immediately so that I wouldn't go into hypothermia before he got there. It took me a while to get the phone to work as the screen was saturated and it thought all buttons were being pressed at once and I couldn't find a dry surface to wipe the screen on.

With him on his way, I set about making myself as warm as possible. Suddenly the brain started working. I guess it finally had something it could get on board with.  The waterproof came off and the oh-shit coat went back on - a bit damp but it is synthetic so it should still work.

It seemed like the only dry long sleeve top I had with me was my wind proof so I stuck that on underneath the oh-shit coat and ditched my wet club jersey.  The windproof went on inside out of course because that was easier than turning the sleeves the right way out with wet skin.

The waterproof hung up to drip dry in case I had to carry on to find Andrew when he couldn't find me.

I kept my wet leggings on over my wet 3/4 tights and wet wool socks. Even if they were wet they were keeping the breeze off. I found a dry fleecy jersey but rather than re-juggling the oh shit coat one more time I decided to wear this jersey over my head for extra warmth.  The club jersey went over my knees like an old lady blanket as the body was dry and insulating but the sodden sleeves hung down by my side and slapped on the floor.

I slumped against the door of the disabled toilet.  After a few moments I popped around the front and put one of my rear lights on a picnic bench to indicate my position to Andrew and hoped no-one would helpfully pick it up as they passed.

I had crisps and I tried to use them but they wouldn't go down so they sat, opened by my side. I had made the right choice to stop. So why would the sleep now not come?

I tried lying down but it was too cold so I had to make do with my head on my knees and I snoozed.

Two guys turned up and joined me in the dry space.  It was a pair from Derby Mercury.  We talked a little. I had thought I was the lanterne rouge but they'd caught me up.  I enquired about my neighbours from the Gala car park and they reported that they were also on the road behind us.  The guys changed tops and ate then packed up again just as Andrew arrived. It was dawning and a little bit of me wanted to go with Derby Mercury but having summoned rescue I felt like I should use it.  I checked the weather for them.  The rain was due to ease of at 6am - in 1 hours time - and cease completely by 7.

I was so tempted to go with them but in the end, even more tempted to get in the van.  My muscles were ok (given the circumstances) but my wrists and ankles were shot.

It was still raining and despite the DNF, the end of the RRtY and the Super Brevet for this year, I realised the place I needed to be right now was safe and asleep in the back of my van, not lying on the piss stained step of a toilet block or dead in a ditch on the A708 to Moffat. It was the right decision on this day.

So what did go wrong?

Head winds: shouldn't have fought them, shouldn't have taken off like a rocket to keep with people waaay above my fitness just for a tow.

Lunch: should have stopped sooner. Might have had more company that way later in the day.

Dinner: maybe chips and haggis not such a great idea on this one

Dresscode: I actually felt ok all the way back to Gala but then I got a soaking and decided to stop. Instead of wrapping myself up in my oh-shit coat I should have stuck with my previous waterproof layers which had worked well all day and maybe just added the wool gilet. Instead I sweated like mad in the new waterproofs and made the dehydration situation steadily worse.  I definitely want to get another thin wool jersey for wet audax days as it really did the job. Drying out quick but keeping me warm regardless of how wet.

The rain legs really are the best wet weather gear for riding legs except extreme cold.

Toes: the one that was hurting could have had a much shorter toe nail. BASICS! ARGH!

Un-tinted glasses. Forgot them. Could have made a difference if I didn't have to blink the water out of my eyes and stop falling asleep at the same time.

Lack of planning. I planned the clock on this one to the nth degree and,as it happens - I nailed it the plan and beat it. Where I hit the plan I did OK. Where I exceeded the plan I had gone too fast or not stopped where I should have. In doing that level of planning I forgot to think about feed stops properly and freelanced too much.  Where I needed a long sit down my only options were chippie or supermarket.  If I had ridden slower I could have done Brampton instead for good food.

Stopping: I know from TAW that when I stop, I stop hard. It takes me hours to get going again. Clearly we have also learned that stopping for 30 minutes is just not enough. My current theory is now I need to carry something to sleep under or in, in emergency sleep situations instead of trying to preempt sleep. I think I might have been better off keeping going from Gala with my bivi on board and getting miles under my belt whilst my legs were mobile before stopping only when I needed it.

Three hours sleep and sacrificing the fast plan would probably have had a much better effect than 30 minutes with some time in the tank for later.  Of course I can not know the outcome of this until I try it.

Eating: when it's wet I don't like to stop. The TT bars are currently in the way of my food bag. I have to be used to life without these for PBP so getting rid of my TT bars might improve my on the road feeding habits.  I'd be better off with two feed bags up front.  I scaled it down with the intention of stopping more... then didn't stop more.  The saddle pack, though lighter, didn't give me easy access to my lock so I half filled my only feed bag with the lock - which I then didn't use because I didn't stop

The oh-shit coat works and I did call for help too soon. I doubt I would have completed especially given how I feel today but I think I could have continued for longer to find out how I went.  I didn't die of hypothermia, in fact I was quite toasty in my coat using a damp jersey as a blanket and managed to help the Derby guy do up his coat because of it - which was nice.

Going too fast: Pacing is important!  At least beat my 300k record by 13 minutes - which ain't bad for an extra 800m of climbing.

It wasn't just mental. I was, and still am, in a lot of pain. More training. Some insole mods and possibly reverting to old shoes. Back strength. Arms wrists. Saddle bruising (no chafing yay!)

Headaches. Like the food, I stopped going into bags to look for anything and to keep everything dry. I need a lightweight removable bike light to supplement my immobile dynamo light for rooting for stuff in bags - particularly paracetamol which, on post-ride inspection were right there! Where they should have been.

No more camping before bad weather audaxes. Was fine in sunshine last time but I don't need a sleepless night before that again!

Finally: Despite knowing that I did the right thing at the time, the pangs of envy I felt as I saw Tache riding back in the opposite direction at 5pm on Sunday were overwhelming.  I am on the radar for a late season completion - to be confirmed when I have come to my senses - or at least after I have eaten some lunch.