Summer 2022

I hope summer 2022 is not over yet. It always reappears in September with a late come-back. However, it's got stormy and less hot hot and I've just had a long week of efforts and time away from the office so I feel the need to wrap up a post.

Thanks to my enthusiasm to open a laptop, these images are posted in mixed order and are just a handful from two busy weeks. The rest may appear on Insta at some point... or already have.

Some people attach their inspiration for completing LEL to their top tube. His kids had also doodled pictures on his frame bag 

The velomobile (at least, the only one I saw) outside Eskdalemuir. Note the extension lead hanging out the window charging his light batteries. 

Other inspirations

We were 'put up' in a little cottage down the road. Last time we volunteered here we slept in the old schoolhouse with rain hammering on the tin roof. That schoolhouse is now the cafe and the room where we previously housed riders is now an art gallery and function room. Depending on how you look at it, lucky (or unlucky) riders had a sleep there but only if they were truly exhausted. A few were. I was glad it was not my call whether to let them stop or not.

After the party had been cleared and we moved location, we went for a walk. 24km. The longest walk I've done in ages (possibly since I was ironman training).

We swam in the river Tweed to cool down and got dressed again in front of golfers on the other shore. Thankfully they found it in them to ignore my middle aged bod.

A sunset cloud above Eskdalemuir. Every night the hills would sweat their moisture into the sky leaving incoming riders damp and chilly. The mornings dawned to the chilliest little temperature inversions. It was pretty though.

The old village "clock" in St Boswells set into the wall of the house across the road from the shops.

Hillocks of the road, Borders country. Click for a castle lurking on the left. I was really pleased with my new commuter/audax bike bag which allows me to take photos without stopping. That's handy when TSK is timetrialling into a hairdryer headwind. We'd been debating stopping early for dinner which involved a diversion then retracing our route. In the end we got brave and were happy because we got to see Hume Castle, which we'd noticed on the way out. A gorgeous climb took us right past it then round the corner, a barbecue-ing family kindly replenished out water bottles for us.

Long straight b-roads in the sun with the sea fog of Berwick on Tweed in the distance. 

A kayaker on the Tweed.

When we arrived at Berwick we were in thick, chilly fog. I took this through my glasses to remove some of the solar glare off the cloud.

We dropped into England for a bit. I'd travelled no more than 300m before getting passed by a bloke in a transit van. Still, he gave me space. There were so many union Jacks and one 'the South will rise' flag which I thought a little inflammatory. TSK went for a wee and whilst I was taking this photo, heard a buzzy beastie in my teeshirt. After I apologised for stripping in public (again), two passing scots women checked my back for bees and fastened my bra up properly for me. What are strangers for?

Reg, I take your wells and I raise you. There's a themed ride here somewhere!

Back to Eskdalemuir and the amazing team lined up at the racking before things got exciting. 

Before we went to Scotland I left work on Friday night with a loaded bike and went out with Landslide for our August bivi. This is the ride home the morning after. A nearly-empty Burbage...ar least, it was still too early for the climbing groups.

No better view in the morning, even if I was a bit chilly overnight. 

Breakfast club. I am less worried than I look, although there was a cow behind me looking at my porridge.

Felicitations. A ride of Peaks and Troughs

Most years I try to take a break for my Birthday or at least a day off. When its just before Christmas its nice to mark the day for yourself and not spend it shopping for other peoples' Christmas presents. 

Usually I fail to have the day off either work or Christmas shopping. 

This year, with my birthday on a Friday, Landslide and R I P decided (inadvertently) to throw me a Christmas ride. We did lateral flow tests and planned to meet at Grindleford at 1:30.

I planned to ride out but mostly got distracted by birthday stuff and packing. Of course I rolled out the door with 2 hours to get me there and decided to mostly take the roads except for crossing the moor. It was my fastest riding of the weekend.

I know I was rushing but it was reasonably warm leaving the city. I was down to wearing 2 baselayers and thin gloves and carrying a bag full of coats.

In a fit of last-minute decision making I routed via Houndkirk then instead of descending to Grindleford direct, I headed towards Longshaw to blag some lunch on the way. The timing was so tight I got sick of fumbling the lock on their crap bike stand and raced off in a huff.

Reality sunk in. There was a wistful temperature inversion with the bottom of the valley filled with fog and our meeting place was in the cold, cold valley below.

I put on my coat and big gloves and took a deep breath and set off down the wrong descent.

• • •

I got half way down before realising my error leaving me to huff across the valley between Froggatt & back up the hill, through Grindleford village then up the other hill to the station.

I was 15 minutes early so locked up, ordered myself a burger and settled down to wait. 10 minutes into their ride I persuaded the boys to take a sit down and a hot drink with me. Reg had driven over & Landslide discovered his train didn't exist and had an equally harrowing sprint over the hill.

We followed various tracks, trails and lanes over to Eyam where Reg was ticking off historic water troughs and stopping intermittently at the tea rooms. He was disappointed to return at 3:45 to find them closed for his third visit that day.

Along the way we picked up misty scenes.

 I rode a combination of new and familiar trails, though honestly it was hard to tell as the fog got thicker and I was perfectly happy just following wheels.

At 4pm Landslide called pub and we locked up our bikes to the petunias at the Barrell inn for 3 well earned pints (well, one each).  We restricted ourselves to one because it was time for this:

Where Reg and I had a middle-aged moment with technology leaving Landslide to get to the end of the trail, get bored and come back looking for us.

We shunned another loop before dinner, riding up to the pub where we'd (other people, not me) booked ourselves a table to make sure we weren't disappointed.  TSK met us there on his road bike as he had stuff to attend to on Saturday and was heading home after dinner.

Two courses, more beer and banter ensued.  A chat with the landlady and more beer.  Yes, delaying tactics were at work.  TSK headed home and it was 10 when we left the pub for our designated sleep spot - brought on by the arrival of the brass band who elected to close the sliding door on the bar to keep the heat in (and out of the stinky bikepackers snug on the other side of the otherwise draughty corridor).  We considered closing our own curtain, dragging the bikes in and setting up camp under the tables.

Our actual camp site was cosy and convivial.  We found shelter from the thick fog that was condensing so heavily, all trees were raining.  The much joked-about full moon made an appearance in the middle of the night, brightening up the scene outside our shelter so going for a pee was easy with nature's sink providing a grassy handwashing facility.

For once I slept reasonably soundly except for about midnight when a gentle sneeze came from outside our camp as both my fellows slept soundly around me.  Deer or ghost? We will never know.

With a low chance of being disturbed, we had a luxury lie in till 7am, brewed up from our beds and sneaked away without detection.  

Time to connect with the Monsal trail which we did using something marked on my map as a "traffic free cycle route" but on the ground as a footpath.  Never mind, no-one was out - or out of bed, for that matter.

There was one squeaky moment crossing a narrow bridge over the flowing river and scrambling up the other side but thankfully we're all sufficiently hardy to make it and I'm now strong enough to actually pick this bike up loaded.

It was so pleasant for me to finally be on the Monsal trail in daylight after a short winter season of getting there after sunset.

More lanes took us down, eventually to Calver past a group of highland cows enjoying their breakfast sleepily.  I relate.

not actually eating, just resting her head.

Reg sneaked off through Calver past the cafe leaving me and Landslide wondering where the hell he was going.  I was overjoyed to find he wasn't taking us to the rubbish coffee shop but the much better one I didn't know existed because it's on a  main road.

Two course breakfast and a bottomless coffee WIN.

Around the corner we dropped Reg off at the road back to his car and Landslide and I set off up the bloodybighill to Calver Gap where we managed to avoid more coffee and ride back along the foggy crag which was all relatively quiet and serene and only gained in gravitas and solitude what it lost in scenery.

 

The walkers were jolly and appeared suddenly from the fog. In Longshaw we reverted for lunch but realised we'd already over-eaten and instead took the opportunity to wash hands, drink tea, warm toes and snooze on the table for a bit longer before braving the ride home.  We were tired out.

Landslide went the quick way home - as did I - but we live in different places so we went different ways.

Of course, as soon as I reached the top of Houndkirk my body announced it was hungry and couldn't go further without a snack but that was OK because I'd been carrying a bag of crisps and cake since Friday lunchtime so I ate my limited lunch and pointed my way home again through the crystals.

After Wyming Brook my interest was momentarily peaked by a bit more offroad riding but not enough to hike up Fox Hagg so I freewheeled down the A57 to Rails Road then rode up the nice easy Byway to drop into the allotments.

The pigs were up for some scritching so I shared my sharon fruit leftovers from last night's picnic and we were all happy.

At home I fell into the bath, made a large puddle on the bathroom floor which I mopped up with towels left heaped in the laundry basket on the toilet then fell into bed and went to sleep until TSK came home from town and I apologised like a snivelling drunk who'd been out all night on their birthday and made a mess. Oh.

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

The preamble 

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

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

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

Here's the commentary:

• • •

Hi. Please tuck off and use the internet. 

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

If you're still sick press 2.

If you have covid fuck off.

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

Do your teeth hurt? Press 1 

For all other illnesses Press 2

Please wait to be diverted to your local nhs. 

If you have covid fuck off.

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

Do your teeth hurt? Press 1 

For all other illnesses press 2 

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

If you're actually dying, ring 999.

Are you still here? Press 2.

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

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

The cycling bit

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

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

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

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

• • •

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

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

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

Glutes engaged.

• • •

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

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

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

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

-1- 

The Come-back.

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

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

• • •

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

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

• • •

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

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

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

• • •

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

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

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

• • •

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now. Now I feel better."

• • •

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

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

• • •

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

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

• • •

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

• • •

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

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

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

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

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

A busy June of Rides

 There's certain things I can't say no to and a summer solstice ride on a pleasant evening was one of them - despite having a booking for the Jenn Ride the week after.

With that, TSK, Landslide (and a surprise appearance from Mr S) joined forces on a Sunday evening for a ride out to a much loved moorland spot in the park.

We rode towards the pinking sun, underneath firey clouds, disposed of Mr S who rode home to keep his injured ankle elevated (or something) and we all snacked and boozed as it went dark.  I foolishly had put too much faith in the weather an forgot my warm coat so I shivered for a few hours until it clouded over then got up for the inevitable pee in the middle of the night (which always warms me up) before drifting off into a deeper sleep as things gradually warmed up with the arrival of the sun again, just a few hours later.

(c) Landslide

I slid about 3 ft down the hill in the night into an uncomfortable position but my bivi gave just enough protection to the gentle breeze that piped up as soon as I got my stove out, which was great for getting rid of the midges.

Landslide suggested we complete the ride we talked of last time - up to Back Tor then over the bridlepath to the Strines Road, Bamford and home.

I was up for it until remembered we were on gravel bikes and I was wearing flipflops.  Still, it was an enjoyable push for 4km and we watched hares having a stand-off across the path and continued to enjoy that rising sun.  

Lost Lad, not lost lad

 

We all went our separate ways - Landslide to to Child-things and me and TSK in to work in our respective offices.  I'm not ashamed to say I spent a large part of the afternoon asleep on the floor of my office because I've made up for one lost afternoon over and over this last year.

So that was Monday. I had a site visit on Wednesday which is a blessing and a curse for recovery as it's both active to loosen the muscles and stressful because of driving and face to face interactions with other people.  By Thursday, I was on a late finish from the office but at least I had Friday off.

The question for the impending Jenn Ride was which of my mountain bikes was the least fooked?

More to the point, which one did I want to take?

After a lot of fearful walking in Scotland to avoid large rocks and big drop-offs, I decided the only thing for it was to take the 130mm travel Cotic and leave 100mm travel on the Trek at home.  The Lakes was going to fly better with some decent bounce.

That left me with new tyres to fit and brakes to service before the ride.  The brakes still felt awful so I tweaked up some of the hose connections just in case then frightened myself that I'd cracked an olive on the rear brakes faffing with it.  I had to pray for the best as I ran out of ideas and time.

Friday disappeared in a flurry of bike maintenance and packing and I left for the lakes at about 5pm - just in time to hit the end of commuter traffic in Glossop but not so much as to make it horrendous.  I made the chippy in Staveley in time for halloumi and chips for dinner then set off down the lanes to pitch my tent on the rapidly filling event field. 

Everyone was working well to maintain the distancing that worked for them. Mates I haven't seen since a chance encounter last August showed up a few minutes after me and we all pitched then headed to the pub - my bike already fully loaded, I had to call to them to stop sprinting about (unladen), though I was slightly nervous I wasn't as recovered from the Highland Trail as I'd thought.

 I really enjoyed the feeling of civilian camping in a real-size tent with double skins and space for stuff - such luxury.  I was warm and toasty as I made sandwiches for the next day, still not entirely trusting cafes to be fully open or have enough tables available.  I should've done a bit more socialising but I wasn't ready, wasn't well rested so went to bed to get some sleep.  The few social groups that were "up late" weren't up too late and my van did a pretty good job of drowning out any noise while being back in the outdoors did a pretty good job of lulling me fast asleep.

I snuggled into my 300 sleeping bag, expecting to be a bit too warm but strangely, I shivered through the night till about midnight which pissed me off quite a lot as I had been intending to pack light for the weekend and only take my bivi bag.

The pair next to me - a father and son team (son had been bribed into attending with the promise of a hotel room in Langdale) - set off early morning - around 6am.  None of that for me.  I was up around 7, fed and packed and left just before 8.  I was torn between waiting for my friends and getting some miles in but as I planned the full route, they were being more relaxed, heading out for 100km instead.

On the first turns, I was so alone, I questioned my route finding at first, only being joined a few moments later by a pair of brothers who were having a little adult bicker about the route which we put down to a Garmin/Wahoo discrepancy.  I also spent some time talking to a chap from Kent - but not for long enough to learn his name before we got separated by a gate-holding moment.  

The peloton of joy grew and grew with new faces to chat to, laugh with and fall into the cow shit with (them not me).

Then before we knew it we were at the Windermere ferry and I hadn't even taken any photos.  A ferry crossing is always a nice time to take a pic and if I've crossed water on a boat with my bike then I feel more like I've been on holiday.  It was the best balance of vehicles to bikes and as the last rider on board, I was really pleased with my timing.

Soon though it was down to business as we left the road and climbed steeply up through trees to the hillside.  I took my first opportunity to sit down and eat something whilst waiting for riders to thin out.  I'd rather have some opportunity to ride rather than queueing.  My Kentish friend stopped for a chat.

We ploughed across fields and laughed when the chap I was riding with slid sideways into cow poo.  We laughed with groups as I flitted from one pack of waiting friends to another.  Occasionally I'd end up with another solo rider or some pairs.  

The guy on the right was holding his own on a cargo bike with a beer keg on board, bouncing and jumping down the descents.  Sadly the beer keg did not fare so well and I left them at the bottom next to a lake pondering sharing out the beer at around 10am.

Up on the flanks of the Grizedale forest, a discrepancy in the route led me to adopt some bike trails that weren't on my map whilst the group that sent me down them waited for their mates saying, "It's basically just downhill to the visitor centre now". Apparently there were two versions of the route and clearly I had a different one to them. 

Whilst I enthusiastically followed the trails downhill, soon, all the people disappeared and there was no longer a pink line on my map. I did the only thing I knew best and zoomed out and took the nearest line to get myself back on course. As I rode through the carpark, a lone child cycled by which I did not think anything of until I came across a confused looking dad. "Have you seen a small boy in a red helmet?".  

"Urm, yes, heading for the car park".  He headed off to retrieve his property whilst I found a bench to eat my first lunch alone and try to get the actual route off the internet.

I found the website but the "Download" click took me to a sign-up page and at that point, in the bright sunlight, I really couldn't be arsed to co-ordinate my fingers to type in my personal details - or make some up.  It was a charity event and for once, not following the route to the letter didn't matter - in fact many many people had already planned their short-cuts to make the route more manageable. 

Whilst I had come out with the intention to do "the whole thing", I would mostly make that my version of "the whole thing" - i.e. the version I had with me.

Decision made, the mum and daughter that accompanied the father and son stopped by for a bit of a whinge.  I helped by suggesting the child's saddle be raised as it was about 2 inches too low and also sent them off to ask dad to flatten it out as it was tilting her off the back of the bike.  They thanked me and I hope she discovers a life long love of biking as a result - I can but dream.

I set off at 90 degrees to them, smiled politely as unladen trail riders on the up-trail wished me luck and foofed through their teeth.

On the next big descent the weirdest thing happened - a couple of riders were coming towards me. 

It was sunny and brilliant and I didn't care.  After a tour of Arnside and Yewdale, I found myself in Coniston and headed for the first "biker" café I found as it was now 2pm and I didn't fancy another slightly beaten sandwich.  Dusty, sweaty riders lined the high street supping cold-brew coffees and munching on supermarket fodder but I was up for a longer sit down and fancied eating something that involved cutlery.

As I added my bike to the wall, I recognised my neighbours from the campsite.  They looked as exhausted as the people lining the street and were befuddled as to how I had put 90 minutes into them (assuming they'd been there for half an hour at least eating lunch).  It did my ego no end of good that I felt so on top of things until dad said, "I could've done without the descent all the way into Grizedale".

Clearly this was my missing piece.  

Well, anyway.  I scoffed a jacket potato, had a second coffee - half of which I poured over an icecream and said goodbye to dad and son and hello to the next rider to join me - Dave from Birmingham.

I pondered a bike shop to help out with my brakes that were a bit sketchy and we all laughed as my phone pointed out the one place that could have helped me was back at Grizedale on the bit I missed out.

From Coniston we went straight back up at around 20% on the road.  It was off and walking for me and Dave and we stuck together until the final switchbacks where I stopped to take some photos and put on my suncream before it was too late.  The cloud had finally burned off and the temperature was soaring.  I wondered how effective a 50% mix of sweat and sucream was.

At the summit bodies spread out across the hillside and the ranks were pulled to help Dave to determine the whereabouts of the credit card he left on the table in Coniston.  I had no reception on my phone so after a quick breather I started the descent which included a slight detour as I dropped down too low. Still, it was a charity event and didn't matter.

 Part way down I stopped to mess with my brakes.  I could distinctly see daylight more clearly on one side of the pads compared to the other so wondered if my issues were caused by misalignment.  I put a great amount of effort into re-aligning them on top of the fell which seemed to make some difference.  I also tightened the wheel a notch just to make sure.  

At the bottom of the hill, I figured what worked to stop the front wheel squeaking might be a fix for the slightly dodgy back break too so I had a faff at the gate whilst waiting for some others to come on through.

A happy troup of descenders caught me up on the last lines into Dunnerdale and we all crept into the beer garden to get in line for chips and cold drinks. There was no real food on offer but chips saw me right for an early dinner and I donated the last 10 chunky chips to Elaine - a new friend who turned up just as I was packing to leave, getting full of potatoes by now, and she was completely refused service. 

We talked about energy gels, Torq powder and fuelling and I admitted I thought I'd spilled Torq powder in my frame bag.  I didn't *think* I'd brought it with me but for some time now, a white powder had gradually been accumulating in my bag.  We joked about me sharing my cocaine later.

I'd had a lovely chat to Andy from Wigan as he sat in the shade with a shandy.  He disclosed their further plan was to eat down the road at Dalegarth.  I didn't fancy risking it and having waited too long for the chips and downed my coke and water, I cancelled my lemonade order and cleared off with a full water bottle, enough to brew up my emergency food if I needed to.

 

I climbed Birker Fell alone, calling out to another of the Wigan massive waiting for his dad or eggs from the farm shop maybe.  Just after the peloton passed me I saw Elaine then noticed that my route turned off to the right down a track I'd just missed.  My route was much better from the top, taking in a steep but sweet mtb descent after being bumped around a farm with poor signage which I finally figured out.

Down at Dalegarth I rolled on down past the pub.  From where I passed, it looked like there were around 50 riders splayed out across the beer garden at the front.  I was glad I didn't need to go in and flew past then started the slog around the back of Harter Fell.  My plan to go through the night to finish early was starting to look sketchy based on fatigue levels due to the heat.  Although I felt hungry I decided I'd only eat when I bivied since I had no stove so my re-hydrated food would take longer to "cook".  Rather than sit around in the midges or risk spilling food everywhere, I'd mix it up and leave it to cook whilst I pitched my bivi.  In the morning I'd try a new breakfast combo.

Just thinking about it made me realise - the white powder I'd been finding in my bag was actually the spills of my museli that I had carefully packed for cold breakfast - to be supplemented by one of those cold-coffee drinks as the milk substitute and caffeine pick-me-up I would need.  Rather than carrying a stove, fuel and mug, I had successfully transported the coffee drink around - without drinking it - but sadly the museli had not fared well.  I looked to see if it was salvageable and thankfully about half was left.  The other half I shamelessly scooped up in my hand and placed carefully back in the container before securing the lid.  Hygeine was out the window, fuel was important.

I walked and ate at the same time as much as possible which wasn't much given the steepness and trickiness of the climb.  I stopped and had a chat with a few new campers on the way up, folk being at different stages of bedded down the further I walked up.  

The hungrier I got, the more likely a bivi got but I was trying to balance being in a breeze against not having another night shivering in bed.  At the top of the track I was really tempted by the layby campers, out in the breeze at the top of the hill without a midge to be seen but I wanted to camp low down.

Just as I most felt like stopping, the route took a turn off the lovely fire road on to a boggy rocky trail and while I was nothing compared to Highlands standards, I did pick up my bike and started focussing on keeping my feet dry as I was about to go to bed.

After a steep descent the surface plunged into a descent through the woods and flatted out into more bog before opening out into swirling switchbacks that were perfectly rideable, though sketchy on my now very groaning rear brake.  Not much further on, a slight breeze blew through the branches and an iconic surface opened up invitingly.  It would make a perfect shelter in bad weather but there felt like there was just enough breeze for good weather too.

 

As soon as I looked in my frame bag I realised I still had a sub-roll to eat.  Even better than waiting for a dinner brew, I threw up the bivi and mat, sleeping bag and bedded straight down to close the midge net and scoff my small dinner.  I set my alarm for 5am and  I'd passed out by midnight, waking only once to remove every item of clothing I was wearing and quench my growing thirst.  I was boiling hot!

At 5am I stopped the alarm.  The birds had already woken me and I'd been listening for a while in between snoozing.  It was only a charity event and so it didn't matter.  I had a "lie in" for 30 minutes then decided that I was best off to get up when it was cooler to minimise the risk of midges.  There were already a few around and I managed to make - and consume - my new breakfast solution (delicious and only one bit of grit) and dress in my bivi without opening the bug net.

Once up, the temperature philosophy worked right up until the sun came out from behind the Seathwaite fells and I was inundated.  I put my windproof coat on over my midge net neck, pulled the sleeves over my gloves and wore my windproof skirt to keep the off my legs and still had to keep walking away from my pitch to do discrete tasks, like packing my mat, away from where the midges could find me.

 

I finished the descent to Wrynose Bottom then headed for the pass, picking up and saying goodbye to other riders on the way.  I took the descent off the other side with some trepidation.  It's fucking steep and if my brakes were going to go anywhere I did not want it to be on Wrynose.

No sooner as we were down, it was time for Blea Tarn then the Back o' Langdale - a hellish path that took forever.  Before it, the pub was closed for Breakfast - across to Mill beck - The Walker's bar also not open till 11am and the route dodged Chapel Stile.  By Elterwater very few of us could be bothered to divert up a steep rocky rooty climb just to avoid less than 1km of minor road at 9am on a Sunday.  Instead we flopped variously onto the village green or into the cafe at Elterwater.

Our responses to the cafe's welcome ranged from relaxed, cheeky, outraged and enthusiastic.  A 40 minute wait for food sounded perfect to me.  I ordered a veggie breakfast to keep it light but calorie-loaded and sat out to prep on coffee.  The waitress brought me my cake with my coffee so obviously I needed a second coffee to go with the cake once I'd drunk the first with my veggie breakfast.

Just as I was leaving my Kentish friend turned up so we exchanged places and I donated my table 11 as 8, 9 and 10 got taken up by the next wave of riders.  I could understand their frustration as they'd had to bring extra people in to cope with the demand, having started the day with one waitress and one chef.  

The bus pulled out of a side road, missing my handlebars by inches, I secretly wished he'd flattened my bike and offered me a free ride to Ambleside.

Time to take on Rydal water, this time caught up by another lady rider.  Grumpy hikers on the top path tutted and rolled their eyes at us but most people, by the time the reached the water's edge had chilled out and were welcoming.  The lakeshore was like the Costa del Sol, lined with semi-naked people, dogs and towels laid out for sunbathing.  We cursed our way up the steep climb out and I was distracted into tea and scones and breaking up duck-fucking and crow-fighting by the water's edge.  I was glad to stop here for a light lunch instead of tackling the throngs in Ambleside - though I believe I missed a trick with the Alpkit support for the ride.

 

Instead I fought traffic around the town and got out as quickly as possible.  It was a steep and hard traverse of the hillside but it avoided the main road and showed me a bit of the lakes I'd never bothered to explore before as I normally have blatted through here on my way elsewhere.  

I stopped on this bench to figure out my route.  If I'd lost distance in Grizedale, where did my route make it up?  I was quite concerned I was about to be hit with an extra two hours riding to make up for it and I wasn't sure I had the legs for it.

Thankfully, once I'd stopped riding, I stopped caring.  I wondered if I could still make the whole thing fuelled by nothing but love hearts and the packet of crisps I picked up in the shop. 

However, the awe of hikers who stopped to ask about the race filled me with a new motivation.  One lad had clearly been thinking about it since the last person he saw and had come up with a question, "Are you camping out? Are you carrying your own kit?!"  Another asked after the cause and gave me £2 that he had in his pocket to add to the coffers of St Gemma's Hospice.  I thanked him and stuffed the coins in my handlebar bag reminding myself to put them in the bucket later.

I promised myself I'd not stop until I got to the decision point where I could chose between an easy ride back to the finish the way I'd come (or otherwise) or the final loop over to Kentmere.  As I climbed the road my resolve started to falter.  I was getting hungry and wasn't sure I could manage the extra distance, although I did have my emergency dinner with me if I really needed it, I didn't want to sit around being eaten by the midges again.  I remembered my packet of crisps I'd bought at the cafe and  made a new resolve to stop somewhere off road away from the traffic and eat them.

At first there was a long slog of a climb where groups of school children were out for some hiking.  No adults were to be seen for miles but they seemed happy and self-confident.  I called out to them to open the gate for me and they obliged although it took a bit of education to help them understand how it worked - that gates aren't so easy to open if 6 of you stand on it.  However, after they apologised for slowing me down (as if!), I thanked them and said I was very tired and every little help mattered.  

I hoped they would also get the gate for the next rider - whose brother had been flipping about for some time now - going much faster and frustrating the hell out of me and his brother!  

The next thing I saw the faster brother bombing down the hill the other way.  Not quite catching what he said, I assumed it was something about his brother and muttered something about him being a while back.

Hogg houses of the Lakes

Up above High Borrans education centre, a gentleman washing his car commented, "not far to go now, unless you're going to do Kentmere of course!".  I was affronted. Why wouldn't I do Kentmere!?

I smiled sweetly and carried on to do Kentmere.  Hungrily.

When I reached that decision point, I flopped down and sat down in the long grass to fuel Kentmere with my packet of crisps.  Just before shoving another handful down my gullet, I managed to stop myself before dropping a solid pound coin into my gob.

Expensive dentistry avoided, across the other side of the field, the slower brother appeared.  "What happened?  Did you kill him?" I asked.  Far from it, he'd lost his phone in the pub and had headed back to retrieve it.  Can't beat a few extra laps.  I was quietly impressed that all I'd managed to lose was a buff. 

Next, a Bearbones jersey appeared.  It was my mate Andy Bennett who had come to the rescue of my soul during the BB200 last October, here to save the day again.  We sat in the grass, talked shite and laughed about our respective months off - him after the Dales Divide and me after the HT.  I asked him if he thought I could do the next 10km on nothing but a packet of love hearts but I think he thought I'd lost my marbles or was being polite.

We set off again together, full of beans and helping each other with gates in turn.  It flowed well - except for when I was being a clumsy git. 

Unfortunately, I couldn't persuade him to do the last 10km and he took a different line off Three Rivers, avoiding Kentmere's descent and climb of Green Quarter Fell.  On the flip side, I dropped into Kentmere, at one point finding myself facing Rob Jebb coming the other way.  I suspect he did not recognise me though he got a full-on hearty hello from me as if I'd just bumped into him on his way down PenYGhent in September.

On the climb out of Kentmere I had to wait while a sheep got its antibiotic dose before being allowed through the bridleway but it didn't matter because it was a charity event and it didn't matter.  What mattered to me more was on the descent out of there I mis-navigated, missed a turn and had to re-trace 200m uphill to get myself back on track.  It might've been a charity event but if I'd continued on my mistaken track I'd have ended up in the wrong valley with a long way to back-track at the other end and would miss a bunch of off-roading.  

Kentmere

 

The descent from the top of the moor was as delicious as the scenery right up until the point where it dropped vertically into the forest on the other side of a substantial deer gate.  It all got a bit highlands but it didn't matter, I was home.

I checked in with Rich and chatted for a bit but largely didn't dare sit down until I'd actually got to my van which I did - for quite some time.

I'm not actually sure how much of a thing it was earlier in the day but with only 5 or 6 of us left in the campsite, we all generally stripped off and had a good shower in the cold outdoor shower near the gate.  The boys were a bit modest but given my ageing floppy body and the heady mixture of sweat, sun cream, dirt and midge repellent, I happily stripped naked and fully washed off (except for my hair) in the icy flow.  It was the best shower I've had in ages.

As I wheeled the bike across the field, it rattled unnervingly.  The source of my crap braking and groaning brake pads which switched from the front wheel to the rear turned out to be a loose skewer which was solved at the front when I tightened the fork QR then gradually got worse on the rear wheel as I'd not torqued it up enough when I gave it a bath on Friday.  Doh!  July's aim is to get a ride in on a functioning bike.

Camping for the whole weekend was fair game and with Monday booked off work, I made some dinner at the campsite and flopped into my van at 8:30 pm to sleep for as long as I could bear with accumulating CO2 and H2S building up in the roof space of the van.  Eventually I risked the midges and cracked the door open.  I then concluded I couldn't sleep in the van any more and instead, got my bivi bag off my bike, blew up my pillow and moved the mat and sleeping bag outside to sleep.  

For the second night in a row I completely roasted but once I was completely undressed I fell soundly asleep until the temperature finally dropped at 3am when I climbed back into bed then the sun hit at 7am and woke me up being too warm.  If you can't eat most of a packet of jaffa cakes for breakfast on your day off, what can yo do?  I did that midge-free then packed the bike away and headed into the village for second breakfast. 

I was still too early for the cafe so Icecream from the shop sufficed and I hit the road.  Sleeping was for later.