Bridges. and gates.

In this week I vowed to myself I would ride every day to begin some training consistency instead of boom or bust.

By Wednesday my rides were a short, windy, rainy drag and finally on Thursday I'd had enough. I didn't get out in the morning and a work thing that came up in the evening had me stuck at my desk without caring.

However, on Friday I was raring to make up for it. I took the gravel bike out first thing, got completely caked in crap for 2 hrs then went work with wet, muddy hair by 8.45 ready for my meeting.

I didn't get out again. On Saturday I eventually forced myself out. It was a flat ride - mentally, not physically - and I hate those. A bike ride should make me feel better - or feel something. The only thing I got from it was a real need to get out for a proper one on Sunday.

Dutifully I packed bags for an all day ride on Sunshine as I wanted to see how 100km on her felt compared to Midnight.  Two weeks earlier, I'd walked back into the house, spent, cold & unable to sit on my saddle for the rest of the week.

This week, I was to make my final decision on which bike to take to Scotland. The decision is mostly made. After last week I decided 8 weeks away from the gym has ruled out Midnight. I haven't been doing the lifting I'd like and need the extra speed from the lighter bike. I threw on an old saddle bag so as not to wear out the good one and strapped on the shiny new bag that arrived in the post on Friday - a full frame bag that is disappointingly small compared to the Cotic's bag, even if it does fit as snug as a glove.

What started out as essentials packing filled the frame bag with pump, tools, tubes, lunch + snacks and warm gloves.  Up front 2 stem cells carried snacks and a sugary drink bottle (new experiment) and the seat pack contained spare clothes: fleece, 2 pairs of socks, more gloves, waterproof trousers and warm weather shorts to replace my fleecy leggings if I was really lucky.

I ditched my rucsac in a fit of warm weather optimism and just brought a waist pack camelbak with my coat in it.

My intention was to ride the Peak 200 big loop but I set off for the TPT the "easy" long way rather than drag myself over Derwent Edges and Cut Gate in the bad peat conditions.

When I reached my local park a family were staring at the stepping stones in the river. I wasn't going to ride the ford anyway but even the stepping stones were up to 4 inches deep in fast flowing water. I instantly fell off the first one putting my right foot in full flow but at least to even it up the left foot was submerged by the second stone rolling deep under. At least I tested my new gaiters and rode away to wait to see just *how* wet my feet had got (quite,but not sodden).

By the time I got to Hillsborough I realised I'd left my Spot in my rucsac and when the rain started I discovered none of the gloves I had with me were waterproof as one pair didn't even make it into the packing. I went for the thickest pair to keep the showers off and hoped for the best.

Wharncliffe woods was busy with DHs. Enduro bros and sisters everywhere. I joined the more sedate TPT, chatting to a mum/ daughter team out for their first post-lockdown ride and getting tired heading back to Oxsprings into a headwind and uphill with the little one refusing to sit in a slip stream.

I remembered my long day plans rushed on. A brief text sent from Dunford bridge bus stop - site of at least 2 ride retirements, "At Dunford bridge. Weather as usual. Persevering. Textin6 be9ng crap". As the rain became more intense it was a mistake to take the phone out of its waterproof case to take a photo earlier and the screen was not playing ball. I gave the phone a wipe before everything got soaked and packed it away  in airplane mode. 

I managed to combine the first summit pass of the day with the heaviest rain. Cross-winds lashed at me over the road into Salter's Brook. A number of ankle-deep puddles significantly increased the dampness in my boots but I still rode through them all, resigned now to some significant Highlands Training. As soon as I disappeared out of view of the Woodhead and the wind, I retreated to a sheep snug for a pee, convinced no-one would be walking here in such conditions. I didn't want to put it off until I had descended and cooled down. A good wild pee with my coat slung over my shoulders like a cape, rain drumming overhead like the reassuring noise in a tent.

I scanned the view and the sky for a peek of sun. lt shone, silvery behind a thick grey sky and I urged it, out loud, to get a move on and do its thing.

• • •

I'd just finished dressing again when the Park Warden walked past and gave me a cheery wave. I mumbled something about the sun getting on with it and looked skyward again but where the sun had been was just grey sky. It had abandoned me in shame.

I passed the lapwings in reminiscence for the sunset 2 weeks ago and congratulating myself in getting out of the house 3 hours earlier this time. I enjoyed the descent to the valley floor even more while dreading the onset of shivers that would come with the smooth, unchallenging trail and even gradient below me . The rain continued and by the time I'd reached the third bench I could feel the it starting to rundown my leggings into my gaiters or socks and on into my boots. I decided to stop & put my waterproofs on now - rather than keep hoping the rain would stop and everything would get better. I had not noticed the incremental shift from spring showers to full on wet day. I've been out of Manchester too long.

Without shelter for miles I found some trees (still without rain cover but at least out of the wind) and changed into dry socks,waterproof socks, put my gaiters back and added the waterproof trousers on top. I was still soaked but instantly warmer. The gloves were wet through now but after balling my right hand into a fist for 5 minutes, I finally managed to pump in enough therms to stay warm if I rode fast enough. This was going to be a tough day as I set about making the easy part of my ride hard too.

When I spilled into Hatfield I made no hesitation about going into the corner shop to request some Marigolds to use as emergency backup to my remaining dry (wool) gloves. I really hoped this would work out as these new gloves are super toasty.

"I stood in the doorway dripping on the mat and the shopkeeper swaggered into the back, returning with a yellow packet. "Have you got 2 pairs..." I was going to ask for XL size too but he cut me off with "this is the last pair" so I reluctantly yet hopefully handed over £1.20 and headed off down the road with some extra useless weight. It might just save my life if I had to wear them UNDER my wool gloves, they were a size Small .

• • •

On the outskirts of Glossop was a larger mini market but I couldn't be arsed and persevered with what I had. The forecast was for the rain to ease off.

I wiggled over to Charleshead and talked myself up the hill climb. New born lambs with sodden wool turned into punk hairdo's, their pink skin exposed underneath looked at me questioningly.  I reassured them it gets better, reassured myself the rain would stop and kept pedalling. I crossed the Chunnel road nosing at the detached holiday cottage / granny flat / office hovel that looks oh so tempting every time I pass and back onto the moors, content to be free of the bustle of Cars and turn out my back light but I let the front light dynamo run on. I'd need it soon anyway. 

I considered where I was - especially since I accidentally found myself off course on an unfamiliar footpath and instead of tracking right to get back on track, I went left taking myself further off course. I cursed my mistake but found a farmers track that linked the two and had an easy trace back up to the route. I was enjoying not being on "an attempt" and needing to backtrack to undo my stupidity. The track was obvious when I got there and I made a plan then and there for getting home sooner rather than later. I had emergency food with me but would have no shelter for some time. I actually cursed not having the tent. Had I been on a longer course in these conditions I would have had an early stop, eaten, rested a few hours then gone back out again until I dropped into another sleep. Instead I dropped into Hayfield, made a straight up the other side, over Lantern Pikes now enjoying the familiar descent, instead of teetering down it like I did the first few times. 

When I passed this way on my attempt I'd stopped for a chat with a hiker in the mid summer sun. It was hard to place what time that was - maybe three hours earlier than now? I wondered what time I'd make it to my steep spot - maybe 9pm instead of midnight. Shortly after my sleep spot was *that tree* a big old oak which I'd sat under to eat second breakfast because I was back on home ground and felt like celebrating.

I passed three people on the Pennine Bridleway -3 separate female fell runners enjoying the conditions. Where were all the men?

'The next time I looked at my Garmin screen "Rushop Lane" flashed across the screen. I'm familiar with these trails now but seeing those words on the screen gave me reassurance I was back on home turf as I fought my way over open moor land in a cross wind still making mistakes but now with the bike handling.

"But what if you crash out here alone in the clag" screamed my head... but my heart was happy + did not give a shit if we died in the rain. I managed to dig out and take a massive gulp of sugary drink which helped a bit but a few sideways moments had me pushing my crappy spare wheels and tyres in the cross winds a little bit more than would have been strictly necessary.

The open moor finally reformed into tenable rocky tracks there were only the gates to battle with. They resisted the rain and their muddy puddles and the latches got more and more annoying as I became more reluctant to touch anything or move my fingers in my gloves for fear of a fresh flow of cold water coming in and the tepid warm(ish) water from my hands being squeezed out.

I happily realised it was no longer raining then seconds later it felt like the night suddenly arrived as the sky in all directions darkened and it started to rain... again. Surely I was nearly back?

A familiar-ish descent led to a stream crossing that was now a raging torrent. The sheep looked at me and raised their eyebrows. A concrete pipe length lay across the stream acting like a weir more than a bridge. I stood on the tussocks at the edge and wheeled my bike into a foot deep puddle then balanced on the pipe - hoping it wasn't slippery - whilst trying to disengage my pedal from the mouth of the pipe where it had become lodged. More Highlands training. Over the lump ahead and into the next stream bed where there was a proper bridge though I lost part of my bottle contents tipping my bike on its tail.

• • •

Once across I realised I had made it to my sleep stop from last year. What a lovely place - though if I'm being picky - not really flat enough for a comfy stop.

Unfortunately it made me check my watch and while it definitely wasn't sleepy time it was nearly dinner time. By the time I'd got on the next climb my stomach was rumbling - it was already too late.

I looked for easy to reach snacks but for some reason nothing would do. For some reason the pasta meal in my bag was what I wanted. I decided to make it up in my bottle so it could sit on the bike and "cook" while I pedalled. I decided it would be a good "experiment."

I didn't want to waste fresh water so I took from a stream, mixed in the foods screwed the lid on and put it away.

A little further along I realised I'd not really added enough water but never mind... and carried on riding, fuelled by the last of the sugarey potion I had downed in order to free up the drinks bottle.

Finally I was at Rushop edge. I negotiated the last frustrating batch of sheep gates then stopped the course and turned for home.

Apart from the soaking wet thing, in Normal Times I'd have cautiously locked my bike to a picnic table at the back of a pub car park and had myself a dinner out but I'd lost all appetite for cold pasta from a bottle in the Castleton bus shed and the pubs were shut so I whipped down Winnats pass getting an all-time PB for a clear run and hoped there wouldn't be any sheep on the road.  I then got a tail wind ride into the village where I stopped behind a car to check in "Castles ton. Cominbg home!'

The tail wind sped me through Hope to Bamford and all I could ponder was how to get home. I'm SO BORED of New Road and Stanedge. Surprise view was too much "climbing" after the"climbing". The A 57 involves the risk of dick motorists and the potentially undignified need to get off and push but it's all down hill after the top... which might be cold. At Bamford I stopped at the garage for the convenience of eating *something* under floodlights and out of the wind. Unfortunately out of the wind was not out of the rain and the concrete forecourt was too wet to sit on. 

The pasta had formed into an inedible dodgy mass in the bottle. On inspection I just tucked it away to deal with later. I didn't even think to ditch the weight. I crammed a few bits of beef jerky in my mouth along with some chewits and M&Ms and ate the lot at once. In normal times I might have even thought to go into the Londis and buy something, yet I take heart from now thinking Bamford is so close to home that I'm not that bothered about filling an empty stomach.

The A57 was fine, as tail-wind-assisted as a climb up a gorge can be.

• • •

I didn't need to walk. The last bits are exposed and were easy and the weather was so mild that the accelerated descent didn't cool me down too much at all. I even found the energy for the climb into Crookes so I didn't have to climb the steep hill to home at the end.

The house was filled with the aroma of pizzas there was no time for a shower - just a dressing gown and a heap of sodden mucky clothes discarded on the back door mat to worry about tomorrow. It might seem soft by Highland Trail standards but it's a start. I just have to get rid of the dressing gown and the cosy house... Oh, and work on getting up and doing it all again tomorrow.

August BAM

 It's rare when social media actually (I mean *actually*) inspires me to put down the TV set and go and do something more interesting but this weekend it happened.  

On Saturday I worked on a new project before packing up my bike packing gear gradually.  I'd planned to do a 40k ride and a 50k ride this weekend but, after a trip in to town to post some bike stuff, I didn't leave home for number 1 till 8pm.  It was me and Mr Landslide again, fuelled by home-cooked pasta.

We rode over to Hillsborough at which point my left crank dropped off at an awkward pedestrian crossing.  I limped over to the pavement and kicked it back on as best I could and tightened the bolts.  The cap nut was long gone.

Hoping the bike would stay in one piece, we threaded our way along the Trans Pennine trail as far as Penistone where we needed to put lights on properly to ride through town to the big Tesco for a toilet trip before hitting the Peak district for the rest of the night.  After Penistone, the sky was dark enough to warrant front lights - even if the back ones stayed off.

Wildlife 1 - a hedgehog.

We cut across the moor to Langsett.

 Wildlife 2 - a moth beating out its pattern on the wing.

 Landslide realised I was dragging him the rocky way.  I had not even thought of his "skinny" tyres (in the modern sense of the word) or lack of bouncy forks.  

We briefly mused over stopping near the woodland but, fuelled by enthusiasm for a classic summer evening with resultant glorious sunrise, we proceeded into the heather in search of a better morning-vista and another stop that I had in mind.

I enjoyed the little pool of light in front of me, watching the purple heather bouncing back in the light.  In fact I enjoyed it so much I failed to notice the dark orange blood moon rising over Sheffield until it was almost too late.  As a cloud bank dropped over it, we slowly watched it disappear as we, too, scrambled into the dark.  It made puddle-dodging more challenging, trying to remember the deep ones.

Somewhere along the way, Landslide's tyres started to let him down.  Whilst he faffed with that, I sorted out my cleats which had been bugging me all week.  I finally got them into a position I could ride some power in and L continued to struggle with rocks and rolling.  I took the occasional hike - partly to make sure he was still there and partly because my skills weren't working in the faded light and fatigued state.  We were both making mistakes.

For a moment we considered camping on the peat bog (currently dry) near the summit but concluded that the breeze we had been seeking out to keep the midges at bay was actually a bit too blowy for comfort.  We agreed to descend to the planned stop to get out of the wind.  

The planned stop never came (at least I shot past it in the dark) and before I knew it, we were at another spot I have covetted for a while.

(c)Mr Landslide: High Speed Trep

We both tarped-up with backs to the wind then just as we were about to get comfy, the gusts started coming from 135 degrees anticlockwise, just enough to grab the edges of tarps and ruffle them thoroughly.  Still, we persevered - it would keep the midges off.

I lay awake for some time, then some time longer.  Eventually I started to snooze but it felt like every time I dropped off, the tarp would rustle and wake me up.  I re-pegged and pinned down my ground sheet with everything going but nothing would silence the damn thing.  I went for a walk - partly to have a week and partly to suss out if there was any shelter nearby.  

In a few places, I could have got out of the wind in the bracken but recognised as that a really stupid midgey idea.  I reached a stream with the tarps on the other sideand, figuring I'd got back to camp, toyed with the idea of crossing the stepping stones to get back to my bed.  Thankfully I realised I'd probably fall in the water so retraced by steps back to L sleeping soundly behind my pitch.  I had decided to re-pitch the tarp into a tunnel to get low profile and cover all the bases of this swirly wind pattern.

Amazed that I didn't wake Mr L, I snuggled down into my tarp tunnel and really appreciated the extra warmth.  Unfortunately, the midges joined me in there so I got my head net on and started the process of quietening my groundsheet again by littering shoes and my rucsac around the place.

I did at least get some sleep but as this was all happening at 3am, it was only about 3 hours sleep before the sun was up, my cosy tunnel was too hot and I found that most of my mat and bivi bag were poking out from under the tarp and I was happily (yet painfully) curled up on nothing more than the ground sheet and a 12 inch long rock.

My first words of the day to my bivi buddy were, "mats are for losers anyway".

L informed me that there was another camp just across the stream - luckily I hadn't crossed the water last night as I would have stumbled into the wrong campsite.

I insisted on scrambling together my kit and heading about 100m down the trail to a known picnic spot to brew up breakfast in the shelter of the trees.  It was midgey but at least the breeze was low enough to ensure the stove would work.  I wasn't in the mood for riding any further than home that day, on the basis of my limited sleep, but I knew that food would make me feel better.  I viewed the whole thing as a mini-exercise in keeping on keeping on.  I stuck it in the category of "How will I finish the highland trail if I bail at the first sign of difficulty?"  I tried to stay positive and just focus on the job of making the brew.  I was very buoyed by measuring exactly the right amount of fuel we needed.

Mr L pottered about birdwatching and dodging hungry ducks whilst I minded the stove and sat on the ground at protest to the really crap and uncomfortable bench.  My breakfast of porridge, honey and dessicated coconut did a lot to fix my mood, as did the coffee. 

We bimbled down the lake in the fog.

I took one photo

Just before we headed into Fairhomes to check out the toilets and, to our sheet joy, the cafe was open.  A sausage sandwich was consumed and I enjoyed sweet tea.  Moods even further improved, we started the potter home until such point as I had to send Landslide ahead in order to make his daddy-care duties on time.  I was having trouble keeping up with his increasingly anxious pace and his wife's gym sessions are just as important as my bike rides.  I am always grateful to her for letting me borrow his company from time to time.

As soon as he had gone, my pace slowed and I warmed into my movement a bit more.  Eventually I was able to park up, reinstate my clothing organisation and get rid of the warm stuff from last night - much to the enjoyment of a photographer that I hadn't noticed sitting on the grass well above the track.

I took the Thornhill trail to Bamford lights then set off up Shatton to take the pleasant route to Hathersage.  In the village, I felt the crank start to wobble.  I wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that I now knew when it was about to fall off.  I didn't manage to get my foot out of the pedal before the crank fell off but I did at least manage to carefully put my foot down before the  approaching big range rover came around the blind corner.  Thankfully it was being driven carefully and responsibly by an elderly lady and she did not run me over as I scabbled about on tarmac with a hunk of metal stuck to my foot.

As I torqued it on as tight as possible, another kindly Shatton resident came out to check if I needed any help.  

I'm amazed it held all the way up the long, relentless climb.  I'm also amazed I rode it all the way to the top.  The crank held on until the flat road where I tied it in again.

At a footpath junction I bumped into the lovely Marcus Scotney out on one of his long runs so we disrupted eachothers schedule a bit with some exchanged Covid tales then I dropped over to Hathersage.  The crank obliged by dropping off again and I started texting enquiries to TSK as to his whereabouts, toying with the tentative idea of a rescue call.

I decided to persevere, hope for the best, select walkable hill climbs and head straight home,soft- pedalling as much as possible.

I made it to Hathersage Booths before I felt the familiar wobble again, meanwhile TSK had just texted me I leant the bike against the wall reached into my bag for my phone, crank in hand. I said hello to a bloke and, a moment later his girlfriend but something was not right. She was making worrying sounds and at first I thought she had sudden brake failure. I ditched both phone and crank on the ground and as I turned to help, she fell off her bike into the road next to me, tearing at her face with her hands to remove her glasses. She had been hit and stung in the lower eyelid and her screams were an attempt to stop safely with her eyes shut on a 16% descent whilst trying to remove glasses and insect at the same time.

My first job was to stop the approaching traffic on the blind corner whilst she extracted herself from her bike.

The motorists were kind and offered 1st aid but we sent them on.

Next I had a look at the eye. Her lovely fresh young face had developed the dark circle of a more mature person and a tiny pinprick was visible near her nose.

I passed on my last remaining antihistamine and checked on her whilst she composed herself. I prescribed a cafe stop in Hathersage before continuing and she set off in pursuit of the boyfriend.

TSK was in Hope, out on his bike so that put paid to my rescue.  I did not expect today to be this much of a trial of my ability to keep going.

This time I took a lot of care over putting the crank back on, tightening the bolts incrementally in sequence. I made it past Burbage + up onto the summit then stopped at a Hawthorne tree to get out of the wind while I put a warmer jersey and a coat on for the descent. At the carpark in the Mayfield valley I stopped for a snack to celebrate the crank staying on then ended up in the caf with TSK, drinking coffee instead of anything sensible like eating lunch. And so my ride ended with a little tow home, watching a buzzard and wondering if it was the Vulture (it wasn't) and being motor paced by two roadie students who couldn't understand me thrashing them on the descents then fading to soft pedalling on the climbs. After I gave the bike and me a wash I went to sleep for 3 hours,and felt like shit for the rest of the day.

Well man alive! There's nothing like a pandemic to make you paranoid after a not-so-terribly-hard bike ride but, thankfully a few healthy meals and 9 more hours sleep saw me right.

We are go for the next one-give or take a few crank-saving devices.

Thoughts on finishing the Peak 200.

I woke up this morning, absolutely exhausted and thought, “How the fuk do I finish the highland trail when this is how I will feel at the end of day 1?"

This is almost a rhetorical question because most of my exhaustion from yesterday can be put down to the heat – and given current performance, there is little chance of heat exhaustion occurring when I turn up to actually race an event. 

Joking about the weather aside, I did at least realise that the main source of my exhaustion at that time was lying in bed with nothing to eat.

So despite my sore ankles, heavy calf muscles and aching wrists, I got out of bed and went to the loo where I realised that I should be congratulating myself on getting to the end of day 2 on the Highland trail as “yesterday” I rode over 235km and it was a 29.5hour day.

Still, I continued to contemplate all the people I know who have completed the Highland Trail.  How awesome you are (Alan – of course, Lee, Jennie, Ian, Karl, Sean, Javi, Dave, Rich and Tom, Martin, Clem… I could go on). 

I have a colleague at work who is a coach for a regional archery squad and close to the national team and he likes to try his skills out on me from time to time.  He likes to remind me that I’m pretty special too (but I’m too humble for that).  After I entertained him once with tales of my old Triathlon racing internationally and insisted that I still wasn’t that good he told me (in a nice way) to take a look at myself and what I just said. 

You too can be aero on a cyclo-cross bike
that just did 500 miles over the Rockies

In a way he was right and I fully appreciate what he was trying to do but I still maintain (with Triathlon in particular) that if I can do it anyone can – all you need to do with Triathlon is get reasonably fit, train with a modicum of effort in a semi-random way and then, most importantly, bother to fill in the form and have enough money and enthusiasm to travel to whatever championships you qualify for and spend exorbitant additional money on the kit and the race fee.  Tick – but there’s only so many times you get to milk this* cash cow.

I had a think about what I did yesterday.  There were so many times towards the end that I just packed up and went home.  It would have been an easy ride.  From 1:30 to 5pm, I did three small “loops” of my local playground before I finally turned for home.  I thought about all the time I could have saved here and there and it would be good if I paced it better and just, it’d be easier to come back and do it another time and then I realised that doing it another time might not be an option – so better to get it over and done with, having put the effort in so-far. 

Those last “loops” were so so painful.  I think every race has a hateful part – and in most cases it will be the end of the ride, regardless of your preferences for terrain and scenery.  For me, the end of this ride was atrocious – those same trails I know and love day in, day out – even finding some new ones didn’t help a bit.

So back to the Highland Trail.  I made my toast and a cup of tea and thought of the inconvenience of not having those recovery tools to hand in Scotland – just a packet of crisps and a bit of chocolate saved over from yesterday and some water from out of the stream. 

I thought of my mousing experience from Tuesday and was glad that in Scotland I will be carrying my superlight tent – that’s all that came from that. (also, I know from experience that the tent isn't completely mouse-proof).

My ankles have already stopped aching enough to walk mostly normally and my feet could see the inside of a pair of cycling shoes again, without flinching too badly.  As Lee said in joining the dots – I can’t walk today, but of course I can.

I remembered that not only did I ride day 2 of the “Highland Trail” yesterday, I also rode the last day – through the night to get back to the finish - give or take the 1.5 hour stop which mainly consisted of warming up again and eating a packet of Rolos… and it was easy! 

The pitch was easy, the sleep came easy, I woke up with the daylight – not the alarm - and I got easily back on my bike.

I contemplated a discussion I had last year about whether big rides were even an essential part of the Highland Trail training package and I think they still might be – for me at least. 

I’m still learning new things with every adventure I have – sometimes major, sometimes so minor as, it probably was worth popping home to get that extra light because riding in the dark would’ve been so much easier with it than without it… or maybe get myself a better headtorch as dedicated spare. 

I learned all these new things about the day after recovery and I think that I need to do the longer rides to get my joints and tendons ready for the strains of day-in-day-out riding again.  When I finished Ireland (after a brief rest) I was ready for more, not less.

So the plan for next year will get a little tweak - a good tweak - to stick me back in my comfort zone of being out, not in.  So when the "how the hell?" kicks in again, I will at least have an answer - just like you did last time.  And for that reason, I'm extremely glad I persevered with the Peak 200.

*me

May Bivi - Of theft

Much of the day was physically lazy but over the course of the last 2 weeks I have finally drawn together a new plan to get me out of the non-Highland Trail frame of mind and back into the 3 Peaks and out the other side into next year.

This task usually takes me around 2 days.  This year it took 3 because rather than tackling the next 6 months, I couldn't resist rolling it out to next year's HT in an attempt to convince myself I can do it.

I recently drafted a chart to remind me to live my life and stop being such a slave to my job. 

Put simply, I realised that if I:

1. make a plan
2. make it achievable
3. stick to the plan

I can finish the race.*

Today I have achieved 2 of the three things and it feels like I am incrementally closer to my goal.

Once complete, I looked at what is left to do this week.  Most of the big things were ticked off my a couple of medium length rides in the Peak this week (in glorious weather) so I went out and ticked off the remainder - a 2.5km run on hills and strength training which has been almost exclusively dropped since lockdown through a lack of enthusiasm based on the crap weights I have at home and the sun being out.

Cue weight-free squats and lifting baked bean tins whilst feeding the cats and cooking dinner.

The bean tins weren't heavy enough and replaced with 750ml water bottles.

The cats came upstairs to walk underneath my plank.

So I registered to do the Highland trail virtually.  That was a silly thing to do.  After staring at the plan for the ride for 8 hours yesterday, I got all excited and registered at the last minute on a bit of fun basis.  This morning I was wide awake at 5:30 am - perfect for a good start but I went straight back to sleep until 8:30 am. 

As I ate my breakfast I realised the wind was still blowing and the motivation to ride deserted me.

Yesterday, you see, I had a rather pleasant morning.  Mr Landslide sought company for a bivi.   I'm rubbish at making long term plans but he's clever and we agreed to meet on Thursday evening at 8:30 then ride local, sleep local and ride home again (him to home-work, me to my holiday at home).

We socially distanced through the neighbourhood and up the North side of the Rivelin Valley.  Though I'm sure his Escapade would have been fine in the rock garden, it was an evening for bimbles. 

Along the lane of 100 puddles, we rode through dust pits then had to decide to ride-on or go to pitch camp.  Mr L chose to make a twilight camp instead of burn more miles so we dropped back into the river bed and made our way over to my chosen spot. 

I gave my guest the flatter spot with the view but due to prevailing wind direction bringing showers in the morning, the tarp, unfortunately, had to have its back to the view.  I delved into my comfort zone in the trees amongst the twigs with somewhere to lock the bike to a pine.

Mr L pitched in no time whilst my attempts to pitch the Ugly Tarp in the trees just led to rucked material and guy lines that were too short, insufficient headroom and poor slopes.  I gave up and pitched traditionally with a pole and some sketchy pegs in the pine needles, moss, lichen and tree roots.

We spent the next 2 hours talking shit and whittling, consuming snacks, whisky and beer and scaring away a deer which wandered into camp, it's white rump prancing away in the darkness.

The owls serenaded, the squawked then bedded down eventually.  At 1am we went to bed and I lay awake staring at the trees for some time before drifting off.

I woke up first to the sounds of mice scurrying around so stuck my earplugs in.

Mouse:1 Trep:0 

The noise persisted and I found my rucsac was over a mouse hole dressed as a tree root.  I moved it. Mouse:1 Trep:1

The mouse continued so loud I was convinced the deer was back and rummaging through my food bags but a quick look over the tarp yielded no beasties or thundering hooves.  I tried reassuring my senses by removing the earplugs but the noise of the stream made me think it was raining heavily and I got cold... but my bivi was dry.  I put my earplugs back in and slept through the rain that eventually did come at around 4am.

I was wide awake at 4:30, ready to get up and race but persuaded myself to go back to sleep - finally - and very convincingly - till 8am when I woke very delirious and physically stiff from an awkward sleeping position.

After a discussion with Karl about pillows and a bit of research, I tried out a new Thermarest inflatable pillow which was just peachy.  Improved rest and no morning neck pain and the little lovely stayed exactly where it was put all night. 

When I awoke Mr L was all breakfasted and packed up and headed home to his office. 

Whilst it was a shame we didn't get to brew up together in the rising sun, he had vacated the pole position and I decamped before moving into his dry patch of ground to brew coffee and porridge. 

I sat on my folded thermarest and laid out the Ugly Tarp and Bivi to dry in the sun before packing up my bike and pushing back up to the main trail.

The first bite of my Camelbak nozzle revealed the damage the mouse had done - little tooth marks around the split in the bite valve meant it was leaking and I needed to spend the day locking it off to stop water dropping down my leg.  Thankfully I'd locked it over night and still had water left.  Mouse:2 Trep:1

Despite the forecast breeze, it was too nice a day to head home for me.  I had limited resources with me - a cereal bar, some loveheart sweeties (couldn't resist them in one of my rare trips to Asda) and a bag of Harribo's. 

First stop was Stanage Pole as a minimum since once I'm in Wyming Brook, I can't resist. 

I knew I wouldn't be able to resist dropping down the Causeway on the other side.  The tail wind practically shoved me down.  In some kind of weird sideways whirlwind, the wind then shoved me up the Stanage Road climb so I went with the flow and decided to traipse across Burbage so I could go home via Houndkirk.

The wind blew sideways across Burbs until the Longshaw end where it was an obscured headwind in the trees so I took time to eat my only remaining vaguely nutritional food item.

The climb up to Fox House was protected by trees then the tail wind continued across Houndkirk as the backs of my calves were exfoliated by a sandstorm and walkers coming towards me pulled their Covid neck gaiters over their ears, mouths, noses and hair to keep the grit out rather than the germs.

I used the auto-assist functionality of the wind to dial in the rebound on my forks a bit more and accidentally found a few PBs - not all of which I was comfortable with.  I was sorely tempted by the takeaway kiosk at the Norfolk arms to see if they had any snacks but decided to go home and eat healthy lunch instead.

After being blanked by a middle age gnarly roadie woman in full Rapha kit I had the great pleasure of catching her up on the climb out of the dip after she bottled-it on the descent.  Her rudeness was met by the brrrrrd of a set of fully -loaded Maxxis Icon tyres as she begged a right turn when I drew alongside to overtake her. 

"On you go" I chirped cheerily as I braked to let her turn off the climb before the top... leave it there.

Once back off road I settled at a suitably scenic bench to devour the sweeties in my bar bag only to find they were gone.  Mouse:3 Trep:1

Thankfully, it didn't fancy the emergency Harribo, or couldn't get them out of the opening in the food bag.  Or maybe its brain exploded from the Aspartame in the lovehearts.

I pulled myself away from the view of the reservoirs to ride home to devour lunch, satisfied with what I had achieved on limited rations.  I've been hungrier and the ride was mostly sponsored by the giant curry I ate before leaving.

So I'm not sorry that my first day on the virtual Highland Trail will be somewhat of a shortfall.  Other smaller races are still to be raced this year and now I have a plan to get there, life seems more organised. *

*all hell being let loose, set aside.

Aprili Bivi

Easter's gonna be gorgeous they said.  It's gonna rain on Sunday they said.

I panicked.

I packed my bike up on Thursday evening after work... a work day that meant to finish early but lasted out till 5pm.

I had some dinner and went outside to sing with my neighbours, I mean the clapping's a bit lame but you've got me on a sing song... before going back in to finish packing.


I left the house at 10pm, fretted the dynamo wasn't running the light then realised I'd brought the wrong wheel out - so running on battery then.  I've got tired of battering myself on the tough stuff near home and developed a knee injury that niggles so I set off up the easy trails to Holyrod farm where the friendly sheepdog came out to give me a woof as I passed in darkness.  It was perfectly tranquil.

In the valley bottom I sat on one of my favourite benches and drank down a little whisky and scoffed a cereal bar that's been in my bag just a little bit too long.

For the easiest descent I rode all the way up to Lodge Moor before dropping down to the Byway and then riding the footpath down the Rivelin valley which has now been legalised to open up "safe" cycling access in the valley.  I managed not to fall in the holly bush this time, so it must be working.

When I got out of the allotments it felt really warm in town, and peaceful - so peaceful.  If I could photograph silence it would look like this.

TSK scurried off to bed when I got home at 11:45.  So I had a few minutes of bathroom light to pitch my tarp by.  I set up to avoid the Light of 100 suns and to put my back to Mark next door so I could get undressed to my heart's content and sleep in comfort.  Before I shut down the Garmin, it told me the temperature was +5 degrees so I emptied my bags out, popped inside with the bike and raided the fridge for some cheese and an apple to stave off the hunger that was occurring.

It took me a long time to pitch the big tarp - the offcut of the ugly tarp.  I had insufficient pegs with me so resorted to using a couple of spokes that were stored in my frame bag.  I changed into comfy clothing and wriggled into Stu's old bivi, concluding there's much more space for feet in this one and my mat could stay in it tonight.

My one and only feline encounter occurred as Newt passed in disgust at me camped out on the cat path again.  A view of the other side of the valley was accompanied by the sweaty feet smell of the cheese and the sweet apple.  Near perfect, except the other neighbour's outside light was on and set to stay on all night shining straight in my view.  I couldn't be arsed to re-pitch the tarp so resolved to roll over on my side and ignore it.

I returned the remaining cheese to the fridge, hid all my other food away in case of fox incursion and settled down to sleep at 1am.

At 3:45 I woke up (or was woken up) and adjusted my position slightly in my bed.  Cue the sound of barking and growling and something running away.  I can't be clear whether I was dreaming it or it really happened.  I sat bolt upright in the bed and looked right and left.  I couldn't see anything - anything at all.  My hat was pulled down firmly over my eyes and my arms trapped in my sleeping bag.

After struggling to free my arms and push my hat back, whatever wildlife had been there before was well gone but my face and all my kit seemed to be in tact so I settled back down to recover my breath and anticipate the remainder of the night lying, staring at the wall of the bivi after the adrenaline rush.

After a moment's consideration of getting up and going out for a dawn raid ride, my eyes got heavy again, the workload from the week had clearly caught up with me.

Just as I fell back to sleep I heard the neighbour softly saying, "c'mon then" into the inky lightening of the sky.  Either he was calling his cat in or feeding the foxes - I will never know.

I slept through the dawn chorus and chose not to get up to shiver at first light to go for another ride. I've got years of that to come.  Instead I snoozed till 10am, when I finally had to get up because I was too hot.

Newt made attempts to assess the bivi for comfort

I had the best cereal and coffee breakfast on the bench - none of it made from my stove but the excellent cafe at the bottom of the garden.  

Rueful I'd missed the experience for a hike bivi, I decided to see how much of my kit I could fit into my lightweight rucsac - it turns out, just my racing kit - the luxuries of stove, extra food, fuel would need to be left behind.  I was tempted by a second bivi on the moors so packed my big rucsac with all the aforementioned items.

Then TSK decided he wanted to come too so it turned into a day hike... after the laundry was done and the bread was baked and lunch had been eaten.  So I helped a bit but mostly spent a half hour taking pictures in the garden.

 

My rucsac was heavy but not ridiculously so.  I did marvel that I manage to fit it all on the bike.  The rucsac was bought in 2007 when we first returned from Canada and has never really been worn in anger.  Still, it brought back memories from my climbing days when I'd spend most bank holiday weekends hiking into a munro access with ropes, harness, boots and gear, to climb a stupidly long route.  The weight sat OK (thank you gym) and the pack was more comfortable than I expected.  As temperatures rose I changed my outfit several times and picked trail shoes over hiking boots before finally getting out the door.

We walked paths at the extremities of the main walking area near us so only saw a few other couples or small families out walking - the message seems to have gotten out.

Gradually the numbers of folk dwindled and we had the whole moor to ourselves for quite some time - except for the lapwings, skylarks and occasional kestrel.

Trig point achieved, we nosed back into the valley for a final hike home down a combination of new paths, yesterday's bike bits and the valley paths that I've really missed using since I gave up distance running 2 years ago.

Actually it was a great reminder of what resides on our doorstep - within walking distance - or just about...

By the time we reached the reservoirs, we were both minced.  Our feet were hot and swollen and blisters were starting to develop.  Legs were tired and shoulders aching.  I'd developed significant bruises where my rucsac dug into my pelvis - whether I had the waist strap around my waist or my hips.  I'm not used to carrying a heavy bag but still, I was pretty pleased with what we did achieve.  Whilst I could have stopped and cooked up a pasta meal to share on the meths stove, the one thing I did forget to pack was my spoon.  Whilst I'd have happily shovelled the pasta in with the lid of the stove pot, I didn't fancy taking it in turns so we continued stomping our way home.

It was 8pm by the time we reached the garden again.  Mark, standing on the back step smoking his ciggy asked where we'd been.  He may be ex-army but no longer possesses any impression of how hard it is to walk 25k over to Rod trig when you've not carried a heavy pack for 10 years - at least he doesn't let on.

We prepped dinner and fed the cats still standing up, nervous that any show of weakness like sitting down would mean we wouldn't get back up again.  My last desperate act was to have a shower and I fell into bed with wet hair and slept. HARD.

March Bivi 2020 - on solitude

The Preamble

I have to admit, I thought this BAM might not happen.  There's been a lot of short rides on a new bike - the first one where I took it up to the pump track near home, just to make sure I actually rode it - once.  There was the ride where the cheap bit of plastic "chain protector" came loose and kept making the chain come off.  Then bags started to get added, tape to protect the frame, building the new dynamo wheel, adding the dropper post.

It was all building up to last weekend - meant to be the start to a beautiful holiday.  We would finish work on Friday and race to the highlands armed with a loaded mountain bike for me and a road bike for TSK to do whatever took his fancy.

I was looking forwards to reccying the new lines on the HT route and was poised to report back to organisers and friends, then the Government took over.  For future reference: This is the week Covid-19 took the UK into lockdown.  For now reference: this is the last time I will mention it this Blog.

2 Sundays ago we raced.  On Monday and Tuesday, in line with ambitious training, I managed to continue riding to work and on Wednesday I was forced to drive in so I could collect my desk, screen, chair and mouse/keyboard and set up my home office.  The holiday morphed into tentative, then a staycation.

TSK had always wanted to visit Ludd's church and so we thought that we'd sneak in whilst no-one was looking.  We took a packed lunch and unwittingly joined 1/6 of the UK in the white peak, the rest being in the Dark Peak, Lakes, Highlands or Yorkshire Dales.  I felt bad enough about travelling that far so on Sunday I went in search of solitude and a little bit of daylight.  I was successful except for a brief period around Derwent reservoir.  I empathise with folk wanting to enjoy the countryside but when it occurred to me that one in 10 of those big groups of people I saw could be from the hotspot of Westminster, I took a different tune and was glad I rode by quickly in search of further isolation on Cut Gate.

Success.  If we're never allowed outside again then I will dine out on that apple, eaten in a sheep ditch, for years to come.  I loped indoors late in the evening - my first (and possibly last) pass over Cut Gate this year left me prepared for Monday exactly how I like it - slightly exhausted.  We concluded that if we were stuck at home then we might as well offer to work.

I cycled though Tuesday's team meeting on my Turbo, getting 50km in.  I felt positive, maybe I would get a sneaky BAM in on my new bike - get the dynamo finished, figure out the baggage, pop out, use up some of the time work owes me - a quickie before lockdown and then the news came in on Tuesday.

Everyone knows by now how much of a goody twoshoes I am.  I dreamed of sneaking out to "that" bench for a night - the one in the valley I've had my eye on for ages.  But deep down I knew that in any kind of legally enforced lockdown I'd spend the night wide awake somehow paranoid I'd be arrested by the nature police.  I even lay awake in bed on Wednesday night, imagining which way I'd ride through the allotments to avoid capture.

The week seemed to drag on forever and I worked waaay more hours than I ever would have at work.  Things got busy and instead of  turning away for the daily commutes I had set myself, I worked longer and harder than ever before as BAM floated on the breeze outside my velux window in the loft office.

On Friday I had myself a glass of wine straight after work. It was bad.  HT was cancelled, BAM seemed off the cards and I'd lost all mojo.  I sat outside looking down the valley, hankering after what could have been in the glorious evening sunset and decided to check what was happening on the BAM notice board.

At first I expect a tough-luck approach.  If you didn't get out already then more fool you.  I'd already turned down Mr Landlside for a March BAM on the basis that I was feeling a bit off with hot flushes and a tickly cough which transpired to be high settings on the central heating, early menopause symptoms and hayfever.

I also expected some people would be out doing it anyway or using mates' gardens - none of which were on my radar for reasons previously described.

Sense finally prevailed and I realised Stu wouldn't be so irresponsible as to break with caution in the pursuit of a cloth badge and as I write this I hear the hipocrisy in the face of the legality of wild camping in this country but mental health and public health are, sadly, still very different things.

Tempting as it was to head off onto the moors on foot (emergency exception number 1) I opted instead for my Own Back Garden (emergency exception number 2), suddenly very happy to have one, as well as a plush new bench, fortunately purchased in last year's garden centre sales.

My rules

I decided to remain as close as possible to usual BAM experience - leave on Saturday on a fully loaded bike, camp in my own garden, get up and go for another ride on Sunday with all the gear back on the bike.  Only 2 changes:

• I wasn't leaving a brand new bike outside overnight in a city garden - lock-down or no lock-down
• TSK said I wasn't allowed to poo in the Compost bin - or anywhere else in the garden for that matter.

I would let myself in the house once to lock the bike in the kitchen and use the bathroom.

The First Ride

I spent most of Saturday still dicking about with wheels and wiring the dynamo.  As the day went on, my soldering got worse and the electrical tape got thicker.

As soon as I started to load the bags, the heavens opened and the cat bust in through the catflap a little soggy.  I'm glad I didn't open the blinds to take a look outside because, in retrospect, the noise was so loud because it was hailstoning.

Of course, I had bivi plans so, gone were the chily but clear sparkling spring mornings.  The forecast was for 1 degreeC, cloudy , windy, potential for precipitation.  I packed the largest sleeping bag I thought I could get on the bike, the Ugly Tarp, mat, bivi bag (warm one), the Thermatex blanket, big gloves, coat, thermals and for funsies, my stove to brew up in the garden.  I was wearing fleece bib leggings and my waterproof, wool top and thick socks so by the time I left the house I was glad to get into the cold air.  It was 10pm.

As soon as I set off I knew things were wrong.  I couldn't steer and nearly ploughed into the bin.  A little disapointing on a bike that had previously been so agile.

I'd strapped my big ortleib drybag to my bars in a harness and inadvertently looped the harness strap around by dropper post cable. I rectified it in the cold air and set off for the allotments to warm up again on the hill.  Things still weren't great but I put it down to the harness rubbing on the frame, cursed myself for getting distracted earlier in the day and not taking the time to add some frame protectors.  I resolved to make it a short ride and do something about it in the morning.

With dodgy steering I wobbled and hauled the bike over the usual terrain.  The only car I saw as I rode through the allotment at 10.30pm was a police car which made me smile about my plans to play keystone cops through the tomato plants and gardening paraphenalia of Western Sheffield.  I could imagine the conversation,

Policeman: "Where are you heading to then?"
Me: "Home"
Policeman: "What, with that lot?"
Me: "Yes"
Policeman: "Where's home"
Pointing behind me: "That way, just getting my exercise in first".

He didn't stop.  I grinned at the sense of freedom.  Being back on a loaded bike, the confidence that I could stop anywhere, the knowledge that I wouldn't.

I opted for the acquisition of height over whooping empty downhills and tested my new lighter bike fully loaded up my local Hike-a-bike training ground.  We've been doing it every morning unloaded so far but even with bags on it was an easier lift, more surefooted and an easier set down than with EmVee.

I crawled silently past the last houses in town and the first flecks of hail chilled me out as I rattled down the byway to Blackbrook farm where I had to carefully remove a caterpillar that seemed to be thinking of crysalising a bridge between the gate and its post.

At Long Lane I turned my back on the extended bridleway in favour of saving my bike frame, fixing my bags and getting some sleep in tonight.  I also relished the idea of clearing the Rivelin Valley path in the dark without a dog walker in sight.  It was 11pm after all.

The valley passed in between the highs of a clear run without walkers and the lows of: hitting a slab jump all wrong and slapping myself in the arse with my seatpost bag and; getting a narrow section of oversize "cobble"stones wrong and falling off into a holly bush.  I did manage to clear all the other obstacles and keep my feet dry, whilst others - unfamilliar in the darkness - were not on my route and deftly
avoided.

I stayed on the path all the way to the road crossing, passing the childrens' playground - normally closed at night and now eerily locked up with bulky chains and padlocks during the day.  Amusing given that the fence is low enough that I could step over it without me standing on my tiptoes.

At the turning for home, I wasn't ready to go in yet.  This eerie sense of armageddon, this aura of solitude, I was hooked, I'm addicted and at the moment it's impossible to find during the hours of daylight.  I don't begrudge people their access to the countryside, I begrudge my loss of solitude.

In the apocalypse movies when the star is exceited to find other survivors, I'm the one at the back saying, "Woah there, can we trust them".  I'm the bearded old man dressed in sacks with a staff in one hand and an AK-47 over their shoulder.

I carried on down the bridleway, across the stepping stones and out near Hillsborough fire station and crossed to head up the footpath opposide.  It's a push all the way up until I can get on and ride home.

Urban Push

The cobbles on the steeps make me look down and I realise my steering is compromised due to my electric cables which are under tension when I turn right.  My front light has been dimming and my phone hasn't charged so I fear the damage is already done but at least its a few quid in cables and not a hole in a £1300 frame.

The Bivi

When I got home, my bike announced our presence.  Having just been dragged through the river, brakes squealed past the living room window where the light was still on.

I quietly hoped that TSK wouldn't come out to say hello.  I wanted to concentrate on setting up my bivi before it rains again and I didn't want to be tempted by the thought of a warm, cosy bed.  Was that bad?  Was that nasty?  This was my wilderness break though, my chance to be alone, just being, I guess it was OK.

No one came outside except Mark next door, putting out the bin. He's seen me play this game before in daylight and as ex-army, probably, deep down, "gets it" so left me in peace.

I didn't need a headtorch.  One neighbour has an outside light, the other's kitchen light is on and the guy behind us has an outdoor light that burns with the light of a thousand suns.  Fortunately it's in the direction of the breeze so I pitched my tarp to add some shade from the light as well as the breeze, with the dog rose and spruce pine adding extra cover.

Sleeping bag, mat and bivi were set up for rain proofing and I decided to risk making a brew of herbal tea to enjoy the night air.  I got the water from the garden tap to add to the spirit of adventure and delay the inevitable incursion into the house and the jaws of temptation.

My hands were getting cold so I crouched down by the stove and warmed hands and gloves, realising just in time that two fingers were on fire before it reached my skin.  So you know, Sealskin gloves extinguish pretty well.

With everything set out for the morning, I took the bike indoors for the night and popped upstairs for a wee. I have no qualms about weeing in the garden except for kitchen-light neighbours still awake next door and I did not want to be captured sans-trou whilst Mark smoked his last Malbroorough of the night in the back doorway.

Otherwise, time was past 1am and the house was quiet indoors.  I saved my teeth cleaning for outisde then to add to the true bivi experience, completely forgot unless Landslide reminds me by doing his (I call it tooth shaming).

Indoors in full fleece leggings and waterproof trousers (for warmth) I resented the heat in the bathroom but did appreciate it giving me a few minutes to leave the shoulder straps of my bibs around my waist for any night time trips to the garden without removing all my layers. 

Hungry from my after-dinner ride, I necked the packet of crisps I'd been carrying around all week and finally remembered to drink my brew - still warm in the ti mug.

In dashing back across the garden to my cocoon I realised two things - my down booties were wet from a few steps across the grass and; we have some very hard bits of porcelain which have randomly surfaced in the garden.  I stuffed my feet in the sleeping bag hoping two layers of dry down would make up for one soggy one.

First adjustment of the night was to take my mat out of the bivi bag and give my feet some space to lie right and fluff out the sleeping bag.  I poured all my spare clothes out of my pillow and packed away my waterproof coat.

Mark crashed about at 1:40am with the recycling and finally I was settled in darkness.

It was no good, I still shivered. The devil whispered in my ear, "Look mate, there's too much going on in the world. You don't need this stress right now.  What are you trying to prove? The race is cancelled. You don't need to put yourself through this. There's a warm bed inside. You can try again later in the week."

Still, I didn't move. I waited. Something magical might happen, or at least, this would make me a stronger person.

I would have quite liked to see some garden wildlife and my brain really wanted to stay awake for it.  At the same time I was dreading it setting off "the light of 1000 suns" and also didn't fancy a fox trying to steal my crisp packet or getting caught in the cross-howling of a cat fight.

I did, however, fancy the company of one of my own cats for body heat if nothing else.  Unfortuantely they eyed me suspiciously from afar and the only presence felt was "Thursday" from number 95, jingling past in the night as my bivi was pitched right on top of the "catpath" that runs through our garden.

It was no good - I was still cold.  I took off the down booties to check for wet and added extra socks underneath. In doing so, I found my wool top and added that and went for another outdoor wee which always helps.

As I piddled under the twinkling stars and streetlights and watched the clouds flurry past high overhead, I wondered what the hell I had been thinking about the Highland Trail.  I'll never do that, I'm too soft.  I can't even manage a night in my own fucking back garden FFS, what a woos.  At these times, it's hard to remember the transformation that happens between March and May and the freaky weirdness of the weather in Scotland that has seen the HT 550 run in temperatures ranging from +30 to -7 degrees.

I walked back to my bivi - the Ugly Tarp fringed with a lace of hailstones - not just being soft then, it was genuinely frickin cold.  I hunkered in and waited for the wool and feathers to work their magic.  Starting out right could have got me 2 hours more sleep.

Finally at around 3:40 I went to sleep in the pleasant knowledge that I wouldn't need to rush off anywhere in the morning.  I was woken up by Mark letting the cat out.

The Morning After

My feet were still frozen. In fact it felt like I'd lost all feeling in the left one and the right, though in better shape, was aching from stepping on porcelain last night.  In my morning slumber, I had frostbite and a broken foot but I wasn't going to give up my cocoon that easily.  I rotated the joints and flexed and extended my feet to encourage blood flow inbetween dozing off again. It didn't work and I gently worried whilst doing nothing about it. I could have gently warmed my feet in warm water inside but that would break my rules.

Eventually at 8:30 I got up and went to the house to get coffee and porridge water.  The porcelain I'd stepped on last night was broken into 3 pieces.  The bench was comfortable given the ammount of times I will use it over these next few months it's an investment I am particularly hapy with.  Coffee was drunk and porridge eaten outside.

The Second Ride

Without foot circulation and a complete and utter ennui of the same trails I set off on the downhill to ride a gentle road climb to start the day off and warm my feet up gradually.  I'd liberated the handlebars and taken a skinnier bag out of the house to ease damage / restriction on the bike and I freed my electrical cables.  I passed the Rivelin pub, its sign groaning mournfully in the wind and realised how rare it is to get a tailwind along this road.  It would have been a perfect weekend for a ride to Wales and a train home.

At the bridleway where I usually stop for a faff, I got my second wild wee of the weekend and finally removed the extra wool and waterproof layers, rejoicing that circulation had finally returned to my feet.

I could have carried on to Strines but responsible thoughts about social distancing and practical thoughts about food shopping and sleep recovery stopped me.  Instead I took a picture of some horses and dropped down to Wyming Brook to distantly socialise.

I was getting peckish.  As I passed a bench I exhausted my mental inventory of food but the memory of a bottle of Jura in my rucsac had me grabbing the brakes and flopping into the sunkissed bracken with a smile.  At 10am I snuggled under a pine tree witha view of the reservoirs whilst sunshine occasionally flitted through the hail stones.

Instead of bouncing through reservoir-dogs walkers I carried on upto the Lodge Moor road where I stopped to analyse the phone charging results of wiggling a few cables.  I took another pic of some horses and got buzzed at 6 inches separation by a silent roadie that made me jump out of my skin.

At Lodge Moor I awaited patiently whilst 2 children wearing roller skates got off the stony dirt path - not sure who was taking more care of not ending up in A&E.  Was I hallucinating?  I don't think so.

A long inventory of people were out and about in groups and solos.  The sun was out, the temperatures up and it was time for me to go indoors again.

I mused on my future with the HT 550.  In the past, the Fisherfield forest had been my ShangriLa, the place I'd always wanted to go and held high as a bastion of remoteness and tranquility and then Karl told me, "I've never felt alone in Fisherfield".  When I finally went I was not disapointed but I realised he was right because it is full of people - as famous as it is as a Wilderness, it's become a victim of its own Wilderness success.

So while I will still look forwards to it, I'll look forwards too to the path after the Great Glen, the hill climb up to the hydro-bothy, the Northern Loop.  Places I can be alone, at least I can at my end of the race.  They may not even be places, but times - late at night or early in the morning.

I arrived back at the kitchen, exhausted from lack of sleep rather than physical exhaustion and just a little drunk.  It was 11am.

"You were up late last night", I say to TSK.  He had headphones on when I got home, screaming brakes past the window where he was sat.  "When I went to check the garden from the spare room you were huddled over, cooking something.  I thought I'd leave you alone and let you do your thing".

He's a fucking genius that boy.

Some women crave a man who dotes on them like a puppy.

Me: give me a man who loves me like a cat.