Terra Nova Jupiter Lite Dry run

The bivi not showing up in time for my birthday camp pissed me off somewhat but in retrospect, a better night was had by all thanks to me heading out with my tent for a chilly damp night with pouring rain.

Trying the new bivi outdoors for the first time in December last-minute with the potential to leave myself no opportunity to return it if I were disappointed was not a good plan so, I was saved from myself.  Now that the bivi has finally arrived, I have put off off pitching it outside until I've got a clear head to check out all the things it's supposed to address about the old bivi.

If you're in the market for a new bivi and, like me, are falling short on detailed reviews of the Jupiter Lite from Terra Nova which seems like such a good product but you'd really like to know more before committing £200 to a plastic bag, then read on.

One of my biggest bugbears was people reviewing it without actually seeming to have slept out in it.  Guilty as charged for now but I'll update this post after it's first tough outing - which I hope won't be too far away.

"The Unbagging"

First out of the bag impressions were good.  It was a little weightier than my Z-packs solplex tent but smaller in dimension - which was the point of a bivi bag.  The components are the bag, it's pole (with a pole bag) and 6 aluminium pegs which, after touring with 8 titanium pins, felt like the heaviest part of the pack.

I initially "pitched" the bivi in my loft with a plush carpet to hold pole ends and (obviously) no pegs.

The pole was easy to thread through, even though my hands were a little chilly from the cold loft.  There's a hole where the storm flap is which had me threading the pole into the wrong space until I realised there's a continuous sleeve for it in a slightly different location.  Now I've learned that though, I don't think I'll make the same mistake again.  However, it is possible to use the storm flap as an easy quick thread if your hands are really fooked and you're struggling and desperate for shelter.  So whether that was their intention or not, I've tested it and it's an option. Subsequent performance not guaranteed!

I threw my Rab Neutrino 400 sleeping bag in it and Thermarest Neo Air standard size mat and shook everything down and laid it out.  My first impression is that without any pegs, the hoop does a pretty good job of standing upon its own. I added a Thermarest inflatable pillow for extra comfort. 

 

It's also handy not to have the hoop pegged up because you can flap it forwards around your waist to scoot further into the bag - more wriggle room to get in and out.  Without the guys out though, the storm flap would be floppy leading drips to fall into the open bivi or onto your lap or back of your neck instead of rolling away, so I imagine on a rainy camp those guys will get pegged.

Talking of wet, another advantage I noticed when I got in it first time - even without thinking about it - I managed to keep my feet and bottom on the goretex skirt that forms the head end of the bag. I only needed to put my hands on the carpet ("muddy ground") so in terms of staying dry, this is a bonus.

The first test was the toe test.  The problem with the old bivi bag (Terra Nova Discovery Lite aka "The Disco") is insufficient loft for my feet in the space available. I tend to sleep either on my front or on my back.  On my front I lie with my feet off the end of the thermarest so I toss my sit mat to the foot of the bag to rest my feet on. I've done the same on the test for the Jupiter. 

I also tested it lying on my back with my toes pointing up.  The issue I have with the old bag is with my head undercover, my feet are pressed to the base where my size 9s squeeze all the loft and warm air out of the sleeping bag.  I have to say, with my toes right at the bottom of the Jupiter bag I have the same issue - but shuffle up the bag 200mm and yay! there's still loads of space for my feet to loft and stay warm.

Toes at the end

Moved back a bit

I guess I can use the feet end to store something - though I'm not sure what I'd want to stash that far out of reach! The point is, with my Thermarest scooshed up to give me very cosy feet, my pillow is still on the goretex floor of my bivi and there's more space to go.  At this point it's worth saying I'm not a normal sized woman.  I'm 5'11".  If you're a much taller person though, do some thorough research on sizing.

There doesn't look like much space here, but at this point I had the bag rucked up underneath me!

The hood test

I needed to stop thinking of this as a tent. I know if I want a tent-like shelter, I'll need to carry a tarp too so this is never going to replace my Cuban fibre tent which is lighter than the bivi by 1 ounce (28 g), not in any way breathable, a bit drafty and needs good pegging ground.  It's good for wild moorland locations where there's peggable ground and no-one to notice me or legal camping rights.

Before I bought the bivi, I knew how small the hoop height was because I measured it on me. I knew I wouldn't be able to sit in it but it was a bit taller than me lying on my side or upon elbows.

Here we are with the glory glow of the Loft window behind. I have so far been overjoyed at the ease with which I can fidget around in the bag without getting tangled. Even without pegs it's like someone holding the covers up so you can turn over. There's enough space either side of the neo-air mattress that I can move it into place by supporting myself on my elbows and toes.This is great for those awkward moments when you're finally inside it and realise you've pitched on an uncomfortable rock.

For a moment, I was wondering what had happened to the cavernous space I had been promised and realised the bag was rucked up underneath me. It was easy to straighten out. So pegging it out might have prevented the issue all together - or made discomfort more difficult to resolve.*

* That's something to be answered in a field test. 

With the 2 hoods up (there's a mesh one and a goretex one), I instantly loved it even more. The hooped bivi touts the benefits of getting rid of the feel of claustrophobia. Claustrophbia has not been an issue for me win the flat bivi, I find it cosy but I'm more concerned about being cold and getting a bit clammy.

With the bug net only the cold air in the room (outdoors) permeates through easily.  Although this is a loft test, it's the coldest room in the house, the heating had been off for some time and the temperature outside was -1degreeC. With the gore-tex hood up, the temperature instantly increased from breath and body heat.

There's the mandatory notice sewn into the doorway about not having fires inside tents and always keeping vents open so you don't die of CO2 / CO poisoning or setting fire to yourself. There's some weight to be saved from cutting that out. (Keeping it for 200 years and wondering what the hell it came off). 

The gore-tex hood has a small mesh panel at the top which means, effectively a mandatory vent. How much ventilation it gives if you snag the storm flap down over the top isn't clear yet. 

Showing the mesh flap that's a part of the Goretex door which allows some ventilation, even with the door fully closed.

 

What it does mean is, if you have the goretex door half open. it's the softer mesh that rests on your face, not cold shiny goretex.  Pull the goretex door zips down far enough and it's stashed out of the way in the floor pan - just hope you wake up when it starts raining to prevent moisture falling inside the bivi.  I usually find the sensation of a wet face is enough to wake me up.

On the subject of claustrophobia, some people prefer a white goretex liner to get rid of that coffin-feeling.  The interior of this bivi is dark green. Fine by me, I prefer my nights dark.

Loads of shoulder space with the saggy storm flap hanging down - should be pegged out.

With the hood up the size really does come into its own.  In the pic above, I have my A5 tablet at the head of the bivi making notes. I could fit my 20 litre rucsac here.

Clear space above my head and shoulders

When I lie on my side there's a full 4.5inch hand width between my shoulder and the "roof". I can run my arm over my hip without straining the goretex fabric or compressing the down.

I also managed to scrunch the sleeping bag to the bottom, negotiate removing and replacing a pair of leggings (OK, PJ bottoms, it's 2020 - don't judge me!) and got back into the bag with much more ease than I expected. I've got long thigh bones so that was a surprise. It allows me to add or remove (yeah right!) an extra layer at night without getting wet if it is raining. I can't guarantee I'd be able to do it without getting cramp after riding or hiking all day though!

When lying on my back, the bag is cavernous allowing full down loft around where my hands usually live - on my belly or by my sides. Even my ever-cold feet warmed up in this cold loft trial.

• • •

Other things the reviews don't say (because they're too busy going on about not suffocating). The hood zips are two-way which is great. The one way zip on the disco had me committing my back to the wind which wasn't always aligned with the slope of the land or the scenery I wanted to wake up to. Also, wind changes direction.

One person recommended getting reflective tags for the zips and different coloured ones might be an idea to differentiate the mesh zipper from the goretex zipper as I constantly got hold of the wrong one. They're quite jingly though so I'd say not too difficult to locate in the dark. 

In the hooped bivi the two way zip gives the sleeper the choice of ventilation where it 's wanted: at the top because hot air rises; or at the side away from the breeze - or into the breeze if you need to ventilate heavily.

• • •

Tarp Theory

Tarpiture with this bivi would be useful in the current climate where self-provision of brews and porridge has been more of an essential than an indulgence. I've been trying to come up with an excuse to take this out and play in the snow instead of taking the tent.  That would mean a night  in its current form - sprawled on the floor of a building somewhere, or under a cliff somewhere sheltered - un pegged but also, possibly, bloody cold. 

Speaking of which I'll disturb the cat off the four-season bag and do a proper full winter (indoor) test. 

I have been considering a tarp pitch with this bivi for that all-round tenting comfort. Anything at the head end to keep the rain off would need to be big enough to sit up in to enable access and egress through the opening of the bivi. It would detract somewhat from the ability to star-gaze and wildlife-watch.

Because the head end already has a built-in shelter, a foot-end shelter could be nice for gear storage and extra wind protection for the areas pressed closest to the goretex fabric.

Should one be feeling really soft, a tunnel bivi would give extra rain or snow protection. I'd be considering this for bad weather forecasts where I know I need to brew up too and I want to sit somewhere dry to do it.

For lightweight, stove-free, sleep-when-you-drop style travel, I considered a tarp-only, no pole, flat sheet (Ugly tarp) to peg out taught over my bike, boots, lid rucsac, coat and anything else that's so disgusting I don't want it in my bivi bag but I don't want it to get any wetter overnight either.

I have also considered a Porch tarp, using the hoop off the Bivi as a support on one edge and my tall tent pole on the other edge to give me an open view and a seamless transition from lying down to sitting up.

This isn't really a recommend­ation - more of a reminder to self to try it sometime.*

Extra Features

While I'm in the bag though, I should also say how well put together the zip space is.  So far I haven't snagged the fabric at all except for that annoying floppy fire-warning ticket that's definitely coming off.

I had it in my head that there was supposed to be a pocket in this bag but, having investigated, I think that must be the Rab eVent Ridge-raider bag - a self-confessed "almost a tent" which I discounted because I already have a tent and I like being able to look up at the sky. Weight-wise, I can't really mourn the loss of a pocket for my glasses as they usually live in my helmet. Apart from the head-space for a book (according to the hiking clan) or a Rucsac, (for those of us rehydrating from a camelbak!), there's not a LOT of extra space for kit.  The Rab Ridgeraider is 5cm longer and taller (and heavier) and one reviewer claims to have got dressed and packed away his kit inside whilst a storm raged outside.  I can't say this would happen in the Terra Nova, unless you want to do a lot of lying on cold goretex pressed against wet ground outside.

To prove how visible the world is through the mesh, the cat has obliged and moved so time for the 4 season bag test.  As its built by Terra Nova I have no concerns that this mesh will keep out midges as well as larger beasties.

A (thankfully) disinterested editor in chief

I bought this winter sleeping bag in 1997. Down was fairly new to mainstream outdoors world or maybe just new-to-me as I scrimped together the cash on the basis I was being paid £35 per right expenses for a "hotel" and was spending £10 per night for a campsite in Kircaldy in November. Ah, those were the best and worst of times. In trying to ID the sleeping bag's origins or it's temperature rating, I have noticed that the care label still has the phone number for the shop where I'm supposed to get it dry cleared in Sheffield, even though I bought the bag in the sale at an outdoor shop in Dunfermline. 

Some very specific care instructions.  I did wash this bag once, in the bath at home.  It was like trying to drown a sealion.

What I can tell you is it's the only bag that makes me grin like an idiot when I get in it and it requires an entire handlebar bag all to itself to transport it.

Since I've moved enough to fetch my 4-season bag I've realised it is lunchtime and my sandwich has given me more reason to admire and critique.

I had wondered about the guy lines as they are clearly oriented to cross right in front of the bivi entrance - one of the few negatives cited by one other reviewer.  The guy loops are simply tied but robust and fitted with linelocks for easy tensioning.

There's a toggle to sinch down the storm flap but it's only on one side which seemed a bit weird.

Whilst I appreciate this for weight saving, it only really applies the tension on that side of the storm flap. The cord runs all the way over the hood and is elasticated so for a while it just stretches instead of applying any real tension all the way along.  Some substantial messing about outside the bivi pulled some of the tension through to the other side but by then the tight side was scarily tight, the goretex started to snag in the toggle and 18 inches of floppy elastic was sticking out of the bivi.  

Rucked on the left, still saggy on the right.

If I find the storm flap tension to be an issue I'd contemplate re-working with a toggle at each end or some less stretchy cord so the tension is evenly distributed. Were I to tighten this from inside a) it would take a while b) I'd be warm by the time I'd finished c) I'd need to undo it again to get out as it really does close off the opening. If driving rain is the issue then I guess this is a good thing. 

• • •

Lunch is over, but before I get in the four season bag I have to mention the bivi's colour.

A big regret of mine with my Cuban fibre tent was not buying the brown colour. The bright silver doesn't half stand out in the open landscape of the Peak District. The target market of the bivi has always been stealth green and the technically-not-camping because it's not a tent argument. Do bear with me.  This is an internal argument that could take decades of therapy to get over so accept me for who I am. 

Not only is this bivi a wonderful dark yew tree green, it has a sheen that is the colour of Christmas. Given its arrival on 27th December, it is the messiah of bivi's.

The four season bag clearly fills more if not all of the space available

Getting into the four season Rab I am really pleased. Whether I go out for any more than one winter bivi remains to be seen but just look at the loft. 

 

The Jupiter

The Disco with the same sleeping bag inside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting upright with my feet fully flexed my toes are compressing the loft into the fabric of the bag but there's still plenty of sag in the fabric so I'm only losing loft to the compressive weight of the material in the bivi bag.

Lying on my back, there's still plenty of loft above my torso and hips. If I lie on my side the shoulders of my sleeping bag just touch the roof of the bag. There's no loft around my hips which possibly says more about the baffling in my old sleeping bag than it does about the bivi bag as there's still plenty of slack fabric at my waistline.

Just enough and this sleeping bag is pretty epic.

I guess that now my review is done the last thing to talk about is the price and the nit-picking little things. I'm all up for paying for high quality gear. I'm unlikely to buy a cheaper widget if there's a better, more expensive widget out there. As such, I now have a fleet of Terra Nova kit that's rarely let me down. Even when a 10 year old tent pole failed in Canada in a harsh Quebequois storm, the fabric did not tear and the pole limped-on via duct tape splint until it could be replaced a few days later. So I have no reservations about the durability or waterproofness of this kit. 

I'm not sure you could achieve the bendiness of the aluminium pole with a carbon one but for the price, it would have been nice to see.  However, a quick research of the pole reveals it's some high tech aluminium engineering and the weight is impressively low - just by looking at it, it's hard to tell that it's metal, not fibre.  On balance I like the aluminium theory.  Having stepped on a bendy C-fibre pole and snapped it in a woodland camp, I like the idea that I could pitch this bivi in a raging storm and have it survive.  Whether I'm tough enough is another matter - but I'm certainly stupid enough and it would be nice to see my £200 bag survive - even if I don't.

The cheap, nasty aluminium pegs it came with will be added to the pile of shit we won't use until we're so old we're reverted to car camping again. From my bed I'm actually debating whether the weight of the bivi will match the weight of the Cuban tent if I leave the pegs out. My unpacking experience was one of, "crikey, these pegs are a third of the weight!".  They also look like they were sharpened by a small child using a grinding wheel.

All different shapes and sizes.

 

Finally in the robustness vs weight quality Dept, I'm not sure two chunky eyelets is necessary each side of the pole.

The other peg-out tabs have been reported to have come off by industry reviewers and with a single line of stitching holding them in, I can see why.

 Again; they're bulky and as flat loops, they don't seem shaped for pegging out. I guess if you want to leave the bivi. somewhere for the day and do something without it the peg loops will stop it taking off in a breeze. Perhaps they'll also stop the foot end from flapping onto the sleeping bag causing soggy feet - will investigate and report back.*

Oh yeah, there's the size thing though. 

Compared to Cuban which isn't a breathable membrane: smaller, in this case, is not consistent with lighter. 

The Jupiter weighs 548g with 106g of pegs!  For a hooped bivi there are only two lighter on the Ultralight website (Oudoor Research Helium (448g and no pegs) and the Lightwave Stormchaser (522g and 36g pegs)).  Take out the pesky 106g of pegs and it is the lightest.  It's almost half the weight of the Alpkit Elan hooped bivi (900g).  

While the cuban tent is 28g lighter and roomier, it is not as compact as the bivi which, when packed to something an inch or two shorter, is 2 inches smaller in diameter. 

 

It's curved pole is a little less convenient but not insurmountably so. I think the pole came with a little bag - to prevent it snagging the bivi perhaps? However, when put to use I'm starting to question whether this bag came with the Jupiter at all or is from something else I have lying around the gear room? The pole doesn't fit in it and the toggle is completely different from the one on the bivi bag and the other storage bag.

The first time I packed the Jupiter away, I packed it quite tight then it unfurled a little on the scales. I folded it into thirds which was a bit narrow and I had to wrestle it a bit to get it in the bag with the pole but it went and at least the stuff sack is long enough for the pole, even if the pole bag is not. 

I repacked it folded in half which is good because you can wrap the wet groundsheet against itself with the theoretically dry upper sandwiched inside.  We all know this theory doesn't pan out.  Wrapping a dry bag inside a wet back and putting it in a bag results in two wet bags.  Nothing will get away from that fact.

The bungee cord neck-pull on the bag can do one.  It's too heavy, too fiddly and ineffective at tightening the neck.  It's already been replaced with some dynema cord that was kicking about on the floor.  Again, the elastic just stretches until there's inches exposed when you finally get some tension.  I'm starting to get the feeling bits of this bivi bag were finished off a few weeks into lockdown when materials and parts were becoming scarce. Thery're no longer available at Terra Nova and Ultralight seem to have sold out (they're not on the website any more so I'm really glad mine finally showed up 24 days later).  

The neck closure on the Disco bivi is good old Dynema cord - though this might have more to do with Bearbones Norm than Terra Nova. 

 

So far,  I love this bivi but it's a bit annoying when a £200 plastic bag comes with a to do list:

• rework pole bag to be long enough and shave a few grams by making it skinnier.
• clips to peg up the foot end for added loft - simple and I think might work to keep my feet that little bit warmer.
• Considering replacing the storm flap toggle with something smaller, lighter and non elasticated. Bigger project when I'm committed to keeping the bag - ie. have proved its water-proofness in the real world. 
• Cut out the fire warning toggle - also a committed task
• make myself feel good about the expense and the extra 1oz of weight by testing to see if I can actually fit the bivi plus my big coat in my handlebar bag. This is bike packing Nirvana for me because I either have to wear my big coat or pack it in my rucsac.
• Test pegging out versus free-roam pitching versus a pegged pitch
  
• Test out porch tarp
  

Given that I'm quite excited about it, winter outdoor test coming soon.

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.

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.