A much needed day out - an understatement of a title

 After weeks of home renovations at the weekend, this week I decided I needed some time in nature to re-seat my mental health.  It's a lot of effort to keep myself sane and I've been feeling the need for a holiday for a while.  The fact that I have two coming in December, is not enough to sustain me so I decided that rather than house-working Sunday, I was going to have a normal day (in which me and the dog disappear into the wilderness for some time and return home exhausted several hours later).  There's nothing like intense fatigue for making me feel rested!

I set off to scoot along the Trans Pennine Trail from Outibridge towards Dunford Bridge, the intention being to return home the way I'd come.  It's a rail line so none of its steeps are more than 3% (except the bits through Wharncliffe woods which weave up and down for a bit before settling.  Our local parks were pleasantly empty when we set off at 8:30 and we managed to scoot through Hillsborough park before the enthusiastic Park Runners got started.

The fun really starts when you reach Beeley woods.  Lena has been there before but usually in the evening, dodging the boy racers.  It was nice to enjoy the racing river without many people around... until we got to the end of the path where five vans were parked up and people rushed around drying off and loading kayaks onto roofs.  I had to ask: does this happen often.  And only, apparently, when the river is high enough, is it possible to kayak from Deepcar to Oughtibridge.  Lena had a sniff to see if anyone had snacks and then we walked up the steep hill to reach the TPT.

When we got there, we did a lot of sitting about. Trousers on/off/back on again.  We had a bit of a run before the deluge started.  When it appeared to be settling in, I took a break under the underpass and added a wool layer under my coat.  The graphitists were talking to me.

All of the mountain bikers continued on their loops of Wharncliffe while me and Lena headed onto the TPT.  We ignored the turn off for Wortley and continued into the Burger shak at the stables to get lunch.  I've never managed to get to this place when it's open so I was really excited to find they were serving - and also that there was a covered shed complete with picnic tables, wood burning stove and christmas decorations.  We made ourselves at home and answered questions about the scooter.

The burger was to die for.  I wish I'd ordered chips too.  The coffee was acceptable, though not impressive - you can't have everything (at least, not out of the side of a caravan, you can't).  The dog enjoyed her lunch - and trying to steal everyone else's. In fact, she looks like she's trying to tow the table over to someone else's!

When we got back onto the trail, we had it all to ourselves, as far as the eye can see.      The rain had stopped and we were moving well, if a little tired.  We had a little play with the camera and started to think about what to do next.  I admit to being a little alarmed when my 20km notification went off.  Time to start heading home!

I didn't fancy the idea of going back the way we'd come.  If anything, I felt like I'd only just "made it" to the countryside - despite having been in Wharncliffe for quite some time.  Instead, I mentally plotted a route over to Midhopestones and then around to Mortimer road and Bradfield in order to get home.  It was ambitious but we had enough daylight to do it.  The little lanes were pleasant enough to scoot along and most motorists were patient enough to wait behind us while we moved over to the side of the road an let them past the narrow bits.

We were enchanted by this field of geese - probably blown out of the skies last night.  Only when I stopped to watch them did I notice the hawk in the tree, biding its sweet time.

It was... oh, so much... further than I remember from Midhopestones, over to the Bradfield valley and there were so many more river valleys than I remember between each of the reservoir valleys. 

I kicked myself literally and figuratively as I grew tired of trudging uphill and freewheeling downhill with the brakes on so that I was slow enough to avoid pulling the dog off her feet.  If only I'd just turned around on the TPT and had a nice, smooth roll home the way I'd come out.

 As the light started to fade, however, I soon realised the why to our foolery of heading back a different way - we acquired the elevation required to watch the sun set over the Peak moorland and turn the land silver then gold.

We had to sit and take a moment and wait while the beginnings of the Christmas tractor rallye sailed on by (I am sitting in my living room typing this and listening to them driving up the lane on the other side of our valley in Stannington).

the dog can see the pub from 'ere

From this aspect we could see Win Hill in the far distance as the sun set.

Crags above Bradfield I never knew existed because I've never been down this descent at a sensible speed for looking around me.

The final tinges of sunset over Bradfield moors - I couldn't hang around to watch it any longer as we were getting cold.  The constant rush to stay ahead of the light meant my feet were wet with sweat in my boots and my underwear was damp from sweating up the hills.  Lena started to limp on the steep downhill to Bradfield so before we fell into a lack of signal, I called TSK and asked him to come and pick us up in the van and save us.

I rode the brakes all the way down and we took a short cut down some steps to reach the cricket ground and tea shop.  Much to my relief the shop was open and we rushed out to hide from the breeze and scoff biscuits and tea while we waited.  

It was, absolutely what the psychiatrist (me) ordered.

Glen Affric: Mullach na Dheiragan, Sgurr nan Ceathreamhnan, (not An Socach )

My prep for the biggest walk I've done in a long time: Packing while I had covid and didn't really have belief I'd be able to achieve it; chosing my route 2 days before and realising it was much longer than expected; packing my rucsac and getting drop off on the day of departure, using up the whole morning and then setting off in the heat of the day. 

"Setting off in the heat of the day"!  That's not something you expect to find yourself saying in Scotland. 

It was a very Tepid Explorer and her dog that were abandoned in Glen Affric car park. For a start, Lena doesn't like to watch the van drive away. I was a poor companion substitute. Especially as the first thing I did was cram her in a toilet cubicle with me while I had a pee. The midges were already out r it seemed less cruel than leaving her outside. 

Lena had a drink from the dog water bowls then we set off to walk the HT Glen Affric route in reverse. I was a little concerned: it's long and gruelling by bike so assumed walking it would be harder. It was so beautiful though. We had no timescale, no fixed agenda. Our priorities quickly narrowed to taking pics of the great weather, bird watching, and finding enough water. I took multiple excursions into the undergrowth to allow Lena the opportunity to paddle and drink in a stream.

We measured 30 minutes out (allowing for sniffing time) when we could ping the Spot and summons Tsk tomorrow to come and collect us, though secretly, I had my doubts we could achieve this hike in 2 days, given the late starting time on day 1 (12pm).  I'd already packed enough calories for 2 nights on the hill -almost through luck rather than planning. We'd hunched out in a cafe before departure so I was, in effect, carrying an extra meal. 

We passed the Affric Lodge where posh people fired guns and passed the beach where lucky teens were skinny dipping. I had my eye on the Munro prize amd wanted to make as much progress on Day 1 as possible to guarantee the success of my Day 2 agenda, though I sorely wished I had all the time, pre planning and food - in the world to have my own swim. Instead we sat on a boulder by the track and I ate while the dog lounged in a the damp remnants of a puddle. We momentarily had to scrabble our things together to allow the, "Trees for Life" tree planting people to rumble through with 4x4s and quad bikes.

Crossing the bridge at the activity centre was the last time we'd see the main river again but the hunt for water got easier as the mountains closed in and their streams frequently crossed the open path.

The number of people we saw dwindled with the day, the last pair being 2 women - one my age, the other looked like her mum and they both looked like seasoned hikers. They were interested about my camping arrangements for the dog and I said reassuring things about the bivi bag being big enough for two with one half of my brain saying, "that's bullshit, it's too small" but it's ok for one, fine night right? 

We made our excuses and I crossed the bridge and promptly dropped down to the river to let the dog paddle - which she did a bit too deeply - and I took off my lower layers and sat in the water, legs fully submerged. Complete bliss. There was even enough water rushing to generate a local breeze to keep the midgets away long enough to get dressed. It was so warm that I air dried quickly. 

 It seemed to take forever to reach the high point of the hike: where the Glen almost flattens out and there only a gradual rise to the YHA. Dog water became more difficult to find as many of the streams ran dry leaving stagnant puddles. I tried to encourage her to drink my water but she'd stopped using the bowl I was carrying and I needed to let her drink something. 

Eventually the river got close enough to the path for Lena to paddle in and there was enough breeze coming along the water's edge for me to be able to sit on a water-smoothed rock, take off my boots & brew up water for a dehydrated chilli meal which, at 6pm, was wholeheartedly devoured. The dog lay in the long grass, sighed, scratched at midges a few times then went to sleep. I watched meadow pipits flit about their business as I tucked into my dinner. 

As the sun started to dwindle, the breeze died and the bitey beasties got us moving. My plan was to get as far into my planned route as possible at the end of day 1 then complete the route and hike out as far as possible on day 2 then get picked up at the carpark. If I needed the extra night out I was prepared. 

We rushed past the YHA as quickly as possible. I didn't want to get stuck chatting. couldn't face any unsolicited advice, and didn't want to get tempted in by a comfy bed and end up missing out on one of the best high-mountain opportunities I'd had in months. Was it going to be better than my bike packing experiences? No, just different. But definitely one of the best hiking experiences I've ever had. 

My only multi- day hike with my last dog ended in a disastrous wet night on Snowdon and a trip back to the car the next day. We looked through the windows as we passed. Weathered middle aged men with beards drank tea + poured over maps and books. There was the clatter of aluminum dishes in a sink. We scurried by. At least they'd be open tomorrow if we needed them. 

We climbed the steep slope behind the YHA then skirted across the hillside into the next gully. My watch had buzzed 2 hrs to sunset over an hour ago, I needed to gain as much height as possible to find breeze and some flat ground for pitching. The beallach would be perfect - it was warm enough for a high bivi - but we were unlikely to make that. 

There was a lower area of flattish ground I had spotted on the map and plenty of flat-topped moraines visible from the track below. My watch tells me the time of the next sunrise/set event. I checked it to see what time sundown was but after some time peering at it without my glasses on I concluded it said 6:15-am! The sun had already set. There was no orange glow, just a gentle darkening of the skies with high cloud cover but at least a warm night was more or less guaranteed. 

I loaded up with more water at the river crossing, in preparation for the night ahead. As the colourful landscape turned to greyscale, the lookout for flat ground commenced. There was quite a lot of bog around but also it had been really dry recently and dry bog can make an excellent mattress. I'd pitched my hooped bivi and blown up my camp mat before I noticed that the stomping of my boots was causing any available moisture to rise to the surface. As usual the dog had dismissed my efforts, frowned, found the best spot and excavated herself a perfect pitch on a mound of moss and bracken right next to my bag. She had a point, it was the only truly dry spot on the hillside. I lay my pack on it and set about pitching half my tarp over it. At least I could keep my kit out of the bivi bag and keep the dew moisture off it. The shelter that came up with was truly weak and pathetic so after about an hour I gave my tired brain a rest, concluding I was achieving nothing more than giving myself a late night. 

Just as I was about to go to bed I had the almighty brainwave that I should use the other half of the tarp as a groundsheet for my bivi bag to reduce the likelihood of the bog soaking through to my mat and skin in the night.

All that was left was to persuade the dog to leave her perfect pitch and come to join me in my sweaty plastic bag. I momentarily tried leaving her alone but there were too many what-if scenarios in my head and the midges would have pissed her off eventually. She joined me, somewhat reluctantly, and made herself as broad as possible right where I wanted to put my shoulders. Eventually it was easier for me to arrange myself around her, moving towards the midge net so that I could actually breathe.

I cursed myself for not bringing the tent. We could have been so much more comfortable. As I strained the seams of the bi vi between my sleeping position, the dog's arse and the solid rock preventing us from sliding away, I resolved never to use the bivi for the two of us again unless the dog has her own accommodation.  

The dog steadfastly rolled into a ball, so much so I was convinced she couldn't be getting any oxygen. Even I was struggling in the humid air with my face pressed up to the midge net. Most of my clothes were off and the sleeping bag was in there somewhere on a just-in-case basis. I attempted to move the dog's snout towards fresh air but she just shoved it in my armpit.

At midnight she desperately wanted to go out. I did not so I fed her long lead out of the door and observed from a horizontal position as she troughed-out on moorland grasses then honked up twice. Great. Icky dog. However, she trundled back to bed and we slept for a further 5 hours with only one more vomit excursion in the night.

Poor bean. I hoped it was a short- lived thing resulting from attempting to eat toads - her latest fascination - or just sleeping without any oxygen.

I'd had around 4 hrs sleep when the pre-sunrise alarm sounded. so getting up didn't appeal. I did get up at 6.30 because I wanted some time on the hill to myself before the inevitable surge of YHA residents arrived. I didn't feel like being judged on the camp pitch that I was so disappointed with.

It was too midgey out so I quickly packed my rucsac with the things I wanted for the day and left my sleep kit behind in the bivi. I took my Tarp as emergency cover and decided I could tolerate the weight of my brew kit for the luxury of breakfast and coffee in a breezy location.. It was, in retrospect, a heavy pack for the glorious conditions but there were little annoyances/could have left behind like 2 batteries to charge Tech Plus cables + Spare map + thick gloves on a summer's day!

It could have been a heavier pack. I toyed with the idea of taking everything in case I decided to call it a day on the first ridge and descent via 2 munroes I'd already done before - cutting the trudge" home" to the car park down from 18 to 15 (but much hillier) kms. At least if I left my kit behind I'd force myself to complete the planned route and go back for my stuff.

Despite loathing my pitch I already had an hour of my 10 hour day in the bag and I soon decided there was no way I would have been successful at route-finding the tenuous path through the bogs below the beallach as I repeatedly dug out the Garmin to keep myself roughly en route in daylight. The beallach was everything I'd dreamed of though. It really was a shame we hadn't set out earlier yesterday and made it there for dinner.

I curled up on a flat rock and made my stove a makeshift shelter from boots, rucsac and my map case and burned far too much fuel heating water against the power of a midge-busting breeze. It was worth it though, the coffee and porridge brought renewed life. The only worry was the dog refusing her breakfast - or water and the lack of fuel left in my stove canister at the end. Cold rice pudding for tomorrow then! Our first challenge on (my) full belly was to cross the corrie below An Sodhail to reach the ridge out to Cam Na Darmnh and Meall a Dharmaigh. It wasn't quite the Tiramasu of Foinnaven on the HT but it wasn't easy going. We had to navigate a few peaty drop-offs and I wasn't quite ready to take the rucsac off so I slithered around a little off-kilter, finding the path again here and there before it disappeared into another rocky bluff. Lena frequently found it for me as presumably at some point another dog - or maybe deer - had used it before.

The exit route up a stream bed couldn't be lost and we were faced with another perfect rest stop where I consumed 11:45 lunch and persuaded Lena to eat a few biscuits and drink water. Her digestive system was coming back to life &she had more energy. Frustratingly this meant that after every little rocky scramble she would randomly want to travel 90degrees to the path.

My first Munro in 5-or-so years proved to be a battle of wills. 

I persevered over a rocky bluff then insisted we avoid the next lump by passing it on the left-the opposite direction to the one the dog wanted to take. On the other side I dropped to my knees on what I thought was the summit, only to find I'd just walked past it. Oh well, this bit was an out-and-back.  I'd get it on the return trip. 

We dropped down, climbed back up to the Meahl. Sure enough, the views from here were incredible. Torridon, Skye, Fisherfield, Glen Shiel! We didn't stop for long though. The breeze was getting up and I didn't know what the forecast held, except that things were set to deteriorate much later and into tomorrow. I also knew that one of the rocky pinnacles was described as "difficult" in high winds. I'd also dropped my monocular at my early lunch break and wanted it back - not that I'd seen anyone else all day that might pick it up. 

Where were all those wizened old men? Maybe they knew the forecast and the bad weather was due earlier. Should I bail? Well I couldn't - my bivibag was still sitting in a bog waiting for me - with quite a bit of other bits inside that I'd really like back.  We got our missed Munro on the way back (and found the monocular). 

The dog quite impressed me with her boulder-hopping skills though we agreed that scaling a 4ft tall pinnacle with a sloped cross section wasn't worth it to claim the extra 20cm height for the true "top" so we touched it instead and carried on back to the beallach above the boggy Corrie. 

I realised the cause of the dogs navigational distraction - a 30-headstrong deer heard .5 km away and 200 vertical metres down in the Corrie below. We watched them for a while then agreed retracing our steps through the bog for an early finish was not an attractive prospect.

The dog likes to sniff the breeze and all the scent was coming our way. The deer on the other hand, had no idea we were there. This all made me think about my bivi bag and as the wind buffeted our feet around when we walked, I resorted to carrying my walking pole horizontally so it didn't trip me up. I wondered if the bivi bag would even be there when I returned. I'd pegged it out but I've never left a pitch on a hill for the day - it didn't even occur to me to plan for changing conditions.

Our next Munro towered above us-the tallest in the chain.  I read through the notes in the book on my phone screen. It turns out we'd already done the hard scrambling that was "only risky on a windy day" and sure enough, a clear pathlet led us through the boulder field with relative ease and again, the dog moved at a measured and responsible pace and picked herself some good lines.

I was unreasonably gleeful to discover this one had a proper summit cairn although due to the freak weather, it was angled directly into the warm wind. We took a seat outside the circle of stacked stones on a couple of perfect flat rocks. Mine even had a backrest! It was around 4:30pm. I ate the last of the food that I wasn't saving for dinner, breakfast or day 3 snacks and added the Kintail ridges, Ben Nevis and Aanoch Eagach and, too many mountains I couldn't name, to the scenery. I could not believe I was so lucky. I saw my first other humans a few hundred metres away on the next summit. That must be what the people from the YHA were up to. They set off towards us just as soon as I had finished eating and was ready to leave so I did.  There was no point in ruining my record of not speaking to anyone (but the dog) all day. The people were both double-poling heavily and I wanted to avoid that. 

I thought they might catch us up as my knee started to ache and the dog wasn't faring much better. She started to use me as a gravity break and took every opportunity to sniff in all directions on the flat, grassy sections. At every obstacle I declared "We don't have to climb that??" And then we didn't anymore.* We were back at our breakfast spot and ready to start the trudge down.

In my enthusiasm to check my bivi was still there, I forgot to keep an eye out for the lense cap I dropped. If that's my mountain sacrifice for the trip I'll take it. 

I wasn't really looking forwards to getting back to my bivi pitch but I did want to know that all was well.  Rock-hopping down the streambed with a lazy dog was bad enough. How would I manage with the extra weight of the rucsac? My left knee was starting to twinge and lock with every step. I remembered the technique of putting the dog behind and she seemed content - for once - to follow my knees so that made things much easier - besides, we now knew the route down. 

I couldn't believe how low our pitch was - or how much climbing we'd done before breakfast on the beallach. As we crested the lip of the Corrie I was both overjoyed and disappointed to see my tiny bivi bag clinging to the bog far below. Now I'd have carry the feking thing home. I pondered what to do with it when I got there. It would be dinner time and quite frankly we were both ready to call it quits and have a lie down. 

My thoughts passed the time on the descent: finding a nice, breezy spot by the stream to sit, filter more water for overnight and eat the last of my packed "lunch" as dinner.A squashed beef and mustard sandwich, crisps and my last apple.There were no people noises, only flies. The other hikers had clearly climbed their peak then headed down a different way. The dog scoffed her meal willingly - finally - but I was careful not to overfeed her, in case that was my earlier mistake (it's usually not possible). 

Our spot by the stream was really pleasant and I considered just dragging the whole bivi pitch over but, despite my earlier concerns about everything blowing away, the breeze wasn't sustainable and already dying off with the fading evening light. 

We stumbled across the bog. Lena resumed her position atop the dry mossy mound and I lay down inside on the mat and rested my head for a moment before realising I was probably only making the damn thing wet again before packing it up as it had dried out nicely during the day. I deflated and packed away my bed and packed the bivi onto the bottom of my pack. I felt thoroughly justified in making use of the YHA now that I had made this commitment to descend into the valley. I'd need the Hostel to get away from the midges and, possibly, the impending rain clouds.

Reaching the deer gates that protect the forestry plantations and small YHA gardens from marauding deer herds, I felt like we'd made it. Only the hike-out to go. I knew I had enough food to survive on.  The only question was whether I could face eating more walnuts and dried apricots. The dog had more real full meals left than I did. 

Of more concern was the impending rain cloud which sauntered down the valley towards us. I had been willing it to stay-put but its progression was relentless. It was a wall of rain and more concerning was the warm wind traveling towards it - the perfect mixture for an electric storm and all I had with me was a neurotic dog and a tin shed for shelter on a high mountain pass.

I should have stopped to put my camera away and pull out my waterproofs but instead we marched on, conscious that we might miss some imaginary 7pm check-in at the YHA. Cruelly, we were 200m from the hostel when the pattering started. I ran as fast as I could with a heavy pack and the dog followed willingly under some kind of illusion that it would help. We didn't really understand that the hostel door was not open but once that was established we had to turn tail and run back around the building to the only bit which had a vague porch. It was a dreadful shelter facing straight into the wind. The dog got the only dry corner as she cowered into it. I put my back to the wind and struggled into my coat and waterproof trousers.

I cursed I'd bought my lightweight cycling ones, only good enough for pulling on over a pair of Sidi's-so I had to take my boots off first and pulled the trousers up over my skirt - what a mess. 

With everyone - including my Camera - in a waterproof state we completed a more controlled circuit of the buildings, still finding all doors locked. I banged loudly on doors and windows s called out, "anybody there?", hoping at least to raise a care­taker warden or kindly resident, and blag a night. There was no answer. 

I returned us to our temporary shelter and persuaded the dog to lie down and stay while I started to plan the best bivi deployment. Oh god, not this again, another bad nights sleep. 

A building offered my best option for shelter and some remote hope we'd be discovered and rescued at a later hour. All edges of the building were smooth. There were no pins or brackets or drain pipes anywhere useful. The low benches were not much inspiration for comfortable exit and entry to my tarp. Solar panels provided a useful sloping cover and a frame structure but seemed to be erected in a bog- and possibly a bog which formed the sewage treatment system for the site. 

At last, I reached the outside toilet. On first inspection it seemed locked but the lock hasp wasn't attached to an eyelet, it just hung there. The slider was in place just to keep the door shut in the wind. I pinched at it with my wet fingers and after the third attempt persuaded the damn thing to open. I ran back around the building to grab my backpack and dog.  She entered gladly and curled up on the lino. 

The pack went under the sink and I shut the door and sat on the throne. The room was around 1. 5 m square and was about to become our home for the night. I emptied my bladder into the ensuite facilities and took off every item of damp, hot clothing - everything then.  The toilet room was boiling! I knew I was late on my HRT patch but this room was its own personal heat wave. 

Over the next 3 hours I did the following things: moved my dog poo stash outside; used my VBL as a floor cover; had a full-body wipe-down in the sink; worried about getting locked in; slept; rested with my knees up; decided which route to walk out to save myself 2km; rested with my feet up; worried about missing out on a room if anyone showed up; inflated my mat; slept sitting upright to stretch my legs out; attempted to use my sit mat as a neck brace for sleeping upright; worried about dying in my sleep from sewer gas asphyxiation from the drainage system; propped the door open to let some air in and shut it again quickly when the midges started attacking; watched the spiders at the window; took Ibuprofen.

By 9pm, it got so stuffy in the outhouse, I decided to make one last assault on the front entrance. I had too many worries in my head - mainly missing out. I tore a leaf out of my waterproof notebook and scribbled "Walker and tired dog holed-up in the toilet. Please come and find us if you come to unlock" I signed it "A&L". It wasn't difficult to persuade the dog to stay in the bathroom. It was still raining and midgey outside and we already know she doesn't need much oxygen. I, on the other hand, relished the fresh air on my lungs and enjoyed cooling my skin in the rain. Any thoughts of moving outside were quashed by stumbling through the ankle-deep puddles that had run off the roof... and then the midges got going.

Sleeping curled up in a 1. 6m square dunny or curled around the dog in an 8ft wet plastic bag? The dunny won out.

I finally focused on the notice in the window of the YHA "Closure Dates" the last one was 4-7 September. I squinted at my watch in the darkness. Feck it was 7th. The residents last night must have been a working party. I left my note anyway - just in case- and went back to our "camp". I'd removed the dog's harness and coat to a spot under the sink and she moved over to them to get her off the hard, flat lino surface. This allowed me to turn into the corner and get my head away from the toilet waste pipe and lie on the true diagonal which meant I could feel "curled up" rather than "crammed in". 

Satisfied that either my note would be found or I would not be disturbed, I promptly slept soundly from midnight to 5:30am. when my alarm went off. I didn't want to get woken by an angry warden on toilet - cleaning duty. I packed up, moved all food to accessible pockets and filtered a suitable quantity of cold water into my last dedicated food pouch - a rice pudding desert which I'd saved for this exact purpose. I put it in the kangaroo pouch of my waterproof to "cook".

The dog was less excited about leaving. She liked her mountain kennel, fancied more sleeps and it was cold out. I put her in her jumper for the first time since February and added a rain coat just in case. That was deemed acceptable, if not quite exciting and she got moving quite quickly though I had to be careful she didn't plough headlong into puddles wearing her fleece. 

We got going at 6:15 am. The sun was appearing from behind a headland wearing a cloud as a grass skirt. A temperature inversion hung a silky blanket of steam along the river bed ahead and dewey spider webs twinkled everywhere like a sea of ping pong paddles wafting in the breeze. And oh that breeze! keeping the midge bites cool. 

We pioneered into the sunset, captivated by it, trying and failing to capture it. Eventually it materialised into another too-hot day. The dog's coats came off first. I waited until we reached our footpath turn off when we finally found a big, smooth slab by rock with an al-fresco breeze where I could eat cold, slightly crispy, rice pud (surprisingly acceptable) and remove my waterproof layers. The path to the North shore of the Glen was infinitely better on the dogs paws and she thrived in the smells left by small creatures and the lodge hunters (judging by the scent highways on Quad bike tracks). 

On the one hand I was targeting being back before 12. On the other hand, the wildlife kept providing me reasons to stop and stare. I also had my first human conversations in 2 days (while the dog made canine friends) and Lena contributed to the shoot by driving some grouse out of the woods, chattering into the morning sun.

I stayed in my trousers as long as possible to keep the midges off but eventually, I was expiring from the heat and my specsavers 2-4-1 sunglasses weren't cutting it. I switched to the Skort, found my sunglasses and promptly descended into the shelter of the forest. Still, it was so hot, even that needed me to chill out and the sunglasses controlled the blinding effects of dappling sunlight. I let myself believe I could complete the last 3km in 30 minutes and sent Andrew a spot message to come and pick me up.

At the gates to the Lodge we were diverted onto the scuzzies path around the perimeter fence, allowed only to look in on the expensive cars lined up outside, the groundsman on his quad bike going to fuel up the two power boats on the loch with petrol. Portly red faced men dressed in tweed trousers, caps and check brushed cotton shirts strutted about like lords.  Lena and I descended through the trees to the approach track on the other side of the property. At least we had it to ourselves as Lena trotted along at the extent of her lead and we weren't bothered by a single vehicle.

The broad rocky track continued along the final loch but I knew it wasn't far. My body was ready to shut down. I'd been idling for a while. I now put my back into things. I tightened the straps of my pack. uncomfortably so but we became one and it seemed easier to haul.  I pressed my painful blisters down into their perpetrators - the heels of my boots - because they wouldn't need to continue for much longer. I crammed sugary gelatinous sweets in my mouth to "keep me going" till lunch.

I ignored all tempting turnoffs to the beautiful (but slightly steeper) woodland riverside paths and smiled to myself as I suddenly recognised a bivi spot from one of my HT reccies where I'd been sensible, brought a tent and burned out the midges with a smoke coil.

Then we were at the carpark and the Mercu was there and, although Tsk had taken himself off for a walk, he had parked in one of the few very slightly breezy spots in the whole parking lot. Both Lena and I collapsed into respective heaps and waited: waited for a man to appear bearing food gifts. Our wish was granted.

*A later check of the Garmin revealed that we really should have climbed one more! An Socach was not summited as it lay off beyond the beallach before the descent from the mountain.  We could have got it if we'd been quicker but as it is, we'd have been soaked and making it down to the the Youth Hostel in darkness so it looks like I need to go back another time.

Easter 2023

For this Easter weekend, I got pretty enthused about the concept of stage-walking the coast of the uk with the dog. I made vague plans to start locally with the ugly stuff then progress from there. I studied trains & almost booked hotels or an air BnB. I even fully packed for 4 days then chickened out (completely/de-rated it to a Peak bivi). There were too many unknowns: bank holiday trains, how the dog word do, how I would do, whether the dog will camp.

We ate at the Sportsman with TSK then walked into the night. My wisdom to wear lightweight shoes was tested when I got adventurous, crossing White Stones edge and bog hopping with Lena but at least the grass was dry. The dog scanned back and forth across the hillside chasing rabbits in the darkness and I got a little grumpy as she pulled me off balance while I tried to balance on stones and tussocks.  Still, I reminded us both, out loud, that at least we weren't at Immingham Docks.

We ran out of energy in an unfamiliar place as the breeze picked up so l emergency pitched a shelter. I was panicking so much it was a case of third time lucky.

First we found a spot that was completely out of the wind behind a big boulder but very lumpy. I realised how tired I was that, having sat down to assess the situation. I immediately started to think that I could (or would) just sleep sitting up for a few hours. As soon as I started to unpack a few things I realised that was a fucking ridiculous idea. Surely there was a better spot? 

The problem was, every time we moved I risked one of us breaking a leg as the moss between boulders would suddenly slip or give way exposing the chasm beneath. More than once I got a shoe temporarily stuck between 2 rocks. 

My second attempt had a slightly flatter area and my main challenge now was trying to persuade the dog to move from the bed she had very effectively hewn from the bracken and peat. Again, I got out my human bed and very quickly concluded that although the space was possible the really sensible thing was to head to the bottom of the edge where sheep trots created plenty of flat places to sleep. The only challenge then was finding a suitable wind block. Really, I failed in this respect and the dog knew I had failed her and wanted to go back to her first spot. That was a major challenge as my kit was still spread all over the hillside since scrambling over the boulder field with a 14kg rucsac on my back was too dangerous. Thanks to her desire to get back to her own bed, I was able to find all my kit (I hope) and relocate it to our new spot while the dog sulked that I had moved her to a less-convenient location. With the bivi fixed I braved a breezy tarp pitch to keep off the residual wind that was shedding off the tiny rock I was claiming for my home.

The tarp pitch was sound, but unfortunately my bivi bag kept sliding out from underneath it! Eventually we had a home. Thank god it wasn't raining. Once pitched the dog settled down to sleep in the hood of the bivi with her head on my mattress. She shunned her mat and blanket all night + slept soundly. It was me who had issues - with my bladder, the bright moon, the flapping tarp noises, cold legs. At one point I heard a noise which sounded like one of my bags blowing away. There was the scratching of bracken and doggy snoring. 

I'd closed the mesh so Lena couldn't escape in the night but it wasn't enough to keep out the full moonlight and I couldn't close the solid door or we'd both suffocate. Eventually, after my second pee, hitching up the biv bag so it couldn't slip, adding goretex trousers, finding my earplugs, I got comfortable and cosy around 2:30am. The dog mostly stayed where she was put and rolled her eyes at me faffing. I think she got up and shuffled her position once in the night. 

After getting to sleep at 2:30am we had a lie in the morning. Whether anyone saw us (dark green amongst the bracken) I do not know because I was unconscious till 8:30am.  

I packed everything away rather than brew up. I lost the inflation bag for my mattress, assuming that was what I heard blowing away in the middle of the night, so the first thing we did was wander up or down looking for it, to no avail. 

I stopped to brew up some food at 9am before we joined the hoardes of people walking over Stanage Causeway. There was a nice big flat slab of warm rock so it would have been rude not to.  Lena was good apart from attempting to drink my Coffee water - merely reflecting my incompetence as a dog-mum. Fortunately I still had enough water for me to donate my mug of water to her and pour myself a fresh one without dog slobber in it.  

We looped over to Stanage, had a pee at the toilets then walked down past North Lees to Hathersage for lunch and to see if anyone sold exped inflators.  Outside did not so instead I settled for new insoles to stop my feet hurting so much and a peaked cap to keep the pesky sun out of my eyes. I couldn't decide what to do next as this plan was a bit last-minute.  We started heading for Grindleford then changed my mind to go back home over Bamford Edge with the option of getting the train home from there. My mattress was still playing on my mind and the thought of another chilly, even-less-comfortable night filled me with dread. We found somewhere to sit down for a paddle by the river and Lena slept next to my rucsac while I soaked in the atmosphere. I was almost sleeping & the dog was tired so getting the train home looked like a tasty prospect. I could have emptied out all my bags on the beach to look for my rucsac inflator again, but I didn't.

It had been drifting in and out of my conscious for the last few hours that the only remaining place I'd not really looked for my mat inflator - I mean *really* looked - was inside my bivi bag. While I had shaken it out, I'd not looked for a floaty lightweight polyester bag of air.

I got to the end of the path before sitting on the rucsac to get my phone out and see if there were trains - of course it was just about to arrive. As we walked under the railway line, it reassuringly rumbled past overhead. I almost hoped it was the last train so we had an excuse to head out for one last bivi. The evening was just getting more and more pleasant as the bright sun started to show signs of setting. 

The cricket club in Bamford was hosting a motorbike a sidecar rally and we almost begged to camp on the fringes but if we were going to get another bad nights sleep we were going to do it somewhere lovely, not Sandwiched between a railway, an A-road and a children's playground. At the end of the lane my brain just crashed, caught between the route to the station or backtracking to the path to Bamford to head back up to the edges & sleep amongst the bracken.

My responsibilities as a dog owner kicked in though and by the time we got to the station and bought a ticket, 35 minutes had passed and there were only 25 minutes to wait. When the dog duly celebrated me taking off my pack by curling up right next to it to sleep, I took it as a sign I'd done the right thing and duly joined her on the floor.

I've learned that getting her up and mobile can take a couple of minutes so at 1840 I got her up on her feet and she happily watched the train roll in. She usually loves an automated door. We have trouble keeping her out of shops and banks. I got on the train with my rucsac carefully balanced on one arm and dumped it next to the nearest folding seat only to find resistance on the lead and the dog wide-eyed in full-on STOP! mode with the door beepers on the train sounding.There was no patient waiting for the obedience training to work.  I yanked just hard enough that it didn't pull her harness off right over her head. Thankfully she made it into the same space as me and my kit before the train doors closed. She spent the rest of the journey calmly sat between my legs watch­ing the countryside, then city, roll past the window.

We got TSK to drive us home because when you can't walk another step, you can't walk another step and we were starving hungry by 1906 when the train got into Sheffield.  The homeless guy in the station got short shrift for not getting his words out fast enough as we strode past in search of TSK and the van.

Back at home we all ate Chinese food (just scraps for the dog) and fell into bed to sleep away the miles and catch up from getting to sleep at 2:30am on Friday morning. We'd packed in 24 heavily weighted Kms and 4 hours sleep into 26 hours.

Saturday was for sorting out the kit. Getting to the bottom of that nagging feeling that if I just looked hard enough I'd find my mattress inflator and if that failed, I'd go back in daylight, un-laden and hunt amongst the rocks and if *that* failed, I'd buy a new one. I carefully unpacked every dry bag but then yes, there it was, at the very bottom of my bivi bag - squished but perfectly accessible as it had been swinging on the outside of my pack all day. A tiny bit of me kicked myself for not finding it yesterday and spending another wonderful night under stars. My back and ankles were perfectly happy to be back home, sat on the sofa, drinking in the cafe and pottering around the house ticking off improvements for the next trip. I went pet food shopping then took Lena for a spin in Greno woods in the sun and we couldn't have been happier, unloaded and free and able to go back to bed when we needed to.

We have an order in for doggy saddle bags for her to take a little of the load and I've started paring down the size of her kit after I discovered her sleeping bag (home made from off-cuts) is 750g and she didn't use her sleeping pad at all, or need any food supplemental "special sprinkles" because she just wolfed down the dry food I gave her without question. 

There's a way to go.  When I add back in my stove, fuel, mug, my emergency food, we still come in at more than I'd like to carry long distances so I have to rethink my priorities and either get fitter or downscale my ambitions to walk 20km every day - though as with all these things, you might as well start and train into it. 

 Maybe we'll not start off at Immingham docks though.

BB200 2022*

*no placenames have been used in this report so no spoilers for the November crew.

I get pretty fed up with the comparison between bike packing, unsupported racing and life - especially work. "It teaches me resilience for my job" Bollocks. If your job ever puts you in the hole I am in now -you need to leave and get a new job.

I wanted to get a blue badge this year. In the (all of 2 weeks) build-up between my last race and this one, I set my heart on a blue badge. I have 2 green ones already.

Last week I sat at my computer to figure out the time gaps between "aid stations"- or as we call it in the self-supported world - every village offering a food source. I worked it out for 3 speeds - 28 hours for a blue badge (6.8km/hr), 6km/hr usual Trep speed and the 36 hours time limit for a Green again (5.4km/hr).

• • •

There was nothing else for it. I'd have to ride my long legs off to make the petrol station in time for closing. My best plan was to carry a dehydrated meal for dinner & hope to top it up with hot water from the petrol station coffee machine, not cold. I left the stove behind and pared down to a top tube bag and minimalist seat pack. I still took a tarp, lightest sleeping bag and mat - despite my temptation to throw caution to the wind. I know it gets dark and revolting when I have no quality sleep.

It felt too easy at first. I met Tom coming the other way at the top of a road climb - which alerted me to my wrong turn. He's right, I do owe him beer.

Nelson and Hannah soon caught and passed me. I wouldn't see any of them again.

Finally we turned off road and I instantly regretted not switching to grippier tyres until I got used to my racing tyres and thanked myself later for sticking with the lightweight option (as I pushed the bike uphill and needed to lift it over fences).

At the next descent, torrents of water paid testimony to 3 days rain just-passed as spray peeled off the tyres and onto my legs. I went in for the gaiters and they stayed on until lunchtime when they got too warm to tolerate.

• • •

Cath caught me up on the way into town and I started off by almost leading her the wrong way then calling her Fiona all day. Sorry!

We spent the cruel detour chatting as much as we could, debating loss of layers. We did some bike-sitting outside the shops as John (see later) popped in to buy his lunch, then Cath and I set off together for a while. One steep push-up and all my cyclocross training separated us again as Jay and Mart/k(?) caught up to take the reins. We switched around the order of things as I passed them faffing or snacking and they were faster on the bike.

• • •

Eventually a steep climb left me just taking time to walk while I ate some food - partly so the eating was easier, partly to get a rest from my saddle. My mates disappeared over the hill, only for me to catch them again. They were filling water bottles by a river. The moon was rising behind. There should have been a kiss. I thought we were nearly at the pub so I'd wait to fill my water bottle there. 

We weren't nearly at the pub. 

Landmarks came & went. There was no pub. Another rider caught me as I faffed. Sorry dude I never got your name. He was younger, fitter, more gravelly. Then there were 4 of us for awhile, and just as quickly our young friend pulled away, as did Jay, chasing the closing times at the pub.  There was a lot of hungry struggling from all of us.

I arrived at the petrol station to our young friend eating, Jay & Mark/t heading up to the pub and then John arrived. (I have no idea what his name is so John will have to do).  There were 3 of us again. 

We debated whether the others would make it out of the pub.

I brewed up my dehydrated curry which was fantastically shit. Sorry Firepot, it didn't hydrate on just 400ml and I couldn't be arsed to fetch more water.  It was ridiculously spicy for an adventure meal. No. 

Half of it got packed in case I needed it later then I regretted carrying it, it was so bad. I enjoyed coffee a bag of crisps so stocked up on some other stuff before setting off again with John just behind me.

• • •

I mused on my plan - were there really, as I remembered, lots of road miles between here & the next stop? Probably not but I thought, maybe. I piled on leg warmers - my waterproof coat for extra warmth and set off.

Of course just as Cath (Fi) arrived, we were ready to go. We wished her well.

There weren't more road miles We were on a bridleway - in a field. The road wasn't far away - so close that when I hit it I called out "not far" to John behind me. He passed me in the forest with a "What brings you here at this time of night?" As the stream ran down the path we were walking on I responded with "the water, I just fucking love the stuff" He offered to help me lift my bike over the fallen tree but I was resolutely purist, admitting I'd have said yes had we been on a fun event and not a personal ITT "challenge".  I slung the bike under and just about managed to un-wedge the Jones bars from the fallen trunk whilst I scissor-kicked my legs over.

Onto the steepest of descents. My pal had ridden ahead. At the top the tyre track was so deep in the gully I could crawl either side on my knees.

In the middle I cursed Stu. This wasn't any good for tall people at midnight as the trees whipped my helmet. Then I remembered I had a dropper post which helped a person of almost 6ft a little better.

At the bottom the slope threatened to tip me over - thank god for the dropper post.

I dealt with the chill by keeping turning the pedals on the road section. I knew where I was and there was a flat grassy patch ahead I'd scoped to sleep in if I was desperate but I wasn't desperate enough as it was too open and breezy.  I reasoned that there might be somewhere lower down (but before I reached "The Fog") that would be warmer and out of the wind.  I had my eye on the shelter of some bracken and briars.  

Climbing up the mountain road I let a few drivers pass as this is rural Wales and you never know how drunk/high people are at midnight.  The second guy turned off at my exit from the road, parked up and turned his lights off.  I rode past as quickly and discretely as I could hoping I wouldn't by mauled by released dogs or joy-ridden off the route.  My plan to pitch up for a sleep was being scuppered by the thought of a rogue 4WD rolling through my pitch at 2am.

The route detangled into a stream of ruts and puddles.  I fell in one and when I went to put my foot down there was nothing there and my whole body weight pitched onto one hand.  There was a lot of swearing and one soggy hip as I tried to wrestle myself upright again.  

Just then I noticed my water bite value starting to leak. I did the best I could to stow it away from my shorts but my left leg was soaked again.

As we descended into town, I felt a cold drip of water run straight down my bum crack from the spray off my back wheel. What kind of fresh hell? Though I was actually impressed that the shorts had done this good a job at keeping me dry so far.  I stopped and added my goretex trousers over the knee warmers, hoping that my body would push the trapped moisture out into the cold night air. I'd noticed the temperature inversion at the petrol station and the valleys were only starting to get colder. By the time we approached town, I couldn't face camping low down away from the Bridleway so thought I'd push on through. By the time I reached John snacking, I was hell-bent on reaching the town at the bottom of the valley and climbing back out again as soon as possible.  I checked he was OK and continued on.  It was the last time I'd see him.

I wasn't really OK though.  I was a bit sleepy and I also recognised that if I were going to carry on I'd need to wear my insulating layer to ride on.  When I saw a sign for public toilets, I felt like all my prayers had been answered.

Tentatively I tried the door on the ladies'. Not only were they open, it felt so warm inside. I set my bike against the wall, folded the baby change station back and sat down on my sit mat. Perfect. Wrapped in my sleeping bag I fell asleep with a bar of chocolate in hand, my head wedged between the cubicle wall and the baby-change table. At some point the motion sensor reset and the lights went out. I grabbed my pillow & blew that up but couldn't be bothered with my mat. It was too much effort and thought it'd look worse to have blown up a camping mat if I was disturbed and moved on.  I tried lying down with my bum on my sit mat but it was too cold and uncomfy on the tile floor so I sat up again and used the pillow to prop up my knees so they didn't feel locked-out. I slept a little more, only being disturbed by someone else leaving the gents next door and I wondered if it was John. My alarm went off at 3 am and I stayed in my makeshift bed a little longer - consuming the breakfast I had carried with me all day - which was very satisfying compared to chocolate and crisps.

Before I left I tried my new toothpaste tablets but was too lazy to dig out my toothbrush. I was pretty disappointed that the chalky, flouring lumps just stuck to my teeth uselessly and I probably swallowed more of it than I should have.

• • •

I redressed in my goretex trousers for warmth and tried on my highland trail Marigolds for extra hand warmth but they were too tight to fit over my long finger gloves - good job it didn't rain. I had liner gloves with me that did a great job of making my hands feel warmer and I tore into the warmer pads I'd packed at the last minute on Friday night - putting one in each of my gloves and my waterproof socks.

There were a few cars still moving around town - people coming home from clubs in Aber, I guess, or going to work. I passed through town and onto yet another steep bridleway, constantly looking out for the haematite-coloured glow of a lightening sky in the East. It didn't come soon enough to stop my second wave of sleepiness The toothpaste incident had left me feeling somewhat sick and I didn't dare drink any more of the half-empty bottle of coke in case it ended in some kind of volcano effect. Eventually I decided to try it out and stop for a turbo kip while the sun came up and/or I vomited.

This time I got my Tyvek out to lay on the damp grass and threw my tarp over me like a makeshift bivi.  I put the sit mat under my bum and just used my helmet as a pillow. I was warm enough in all the layers I was still wearing from town and by elevation I was above the temperature inversion.

I didn't need a second alarm, the birds started singing above me.

• • •

Crows were caw-ing and a red kite mewled overhead. When I opened my eyes the sun was already rising. I got moving again, getting joined by a much faster rider who gleefully told me he'd had a luxurious sleep in his little tent, then he was gone as I continued to deal with night demons and my dodgy tummy.

One thing that was reassuring me was the passage of kms. No matter how rubbish I was feeling, 70 soon turned into 30km to go and I started to believe that a sub-28 hour finish was possible. 

I constantly recalculated. Going up hills it didn't look good. At the bottom of downhills it seemed just in reach then my gears started to play up. Several people had already been laughing at the bizarre noises coming from my drive train but now, when I went to shift up, the change only came 20 or 30 seconds later when I least expected it. It was not what tired legs were expecting for the rolling hills and country lanes to the finish. I checked the distance to go and the elevation profile and discovered a new climb which I had completely forgotten about. Selective memory? 800m! FFS

All of a sudden it didn't seem doable. A band of 3 merry men came by. Each one asked me if I was Ok. I was not Ok. They didn't hang around long to talk to the grumpy old lady. The last guy passed saying, "It's ok, we've got all day". I did not want all day. There was no way I could go on feeling this shit all day and this would be a lot of effort to go through just for another green badge. Serious thoughts of quitting entered my mind. It felt like there was little between me and the finish but a lot of time. In the next village I went to have a sit on a bench then realised the 3 merry men were along the road a little sitting at tables outside a shop serving coffee. Perfect.

In theory I waved goodbye to time limits and decided to stop for a lovely brew with my new friends, try not to depress them any further, and eat some cake.

For the fifth time that morning I decided it was all stupid, I wasn't going to play any more and the clock could go to hell. I'd have had a lovely sleep if it hadn't been for that pesky alarm. What was I rushing back for anyway? The coffee, cake and company was good and I found I was slick at getting my stuff together and getting on the road. By the time the guys caught me up I had stopped to remove my layers before the big push up to the wind turbines in the sky. For a moment I started to think 28 hours was still doable.

Somehow, two "camp" stops meant my gear was all awry and despite ditching/eating a lot of food it was quite a challenge to repack all my bags. Some things that had been packed away had to be unpacked, relocated and repacked and my coke bottle finally drained and squashed just to squeeze my gaiters into my stem cell bag. There was stuff everywhere.

• • •

I set off up the climb at an angry stomp. I was soon off the bike and pushing but the coffee and calories were doing their thing. The canister of tuna bean salad I'd been carrying for 2 days was digging into my shoulder blades but there was no time to stop and sort it out.

An undefined track across tussocky moorland leads to a wind farm. Only the thought of gravel roads leading to the turbines brought me any hope and then the locked gates came.

The first was the worst. A primal scream was the only mechanism I had to lift the heavy bike over the tall fence and then I got the rear wheel caught on the barbed wire and dropped the whole thing hard onto the crushed stone, carbon bars first. That made me mad. Then some gymnastics to get me over the awkward gate rendered un-climbable by the anti-sheep mesh welded in place.

The next one was easier but still annoying. The third one was taking the piss. There was a lot of swearing as I wondered: why lock the internal gates? Do wind turbines escape? Surely it's inefficient for the work crews. I was further enraged by the perfectly acceptable bike gates at the other end with full, unhindered access.

The tuna salad still dug into my back but I was cheered up by a happy farmer on a quad bike giving me a wave with his stupid collie grinning into the morning sunshine.

I checked the distance to go: 13km in 24 minutes. 32 kms/hr average - a big downhill but some flat and short, steep climbs on the road to go. First gravel then slate flew by under wheel, then more gates - horrible gates. Gates you have to get off for. Gates you have to lift shut. 

8km in 20 minutes 24 km/hr. I flew down the hillside, cow shit and water spraying everywhere. For once the cows were running the other way- thank god.

6km in 12 minutes but now there was tarmac and a sweet, sweet tail wind. I stamped on pedals, hauled the bars span my legs on the downhill till I couldn't go any faster then tucked hard. Begged drivers not to pull out, took the racing line, ran the red light through the roadworks because it will catch you even if you wait for green. 2km to go in 5 minutes. I rounded the bend. No-one was in the carpark to witness my elation. I totally missed the driveway so ran down the stairs with my bike and banged on the windows.

"I'm back".

27 hours 58 minutes. One very happy Trep.

Looking for Love

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

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

I've 7 weeks to go.

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

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

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

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

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

I enthusiastically explained to them what was going on.

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

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

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

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

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

Things were looking up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I got up for a wee. No better. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things feel possible again and that's good.

Bear bones Winter Event. Pleasant Valley Sunday.

A pub on a Friday night? I haven't done that by design for a long time. I took a half day's leave to give me packing and driving time and we managed 2 pints, unfortun­ately missed chatting to Verena, met Ben, Sam, John and chatted with Reg and Andy and my travelling partner Landslide.

A few of my companions tried to persuade me to join their groups but haunted by a lack of training - so far & a desire to not slow anyone down (including myself) I turned down the offer of a yurt and a pub and cafe ride to moans of "What are you going to do between 4:30pm and 7am??" My response: "that's what lights are for!". I've become accustomed, no, enamoured, of riding at night.

The Wynnstay inn is run down but affordable and held together with warmth and the enthusiastic care of Pauline, landlady who looks after everyone - and I mean everyone and everything. She left Highgate in London in 1984 and the only obvious remnant of the big smoke is a hint of the queen's English - though she speaks and understands the Welsh crowd at her public bar.

My blood sugar couldn't handle the beer so at 3am I was sat on the stairs eating chocolate buttons to get rid of the nausea. Once I'd got a hangover my stress levels dropped. When I realised the weather was mild and wet for now, I downgraded my sleeping bag (ignoring the overnight forecast) and sat around in the community centre too long drinking tea and chatting but it was all in the name of avoiding the rain on my ride. I started (after 3 lashing showers) at 11 am. My first checkpoint was at the bottom of the Pennant valley.

I had to stop on the way to remove my waterproof trousers & change into lightweight gloves when I started to melt with the sunshine that was flooding into the day.

• • •

My kit packed away surprisingly easily until I realised the reason. I had forgotten my big coat and any form of lunch to keep my energy levels up through the day.

I reckoned I'd have sufficient to sustain life just long enough to get to Mach for dinner and I could stop and brew up a dehydrated meal if I got desperate.

 

I had a chat with a man trying to unearth a telegraph pole from a flowing stream then turned tail and headed out behind BB Towers. 

 As I rode up the track on the Eastern flank of the valley behind my friends' house for the first time, I realised you only make the mistake of using the path on the West side once in your life. As I pedalled smoothly up the wide forest track, my mind cast back to the WRT in 2019 when I carried my bike up a scree slope, after I fought my way past nettles, brambles, tussocks and gates overgrown with grass (but still bolted in three places).

I had a pleasant valley wee, reassured that most folk had left by now and gone the other way.

After that it was time to take on a much longer slog onto the moors to visit three checkpoints in succession. I had plotted a very uppy downy route to take in Bugeilyn but the forum gods advised against it & I used Landslide's alternative route to dab in and out of checkpoints without losing too much elevation. First off the North of Glaslyn and the nature reserve. It is high and it is wild up there.

On the way it started to rain. I looked out for some shelter to scurry back into my waterproof trousers and change my gloves but the only things on offer were 4 scrawny yew trees battered by hundreds of years and some corrugated steel sheep pens.

The steel was mostly embedded in a mound of earth on the leeward side so I used what I could as shelter and planked myself down on my sit mat on the grass and faffed with my boots. 5 minutes later I pulled my hood sinch tight around my glasses against the hail, thankful I stopped when I did.

After a seeming age of picking my way across heavy and tussocky bridleways, swearing at the sheep it was already pleasant to have the respite of the road for a few hundred metres. Two riders crossed it ahead of me from a different direction but I couldn't catch them and they certainly couldn't hear me over the wind. We all turned off for the checkpoint and from my vantage above I captured them admiring the view before the long, steep descent.

 It was very steep and I soon caught them up where they started to walk. I couldn't get my dropper to drop so I walked sooner and soon realised that for the out-and-back I did not need to take my bike down the hill with me, only to have to push it back up again. 

The rider at the back noticed I was walking bike-less, checked I was OK with a thumbs up (yes) then descended into the rain.

I enjoyed the scenery, then ran back to my bike terrified I'd taken my eyes off him for 5 minutes. Of course I'd travelled further than I realised and every empty tussock was agonising until I finally saw the outline of handlebars in the fawn-coloured grass.

Back on the moors I pedalled over to the next checkpoint on the mines around Penycrobren to the South side of Glaslyn nature reserve.

At the bridge crossing the ford over the reservoir I held my breath as I tipped the bike up on its back wheel and literally walked the plank, balancing myself and my 20kg bike over the roaring, raging torrent pouring over the dam and onto the broken concrete 4 feet below.  I had zero chance of recovery if either of us went in and my heart stopped for a moment as a gusty sidewind struck us mid span and we wobbled heavily before regaining our composure and teetering to the final leap out of the roaring torrent.

Alongside the Lyn, seemingly devoid of any nature as the wind rushed across it and buffeted me sideways or head-on, slowing my progress to very little. It was another out-and-back on my route that Landslide had  chopped away, saving me from Bugeilyn and cutting off some distance before deciding on going for the pub option ride instead. 

 

I dropped into some farm buildings located by the headworks of a mine and enjoyed the rushing torrents of water between crags and trees before backing up to the buildings with what remained of the daylight to sit on a rock out of the wind and eat half a pot of honey roast peanuts for my late lunch.

On the way out I topped up the camera with some photos of valleys, waterfalls and sheep so my Welsh vibe was real.

Finally I reached a descent which was fast and fun right up until the moment I overshot my turn off by 200m and had to retrace up hill. Something creaked in the trees and for once it was neither my knees nor cranks. A large, single rook swirled overhead then returned to the darkness for cover.

I felt uneasy as this wasn't my route plot.   I'd forgotten to refresh my memory or check out what Landslide proposed so I had no idea where I was going or where the next point was.

I soon realised I was going to scatter the sheep I'd just photographed "all the way over there" as I pushed my heavy bike up the hill through their midst.

The route chosen for me cut straight up the grassy bank to my left then eventually contoured around the hillock to my left. On the map it looked easier to skirt the other side of the Cairn since the "path" was non-existent any way, it seemed mostly harmless to smooth the route. I started grasping at straws and nearly found myself at my first fence crossing of the day when I mistook a fenceline for the trail in the already-failing light (how was it getting dark already?) and tussocks.

Thankfully I realised my mistake in time, completed my circuit of the cairn and then stumbled upon something resembling an old cart track that was actually probably my route for as long as it lasted before degrading back to sleep field. I slalommed between the ewes - a careful balance of not disturbing the flock and not falling off and reached the track and its inevitable locked gate for the first lift-and-climb of the day.

• • •

The route soon turned again but thankfully this gate wasn't locked because I was already pissed off with locked gates and could have quite readily stormed into the nearest farmhouse, grabbed a rifle and shot all of the occupants in the house without question. 

I set off into the dusk riding just on my dynamo light for as long as I could manage.

There were a few more positive gating experiences until I reached the final straw - a friendly gate marked "Mach 6 bike route" That had been super-imposed by a much less friendly rusty steel pipe gate with a big steel box and padlock over the top. Fucking fucksticks. Thankfully no barbed wire on the fence but I managed to drop my bike onto its handlebars on the fence rail so that all of its weight was on my garmin.  The one remaining flange on my Garmin and the Garmin mount shattered leaving me with a Garmin dangling on a piece of string.

Thankfully I recently added a Moloko bar bag to my Jones bars and stuffed the device under the bungee cords next to my Spot so I could read my map for the rest of the ride-albeit sideways and between the strings.

• • •

Around a corner on the forest track I startled a very handsome little snipe standing in my lane before it fluttered away.

I finally garnered enough speed on forest tracks to make the big light worth while. At some point in the evening I stopped to take one last photo before the light went and realised I was (not surprisingly) really rather hungry. Except for my peanuts I'd eaten an ancient SIS energy bar and a gel - packed 5 months ago for such emergencies.

It was past 5pm.

A look at the route profile on Garmin included a long descent, a little climb and another long descent. I'd been promising myself it was all downhill to Mach "soon" but my poor progress and a late start meant Mach was not just around the corner but a whole half a day away on-route.

 

After I took my photo I started to notice rude signs. "No access except for permit holders". "Anglers only" "No Entry! CCTV" . They were very bright and shiny. I had made it to "Angler's Retreat". I remembered this from the map and I also remembered that nearby there was a water crossing where I had simply hoped there would be a bridge. God. I really was not in the mood for my feet to get any wetter. I had waterproof socks on but my feet had sweated in them for 6 hours and as the temperature dropped I could already feel my damp feet getting chilly when I stopped.

I stopped by a sign claiming the mountain lake as private and consulted the map. I had a lot of route to go to Mach but also if I abandoned the route in a bit, there was a bridleway going straight North that went directly to Mach. I could get dinner after all and I wouldn't get shot by angry fishermen. I'd continue for a bit and make my mind up at the junction. Out of the darkness a tawny owl swirled up from the field below. I managed to focus my headlight on its belly as it whorled away to find another hunting ground.

On I went until the Garmin piped up "off route". I'd just passed another flourescent sign and a gate. Please tell me my route isn't through there. Half expecting to be accosted by night fishermen; half expecting to drown in an epic river crossing - or worse get stranded between both.

I think Andy is wrong - I'm not a stress bunny - I'm a drama queen (especially when hungry).

I checked the map. Sure enough, my route went that way and it was also my quickest route to Mach and dinner. I decided it would be best to give it a go and deal with any consequences if and when they arose. What's the worst that could happen? A grumpy exchange with a fat bald man with a flannelette shirt and a big rod.

As I approached the lake, I gave them their due. It was a lovely looking lake but I didn't linger as I was distracted by a light ahead. I turned off my headlight so as not to draw attention to myself and aimed to pass quietly without disturbing anyone.

I think I made out two people and a tent in the darkness but I was so concerned about looking innocent and not getting bollocked by anglers that I didn't even think they would be friendly bike packers. Sorry for being ignorant-whoever you are!

• • •

I was so grateful to them though for sewing the idea in my tiny brain.

My mind flipped back to the pub, "What is there to do between 4. 30pm & 7:30am?". I had the answer:

• Cook food
• Eat
• Pitch a tent.
• Drink
• Sleep
• Had I been really desperate, start writing this up on my phone

The temptation to eat then lie down in a sleeping bag for a very long time was super high. 12 hours sleep? Luxury. I pedalled away from the lake on a sweet bit of single track but instantly fell in love with a tussocky bit of grass without any slope in a fire break in the forest.

• • •

I lay the bike down and on closer inspection found a rare flat spot in the tree line where there was just enough space for a tent pitch and cook spot between the trees. I was hidden from the world and the wind and felt so secure I didn't even care that there were no scrawny trees to tie my bike too.

The tent went up first in case it was needed and I unpacked all my stuff then I brewed the water and sat out on my mat to eat before having a last wee and retreating to my tent.

Right on cue the first rain shower came and I grinned insanely with the self satisfact­ion of someone who isn't out in it any more. I made a point of letting it go and won.

• • •

By the time I'd eaten and made myself comfy in the tent it was 8:30pm There might have been a tiny notebook in my frame bag but I couldn't be bothered to get it and was perfectly content after my efforts and a late night last night to lie down, listen to the trees and gently drift off.

I woke up many times in the night, shivering. Even when I eventually found the will power to go for a wee (which usually makes me feel much warmer), I was shivering again within an hour. I cursed myself for switching sleeping bags but getting up or riding my bike was not a tempting option given the snowy hailstones that kept falling on the sides of the tent like a million hissing grass snakes in the night.

• • •

I'd found a pair of foot warmer pads that I was saving for the morning but since my hips and thighs refused to warm up under fleece leggings, Paramo, liner bag and quilt, I resorted to sticking the foot warmers to my leggings, then - when that didn't work - to my groins to warm the blood in my Femoral artery. At one point I stuck them straight on my skin (you're not supposed to) until I woke up 20 minutes later in pain (the next night I had little rectangular pink marks on my legs).

The heat pads did the trick and I woke naturally in the morning. Thanks to my hideaway and the eventual realisation that only bike packers, not anglers, would be anywhere near in these conditions, in that shit, I didn't bother with an early alarm and let myself sleep in until just before dawn. When I got up for a wee, light was just breaking at 7.  

When I found my little note book in a pouch in the bag there were also 2 fresh sachets of hand warmers so a pair went in the boots and a pair were saved for my gloves.

I managed to ration my water overnight. I'd been sipping. It was easy not to guzzle long mouthfuls of ice cold water. I had enough left to brew up my porridge and coffee. My new porridge experiment was a hearty success. As planned, when I re-emerged from the tent to pack up the dawn had well and truly happened and the sky was silvery and cloudy.

I finished packing and pushed the bike back onto the trail.

• • •

My old porridge plan was only ever enough to get me through loading the bike but this time, when I got to the Mach turn-off I was already committed to stick to my plan for a tour of the South Dovey Peninsular and two more checkpoints.

My commitment was further enforced by the appearance of some very satisfying downhill with grass up the middle and trees overhead so I had to hang off the side of my bike and limbo my way through. It was only interrupted by a fallen tree. Not from last night but certainly from last December's storms. It was only to be expected after such an excellent start to the day but I got around it with reasonable ease following a dirt bike track that went before me.

When the downhill track ran out, rather than leading back up, the Garmin suggested I turn right on the unpaved road. Through the proper bridleway gate I soon realised that this was my river crossing on the route plan.

The unpaved road was a little less paved than expected but about as good under wheel as a path through a field can be. After I drew my eyes away from the amusing bus stop I was more excited to see a gate leading to a bridge that crossed the stream ahead.

Sure, it looked like it went straight through the forest garden of the house on the other bank of the river but a quick glance on the map showed the house was riddled with bridleways above it and to the right.

I pushed my bike out from under the tree swing and passed several odd-looking wooden buildings balanced atop stilts like bird hides. The gate to the bridleway was locked (of course it wouldn't be that easy) and when I got through it I realised I'd gone the wrong way and had to turn tail and go straight back past the house. Much to my relief, despite the warm lights in the living room, there was no-one around and I just sneaked through the unlocked gate, onto the road and on my merry way.  When I closed the gate behind it was Blaeneinion Beaver reintroduction scheme - which I assume explains the hides to watch beavers a-beaverin'.

They'd clearly picked the right valley for wildlife as I stopped to photograph fieldfares on a wire (and failed), I instead snapped (badly), this bird stomping around in the long grass.

The road was an uppy downy joy alongside Einion (onion) valley or the Artists valley, where the mountain water burst ice-blue over the rocks, occasionally right next to the road, occasionally 40ft below the lung-busting climb I'd just been sent up. I managed to ride them all.

Faced with choice between Ford and turn-off I took the turn-off only to realise I'd skipped the carpark for the Eonion valley mines infoboard.

The other entrance to the carpark was via a perfectly respectable bridge so I stopped for a read.

 

Before the bike and I were spit into the Irish Channel, the route took me down to the E..onion river where I disregarded all the properties I'd just passed and sourced myself some wholesome welsh mountain river water before climbing up to and across a road onto the lovely path,

I can see the sea!

At the top of the path was an even lovelier viewpoint over-looking the whole Dovey estuary and Cadair Idris that was still underneath cloud cover. 

 

 

Now I could smell the breakfast, however my route had other plans.

I dropped down to the nice big road that could have fast-tracked breakfast but instead I followed my route onto a minor road and then onto a Bridleway. "Explore Dovey" promised the plaque on the gate. The sun was shining and birds were singing. How could I refuse?

Within 10 minutes any traffic noise from the big road was gone and forgotten and a big old oak tree presented a flat spot and a carpet of leaves on which to park my sit mat, pull out my stove and brew up second breakfast and coffee or more specifically: last night's desert and coffee. Dehydrated apple and custard never tasted so good.

• • •

A choice of route ahead led me to take the upper route where I enjoyed the company of a chaff whirling and croaking above the crag. The Garmin said I was off route but quick deduction told me I'd soon be back on-route. For a while I told myself I wanted to stick with the chuff and the crag but I was missing a checkpoint so I backtracked, calling myself "silly" all the way down the hill whilst sneakily enjoying it. The fun doubled up with a bit of forested single track which eventually decayed into pushing up something too narrow and overgrown to ride without snagging a pedal and being catapulted 30ft off the hillside. Still, it was better than the muddy track at the bottom made up of puddles and round rotting logs.

It was the only checkpoint I didn't photograph, boo.

• • •

At the end of the track some old hall-style buildings were eye candy for the road ride to my final excursion past a smallholding where I was swiftly put right by the owner when I strayed off path and accidentally towards the veg patch. I thanked her for the directions and we waved happily to each other as I cursed the footpath sign hidden by the long grass just at the point when all your attention is on fastening the big, awkward gate and she probably cursed the "bloodymountainbikers who can't follow perfectly good signs".

• • •

Thus my eventual arrival in Mach at 1pm, 19 hours later than planned, to eat some "real food" from the Spar sitting on the step of the toilet block in the car park as it seemed to be the only place in Mach I could get out of the wind. Everything looked shut and one look at "the Wynnstay" pub there put me off the idea of hauling my muddy ass inside a respectable establishment.  From what I've heard the welcome was not a good one although I could have made an effort with the White Lion.

The pay-as-you-go toilet was locking people in so a steady stream of folk were thankful for me stopping the door open with my rucsac while I ate my lunch in a never-ending queue for the toilet.

Every time I finished a piece of food the Loo was occupied so I started eating something else.  Still, I met more people there than I would've done in the pub.

Eventually I let the door go, jumped on the road, cast recklessness aside and plotted an easy road ride back to the finish in time for tea. My adventurising was done and I now know how easy (or not) it is to get home from Mach the quick way.