The Clwydian

I had no great record hopes for the Clwydian.  Finally after stretching the limits of my tolerance for distance, endurance and sleep deprivation and making it all work around an increasingly incredibly busy job, I finally felt the weight lifted this month.

All I had to do was get around.  It's just that "around" had 3000m of up and down in too.

I'd done no specific training for a while except the 3 Peaks cyclocross and some short 'cross races and one 100km day out to Curborough where a friend had commented on my flat shoes.  As I was explaining to her how much I liked them because they were comfy, I suddenly started to wonder if they had anything to do with my increasingly stiff calves and hamstrings so with only 2 weeks since the 3 Peaks I hoped I was adequately rested and I took a risk and bought some new shoes whilst working away in Scunthorpe.

In the run up to Saturday I did a few short evening rides to keep moving before the big little day.  Then disaster struck and my customer needed me to write them a document in 24 hours and so on Thursday night I worked until midnight and on Friday I left Scunthorpe at 6pm and drove to North Wales.  One Travelodge was unrecognisable from the other and when they put me in the same room it started to feel like a home from home.  After dinner in a Chinese restaurant I bedded down to listen to the torrential rain, howling winds and lashing branches and wondered what on earth I was doing there.  The short answer: By the time I thought about cancelling, it was too late at the hotel.

There were only 3 riders in the carpark in the morning.  They directed me to another building which was the control and as I realised I had parked in the pay and display carpark, I hopped back in the van and drove around to the free one off the main road.  They were so close they could have been the same space but this carpark was almost full - on account of being totally free.  I mean if I was going to be unsure about finishing, I sure as hell wasn't spending £3.50 on the parking space.

I bought a flapjack and then got ready as slowly as possible.  With a promise of the rain clearing late morning, I decided the longer I put it off the better.  Despite prevarication, I led out the final group of 6 riders, a few choosing to do the shorter route instead.  Within a few miles, another Lauf forked rider passed as well as the lead pair.  That left me, "Brum" from the midlands and a couple of guys from Halifax.

After about 10 minutes we started to climb.  Brum came past me and then we all rolled downhill towards Bala.  I had a momentary feeling that my rear tyre was running a little low and a minor coronary when I realised I didn't know if I had my pump or not.  I resolved to stop near Bala to check.  We were to ride around the whole lake but if I didn't have a pump, I'd probably pop into Bala to get one first before continuing my day - just in case.

As I descended the hill climb we'd just come over, spray from my tyres soaked my overshoes.  I was pretty pleased though that the water didn't seem to penetrate and chuffed with my new waterproof trousers which were getting a testing and seemed to be doing a remarkable job of keeping the water out.

As soon as I stopped I realised it was all an illusion as my feet squelched around in my wet shoes.  I should have known better.  I plunged my soaking hands into the bottom of my saddlebag and after some rooting around, finally laid my hands on my pump.  The contents of my bag were now damp but at least I knew I had security.

On the minor road side of Bala lake the rain streamed down, the stream ran across the road in rivers where it should have gone underneath it and eventually the inevitable flood happened.  I was into it before I realised and the water sprayed off my wheel and hit me square in the knees as my feet pedalled on regardless under the water.    Freakish gusts of warm breeze dropped down from the hills though and kept me relatively warm - in fact too warm at times.

Climbing out the other side I felt grotesquely sick as the water cascaded past me at the same speed as I was moving, giving the optical illusion that - despite my effort - I was stationary on the bike.  I had to stare at a gate post to make sure I was making progress and stop my stomach turning.

Once settled, I ate a banana, pocketed the skin and Halifax passed me a few moments later and we chatted until we reached the first control at 30km.  I took a quick snapshot of the answer to the info control whilst they had a faff.  Now on a nice straight road, I started raiding the bar bags for food and demolished an apple.  I had a chat with Halifax about the lack of food on this ride with the conclusion that you "gotta get it while you can" which nearly had me stopped in Bala.  Many of the rides I'd done this year seemed a little sparse on food - or the feeds didn't come when I wanted them.  Perhaps it was my weird metabolism.

Still, I pushed on - like everyone else - in Bala as I had plenty of food on board.  Then I peeled off back into the lovely valleys.  I'd ridden my 'cross bike here in glorious sunshine a few years ago but now it was just wet and wild.  By the time I reached the Crafty Cook Cafe I melted at the invitation to get the pancakes on and demolished two with bacon and maple syrup at 11:30.  The pancakes were bubbly and light but I'm not sure how ride-enhancing that sugar rush was but it made me feel better in between stripping off sodden waterproofs and wringing out my socks and gloves into the toilet bowl in the washrooms.

Americano polished off, I set away towards Ruthin in anticipation of lunch.  Halifax were faffing when I turned the wrong way then retraced my steps to find everyone back together for a brief moment before the weather started again.  Halifax went ahead and Brum and I started swapping places with him passing me on long hills and me getting my own back on steeper ones and not using my brakes on descents.  He had a faff whilst I rolled past in Ruthin.  The wind had been behind us and now I was battling harder into it to dispense of it sooner and I cruised past the control as I knew the answer.

Loggerheads was the next eat control but at 88km it was well after "lunchtime" when we arrived.  Halifax was eating apple pie and Brum joined them.  I went for a more filling-looking vegan shepherd's pie and started to wonder if I'd be able to leave my waterproof trousers off finally.

A lanky boy took my order, managed to concentrate just long enough to take my money then promptly forgot all about me.

After a lot of chatting Brum left me to waiting for my pie - or chasing up my pie.

Lanky boy's chubby mate told me, "it was just coming" then ran into the kitchen obviously to put the pie in the microwave.  I carved pieces off mash that tasted like smash without butter that had been microwaved.  At least the quorn mince and red wine sauce tasted nice with the beetroot but the delay left a bitter taste  in my mouth.

I wanted to set off at a sprint to get my time back but it was still raining so I had layers to put on, wrung my socks out again and chased down Brum who had said he hoped he'd see me again.

There were 3 info controls ahead and I was heading into familiar territory from some time working in North Wales.

In spite of trying to make back some time with spirited effort, I still found myself climbing over fences into a field to rescue a toppled sheep.  I tried to ride past without paying attention but couldn't leave a stupid animal to its fate of getting eaten alive because the stupid bastard couldn't right itself.  Thankfully, the sight of a lumbering woman in orange approaching across the field helped the sheep find the incentive to right itself and I only had three fences to climb back over to get away.

I was a bit frustrated and a bit peckish so I raided the bags for something to eat.  A packet of haribo sours presented themselves and I can't tell you how much my taste buds appreciated that.

I got a move on finally, collecting the name of a pub in Rosemor and a random street name in the middle of nowhere.

Next was 146km and a phone number to collect from a box.  Although I had been watching out for it for some time, the phone box was at the bottom of a descent and on the exit of a bend so I didn't notice it as I passed and crossed the narrow hump-back bridge (are you getting how difficult it was to spot?)

A lovely old couple on the hill climb cheered me up the other side and I basked in the glory until I realised what I'd done.

Thoughts crossed my mind of just continuing and getting the answer off the others but then I might not see them again - so behind was I.  That would leave me bargaining with the organisers to validate my 11th ride of 12 or worse still, waving goodbye to the month of rest I had planned before number 12, trying to get another boring, flat ride done.

My diligence got the better of me and I retraced my route to the phone box, spent a moment explaining to the old couple why I'd walked into a phone box with a smartphone then walked straight back out again.  Photo record of the info control, the lady understood immediately, "Oh, you're recording the number to prove you've been here".

At Tremeirchen it had finally stopped raining.  At 4pm (so much for clearing from 10am).  I lent my bike against a wall and took my waterproof legs off.  Within seconds a small car full to the brim of bearded farmers pulled alongside slowly giving me the smiling thumbs-up to make sure I was OK.  I smiled and waved back, despite the sit down on the wall being uncomfortably welcome.

30 minutes later I was at the seafront in Abergele, tired and had been dreaming of a slice of lemon drizzle cake for about 45 minutes.  As I went over the cobbled bridge that crosses the railway, my back tyre snicked in between cobblestones and felt uncomfortably deflated.  I locked up my bike, dropped my brevet card in the hurricane winds, swore a lot, realised the door was locked then swore some more until a sweet girl approached asking me if I needed my brevet card signed.  After nearly begging to be let in the cafe then realising she was not the owner but the organiser's daughter, I took myself down the road to another seafront greasy spoon / chip shop for the cup of tea and invested in a bag of skittles.  If Haribo could make me ride fast, I hoped Skittles would get me back over the hill.

I sat and drank my tea whilst the arcade clinked and whirred and chattered behind me. Whispy old men with flat caps drank instant coffee with ladies who washed their drinks down with fag smoke, blue rinse catching the breeze.  I enjoyed 20 minutes out of the rain before hauling myself back into it.

I retraced my route to a turnoff in town, my tyre feeling even worse bumping over those cobbles again.  It was a big road with a fair amount of traffic on it and I wasn't enjoying myself at all.  I decided to get the pump out and try inflating the tyre a bit more.  One squeeze of it left me feeling a little ill again, it was really low.  I had flash-backs to the 600 and battling with constant punctures to get back.  The tyre was old-ish.  Worn a bit but not worn through although it did have some serious holes in it.  It was suffering the same symptoms as during the 600.  Slow deflation such that any sudden trauma caused a puncture.

I connected the pump but every time I put something in, the needle dropped back down to practically nothing.  I had only had 20 psi in.  As I was inflating it, Halifax rode past and stopped to check I was OK.  I was a bit frazzled and asked if they had a decent pump though (understandably) they were worried about getting back in time and obviously eager to continue on.  We all concluded that it would probably be fine and sure enough the pressure was starting to build.  They had had a puncture themselves but more substantially, had spent an hour in the MacDonalds in town enjoying hot food and decent coffee.  I had just ridden up the hill on a packet of mini Cheddars.  I was a bit jealous but not too worried as I knew I still had plenty of food on board.

On the way back I got to watch the sun set from underneath the cloud over the Mersey Estuary, the Liver Building prominent on the skyline of the 'Pool.  Both rear lights went on to make me noticeable to sun-blinded drivers and not much later the front light joined it as I sketched my way across the moor in the very blustery wind.  Despite all the healthy choices I had on board, either partially eaten or unopened, the arrival of 8pm saw me reaching for the Skittles.  Pangs of delight coursed through my mouth.  So tasty!  It didn't help that I'd run out of water but my mouth watered and it seemed as good as a drink of water.  I gobbled them down.

When I reached the tops, great gusts of wind blew me and the bike sideways and I had to time glances at the Garmin to make sure I didn't get hit with a gust that would take me into the ditch.  I got one wrong and had to slam my brakes on as the front wheel careered towards a drop off next to a tussock of grass.

The rain started again but I couldn't feel any cold.  In fact, my legs felt exactly the same as they had when I was wearing my waterproofs.  It was still warm but bloody hell, it was hard.  Steep climbs had me stomping on the pedals, out of the saddle yet down the drops to minimise the effect of the wind on my body.  Growling helped blast through the stalemate between a stalled rider and the wind, wrenching myself over the top of the 30% grade.

Allegedly it was 20km downhill to the finish.  I mean, I knew that was probably a fib but still, I'd been thinking about it since 30km to go - 10k up, 20k down.  The 5k up, 20k down.

All the down hill did not come at once.  I was still disappointed, even though I knew it wouldn't all come at once.  Some false flats got in the way, a few rises and then I was down in the valley, looking at the light glow of Corwen and I hauled myself over the bridge, the river now twice as wide as it was when I left and I felt glad I had left my van in the top car park.

After a quick stop to figure out which of the pubs in the tiny Welsh town was the control, I rolled up, locked my bike to the elegant two-seater Iron smoking shelter complete with Cleamtis.  Brum was walking out as I was arriving and called back into the pub, "She's here, she's made it!"  Much commotion ensued as Halifax had reported they didn't think I would make it so the organiser was rushing out in his van to see if I wanted a lift to the finish.

I ignored the slightly cheeky under-estimation of my ability, giving the benefit of doubt.  The last time they saw me I was swearing at my pump, hearing jealously of their feed, knowing nothing of the feast I had on board.

Inside the pub, ale and crisps were on offer.  I passed on the ale, stuck with the crisps and a box of pineapple juice that had been there since the 80's plus a pint of water.  I'd not drunk anything since 8:30pm and now it was 9:38.  30 minutes to spare.

Still warm but noticeably damp and smelly, I left the bartender to his banter and walked my bike over to the Mercu.  The easy bit was over.  Getting changed out of wet kit in a van before driving home was going to be a challenge.  I pretty much left everything I had on the tops of the Welsh hills.  I stopped at 11pm at Chester services and slept for 2 hours before rejoining the motorway and listening to the Asian Network very loud for the next 2 hours back to Sheffield.  It was 3:30 am when I got to bed.

Still, October, done.  11/12.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry, I was in Essex this morning".

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was Audax for another month.

The Tiny Flat One

After my DNF in Scotland but then not really feeling all that bad about it at all (I did "only" do 3530km) I decided it might be feasible to do a 200km ride this weekend to make sure I got my August RRtY in.  No point in dropping all the balls right?

I had a Perm ride in my in-tray.  An organiser-published routesheet and card which can be completed at a rider's liesure - once they have paid their entry fee.

I could have done it on Monday to get better weather but by Saturday afternoon I was already itching to get out on my bike so I decided to ride the wave of enthusiasm and head out to Thorne early Sunday morning to get a run on the traffic.

The ride from Thorne, through Bawtry to Gainsborough of 40km wasn't so bad.  A bit main roady but dry and pleasant enough riding past the fields.  I started with a bit of a head wind, then cross winds.  I stuck to my plan not to race too hard this time and pottered around 21-22kmph.  Occasionally I strayed up to 24 - 26 but this was mostly when I experienced brief bouts of tail wind.

I had toast and tea at Rosies at 10:30 but that was too early for lunch so carried on out into the fens and flatlands at 11.  The weather gifted rain as I left the cafe and I quickly walked back under the smoking shelter to put on my waterproof coat, shoe covers and rain legs.

As I left I realised I'd forgotten to fill my water bottle but still had about half a bottle left so decided it would be OK until lunch. 

As 11:45 rocked by I started to feel a bit concerned.  There were few places on the radar until Caistor which would have involved a detour.  Thankfully at 11:50 I started to see signs for "Uncle Henry's" and sure enough, a farm shop materialised on the horizon.  I didn't really fancy the half-mile long lane to reach it but decided not to look the gift-horse in the mouth and continued in.

The bike parking was some horrible self-made wooden frame which was hungry to eat rear derailleurs and spit the bike back out without any gears so I walked around the back and locked it to some scaffolding tubes cemented into breeze blocks.  Great until I realised the one I had locked to was completely free-moving.  5 more minutes down the toilet.  I promised myself I wasn't going to stress about time today.  I nearly upped and left - but a quick Garmin reccee confirmed there was nothing for miles so thankfully I persevered.

The cafe operated an Ikea-style one-way system to make sure you saw ALL of the products on offer.  Having located the cafe and secured a table, I had to do two laps of the one way system to get my bottle off my bike and then find the toilets.  By the time my food came I was nearly livid! but then relaxed and felt lucky as a steady stream of people with reservations and people without reservations quickly filled the remaining tables.  Just in time doesn't do it justice.

My sandwich was not a terrible rip off but also insufficient to get me to Cleethorpes so I had to do the decent thing and have cake too.

I was right to stop, I covered quite a few miles before I hit civilisation again.  There was nothing on the route out and then I passed the point of my turn-back.  With still 40km of out-and-back to do, there was nothing really until I got to Waltham.  There were a few more turn notifications to give me something to do except for look at fields but little else along the way to Cleethorpes.

It was still raining outside but now I at least had a hill to look forwards to. 

Given the name of this ride, the routesheet contains the disclaimer, "This ride is not completely flat it includes one section over the Yorkshire Wolds..."

The route finally took me away from main and B-roads and on to some lovely lanes through quaint Lincolnshire villages (or was it Yorkshire? I lost count).  The hill was a little taxing.,I certainly hit my lowest gear, but it was not too long and I was soon correcting the dent in my average speed for that 25 mile section.  The descents on the other side were fast and empty of cars with only one section of bad road surface.

Cleethorpes had a little bit of life to it.  We are, after all, still in season.  The cafe I stopped at had a few seats remaining but most others were taken up with soggy holiday makers and soggy, bored kids.  Hot chocolate and an Eccles cake were all I could muster.  Nothing too sweet and sticky. 

I didn't dawdle, although I did stand under the hand-driers for a while and ring my gloves out into a napkin or two.  I'm gutted I forgot to ring-out my socks. 

So, the ride back.  Well, it rained a little less hard but there must have been the dry front coming as the wind suddenly got very blustery.  I nearly lost my grip on the bars a few times.  The h
ill was a little more sapping in the opposite direction.  The downhill was more thrilling and I got to see the view along the Wold instead of climbing up it. 

It felt good to make the turn towards home and realise I had only 15k to go to my next stop and then a 40k ride to the finish.

Just as I thought it was safe to stop and take my waterproofs off in favour of dry clothes, the heavens opened again and put me in my place.

Although I knew I was out of time for the windmill cafe, I went to see it anyway then headed into Kirton Lindsey for a receipt.  At 6pm, I simulated dinner with a packet of Doritos, a chocolate croissant and a cold laté.  I stood in the doorway by the heaters for a while then, to get a sit down on the only bit of dry wall in the place, I sat right next to the bin to finish my Doritos.  At least it was a clean bin, or the cool temperatures were keeping any odours at bay.

I joined the north-bound road alongside the river trent.  Checking the Garmin, I had around 5km of riding straight North before turning around and riding back down the South side.  I'd not normally describe the M180 motorway to Scunthorpe and Doncaster as majestic but when you look at it from Fen level, sweeping over the flood planes it looks like something from Northern France or Holland and I have to admit to being impressed.  That was nothing compared to the Keadby King George V bridge that I crossed.

Better photo here

Onto the South-bound ride, to my relief the wind had dropped and I was putting out enough energy to warm up for the first time since climbing over the wold.  The rain legs came on, the lights went on and I set about the last 30 kms.

I counted them down most expectantly but the route did deliver comfortable lanes riding with brief stints on airport service roads, fenland lanes wide enough for only one vehicle, tiny humpback bridges over streams and a sudden arrival at my destination - so sudden I skidded as I turned into the Co-op at full-speed when I nearly missed it.

Chocolate milk was the finishing order and perfectly price reduced water melon for easy-consumption on the way home.  My van provided the perfect cover from drunk people walking home from the pub for taking off wet gear and putting on civilian clothes.

The Borderlands Late Season Explorer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 When I resurfaced it was still raining.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My fate was sealed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So what did go wrong?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hilly day out

I went out for a ride yesterday.

I enjoyed TSK's company for the first 50k of the ride out to a little cafe bookshop on the edge of Derbyshire.  We stopped at Hope on the way for traditional second breakfast then lunched on oatcakes before he headed home in a round about way and I set off into the Goyt Valley to play on some hills.

First I rode over the Cat & Fiddle like it was the easiest thing in the world then dropped down into the Goyt at Lamaload reservoir and hauled up a few 30% rises in amongst the 20% ones.  After that it eased off to the usual climb over Whingather rocks and Pym Chair to drop down towards Whaley Bridge, from where I planned to ride to Glossop on main roads before heading home.

However, I got distracted by some fine little lanes coming off the Kettleshulme Road and joined them to do some exploring.  I wondered why my dad had never taken me this way when I was a kid.  The sign, "Not Suitable for motor vehicles" is sometimes welcome, sometimes bad news.  This one certainly had me on the brakes and then off them again really quickly as I hit large swathes of gravel.

I kept my Dignity (literally, managed to keep the bike up and me on top of it) then set about the climb back out as the needle hit 30% again and my heart rate hit 180.  I realised why dad never took me this way as I stared at the road, 4 feet from my face and started to haul up the other side.  Mind you, my legs were still in pretty good shape at this point.

I mean I'd only done 70km.

Down the other side and I dropped into a little village, looking at the Garmin I was heading for New Mills and then Hadfield.  It took me a while to realise that the village was Disley on the A6!  One wrong turn and I'd be in Stockport in 10 minutes.  I had inadvertently almost ridden to my parents house and still had to get home with my legs full of hill.

I set about finding a nice way into Glossop from Disley.  I squirrelled between Hayfield and Marple (Marple!) past places like Thornsett and Mellor - places I'd heard of but never been.  I popped out on to a main road to be passed by some knob in a blue fiesta who was clearly so threatened by me he needed to roar his engine as he passed.  OK the legs were starting to get tired now.

We both took a turn into the Rowarth road.  I hesitated at the end to check the map as there was a dead end sign on the post at the end of the lane.  There seemed to be a bridlepath through and I hesitated as to whether to go that way but concluded that: I had the right bike, it wasn't far, it's been dry, the benefit outweighed the inconvenience, I could always turn around and come back.  Both me and Mr angry overshot the lane into the village.  I waited patiently for him to roar past the other way whilst I turned around in the road then followed him up to the carpark whereby I passed him as he poured all his offspring out in the carpark, like a woodlouse releasing its young, and started heading for the pub.

I bounced steadily over the speed bumps designed to prevent intrepid motorists continuing.  I saw my bridlepath but continued along the lane in hope, only to find it barred by a Private Road gate so I retraced and tackled the gravel and baby's head boulders.

It was only around 300m long and spit me out onto another pleasant lane which eventually took me up to the Hayfield - Charlesworth road which I doubled-back on to join the Chunnal descent into Glossop.

Yeah, I was finally properly cooked.  It was 4:30pm and hungry.

A wavering motorist hanging right without any indicators then changing to a left turn had me slamming on the brakes and skidding in the road.  That woke me up and reduced me to a shaking bundle of mess as I walked into the Glossop Costa, by now in dire need of cooling down, caffeinating and a feed.

I sat on the bench outside.  2135m of climbing in 97km.  Oops.  That's good.  Only the Snake Pass to go. 

It took me a while to get warmed up but once I did I enjoyed the Snake immensely.  I didn't have much gusto left but I just churned it out. 1hr 44 mins to the front door, including a swing up to Moscar Top to try and sneak a few more metres climbing.

It was dinner time when I got in after 133km and 2688m of up.  Vaguely tempted to go out and bag a further 70km on the flat after dinner to round it up but not really.  The last stage of the tour was calling, to watch the presentation we missed last weekend.

Nae Bother to Us Audax 400km

Approximately by checkpoint:

1-why am I stoping already? 37km to Moorebattle

2 - 67km Wooler. I will have a scone with Darren from Durham. Darren then disappeared and was replaced by Simon who talked quite a lot about his fitness numbers (audax rarity), Rich and Esmond who were nice.

3- 96km Berwick is backwards. I don't like towns.  Got cash and carried on

4-143km why did I not eat at Berwick?  Snacking all the way to Eglingham and the pub with lovely salmon sandwiches.

5 - 187km Elsdon Best 'gypsy toast' finally at 13.30!  Marion and Alan did indeed look after my every need.

Richard enjoying the village green 

6-that was fast, does 'gypsy toast' have cocaine in it?  What was all that off road about?

Demonstrating the capabilities of the Lauf forks by photographing Rich and Esmond on the move... on a trail

Dropping people in headwinds across the moors (thanks TAW). Never ending ups and downs.

207km Freestyle dinner stop - Chinese food in Bellingham where we finally found the vegan diabetic some chips!   Rich moaned a bit and huffed a lot and updated me (badly) on distance and elevations, earning himself the title, "Data".

Catching up with "Mersey" on the moors

Went off on my own on the next bit.  Just as I was getting low on energy a bat flew into my throat. That got the adrenaline going.

7- 286km OH MY GOD I JUST RODE COAST TO COAST and NOW I AM GOING BACK! Beattock. Cool. Beattock is a summit pass  on the M74. That explains why I have been feeling like I was riding uphill all the time.

Moorland and floral displays

8- 324km When will this headwind end? What shall I get from McDonald's? I acquire James, a South African whose mate just dropped out into a B&B. Rich goes back to find Esmond who got lost leaving Gretna services. James is much faster but is using me as a pacer and a brain as he isn't local and is tired from nursing his mate around all day. He disappears as soon as the Arrivee is next control.

By 3am I had reverted to singing 90's pop as a deterrent to snoozles.

9-340km Moffatt then here comes the sun doobe doobe. Where has my tail wind gone? I deserve a fucking tail wind! These boys are nice but why do I feel like their mum? Now I wish they would stop talking because I have no more answers. How did I not just crash? I was cycling in my sleep.  The guys switch back and forth between getting on my nerves and saving my life by keeping me awake with chatter until they stop for a team puke! (not really but it's what it looked like to me).

407km Arrivee - I must be good at this as I have not been sick yet. Why do Mc Donalds not do salad at 7am? How can I be so hot and shivering cold at once?

How's it feel now?
Lots of sleeping. Now re-caffeinating as have withdrawl. Last coffee was 3am in Johnstonebridge.

Was the weather good? Almost perfect in the day (20C max) except headwinds on top though nowt compared to Ireland so I just had to listen to everyone else grumble. An offshore thunder storm in Gretna caused showers which cooled the climb till sunrise.

Any aches and pains? Just knees and very fatigued in general. Backside pain rating at 6/10 where TAW was 9/10. I need to flatten the saddle a little for improvements but couldn't face the faff last night.

Richard made more use of the tiny pot of Irish sudocreme than I did!

Other new friends included Amanda and her husband / partner - PBP veterans on various bikes including solo and tandem (in different years). A 60yr old riding the roadie version of my bike - present to himself. Quite frankly behind the times with this, "buying your retirement" stuff.  A couple from Sheffield, with whom Fitz is a mutual friend so they dot watched us on TAW!

Conclusions:  Brilliant, looking forwards to 600 now.  PBP on the cards.

My next new favourite thing. MiniTAW. Adventuroar

Playing with words.

After I finished the Transatlantic Way, I wanted to get something done.  Enter something to keep me going.  I had audaxes to book for my RrTY and wanted to decide whether to do and organise my third Torino Nice Rally or whether to commit to something else.  I have it in my mind that next year I will either return to the Transatlantic Way or head up to Scotland for the Highland Trail race.  So I had my eye on a few Scottish mountain bike and cyclo-cross enduro events.  There's also the 3 Peaks Cyclo-cross in September where, the last few years, I have been steadily improving my time by doing the Torino Nice Rally 2-3 weeks before.

I've never been sure whether this leaves me just a little too tired to do my best in the race but actually, also, much fitter for the race given 300-odd miles of hilly mountain biking at altitude.

This year, I wanted enough cycling events to keep me trained but also the time to properly develop my hill running and be decently rested, not knackered and unsure of myself.

At first when I got back from TAW I thought I was in quite good form.  I certainly looked the part - not an ounce of body fat on me last week (it's all back now).  I was so used to getting through life tired, I felt positively perky without 100 miles to ride every day.

I managed a few gentle runs of a few kms each then last Friday I felt pretty good.  The lads in the office announced they were off to the pub and since I'd brought my run kit, I decided to do my run then join them in the pub.  I gave myself half an hour so I had to run the whole 7km loop - no walking this time.  After 34 minutes, I ran through the pub doorway, ordered a sandwich and pint of tap water and put on the teeshirt I'd carried round in my hand - something nice to wear once I got to the bar!

On Saturday I went out for a ride with Norton Wheelers which was extremely short lived as they rode away into the distance so I went off and did my own 135km ride to make up for it.  It was bloody hilly and I cruised all the hills in a way that I have not known the day after my first 7km run in a while.

I made it out to Pym Chair on the edge of Cheshire and rode above the aeroplanes queing up to land in Manchester Airport.  Instead of diverting South of Buxton as per my usual long ride out that way, I decided to ride straight home from Pym Chair.  Buxton was quiet because football and I had 12 miles of the A6 pretty much to myself over to the edges of the Peak where I could get off the A6 and ride into Tideswell for an icecream.

It was hot and tiring and I fell into bed again when I got home.  Needless to say, I gave myself a few days rest, with only one ride to work until Wednesday when England were due to be playing again.

I met up with TSK and Mr Landsley in Eccleshall and wet set out at a moderate pace to go for a pint in Great Longstone, a pub called The Crispin, after my friend.

It was a beautiful ride - the sun was shining, the cars were few and far between and when we arrived at the pub everyone was happy because we had scored a goal.

The beer was really good and so a second one was purchased and we went into sad mode as another goal was scored - this time by the wrong team - still, at least we had extra time to make the journey home.

I left in twilight with a couple of guys who had neglected their rear lighting over the summer and so I did duty at the back whilst charging TSK's light on my dynamo whilst Mr L rode on the front in his bright orange coat.

After the first long descent, TSK had enough red rear light for them to ride ahead up Froggatt leaving me to enjoy the ride at my own pace - one which I was pretty happy with.  TSK waited for me at the top and then we waved to Mr L as we passed him chatting with other friends in the carpark at Lady Cannings, suspectedly trying to procure a rear light.

We rolled into Crookes about 10:45 pm and bought pizza for tea, Dominos staying open 5 minutes late to let us finish eating sitting down.

It's no wonder my legs felt empty for two more days after all this activity and yet, I felt more tired than I have ever known.  I keep trying to remind myself just what I have achieved but it wasn't until 5pm on Friday night I started to feel anywhere near normal.

Just in time for me to go out running yesterday.

Not sure what was best - balancing on a knife edge of tapering and not over-dooing it and desperate to get out an enjoy myself I did a deal to run/walk up to a path I particuarly wanted to investigate.  I took TSK with me as a talisman and set about a relaxed intervals session including quite a lot of walking on the steeps, some running on steeps with recovery on flat and always running downhill except for the tricky stuff.  I'm still re-acquiring ankle and foot strength so didn't want to overdo it.

51 minutes later we were at 5km (incidentally, the speed of my first 5km run after TAW).  TSK decided to head back on the road, I persevered to my path which turned out to be quite far out on the Rivelin Valley and by the time I got to it I was in no way tempted to go further.  In retrospect I probably should have gone exploring rather than continuing on to the end of the Rivelin Reservoirs, down to the dam, up the other side of the valley to avoid the road run then finally dropping back onto the valley-bottom road at 12km with 4km still left to do.  Whilst I knew my legs were tired, I knew I was better off doing a steady run than walking the whole thing which would have taken bloody ages.

I pulled out for an ice cream at the park and then walked up the hill to home.

A really satisfying 10 miles.

SO what to do with a recovery Sunday?

Well, there's a parcel coming with my name on it - a saddle.  One final ditch attempt to find myself a little more comfort on the bike than the Selle Italia.  I'm not sure it's possible but in the rush to find something suitable for TAW I lost the old ISM saddle so I am trying it's fatter brother the ISM PR 3.0.  I'm almost hoping I can wait in for that.

There's bike fettling to be done for next weekend to make sure I have ALL my gears and replacement of an ever-tenuous front deraileur cable whose strands disappear ever further into the recesses of the captive bolt.

There's bags to be packed and a tentative campsite to be booked and a car to be loaded because Thursday is going to come all too soon and on Friday I drive to Galashiels and chill out before the big event.

For the 400 I need a bag that gives me space to store enough food and comfort clothes to get me through the night. Despite two motorway services in the thick of things, there's still over 100km of open road between two controls and whilst food may be available from pubs etc., I am planning to carry enough on-bike nutrition there to save myself the stopping time that comes with ordering pub food and waiting for it to arrive.

There's a time plan to be written to get me through this thing in one piece and, hopefully, keep my RrTY dream alive because if I fail at this one, there's no time to re-sit - short of cancelling a booked day off work and riding a 200k two days after my failed 400.  Hmmm.

In short, there's remembering all the things I need to do to ride an audax.  All the things I need to have (or not have) because I don't get the chance to sleep by the side of the road before waking up 8 hours later and finishing the thing.

Taking me 26 hours (at worst), for all my running friends, this, is the equivalent of your 100kms stuff.

Come on recovery gods - do your thing.