January bivi 2020 and the Bear Bones Winter Ride

I've never done all of the checkpoints on the BB Winter Ride before.  Last year I arrived with an "ambitious plan" but failed to complete my planned route due to high winds delaying my progress.  Back then, two 65-70k days seemed too much and I started with a plan to fail, though I really didn't mind.

This year, two 80-90km days seemed eminently do-able.  It's amazing what the Highland Trail can do for your perception of "hard" and "far".  Still, I kept reminding myself it was winter and was happy to accept less if snow/ice other weather prevented the full lap I had planned.

I mapped an anti-clockwise route, with the Elan Valley as the final checkpoint - a suitable place to get a breakfast or a lunch on day 2.  Beyond that I didn't really think about resupply - which is an odd thing for me.  I planned to travel light with space in my packs for food and make do or divert to civilisation where required.

When the weather came in before the event I was dismayed to find strong winds and rain were the order of the day - yet again - for my official rides.  I'm getting a little tired of this!

At the school in Llanbrynmair we were so early we helped set out the tables and chairs then drank tea, loaded up and rolled out, my new Bear Guide sitting on the bags on the front of my bike for a Navigator's view of the trail ahead.  As I set off at a sauntering pace, Karl jogged past on his way to register and we had a quick catch-up before I set off a second time.

 Left and left out the gate and onto a bridleway almost immediately.  I was really early so there really was no-one else around.  Also, the way went immediately upwards and was heavily loaded with cow shit most of the way to the top. 

At the top, a cluster of pens with cat flaps surrounded a heat lamp under which three kitties huddled in a cat basket.  Cute but a little weird.  Above that, a house, gates and open access to the moor where the herd of cows waited to walk nonchalantly ahead of me for the next 200m.  One, with an eye lid hanging off where, presumably, the cow with horns had poked it in the eye.  It was fetid and minging and bloody but it was too early for me to disturb anyone in the house about it.  I followed the half blind cow along the path slowly until eventually the field opened out and I could ride.

There were plenty of beautiful moments above Pennant on the moors.  The wind hadn't got too bad.  The rain hadn't started.  I made a few navigational errors and had a wonderful hike a bike up a near-vertical waterfall to get back to where I started 30 minutes earlier before dropping down.  How was it that left and right were already getting muddled in my head?  Cow Shit Hill must've been harder than I expected.

I descended the valley on forest tracks, passing at one point through a bunch of hunters - the hounds way up on the hill and then random middle aged white men with rifles and green/grey clothing waiting ominously.  I verged between being pleasant and aloof and trying to get the fuck out of there before I got shot.

Finally, to the road between Macynlleth and Dylife.

At first the ride up the steep road was wind-assisted.  A slight tail-to-cross wind caught my back enough to push me uphill and I found myself soft-pedalling up a 20% incline.  Soon though, the cross-vector took over and I had to lean hard right to resist being blown sideways.  Finally, I didn't have enough lean and the wind was lifting me and the rear bike wheel off the ground.

Like being hit by a transit van, I veered sideways across the road, hit the grass verge, half-flipped over the bars/bike and rolled backwards down the slope slamming into the wire fence that caught me from being blown into the field.  Bollocks.

I tried riding once more, ready for it this time - but the gusts were too strong and I had to slam brakes on before being catapulted again.  I climbed off the bike and started to push.

Even that was getting harder and harder.  I stopped at the top of a rise, in the lee of a bank and assessed the situation ahead.  The wind was ripping over the saddle ahead of me, the grass flattened and the rain droplets flying horizontal.  There was no point in going backwards, but could I make it forwards?  I walked out into it.  Within seconds, the bike was rammed against my leg, forcing me over, forcing me towards the steep grass verge to my left, the barbed wire.  In preference to falling again, I dropped to my knees and pressed the bike into the grass.  I was still being pushed over so I stuck my elbows and head in the grass and waited... and waited and waited.  A car passed without even stopping.  I know we're not all cyclists but if I saw a bike on its side and a person on their knees, I'd probably stop.

What little respite I got from the gust was still too strong for me to stand up.  This was it, I was stuck here forever.  My only hope, was to try walking with the bike down wind of me and - if the worst come to the worst - let go of her to blow away all the way to Aberdovey without me.  The problem was, I couldn't stand up and I couldn't stand the bike up against the wind.

I crawled around to the upwind side of my bike, every limb fighting the wind when I lifted it.  The bike bags caught the wind and I couldn't push her up so I flipped the bike upside down and over, letting the wind blow through the wheels until the handlebars were by my side.  Tentatively, I righted the bike and half-stood.  With me bent-double and the bike at 45 degrees to horizontal, we half crawled, half tripped our way up the hill, occasionally stopping to let the back wheel come back down to earth as my bike behaved like a kite, occasionally stopping for me to drop to my knees in the gusts, ramming my handlebars into the road.

Walking on the right hand side next to the embankments was less breezy but the saddle of the hill was almost impossible as all winds channelled up the valley into a 6ft gap.

After an eternity of battling I reached a view point - a wonderful slate wall offering wind protection.  I was joined by 6 more passengers to the wind.  We all empathised about the conditions, ate, checked our teddy-bears and tried to make some plans.  Someone said, "oh, and here's the rain, 25 minutes early".  "What time is it?" I asked, as medium-sized droplets started to pelt us through the gaps in the slate.  "1:30". It was time for some food - 4 hours had lapsed and I hadn't eaten.  Lunch was a cereal bar.

Not pouting.  This is my "angry at the weather" face.  Nobody pouts with food on their face.

I was worried about the descent off the other side.  The cross wind climb was bad enough but the thought of doing it with any speed behind me filled me with dread and I didn't relish the idea of a long downhill hike.  89km was starting to go down the toilet.

Thankfully, just over the brow, my route took a turn off the road onto a broad gravel trail which snaked its way through the Cwms and reservoirs west of Dylife and into my first checkpoint.

Rain sheeting across the dam at the tiny Llyn Cwm Byr and my trail snaking off into the cloud.

It was an enjoyable down hill, the worst of the wind taken away by the hillsides and rough grass surface that had replaced farmland meadows in the valley.  I plotted my route along the track and into the trees, instead of following the edge of the valley down river on an alternate bridleway.  I don't know which was best but I enjoyed the temporary shelter afforded by the forest for a while before arriving at the Afan Hengwm to the next checkpoint at Llyn Llegad Rheidol.

I laid my bike down and hiked up and down the banks for a while, trying to decide how the hell to cross the roaring river when out the corner of my eye I saw movement.  A lone BearBone was standing on the bridge up stream - a bridge I may not otherwise have noticed - so I pushed and hauled my bike over rocks to reach his previously known position, crossing the river unscathed (though not by any means dry).  He did not notice me, he chose a different path and I do not know who he was but I am very grateful to him.

Another tiny watery blip in the mountains came at 16:09 which, had it been a nice day, would probably have been sunset.

No sooner had I regained the trail, I realised where I was.  I got my feet wet here before - falling off the boulders (now submerged) the last time I crossed this river and didn't notice the bridge.  It was in the BB 200 route and I recalled that the worst was yet to come.  Please please please I thought, don't say I routed myself that way.

Not much further

I didn't - although I did hike-a-bike push into the "sunset" up a 20 degree slope of clod and I couldn't help think of Ben Alder in Scottish "summer".  It was the kind of climb I enjoy because I like wild walks and sometimes I just happen to take my bike on them but also it's the kind of climb I'm glad I'm not putting someone else through my poor route choices because they'd be miserable.  However, 45 minutes later I was at the slightly larger Nant-y-Moch reservoir.  It was 1645 and I still hadn't had lunch.  By now I was pouring brazil nuts and fruit into my gob straight from the bag so straight road sections like this were very welcome.  This reservoir also had two high walls along the dam which gave me some respite from the weather and clearly made me rather happy.

I crossed this dam en route to the next checkpoint, its sister reservoir, Llyn Craigypistyll.  By 4:45 and no lunch, I wasn't thinking too well and I was soaked to the skin.  At the other side of the dam, I found a sheltered spot (still wasn't very sheltered) and carried out the, now very necessary, task of adding a layer on my top.  I considered switching my baggy shorts for waterproof trousers - the wet leggings were no longer cutting it without the warmth of daylight.  Unfortunately my favourite trousers don't permit me to pull them on over boots so I didn't brave the extra exposure and opted for faster riding instead.  My last act was to wring the water out of the bear's feet and pack him away in my rucsac in the vain hope that he might stay slightly drier and slightly lighter (it didn't work).

The road was a welcome relief from bog-hopping and gravel-bashing and I smashed out a few ks on the road before following the route up a dirt track.  I soon noticed it was an out-and-back and whilst I knew I'd routed an out-and-back, I didn't actually expect myself to be this far round so soon so I checked the Garmin.

I was indeed en route to Llyn Craigypistyll - a place I later found out had been placed to encourage a rather fun descent.  I set off again and ground my way up the slope - which was hard, knowing I'd have to retrace my pedal-strokes soon enough.  Just as I was losing faith, my front light caught a fawn-coloured heap of earth by the side of the road.  On top of it, perched like a rock, ground into stone, was a nightjar.  Its beady eye briefly assessed my incursion on its surroundings and in a flash it was airbourne, leaving me to question what I had just seen.  I'm fairly new to twitching and since I have read about the nightjar I remain intrigued by them and at a loss as to how I might one day see one of these illusive and incredibly well camouflaged nocturnal creatures. 
https://www.northwaleswildlifetrust.org.uk/wildlife-explorer/birds/swallows-swift-martins-and-nightjar/nightjar
redlist nightjar image

The blurb above indicates they're summer visitors so I'd be surprised if I really did see one.  Chances are they bugger off in this weather - though temperatures are decidedly May-like at the moment so you never know.Lord knows how you spot one on foot as a twitcher, never mind photograph the things but on the seat of a bike you suddenly illuminate stuff that didn't expect you to be there.  Maybe one day

This brush with birding notoriety brought all the satisfaction I needed to the climb so by the time I reached the locked gate across the bridleway, I was beyond redeemed.  I couldn't be arsed to lift my bike over steel so I waved at the next checkpoint, 500m below in the blackness and did a u-turn, beaming with joy at my nightjar sighting.

At the next checkpoint, Dinas, I'd dreamt of pitching up by the lakeshore by the boating hut with a fellow BearBones rider, rolling out my bivi, watching the stars from a well insulated cocoon, dwelling on a wonderful dinner and a snifty whisky.  I hadn't actually looked at where it was into my route but it looked like somewhere sheltered and quiet.

As it was, I rolled down the friendly access driveway to the reservoir and peered over.  I could just about see the water ahead but little else in my light.  Certainly the boat houses on the map were on the other side of this gate and it was still only 6pm.

I did a U-Turn and headed back out.

After Dinas, my route turned up onto a bridleway which cut off the road section through Ponterwyd then headed towards the next checkpoint - the butterfly park.  However, at 6pm, I needed to eat and my general plan was to head for the nearest conurbation and keep hunting until I found real food.

Better than looking at my Garmin, when I spilled out on to the road, there were streetlights glowing through the rain and there was nowhere else I wanted to be but by the warm glow of those streetlights.  I passed the bridleway entrance and freewheeled down the hill towards the village.

At the tee junction, I could see a BP garage to the right and at least decided to seek coffee, chocolate and directions - possibly use of a toilet.  I locked up the bike and squelched indoors.  "Don't be alarmed", I said.  The lady behind the counter smiled whilst I got my coffee and chose chocolate.

"I think the others have mostly gone to the pub" she said.  It's like she read my mind - and yet I was pleased that there were "others" in the area.  Clearly I was not alone.  We chatted whilst I drank my coffee and dripped on the floor.  I explained we had all started at different times and were doing different things so I didn't know if any more would come.  From what I'd heard, I didn't expect so.  Most people seemed to have a plan to bail out or sleep in their cars.

I asked if I could use the loo but then she pointed out she'd just given me directions to a nice warm pub - fair point.  I'm glad someone's brain was working.

As promised, as soon as I turned out of the garage (right - so it was a good call not to go left into the village), I saw the lights of the pub.  I couldn't see the others' bikes out front so went to my usual spot in the beer garden with the bike hidden from the road and locked to a picnic table.  Good job as I forgot to bring the garmin in and wasn't frickin going back out for it until it was time to leave.

I gathered together electronics, dry gloves for the departure and clean waterproof trousers and dry top for the pub.  Inside was a small bar with Reg, Froggy, Steve, Rich, Psling and Kev(Raggedstone) huddled at the table by the fire.  I was welcomed with cries of "don't sit down!" although the barman very happily brought me a bin bag to park my wet backside on.  For a while I took a table to myself - intending to ABSOLUTELY FILL it with food - leaving no space for anyone else but was joined by Psling and Kev (I think) to eat our meals together.

They tried to second-guess where I'd been but I was too tired to remember and had left the Garmin on my bike.   Eventually I remembered to say I was heading for Elan and they concluded I was going to Claerwen Reservoir on the way.  They warned me of the one ford I had to cross - which they thought was rideable - and then told me all the others had bridges. I bloody hoped so.  Since the Highland Trail (and in fact, before it) I've been wary of being washed away - with or without my bike - and today's experiences of the breeze, weren't helping.

At a changing of the guard, three souls set off into the wet and windy weather to bivi/bothy whilst others debated taking a room for the night over additional courses, pints, deserts and further tea (me).

Sitting by the fire with my socks, boots and tops drying on the hearth gradually increased the likelihood that I would venture back out for the night.  I'd come to prove myself to myself, not to hunker down in a hotel or get a lift home.  It was only one night after all and I had a new sleeping bag to test which is rated to 0 degrees so perfect conditions were prevailing and may not be later into winter.

A lemon meringue pie was the final calorie loading I needed... and a wash down with tea and then I set off into the mizzle (brief respite in the storm) to hack out a few more miles.  On up the road, the empty empty road.  This is why I like riding in the dark and poor weather.  I eventually reached the butterfly house at 1042 pm.  A quick scout revealed I wasn't going to get away with joining the butterflies in the polytunnel for the night so I retraced to the true display of the darkness, the light show taking place at the Cwn Reidol Reservoir weir - all blue and green.  Very nice.

To sate the cold seeping into my bones, I took the bridleway up the slope above the village for a brief hike to get the blood flowing.  There had been talk of bothies and Devils' bridge whilst I was in the pub but I didn't take notice.  Both the sleeping bag and the Trep were on test so I continued with my resolve to sleep wherever the mood took me - be it in desperation or by stumbling across something dry and/or sheltered.  I don't mind rainy sleeps too much - especially when it's only the one night - but I can't abide snorers or farters or alarm clocks or phone notification in the middle of the night and being forced to get up and get out from the dry is worse than deciding for myself I'm too wet/cold/need to get moving.

Still, as I passed through Devil's bridge, I started to open my eyes to shelter opportunities and just as I was about to turn my back on the area, I noticed a small woodland just off the road with picnic tables.

For a while I jostled down the path, hoping there would be some more discrete tables away from the road but it just got wetter and wetter so I reverted to the roadside table and set up a bivi on the table with a tarp over my bike to keep boots, coat, helmet, socks and rucsac dry.  I emptied my food into my bag and - for the first time ever - climbed inside wet.  There had been a break in the rain - just long enough to get set up but as I began to get ready to climb in the rain restarted so getting into dry clothes went out the (non-existent) window.  I decided to save them for the morning - or mishap.

A few things went wrong here.  I should've bivvied on the ground and used the tarp to keep the rain off my head.  Instead I pulled the bivi over my head so spent the night breathing into it building up condensation.

I forgot a pillow - all my dry clothes were in the bag that I use as a pillow.  I used a sit mat that I'd brought for comfort and stacked my gloved hands under my head.  It worked for a bit but my shoulders got tight.  Eventually I pulled my drip dried rain coat inside to use that which worked remarkably well with a fleece hat on to protect my head from the wet.  However, the coat eventually spread out and wasn't much of a pillow.

Given the slightly damp sleep I was getting, it isn't surprising that I woke with the alarm 2.5 hours later, slightly chilly and ready to go.  The down bag had hydrophobed (just as it says on the tin) so that was good but it wasn't getting enough loft in this bivi to do a great insulating job.  In future I might be testing my old bivi for a looser fit.

At 3:30am though, I was relatively raring to go.  I was keen to live up to my plan to complete all of the checkpoints and needed all the time I could get.  Also, it wasn't *actually* raining.

Wake up photo.

And looking into the trees from the slimy-est picnic bench ever invented.

Alarming happy camper.

Kit packed away reasonably quickly, I set about devouring the chocolate stash for breakfast.  A boost a boost, a chocolate boost! Pont Rhyd Groes passed in my bike lights.  I spend much of my bike packing life noseying at expensive country town properties perched perilously on steep road climbs - they are some of the moments I remember most from Ireland, the Braunton 150, many bearbones and audax events - steep, silent communities.

Reluctance to leave town with its tempting bus stops, led me to quiz the Garmin.  How far was it to my next checkpoints?  Was there even any point in being here?  Fortunately I worked out it was around 15km to get there and then there were 3 within a 10k radius.  It was worth it, if only to pass the time before I could phone for a tempting recovery at a decent hour.

Then eventually I stepped out onto the moors, the chossy chossy moors.  For a good while I pushed over clods in the darkness.  At 5am I questioned my life choices.  I made some reasoned guess that I'd see the land start to lighten in 2 hours (surely, there'd be an hour-long sunrise?).  At 5:30 I lost my way.  In pushing along a trod, I'd missed my path.  For a while I hoped it was a Garmin mapping error as there was no alternative route shown on my map and the actual course was exactly 200m to my right (ergo, at the bottom of a bloody big hill) but where the track turned right 90 degrees, mine did not.  Reluctantly I saved my ride and got the other GPS out - the one with the OS maps on.  I was on the wrong path.  The one I had been following was a footpath and stopped in the middle of the moor and went nowhere - possibly to a grouse butt?  I turned tail and retraced - thankfully the trod becoming more rideable downhill - and found my route.  I could see the headlines, "Hypothermic mountainbiker dies on moors - she had a map, compass, dry clothes - everything she needed yet she didn't act".

More lonely civilisation at the building with the right hand turn - trying to sneak through the gate without waking the obvious dog.  He barked a few times then couldn't be bothered.  Me, I zipped down the road - happy to be picking up speed again.  Even the steep road climbs couldn't damp my appetite and I enjoyed every single inlet along the Claerwen reservoir as I eked my way towards the checkpoint dam.  They were long kms but they were fast-ish (except for the occasional hike-a-puddle) so they all added up to knocking ks off the route.

In a gradual lightening of the sky Claerwen was as close as could be to a sunrise.

Somewhere along the byway next to Claerwen reservoir I noticed that the banks of the road, the fields next to me were no longer dark grey but fawny-grass colour.  The day had arrived.  I'd been riding for 4 hours.  The river crossings were going extremely well but eventually it had to come didn't it?  The ford loomed large - over 30 ft of water crossing to be done.  I checked up and downstream for a bridge but there really wasn't one and where the channels were narrower they were also deeper.  There was nothing else for it.

I didn't ride it, I strode out across it purposefully with the bike downstream so it wouldn't pull me over.  My boots and socks were already saturated so it really didn't matter - except my left leg warmer had slipped down so that was now in the full flow of the water and also saturated.  It still wasn't as bad as my May Corrieyarick pass crossing.

I carried on for a while after until I could find a sheltered spot to sit down, relieve myself of the sloshing boost full of water and pull my leggings up to "dry out" inside my waterproof trousers.  A peppermint cream made an excellent addition to this activity.  Little did I realise that I was being gained on!

If you look just to the right of this pic you can see Javi enjoying the moment.

I nearly didn't pic the dam.  Having stopped to eat something and empty the water out of my boots, I was keen to get going but just at the last minute I decided to keep my records.  As I turned in a layby to take this shot, an orange coat came into view, pointing out at the reservoir and possibly taking his own pics.

Further down the road I was joined by a sprightly Karl, Javi and 2 others (sorry, didn't register) who had a quick chat.  Javi telling me they were heading into Llan (this is what I heard) for some foooood and Karl regaling me with stories of Javi's alarm going off every 2 minutes for the last hours of their kip.  THIS right here is why I don't do bothies.

It was great to have their company for a moment but there was no way I was keeping up so I left them to their fooooooood and headed back up on my own path, secretly pining for a few hash browns and a coffee but instead burrowing into the Brazil nuts from the night before.  It didn't occurr to me that they were going to ELAN.

My turn was up to the checkpoint of Penygarreg Reservoir which I photographed on the way up, whilst still pondering turning back for whatever cafe the boys were going to, having already decided I was still behind and needed to make it to Elan! The fact that I'd just ridden away from The Elan Cafe didn't register.  Clearly I have to be careful about my brain not working at this early hour of the morning.

Instead of heading "straight back" I stuck to my route, in search of a last elusive checkpoint that didn't exist.  Still, good things come to those who fuck up.

I don't know if I chose the worst route over to the Wye valley to head home but there's every chance.  Without any breakfast in me, I resorted to the thing I was carrying that most closely represented a meal - beef jerky.  I haven't eaten beef jerky since Audax ruined it for me but have continuously carried a bag around for moments just like these.

Protein, sugar and a vague essence of chilli which is enough to persuade the body it might be hot food.  I munched up the valley and the world became a beautiful place.  With this descent off the hillside to enjoy,  it's hard to argue that the tussock hopping to get there wasn't worth it.  At best I was following a quad / dirt bike trail and then I got this as a reward.

Down.

At the head of the Wye valley is Llangurig.  I've been there at breakfast time before and EVERYTHING was shut.  There was a very real risk that if everything was shut this time, I would phone for a husband taxi.  However, I remembered my Banksy (courtesy of Fitz), "If you get tired, learn to rest, not to quit".  Also, I think @Jenny Graham, "Never quit when you're hungry".  I had no qualms about walking into the Blue Bell inn in the hope of a meal.  The very real hope.

"We've got beef or lamb roast and the normal menu" she said.  I grabbed the menu and just stared at it.  "You know what?  Beef roast sounds great".

It wasn't until it arrived I realised I was eating *MORE* beef.  Lots of beef.  It was irrelevant.  I devoured it, the roast potatoes the parsnip, the extra boiled potatoes, the cauli.  I had no room for another plate of carrots and turnips.  I texted TSK to see where he was - out on his bike and eating in Mac.  That put paid to any temptation to get a lift home.

Despite the rest and the feed, I still felt like bailing out but I promised myself I'd ride, crawl back if I had to.  Indeed I knew I couldn't look myself in the eye if I'd got a pick up - never mind anyone else.  I remembered as I walked out that I had forgotten to lock my bike up.  Despite everything we've been through together, I was disappointed to find she hadn't been stolen.  I guess I'd need to ride it back then.

I'd plotted myself a lovely route back on the back-roads and forest roads around the back of the Staylittle / Clywedog valley but I couldn't remember their condition and / or steepness so for some reason I justified taking the main B4518 to get back.  I know it's a horrid road - I've ridden the opposing East side of Llyn Clywedog before in howling winds last year and looked across the lake at the succession of steep climbs on the other side.  For some reason I suddenly justified the struggle over ease of navigation and completely discounted the alternative Haffren Forest route which I've also done before.  I was pretty proud of myself for holding it together on the 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 5th climb and riding it but when it came to the 6th, 7th and 8th climbs (I didn't even know existed), I got off and walked.  Again, thank fuck for bad weather, there were very few other vehicles on the road.

Getting full value for money, I lolled into Llanbrynmair at 4:30.  Perfect time for tea, toast, cake.  Not the last one home, with two of my pub-mates still to come in - not far behind me - and the others already telling tales of a nice night in a shed and the train ride home from Mac.

It was a late one to bed back in Sheffield, especially since I insisted on doing the laundry to avoid the sticking pile of mess on Monday morning so bears-and-all (except us) went in the wash. 

Even fluffier than before

On Monday morning I slept through my  race alarms - 3:30am, 4:30am, 5am - only getting woken up by my 9am move alert on my watch to which the words, "Fuck I should be at work now" crossed my lips.  No Bearbones shower, I dressed for the office, threw in a few towels in case I got time for a shower at lunchtime and drove to work for my meeting, still smelling of sweat, damp and cowshit.  Thankfully the meeting start time was 10am so I got 20 minutes for a workplace shower and went into the rest of the day slightly tired and smelling mostly of a guy from the Lynx advert.  If I hadn't had bags under my eyes, I don't think the ladies in the office could have kept their hands off me.

Thanks to everyone that kept me company this weekend - no matter how briefly.  Thanks to Stu for the dots and Dee for feeding us and looking after us, even though you were poorly.

Riding to the Seaside for Decembivi

A sneaky check of my phone at the work Christmas do and there's a text from my buddy Karl, randomly asking if I want to do a 600 this weekend.

Excitement runs riot. The last 600  I did, I failed miserably - 5 hours out of time due to howling winds in my face for the first 200k. Here's a speedy wheel to sit on but, guys, like, December!

I  SAY I'll look at the weather in the morning and decide. I return to the party and mostly forget about it.

A number of pokes later over text, despite 3 degrees temps, rain forecast, more howling winds, I still have major FOMO. I doubt I can manage a 600 this weekend.  If I am physically able is one thing, but I have a new starter at work on Monday, I'm in charge and I would be doing both her and myself a disservice to come into work exhausted.  SO I do the right thing, check my maps and make a plan to meet Karl part way into his ride with my own plan to get home from somewhere like Donnington, on the return leg on Saturday.  I need to get a December bivi in and I decide that this weekend is as good as any other which may end up colder or wetter.

The hardest part was eking out an extra two hours in the office on Friday night but a bit of faffing got me out the door at 6.45 to pump up the tyres I put on the night before and hadn't quite sealed yet.  Straight onto the Northbound bike lanes by Meadowhall and then a lot of navigational faux-pas as I tried to pick up the old Woodhead road much earlier than usual.  The Garmin got sworn at a lot and eventually I resorted it mountain bike trails I know through Greno woods, culminating in me pushing the fully loaded Tripster, Dignity, up a steep gravel trail. Highland Trail training well and truly commenced.

Next, the Trans Pennine trail, studiously joined at the muddiest section. It must have been chilly because the tunnels felt warm and welcoming.

As soon as I got out of the embankments around 8.30 I turned the phone on for a bit. I was trying to meet Karl at 9.30 and I only had 10k to go across Silkstone common to join his route.

"In Greenfield, I'll get there as soon as I can".  He was a little late but that was fine, I re routed Northwards a bit to meet him sooner, planning to come off the trail at Penistone and head straight North towards Shepley.

I also realised I'd foolishly left work without a plan to eat, though a 3 course Christmas dinner at work was a good substitute, I now had time for some food.

I propped up my bike by the chippy window in Penistone and chatted to kids and parents just leaving the local orchestra practise.

Sainsbury's next to get some snacks for the road. I couldn't get my cable lock to work as the combination got fubar'd some time ago so I used the ziptie lock and rushed in and out again, the area riddled with boy racers and drunk teenagers.  My total haul was a bag of M&Ms and a 6 pack of popcorn which I stuffed in every available orifice of my bike bags, leading Karl think I had more stuff on my bike than I really did. That's what happens when I pack with 48 hours notice.

Onto Royd moor and the wind started to build up. Mostly it was cross-ways but when I turned into it, I was standing on the pedals with all my might to get up the slightest of hills. I'd killed a lot of time in Penistone and now progress was painfully slow. I topped out about 10pm and, looking around for somewhere  to stop, spied a petrol station, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, down the hill from me.

I decided to stop there to check Karl's spot and see where he was.

As I rolled into the forecourt, a blue Tripster awaited, signatory bikepacking gear dangling. I had no idea what bike he rides on the road but what are the chances of some other loon being out at 10pm with a loaded bike, half way across the Pennines in December?  Sure enough, a friendly van driver pointed me towards the coffee machine where my wheel-date was waiting with a hot coffee. Timing could hardy have been more perfect.

Coffee'd up we set off into the night under the guide of the pink line on the map for an absolutely ripping descent, traffic free and tail wind assisted.

We talked for hours, catching up on our BB200/300 experiences and about Highland Trail (mine just reccies) stories.

Sometimes it's great when the ride is the uneventful part and I was mining for information.

There was a railway crossing for some brake servicing and a fenland track to be navigated in the dark which led us to a very attractive-looking fisherman's shed.  Tempting as it was, it was too early and too cheeky to break and enter and bed down across the drain from the house, with a clearly marked 'private property' notice outside.

We threaded through villages, stopping occasionally for me to switch routes as I had accidentally downloaded the 6 segments off the website but the segments took us along more pleasant lanes so wasn't entirely wasted effort.

Around 2am we both conceded we 'probably' should stop soon as I had stopped chatting for the first time in 5 hours and gone a bit quiet. Yes, reader, I looked down at my Garmin to see it  was 1.35am then realised that was the distance to go to the end of my Garmin segment (1.35 km). It was actually 3.30am and I laughed at the fact I was no more tired than if I'd gone to a friends house and sat on the sofa drinking wine and chatting till 3 am.  This says as much about the tail wind we'd had as it did about the fact we'd only spent 5 minutes together since May.

Still, with 1km to go and still buoyed by enthusiasm to ride on, we were struggling to find a bivi spot as everywhere looked kind of wet. A few churches looked promising but they were finely regaled in bright Christmas lights and near to lively-looking local pubs or busy roads.

Soon, though, the brown signs started to appear for Hessle country park.  With parks come picnic  benches offering dry surfaces or dry under-surfaces.

We pulled in. It wasn't the quietest and definitely not dark with a full moon and street lighting but the trees gave enough cover and there was the promise of morning toilets.  The picnic benches had been dried in the breeze but I opted for the damp floor which was well drained and soft whilst Karl took to the bench itself to... I dunno, practice sleeping on a precipice?

We each bedded down, discussed the relative merits of sleeping under moving branches then slinked off into our own cocoons, me vaguely aware that I was starting to drown on something distinctly cold-like.  I did not fall asleep easily, though I was warm and cozy.  For a while my face remained exposed - as much as it can with a hat pulled over my eyes.  I fidgeted somewhat but my brain was still buzzing from the evening's entertainment and the exhilaration of staying awake on the bike for so long.

The joy was soon replaced with anxiety as the breeze in the park changed and picked up.  The wind rushed through the suspension cables on the bridge and I worried that our passage in the morning might be impaired by a closed bridge - should we have bivi'd on the other side?

It got a bit chilly with the bivi inflating in the new wind direction so I zipped over my head and opened the side zip instead, glad I'd chosen to sleep close to the ground - boundary layer fluid dynamics floating round my brain as the lights went out.

I told Karl, like every great new friendship, I'd hate him in the morning when he woke me up.  I was awake before him but stayed where I was for a while, hoping he would just get up for a pee and go back to bed, but no, he rustled the bivi and my snoozing was over. 

 

I had a proper good faff to get going.  My schedule isn't quite as honed and my sleeping bag is far fluffier.  My priorities centred around popcorn consumption and a long hike for a pee as the warden was occupying the ladies' toilet. Karl's theory - that the warden was more scared of us than we were of him - seemed well founded as he cowered behind the steel bars and sent me slinking off into the undergrowth for a private pee and change of leggings away from enthusiastic runners and dog-walkers.

An hour later, we were in a café in Hessle, tucking into a breakfast and so much tea, the owner regretting opening his door so early.  Given the lack of veggie breakfast I tucked into a selection of "extras".

And so the bridge!  Slightly less terrifying than crossing the Severn, there was more space, less traffic and a glorious low sun which made everything just a bit gorgeous, especially Karl's pirate impressions (cough).

I can't remember when the day stopped being fun.  We had second breakfast at which I started to contemplate quitting earlier than planned but agreed that there was no point until I'd eaten something.  The cake was wonderful but the coffee was awful.  I hatched a plan to keep going till I'd had enough.  At least within easy riding of the route were: Gainsborough, Boston, Lincoln, Sleaford, Nottingham, Derby... etc. - all of which had stations leading back home.

At 1pm we found a pub for lunch which was very fine.  Both of us were a bit done-in and we loitered a bit over rehydration and sugary drinks.  My nose dripped with increasing frequency and my body started to feel a bit heavy.  Coming outside to a flat-ish tyre wasn't great but the pressure went back in so we set off again.  I spent a lot of time staring at Karl's back tyre ahead of my own then staring at his left sock as I sat in the sweet spot slightly left of centre, cowering from the wind.  I checked the speed radars: with me on my own I was cracking out 10mph.  At least in his slipstream (when he managed to ride slow enough), we were managing 16mph. 

Eventually I tired (pun) of the view - there's only so long you can stare at a sock - and we diverted onto a minor road (my route again) to get off the main road that was forcing us to ride single file.  At least on the back-road we could ride side by side and enjoy the scenery as we (I)  tore our (my) knee ligaments apart.

When we got to Gainsborough, I knew it was time for me to quit.  I felt weak with a head-cold and my right knee was just struggling.  Whilst I tried to insist on sending Karl on his way, he seemed more up for ditching the dual carriage way we'd found ourselves on, and diverting through town to navigate me to the station, saving me a frustrating Garmin search.  We said our goodbyes and I set off up the platform to check where the train that was sat there was headed.  Sheffield - NICE!

So, whilst Boothy carried on valiantly into the evening, I warmed up at the hospitality of First Great Western whilst eating more popcorn and M&Ms, in between blowing my increasingly drippy nose and dot watching.

I was duly delivered to Sheffield station (after a good 40 minutes sleep restoration) where I rode up the steep hill to home quicker and easier than any head-wind I'd battled against that morning.

On loading my ride to Strava I clocked myself a QOM - in the category of "no woman in her right mind has brought a bike up that".  A tiny Avenue I'm sure I've been up before on a bike, but there you go, now I rule it alongside some bloke called Simon.

So no brilliant and glorious finale to my 12 of 12 Bivis a month, just a quiet (conversational) limp through.  It was exceptional to finish the year off in company, freshly motivated by resolutions and advice and general scab-picking over options and choices for the HT.

This weekends ride did what some BAMs before it have done - got me out when I didn't necessarily feel like it and shaken me about, blown the cobwebs off and taught me something.  With the winter ride coming up, I'm anticipating an ongoing theme...

Till then, it's cloth badge time.

Novembivi

I couldda taken the bivi gear to spain but I didn't and instead headed out with the bivi and bag but no tarp to a sheltered spot I've regularly passed at just the wrong time.

This visit I was slow enough to make it by 10.15 pm and thankfully the space was vacant. 

Got a great day for sunshine and moon-rises and a great night's sleep, waking at 5am for the ride home to get a shower and pack for 3 days away with work.

It was raining when I got up. Talk about making the most of the weekend.

Novembug

November has been horrible - and its only the 9th. It feels like it's been a month long already.

I have spent the best part of the first few days of this month in bed, in between bouts of vomiting and sitting on the bog.💩.

It started with a trip to Norfolk (no not like that) and relinquished enough for me to get up last weekend and do a 'cross race. Then reinstated itself with a vengeance on Tuesday and Wednesday.  I drove to work on Thursday (still weak but well) then mysteriously still felt ill at work on Friday after managing to ride in.

And so... my powers of deduction lead me to believe that my Camelbak bike bottle is poisoning me.  I took it to Norfolk, I drank from it on the way back from 'cross and carried it to work on my bike on Friday.  It's had one replacement lid due to a crack and now the nipple is black and I just can't be arsed to clean it a second time.  It's to the bin, which is a shame as it's probably the best thing I've ever won at a triathlon - third place in my first ever vet race.  Still, all good things come to an end.

Today I felt well again after a walk into town and so I have finally ventured out for a run.  The bike trails are a mess after this week's flooding so I thought I'd give them - and the bike washing a break (as I expect to be washing 'cross bikes tomorrow).

Oh how I've missed running.

I was in such a panic to bike the whole way through last year - if I was well enough to run I should be mountain biking.  By the time I realised running - or hard hill climbing was half the battle in the Highland Trail, I'd already missed out on too much running to casually take it up.

I miss running on the trails and fells.  The freedom.  Talking with fell runner friends last weekend, they reinforced my feeling of being trapped by the bridleways on the bike.  Not only are the innumerably more footpaths than bridleways, I can literally run anywhere on the open moorland above Sheffield.  The route choices are, in effect, endless.

Whilst trails by bike light are one thing, a head torch run is another level.  The light transmission just about keeps up with the feet and the run speed is perfect to appreciate the light bouncing back from the silver under-side and gold upper-face of leaves.  On a wet evening, everything glistens brighter in the light of a head-torch so no matter what the weather, a night run is often better for the soul than a day run.

And the fitness benefits - not to forget those.  I can ride further than I ever could nowadays but slowly. what I need to do is keep the long rides but be as fit as I was when I was racing team GB.  Deadly.

There will be more of this... at least I hope I can keep it up.

Bivi A Month - to be different October

I could claim BearBones 200 as my October BAM but, given the opportunity to legitimately bike camp under the Derwent Water dam as part of my Fell Running club, I could not resist this weekend's beer and volunteer deal.

Dark Peak Fell Runners hosted the annual Fell Relays this weekend, with 1800+ competitors and supporters to move between a carpark in Bamford and Fairholmes car park at Derwent reservoir, all hands were required on-deck.  As a gift, the organisers put on a little do in a marquee at Fairholmes with camping options. 

On Friday afternoon I packed quite a lot of comfort gear into 2 paniers on my hardy but silly Tripster ATR and Lauff forks and wobbled my way over the A57 in rush hour traffic.

By the time I left Sheffield, I reckon 50% of people passing were fell runners (who are closely related to long distance bike packers more than they'd care to admit) who gave me lots of room. 

It started raining as I hit the bottom of the valley outside my house and continued.  I added the waterproof and sweated up / chilled on the way down.  It got properly enjoyable when I turned onto the Kings Road to Fairholmes, relatively traffic free as all fell runners were suitably fed and inebriated by then.

I hadn't booked so had brought pasta and sauce to brew but then there were enough burgers to go round so I "helped".  The tin mug got used for beer from a keg. 

The tent had a brilliant layout with most of the party camped at one end and a few (including myself) grumpy old gits pitched at the other end behind a van to drown out the noise of the party and generator and get out of the lights.  Not necessary though as the loud waterfall of water pouring over the dam from the last few weeks rain was sufficient white noise to cancel out most din.  I went for a short walk in the dark and drizzle before bedding down at 10:30.  I'm told the party ended about midnight but I was already sound asleep - with the tent, thickest sleep bag, extra blanket, fleece trousers and down booties on hand - luxury indeed.

Tent within a tent

In the morning I burned some porridge - on the basis a gas stove is much stronger than a meths one.  Fortunately it was still palatable if a little brown and crispy in places.  The stove was too large for the little mug so I balanced it on the lid of the big mug which will forever now have a discolouration ring to remind me of this day.

I probably disturbed most people but I had to be down at the Bus stop in Bamford for an 8am briefing.  I packed up and spent 15 minutes trying to get one of the sponsors' vans into the race field before heading off on my own path down to Bamford.

There I was equipped with an attractive plastic hi-vis vest and spent the morning dancing in a pair of gardening gloves to direct motorists to park in the car park in stead of attempting to pull into our bus stop.  We dispatched 1800 runners plus their packs / gazebos / cakes over a few hours without causing any traffic disruption or delaying local buses (except for a minute here or there).

Fetching

I spent my lunch brewing soup and coffee whilst standing by on the radio to start dispatching the busses back to Fairholmes to bring people home.  Had a walk by the river and realised it's a long time since I've just SAT in the countryside and enjoyed it... though the bus view was a little off-putting.

Unloading the buses was hectic, matching teams to gear and trying not to get buses and cars picking up kit crossed over. 

Still, we did it.  Happy to report that a bunch of people walked back and there were 140 bikes on the racking provided for the sustainable option.  A good warm up for a fell race.

After all the excitement I forgot I had to ride home.  My bags were heavy, having not eaten my food from the night before and picked up a discarded sandwich box.  I also had the burden of three jerseys that I failed to pass on to other people. 

Faced with needing to walk up the A57 because I didn't have the gears, I instead opted to ride up to Stanage and back over the Moors.  Much walking ensued but at least I wasn't getting close-passed by HGVs.  I cursed as I realised I'd added a lot more climbing to my route.  Still, I texted TSK and he had the oven on and the timer pinged as I walked through the door, cold and starving. 

56km, 1000m.

Bearbones 200 2019

Somewhere along the way I forgot that I've got this.   A few weeks ago, I attempted a 200k ride for funsies.  I took two nights out with my kit, leaving from work on Friday and returning home on Sunday afternoon - as many brew stops and cafe stops and lying-down stops as I needed.  I arrived home happy but very very tired after 4000m of climbing.

When the BB200 route was published with 5600m climbing in it, I seriously wondered how I'd be.  "just like last weekend but with an extra vertical mile on the end".  Doesn't sound too do-able with a 25kg loaded mountain bike.

I took what remaining leave I had - a day after the race and a half day before the race and arranged to work from home on Friday morning.  I drove to Oswestry on Friday afternoon for the usual fill of food and a great travel lodge night.

Arriving at Llanbrynmair to find friends from the HT 550, having ridden in from somewhere, I walked out with their teeshirts for onward transportation later.  By the time I'd waited out a shower in the van, they'd set off and so I decided to do the same instead of sit around drinking tea and getting nervous. 

Someone in a camper stopped me heading out the wrong way Mick? - sorry I didn't see you it was dark in there.  Stu booked me out at 07:50.  I needed all the daylight hours I could get.  I momentarily wondered if I should have got more to eat but it was too late, I was underway now - no turning back.

Eventually I turned off-road with a few people for company.  We splashed through puddles on the trail and my new friend, David, moaned that he wanted my bike which miraculously bounced and cut through the water whilst he had to push his gravel bike around the puddles.  It was all relative though as David's legs miraculously pedalled past me again on every hill climb.

He gleefully informed me that the wet bit was still to come.  Apparently this bog has form.

I managed not to get my feet wet, largely by being tall and bridging across every stream.  I was smug.  I spent a little time wondering how the chap in front was managing to ride through the chossy path we were on then realised he'd found a different path.  An adjustment in elevation by 1m put us in a much better place and I sat down for a bit to snack and watch a steady stream of slightly faster riders pass.

At the stream with incredibly steep sides, I was chuffed at carrying my bike up the slope.  Work in the gym and a few hundred quid on carbon Jones bars has paid off and I can now pick the bike up loaded from the ground.  Convenient sheep trods made it easy to place back on terra firma.

Every silver lining has a cloud though, and just as David announced the "end of the worst bit", I crossed a river at the wrong point, slid off a rock, got my bike wedged and plunged in upto my knee, dropping my bike fully into the water.  Only one food pack came out the other side dry.

I heard a ladies' voice coming down the slope behind us as I stopped to remove my boot to empty the water from it and wring out my sock.  Thankfully, brand-new socks are great at sucking warm air back in to replace the wet and my foot was soon warm again.

The lady who caught me up was Hetti and we had a chat for a while before she rode on ahead and then I passed her eating sandwiches at a gate.  Somewhere in the distance recesses of my mind I remembered my race planning.  Remembered thinking that I wouldn't be anywhere useful for lunch and I should pack something in.  Oh dear.  Still, I had plenty of food with me and managed to snack for the next 3 hours.  Finally, Hetti passed me back as I sat on a grit bin, eating and emptying more water from my boots.  They don't call it street furniture for nothing.

David started hunting for water top ups in villages which meant I kept passing him, self assured that I'd left that morning with a 2 litre Camelbak. 

He told me he needed to be in Barmouth by 8pm.  I said I didn't know what time I'd be in Barmouth and I think he took that as a sign and got the fuck on with it after that.

In Machnylleth I was planning on pressing on to the Co-op for a short stop but a red pedestrian crossing light and brief encounter with another rider persuaded me it was worth the detour to eat some real and warm food.  Hetti was leaving as I arrived, witness to me emptying half a pint of water out of my left hand food bag and trying to dry out my cable lock before deploying it. 

I picked the bakery which unfortunately disappointed.  Bad coffee, a paltry quantity of beans on the toast but I left with a take away scone in a paper bag.  I didn't bother with a water top up as I still had quite a lot left and Barmouth was only 4 x 200m climbs away according to my notes.

Passing by the Centre for Alternative Technology was weird.  I'd stayed there as a pre-uni student, all full of enthusiasm for the future.  'nuff said. It was a long time ago.

I tried to count off the 200m climbs but, as I thought I'd finished the third, I checked the elevation profile on the Garmin and found I was half way up the second climb. 

I stopped at a gate and drew out my buttered scone which I'd been dreaming about for some time.  It wasn't buttered at all but whole and disappointing and I hated the bakery some more.  Still, it went down OK.  Ian Barrington came past on a fat bike, bemoaning a lack of rear brake with the descent into Barmouth to do. 

Just before the last climb, the rain started to come down properly.  Finally time to drag the waterproof out but I didn't bother with the trousers.  Another rider in a red coat was caught as I moaned about the rain that wasn't booked.  We exchanged places a few times but I was ahead pulling down to Barmouth.  As I chilled out on the descent I decided I'd definitely stop in at the toilets - even if that meant I didn't get a meal in town.  (too much information alert): I hadn't had a pee for 12 hours and, despite the obvious dehydration issue, I finally needed to go.  I'd drunk the last of my water 20kms earlier and it's easier to fill up in a loo than get a cafe/hotellier to do it for you.

I was pleased enough that I'd considered Barmouth to be a sleep stop, if necessary.  Getting there in time for dinner was a massive bonus. 

Coming in out of the rain, the bogs felt warm and dry - ish.  I brought the bike in for convenience and sat on the loo with the door open, watching it.  Its tiny dynamo light dying from lack of movement.

I wrang out the socks again and poured the sloshy boot water down the loo.  My fellow rider passed, whistling.  I'm not sure he was being polite or just entertaining himself.  A few others passed whilst I regained my composure and put on a fleece.

Over the bridge into Barmouth and I couldn't face the melée of Saturday nighters, spilling out onto the pavement to drink beers.  I did a tour of the one-way system and found a Chinese restaurant with a bus stop full of teenagers opposite.  The pre-requisite holiday resort garden of monkey puzzle and palm trees provided me with a bin to lean and lock my bike to within sight of the takeaway.

I felt for the teens with nowhere else to go on a Satuday night but a drafty bus stop... whilst I sat on the bench in a chinese takeaway shovelling veg chow mein into my gob with a plastic fork, my baggy shorts round my knees to protect the bench from the dirty bum and give me the added bonus of warm ankles.  The owners didn't mind and were probably just kind of glad I didn't attempt to go in the restaurant next door.

Outside, with the teens gone, I sat amongst the discarded chips and a broken egg (?) and added leg warmers to my layers and removed the fleece that I'd put on in the toilets.  I wouldn't be needing that for a while.

Two hilly loops to the North now.  I had a sleep spot planned for one of them, with a target to stop at midnight, with rain forecast between 1am and 4am.

As the road got higher, the houses in Barmouth got fancier and then we turned off onto a mega climb where I caught up a few riders ahead as we took on the push.  We all took our own paces and occasionally had a chat.  I found solace in dark chocolate from time to time.  Desert on the move.

Down the long descent I forged ahead, some kind of brain-out, lights on mentality took over.  Getting near the bottom, navigation was challenging in the face of gates stating "no access" although clearly the only way the route could go.  I decided that access was prohibited to motor vehicles and passed by un-challenged onto the second loop.

More pushing, more chats in the dark.  My planned stop was too early and did not look so tempting in the soggy dripping darkness so I ploughed on towards midnight.  Over the summit and down another long, wide descent.  This time loose gravel started to turn me off.  Unpredictable under-wheel, undetectable in the dark and the final straw was when I rode through a seemingly-shallow puddle, only for the ground to give way and threaten to a) swallow me and b) drown me sideways. 

At the first sign of midnight and a solid patch of flat ground off the main trail I decided to roll out my mat and bivi (great combo) and pitch my tarp. 

Not surprisingly, this did not go as well as I had practised in the loft and I had to adjust it a few times before finding I could get comfortable underneath the tarp.  I'd used my bike as an anchor for one of the pegs which worked in theory but then got in the way of my feet when I lay down but I wrestled it into shape.  It wasn't easy because the ground was a bit rocky so every peg was also wedged under heavy rocks which I had to move when I moved pegs.  Not the best plan but at 1am I fell soundly asleep and at least I didn't wake up in a puddle when I first stirred at 4:45 to heavy rain. The sound of a few tyres passing wasn't enough to get me out of bed.  With 130km under my belt, I only had 70km to get through on Sunday and I didn't have to use my sleep kit again.

I went back to sleep and waited for the 5:30 alarm.  It was still raining so I snoozed until 6 when I finally decided I should get the hell up.  The tarp wasn't big enough to shelter in to make breakfast but had served well to keep my rucsac, socks, coat, shorts and boots dry overnight.  My trousers were still dry ready to go on.  They went on over the top of my full sleep kit, including putting my bib shorts on over my synthetic down coat.  I sight to behold but I didn't give a shit - it was all about getting the waterproofs on and staying warm since I was setting off on a descent.

I was dismayed I'd left my bar bag open and poured a pint of water out of that.  Thankfully the dry bag inside it was closed, leaving a dry haven for the clothes that had to share the bag with my tarp and bivi bag.  The hydrophobic down sleeping bag did its thing and packed away with just a surface coating of rain drops.  The sleep mat stayed relatively dry as I packed it away in the shelter and then stuffed the soggy bivi away separately. 

Thankfully, given the breakfast situation, it wasn't far to the bottom of the hill and a wonderful National Trust carpark toilet site at Tyn y Coed, complete with wooden sheltered bench.  I brewed up, made coffee and porridge and enjoyed the sound of rain whilst sitting in the dry.  As I supped my brew, Mark (another rider dressed in red) came by and said hi, asking about the cafe at Coed y Brenin.  I said I thought it opened at 8 - it was 8:10 - and he carried on up, emboldened a little bit. 

A lady in a camper pulled in to use the toilets and exclaimed, "Oh how lovely, are you having a little bike packing adventure?".  I didn't bother to explain the "race" thing and just said yes. I was so taken aback after the last few weeks of middle aged men telling me I should be scared.  She was genuinely interested and excited and wished she'd seen me earlier so I could have stopped with her. 

She drove off and I went to use the sweet, pine smelling toilet facilities too, topping up my water on the way.

In retrospect that was a little foolish as I then rode all the way up the hill to Coed y Brenin centre with an extra 1.5kg water on board and I knew it.  Despite my porridge breakfast, by the time I reached the top of the climb, I was having a little wobble.  I was absolutely starving hungry and any thought that I could have skipped the draw of the cafe evaporated (like it was never really there). 

I dropped in and hooked my bike up on the racks.  A day-rider was also waiting for them to open.  It was now 9am so I paced up and down like an impatient tiger, chatting to this guy about how hungry I was.  Finally at 9:02 the doors were opened and I went straight to eager canteen staff with my order.  Veggie breakie and coffffeeeee.  MORE.

Mark's bike was outside on the deck and I was just about to go and look for him when he walked in another entrance and brought my coffee to the table and joined me.  I reciprocated by fetching us both cutlery when my breakfast arrived and we caught up on our race so far.  He'd been out with two of the other riders (Jason and RedefinedCycles) who had passed me in the night but had become separated.  They spent the night above me (in elevation), under an excavator for shelter.  I was impressed!

I sat the table whilst he went for water top ups and toilet and he sat the table whilst I went to get dressed in the loo - add a bra, take my sleep leggings off from under my shorts.  We went our separate ways as I faffed with water - picking up some spare for the road ahead by filling my frame bottle.  There was a big loop of the Coed y Brenin forest to do.

I ignored the Yee Haws exciting about "the suspension on this one!" and carried on my slow progress through the forest, to be replaced by a long straight mountain road over the moors.  I dunno, I guess it got into everyone's head and I started catching up the boys.  RedefinedCycles, playing music called ME to prayer, if no-one else and I stopped staring at the road and started enjoying the view around me.  I rode past Mark, who said, "It just kills yer back doesn't it?"  I kept quiet - no-one likes a smart arse who's been in the gym.  Then rode on up to Jason, eating pasta and holding the gate open - hero. 

I looked at my Garmin.  50km to go and 1600m climbing left - there was my extra mile of vertical climbing and I had 50km to do it in - it felt easy.

Down into the forest again and getting near to Dolgellau where I thought I might need a lunch stop. 

As I wobbled down the narrow lanes, back in "civilisation", I had a little red car pull up behind me, beeping his horn to let me know he was there.  I wasn't too sure what he expected me to do about it so carried on riding, presumably, he wanted me to stop so his metal box could go first.  He beeped twice more before we got to the top where there was enough room for me to let him pass safely.  Which he did.  Still, the rush of adrenaline from pure annoyance made me wobbly so, having chosen the right direction I decided I'd rather cook the food I was carrying around.  Food, unlike farts, is better in than out.

I found a dry bit of ground in the lee of a tree and boiled water.  I was eating my pasta when Mark came past, then Jason and Redefined.  I watched them all make the same mistakes, (did try to call out, honest), then waved as they rode past. 

Fuelled by pasta and being passed, I packed away quickly and set off up the road after them.  Just as a tea shop came into view.  Bugger.

I couldn't pass up the opportunity for more food and joined the others for cake, though with a belly full of hot pasta, I declined tea.  I paid and munched my scone (this time with butter), then took my tiffin out with me, leaving the others to a warm shed with a heater.  They had started out later on Saturday so had more hours to spare for a completion.

My brain started doing maths since it wasn't convinced I should have stopped.  I'd gone from 12 hours to do 70km at 8am to 5 hours to do 35km - though now with a suitable level of calories on board.  In theory do-able but I remembered we still had the Dyffi forest to go which was guaranteed to be challenging.

In the meantime though, there was some road riding to do and some of it had me off on my feet - so hardly making up any time.  The descents were steep too and a little treacherous with moss down the middle. There were two bumps to do and I'd managed to persuade myself they were the best route back to the finish and quitting now would be counter-productive.  This tricked me into thinking it wouldn't take long.  I couldn't believe there was still 4 hours of riding left and yet, the day had already taken 6 hours - where did it all go?

Finally Dyffi forest happened.  Puddles upto my handlebars - some of which were passable, most of which weren't.  I bog hopped, climbed, punted and swore my way around.  I admit to getting a bit emosh in here, pleading, "When will it stop?" and just as I thought it would, another puddle appeared.

I met another rider asking, "How far do we have to go?"  20k I said and kept pedalling because I couldn't afford any time.  I hoped he was OK, in retrospect and worried that a guy who doesn't know how far is to go might also be lost without GPS.  I knew the others were behind and hoped they would pick him up. 

Then the downhill started and, with my old bike and tight forks, I had to get off and walk / slither down.  At one point I had to set the bike down and let it slide so that it didn't take me with it as I bum-slid down behind.  I begged to please make it stop.  It was time for a rest but I didn't have time.

Finally I cruised into a beautiful patch of forest with vigour, only to sink up to my hubs in more bog.  And so it went on.

I'd been watching the Garmin trying to target a km every 10 minutes.  Fuck I could run it faster but, it got depressing as the time slid away and then when I stopped watching the Garmin, I started making navigational errors and the time slipped further away as I had to back-track.  Sometimes away from some really nice looking bridleways which took me back the way I'd come.  Doh!

Finally, down in AberAngell I could let it go on the roads.  I dropped onto the Jones bars to tt my way to the finish, only to find a tree crossing my path.  The entire crown of the tree across the road, I tried to climb through it but there was no way my bike was coming too.  I considered the field (which other riders had used) but decided not to trespass and back-tracked to the road to ride around through Cemaes.

I wasn't sure which way we'd end up riding back and suspected this was one of my least favourite roads in the area where I'd got so tired during the May ride I stopped an brewed up in a layby.  It wasn't though - it was in fact a very engaging twisty road, too hot for my waterproof but I wasn't going to stop to faff it off.  The rain stopped, the sun came out for the last time - at around 6pm and gave us a sunset and some colour to what had otherwise been a grey day with grey rain and grey rocks and dark puddles.  Suddenly the grey was swathed with green and the bracken turned to copper and life was good. 

Suddenly "Ll" came into focus on my Garmin screen and a zoom out led to a call of, "That's fucking it!" as I realised Llanbrynmair was a junction away.  The clock eaked towards 6:45 and so I sprinted for the line, through the carpark and ran my bike down the stairs and beat on the window at a surprised Dee, who peered through the lit room at the darkness outside.  She met me with a smile.  Having gone from, "I'm just gonna finish this thing, even if I need two nights out" to "back with an hour to spare", she was as pleased as I was. 

4 more riders were still out.  The three I knew about and I helped to identify Alex, the lone rider I'd seen in Dyffi, though I didn't know why he was struggling.  Not much later, Redefined, Jason and Mark arrived, to let us know that Alex had knee trouble and had asked them to leave him to ease his own way out of the woods.  He came home just as I was leaving to get changed, lessening everyone's guilt at leaving him to it.

I would have liked to do better - felt like I deserved better TBH - but it's given me a great taste of possibility and confidence this time.  No shortcuts, I now know I can finish it and the stats are a good comparator for other events.  More rest than I would have liked which would have normally been mitigated by my tent giving me the shelter to pack up at 4am, not 6am.  More food than necessary - given that I brought lots back.  But what the feck, I enjoyed it.  Is that the point?  Was it a race?  It certainly isn't billed as one and it didn't really feel like one, except against me and time and that, dear friends is quite enough for me.