I AM NOW BETTER EQUIPPED FOR SHITTING

6th November. I'm just going to come out and say it. I'm entering the HT again. I hope lots of other women will enter but also, I don't because I want to get in. I know I'm not the fastest but I do keep going so I will try not to let imposter system creep in and be confident about my plans and, now I know that I can complete it I will work at getting faster at it with a little more confidence.

If you're reading this, sorry, it's not written for you, it's therapy for me.

I can't stop thinking on it so what I do at this point is write it down so my brain can move on, get on with my life & get on with training.  Yesterday I wrote a long list of reasons for spending money on my race and my bicycles, one of which came down to "I am now better equipped for shitting" as I replaced my unreliable and slightly weighty cat hole digger with a sturdier yet lighter version.

Anyway, as if I need a reason to do the HT again, I will give 4.

• • •

1. Because I want to. I want to experience the push of competition (even if it is just against the clock) and the draw of the mountains -at all times of day.
2. I want to race it with people - and different people because every year I've met someone new in those dark places at the bottom of Glens. Let's face it I've done enough solo riding to last a lifetime.
3. I want to meet my other selves again. Right now I'm getting on great with the person who actually springs out of bed at 6am every day to go training (no really, I am).
4. 4. I like riding my bike all day. To celebrate my decision and possibly remind my future self just what a good idea this is, I'm dedicating a Saturday morning to a short compilation of honest ways I will improve on last year (after the training is done). Yes it is a list of excuses... but excuses I have learned from.

General

1. My startling routine was nailed. Well done me. Same prep next year

Day 1 - Tyndrum to nearly Fort Augustus

2.    I didn't keep going long enough. I might have avoided the heavy frost but I was still very cold. In finer conditions dropping right down would also bring me further along on day 1 - easily. The weather predictions were accurate - those that were further North would have been better off.

Day2 - Fort Augustus to Contin 

The climb over from Invermorriston was much more fun in the daylight.  It was the first time my feet hurt like hell in the wrong shoe choice I need to learn to love that place just a little bit more to make any progress there. This time I said I'd never do it again (Ha!)

The new bit was really enjoyable. 

3. Bring better shoes

4. Less languishing

Languishing over coffee in Cannich was great but it would have been best to go straight to the stores & get resup done earlier/arrived in Contin earlier. In Covid times it would have made no difference because the shop shut at 2pm - long ago. I hope they'll be open next year but one thing is certain, I'll not overlook my "emergency rations" in future & will scoff them in place of stopping early. I had more than enough food to see me to the hotel.

5. Dont buy 20 minute pasta, stick to cold food /pot noodles. 

I carried that shitty pasta a long way with other food onboard! Getting resup in Contin seemed like such a milestone, I didn't know what to do with myself when it didn't happen so I just stopped. Stopping became the early decision, therefore my only plan. Another 4 hrs would have easily got me to a stop before loch Veitch or a dry crossing before the worst weather hit. Gain - 4 hours. 

Gosh a lot happened on day 2

Day 3 to Contin to OBH

6. Have some faith now in Inchbae
7. Carry the hotels phone numbers in your bag/phone. I can not love the ride over to Croic more. Some speed! The Glens! The rivers!
8. Not getting stuck at the hotel is a skill.
9. Use cat holes more - enough said

I stopped around 7:30 pm. Would have been 5:30pm had I not arsed about up & down the valley with stomach troubles. So only a 10-11 hr day with 8 hrs riding. 4 hrs gain to be made.

Day 4 - O B H to Drumbeg. 

This was a full day but there's a few things for me to remember.

10. Be brave on the N loop. It is an enigma but one that you love. Also it was nice to do it all in daylight

Hotel to resup was 16 hrs for me.

11. Having company is a great motivator even if you don't always believe it at the time. 

I liked my companion but for a while I found myself wondering if we were missing out by chattering noisily through this great wild space. I had been there on my own before though. This was something new and different and we whooped down the descents together, happy-excitable for dinner. For the first time in days I pushed on into the night, passing my companions and happy to not be last for once.  It was the first day I believed I'd have company for a while.

Day 5- Drumbeg To nearly Ullapool.

This is a weird one. All the hours are there in my day. I was up early, got brunch at Ullapool with Javi and then turned my back on the lunch crew who then cruised past me not much later as my wheels (or rather feet) fell off. It was another case of "the wrong shoes Grommit". So 1 applies:

1. Wear the right shoes. 

I recon I'd have saved 3 hours of the 8 it took me to move over Ledmore had I been comfortable on my feet and also riding the cotic. There was a lot of lying/sitting around and walking.  During my recce on the Cotic I rode a lot more along the side of the Loch.

In 2020 I'd have physically done much better at the HT but then I'd still have been on the wrong bike so lesson learned. Eventually I might perfect it. (I won't perfect it). With reference to not languishing, I don't for one minute regret the full meal eaten in the OBH On the Crossing to Ullapool I was driven by the promise of warmer weather and it did not fail to disappoint. I enjoyed my night ride and again, experienced satisfaction in leap­frogging someone else in the night

Day 6.-Ullapool To Fisher field.

I faffed in Ullapool, deliberated at the outdoor shop and ate Icecream & had to kill time before eateries opened. It will happen somewhere on every ride so I'll not claim that one. 

I left about 10am. If I write about the new route into Fisherfield it will be rude. I will claim 1-2 hrs of boggling my brain over the new route and sitting about because my feet hurt. Those hours will also include stomping about in the heather trying to decide whether to stop or carry on. Generally though, I was happy with my day. 

Day 7- Fisherfield to Kinlochleven (+ Torridon)

I left Fisherfield late. There was a lot of sitting around. I was slow getting out. Left at 10, got to Poolewe at 4pm. I was tired but also didn't want to leave. I'll take a 3hr bonus for an early morning & some more gusto on my feet.

The Tollie Path - I knew would not be easy (even if it is easier than Postie). With the fast roadie bits to Kinlochewe to keep my inner timekeeper motivated, I pushed on with only a minor stomach complaint and achieved Kinlochewe in the same timeframe as the Postie two years earlier when I was just a baby trail rider and had packed too much shit on a heavy bike.  

My brain thought I could poke on to do Torridon, and fly home in 2 days so I all-nighter-ed over Torridon. I can't necessarily say that gained me any time at this point. Losing a sleep here, slowed down the rest of the ride.  A bit of false economy although it did keep me in closer not-the-lantern-rouge contention.

Day 8- Torridon to Glen Afric 

I'm going to put my punctures here because they officially started on 29th at 1am. That's how I also spent far too much time in Dornie recovering from my all-nighter then proceeded to stop far too frequently in order to nurse my feet during the climbs... and the flats and it's about this point I noticed my BB was on its last legs. Eventually I lay down on the other side of GA and slept for 90' before stopping properly at 8pm. I am taking 4 hours for this day, though I probably squandered 5 hours. 

Day 9-Glen Affric to Devil's Staircase 

I left in good time and resisted cafes until FA. From 8am to 3pm, there was some resting but nothing extraordinary. It was 5pm when I switched Garmin at FW. I sat on a rock or chatted to a runner for a while + I brewed food (or coffee?) leaving KLL. The body was willing to carry on but the brain said no so I pitched in the darkness. However, I wish I'd descended Devils Staircase in the dark because I walked it in daylight anyway. Whether I claim the 7 hours rest here as a saving is debatable. I doubt I'd pull 2 all-nighters but I have now saved 23 hours so the question of an extra 5 hours sleep is moot. I'm having it.

Day 10-Devils staircase to Tyndrum

I can't claim I might've done this any faster short of avoiding standing around waiting for a bull to do it's thing, not bothering to change my damp bib shorts 4 hours from the finish line, not riding with a fucked up BB. Sod it, I'm having an hour.

Total savings - 24-29 hours.

The Wirral Circular Route

 On the weekend of 2nd and 3rd October, we did pressure testing at site.  It's a long and laborious process requiring repeat activities and a lot of standing around.  We usually aim to complete it within a day but the last few times, these have been long, long days so this time, we agreed we'd give it two days.  

Unfortunately, someone couldn't be flexible enough and so we had to work the weekend and no-one wanted to work the Sunday so at 7:00am on Saturday, four intrepid souls (and one guy waiting outside in the van) set about testing, after a trusty brew of course.

Unfortunately there were a few uncomfortably awkward leaks which we had to repair which involves removing the pressure before working then starting all over again.  

No one wanted to work Sunday, so again, we worked into darkness and at 20:30 I locked up the cabin, loaded my folding bike in the parking lot and pedalled the 400m back to my hotel where I tucked the bike up in its silver garage on wheels - the van.

On Sunday morning, MY BRAIN WAS AWAKE!

I queued patiently outside the breakfast hall to eat where I planned to spend the day lying in bed.  For a while I watched the Country file sheepdog trials with views of my beloved North Wales, just across the water.

When I realised the London marathon was on, I planned to spend the day lying in bed crying at the London marathon.  By about 10am, I was hungry again so I agreed with myself I'd go out and ride to M&S to get some healthy lunch but there was a niggling thought in the back of my mind that what I really should do is ride the Wirral Circular Route - you know, while I'm here.

It is 60km all the way around.  Would I make 60km on my folding bike?  Would my folding bike make 60km?

I loaded up my pannier like I was going out all day - just in case - and dressed for a bimble down the road on an October day, in thick windproof smock, trousers, a fleece two base layers and fleece gloves.

Thankfully at the van I realised it was warm, left a fleece and the gloves behind, picked up my thin long finger gloves and my lock.

By the time I'd got to the M&S turn-off I was already to into-it to divert for early 11am lunch and instead, followed the route along the coastal industrial estate back-roads.  I passed the chimney of a bygone ferry ship embedded forever in rocky soil and scrappy greenspace wasteland by the side of an old metal recycling facility and thought, "wow, is this how it's going to be?!"

Ten minutes later I was turning into Eastham Country Park where signs boasted a local cafe.  

Excellent - the sustenance I so desperately need.  I pulled in, checked with the waitress it was OK to grab a table and locked my bike up. I snagged a table with my bags then wandered in to place my order.  The queue was around 15-people long and small children ran around my feet.

I high-tailed and walked back out, packed my stuff and left.  I'd only just set off so I had a lot to bimble through in one day.  I had no time for queues.

For a little while I followed the park paths where wooden finger posts indicated the bike route.  Clearly the Ride with GPS file I copied was one that had been tweaked by a roadie.  My forest trails were pleasant if a little busy and I dodged doggo's constantly but the sea views were worth it to ride away from the roads.

Finally, when I ran out of park I climbed back up to the A41, which I had left around an hour and 3 miles ago.  Oh well.

For a while the route sat on the segregated bike lane that shares the pavement and I made good progress as there are few crossing points on this bit.  I arrived at the M53 road junction and hooned my way across both on- and off- sliproads.  The main roads continued all the way to Childer Thornton where I passed the hotel my colleague stayed in last week.  It was nice but had the inconvenience of a family hotel for some people who don't really have the time for folk who need to know what time you arrive and don't take AMEX cards.

Still, Childer Thornton marked the start of quieter lanes and I knew that I had probably gone about this route in just the right way as I seem to have the worst of the A-roads behind me.

I was hungry though and I had the mammoth 25m or so of climbing to summit the Wirral peninsular before embarking on the remainder of the route along the coast road.  I could do with some lunch but Childer Thornton was not where I was stopping for it - too towny.  What I really needed was a nice little caf where I could park up my bike and sit next to it and no queue.

I dropped down the other side of the peninsular and acquired the disused railway which was about to take me the rest of my journey to the seaside.  On demand, a railway station cafe popped up.  It was 1pm but I could eat a scone and crisps for lunch right?  I could even grab cake too if I was still hungry.

I took a table by the wall to minimise the breeze and watched runners, biker and horses plod by as I tucked into my scone.  I even saved the planet a little as I'd packed my full work bag including my knife, fork and spoon set that I use in case of late night take-away raids.

At this point in the day I lost my trousers to over-heating and the base layer went away too, leaving me in a vest and windproof.

I continued on my way through impressive cuttings the cruised along the edge of the Liverpool Royal Golf Course, the green spoiling the view of the estuary and the natural landscape.  Thankfully they had left sufficient trees to provide some shelter from one of the belting rain showers that peppered the day.  The showers were so short lived that the windproof was sufficient to keep the rain off my body and it dried out in between.

Autumn colours were starting to appear in the trees and now I'd food in my belly I relaxed a little and took it all in.

My day started to be improved even further by the constant presence of runners from local clubs running their socially distanced London Marathons.  I stopped and gave some money away and encouraged others.  This went on for some time and I soon had no change left.

On arrival at West Kirkby I could finally get close to the beach.  Suddenly there was traffic for the first time in ages but the sun was shining.  I took care of toilet business - relieved that the coin machine was out of order since I'd given all my change away.  I took a walk onto the front to ponder an icecream but I wasn't in the mood for over-priced Mr Whippy and fancied some real food so I checked my map.

The next stopping place was Hoylake which I used to visit with grandparents as a child.  I don't have many clear memories of it except for loving Hoylake.  Since my Grandma was a bit of a snob, I decided that Hoylake would probably be a bit better than West Kirkby so I set off riding along the route.

As soon as I turned back onto the short stretch of B-road out of WK, I found a sandwich shop offering baguettes.  I parked the Doodle up without even locking as I could see the bike from where I stood and a nice-enough lady with balloon-shaped lips and a little boy seemed reasonable people who'd probably say something if a stranger tried to make off with my bike.

I ordered a ham and cheese baguette (knowing that the ham would be the horrible English sort I hate but ordering it anyway) and in a moment of genius, added haloumi fries and tea.  

I was so glad for the fries.  The English Ham was missing and the cheese was stock cheddar and the baguette was a sub, not a baguette and for soemone who hates soggy chewwy bread, the whole thing was awful.  The fries were good though.  I ate half the sandwich and asked for a bag for the other half, claiming my eyes were bigger than my belly and I wanted to save it for later.  In apologetic English this means, "I'd almost rather die than eat the other half but only "almost" so I'll take it, just in case".

I was right, Hoylake did, indeed, look much more promising but it was now too late.  Just as I got sick of the traffic again, the route turned left towards the sea front down the back of some Victorian brick-built detached houses and then dog legged to the sea-front promenade, a bike/path/sea wall atop the sloping concrete breakwater. The views were magnificent but large - Wales to the left, Formby to the right.  

I took a few photos, feeling guilty for the dog walkers who kept walking past me every time I stopped.  At one point I begged forgiveness for constantly pestering them but they waved it away.  I said it'd be the last time as I'd never get where I was going if I didn't get a move on.  I soon realised that 37km were behind me and I had less than half of the distance to do.  With food now in my belly and a tail wind behind me, I was only going to speed up.  As the sun shone and with sea birds paddling in puddles on the shore, I realised I had nowhere to be and pushed my bike down the sloping breakwater, lay it on its side and pulled out my binoculars.  I lay down too and watched little Egrets chase eachother across the bay and a crow seeking out moluscs from the shoreline before dropping them from a great height onto the concrete sea wall so he could pull out the fleshy contents from the broken shell.

I stayed there, warm enough in my layers, and just watched until the breeze dried out the sand so much I realised I was being sand blasted and so was my bike chain.

I climbed out of the wall.  The dog-walkers were now long gone so I didn't have to face them again.

Through Wallasey, more walkers were celebrating their "Marathon" though they proudly told me they'd walked 24km.  I kept schtum about the other 2.2km and made my way around them to New Brighton.  This made me chuckle as I'd just made plans to visit a friend in the real Brighton with my holiday.

Liverpool from the New Brighton coastline

There were a few hill climbs in New Brighton but I was pleased I didn't have to do any of them as the sea wall continued to the "pleasure beach" area, now a jumble of an indoor water park and posh (for the Wirral) eateries.  I crossed a wharf on foot (for once following the "Cyclists Dismount" sign due to a large amount of mini sand dunes and an uneven load on my bike rack.  There was a castle-type building on the promenade but it was closed up.  I avoided more ice cream, my focus now on getting back to my hotel for dinner - though lord knows why as I'd gotten pretty sick of eating there over the last three weeks.

Back to the Mersey side of the peninsular, New Brighton showed its posh side with lanes and ginnels leading steeply up to toll booths - presumably these were once expensive shipping office complexes and toll-houses.  Some relics of the industry stood.  Some had been converted into monuments to the 96 dead of the Hillsborough disaster.  Some were ventilation shafts for the Mersey tunnel.

More birdwatching opportunities as sandpipers scurried across the rocks picking up tasty morsels from underneath stones.

The route took me past the Seacombe Ferry terminal which is currently closed, meaning people on foot are presently unable to cross the Mersey.  Your options are: the tunnel in a car, on a bus or taxi or an £11 50 minute river cruise. The jolly "Ferry cross the Mersey" sits, anchor bound, near Liverpool, like a relic.

There's some exciting river architecture to enjoy - dry-docks and wet docks that seem to capture the high tide above the shoreline for passers by to admire up close.  Then it diverts you past more water-front pubs that are probably thronging with pissed people during the summer weekends but sat empty and a little bleak as the sun closed in on a dreary October Sunday afternoon.

The U-Boat experience crept up on me as it would have done in the deep, a looming pair of structures painted black and partially obscured by frosted glass, forever entombed in dry air offshore to rot for the public's entertainment.  It sent shivers down my spine.  Apparently there are people that can look at this stuff without feeling anything - I am the opposite of those people and my stomach churned even after I had left the scene as spirits of people and machinery moved through me.

It's a good job I wasn't near any traffic.

I wobbled away down the sea wall - now a wharf 10 feet above the mudflats below.  Bridges carried me over sea-structures and black-painted posts and gigantic moorings like huge black mushrooms stopped me from toppling off the cobblestones.  Some pallets announced directions for a "Bridal bimble" but I didn't see anyone in a white dress.

I finally reached Camel Laird ship yard which I have seen the East side of already.  I rode around the West side, nosying at the more modern areas before being unceremoniously discharged back onto the A41 where the Mersey tunnel disgorges high-speed vehicles leaving Liverpool.  Thankfully there is a bike lane - and where there wasn't I rode along the pavement because not everyone was doing 40 miles an hour and despite there being two lanes I wasn't expecting many people to use the second one to pass me.  The route gave some respite by diving in and out of the access roads to fuel storage terminals and generally throwing me around industrial estates like a rag doll until I got bored and rode in land up a last few hills to put myself on familiar territory to hunt for some food that wasn't from the hotel. 

Eventually, I gave up and dropped back down to the hotel, to roll into my van at 5:30.  The restaurant was blissfully quiet for once, no flocks of sheep watching kicky foot. I snagged myself a filling super-salad, promised I'd be good from now on and took a green smoothly to bed. On Monday I was tired - proper tired - but damn I was happy and that is all that matters.

A week has gone by.  Just a week.  That week has involved more work on the Wirral, in fact, four days of five have been on the Wirral.  It's just that on Tuesday night I actually went home and slept in my own bed for two nights before going back to site on Thursday morning.  It felt like a recharge but on Thursday afternoon my brain was befuddled and as the sun went down I thought it was Saturday because I was on site with the same crew who accompanied me through the pressure test last weekend.

On Saturday this week I have done domestic things.  The boiler in this house is broken.  I was hoping I could fix it but I did not so there's an unfixed job.  I hate unfixed jobs.  It brought me right down again.  "I haven't ridden my bike in ages", I wailed.  I let Landslide down.  I'm a terrible person.  

Then I remembered, I only rode 60km on a folding bike last week.  Sure, it wasn't epic.  Sure it wasn't hilly.  But I did it... on a folding bike!  And I walked.  Oh man did I walk?!  Around and around in circles on site but I walked.  I'm allowed to sit still from time to time and let my heart rate settle... back to 45 - where it belongs.  Not 63 or 59... 45.

 

Looking for help or "1 - THE COME-BACK"

The preamble 

On Friday afternoon I was crying in the carpark of the GP surgery. It wasn't crying. It was sobbing.  

An all-encompassing grief for the loss of youth and vitality. Mourning my demise. If this is what ageing looks like I don't want to get old. I was desperate to get my hands on a prescription to get rid of "Glue Ear." This annoying condition has me deaf on one side, the fluid in my eustacian tube will not drain. I have nothing to listen to but the drone of my own voice, my breathing and my heart rate. The prescription was locked in Nhs beaurocracy and right then, right there, that prescription was my only hope for a return to a normal life. When I speak, I feel like I'm shouting at people. At work it isn't great. I've stopped exercising due to the noise of the asthmatic heavy-breather chasing me everywhere I go. To top it all off the boiler failed and I couldn't fix it.

So I cried. Then I rang nhs 111 and went through the menu system.

Here's the commentary:

• • •

Hi. Please tuck off and use the internet. 

If you're an idiot or luddite and need the internet texting to you press 1.

If you're still sick press 2.

If you have covid fuck off.

If you don't know what covid is yet look at the internet and fuck off.

Do your teeth hurt? Press 1 

For all other illnesses Press 2

Please wait to be diverted to your local nhs. 

If you have covid fuck off.

If you don't know what covid is yet look at the internet and fuck off. 

Do your teeth hurt? Press 1 

For all other illnesses press 2 

If you have covid, fuck off unless you're actually dying.

If you're actually dying, ring 999.

Are you still here? Press 2.

Once I had navigated this menu, I met the most compassionate person in the nhs, the automated queuing voiceover who reassured me I was still seriously ill and someone would be with me shortly.

After calls back at 1am, 6:45am and 10am, I finally had a new GP appointment at the walk in centre to go through the same stuff all over again but finally got my prescription back in my sweaty tear-stained paws. I celebrated with my first haircut in 18 months, lunch in town, a trip to Boots the chemist and a shower at the gym on my way home.

The cycling bit

It was important that I got this sorted because at 4pm I was heading out with Landslide for my first bivi out in months. I know exactly how many months.

My last out was in June on the Jenn ride. In July, August, work took over my life. I feel fortunate to occasionally love my job and sometimes I don't mind long hours but I spent every Saturday recovering and Sunday getting ready to go back. For a short period it isn't a problem but sometimes it does go on and on with people taking more and more and more liberties over my life.

I'd finally found another balance point where I could get a day or two for me. 

L arrived on time and patiently chatted to TSK while I searched the house for random selections of bike- packing gear that had become disparately spread out around the house. The only thing lacking was a functional tool bag but I carried Landslide with me instead. Drama ensued when I realised, despite the warm evening, I couldn't survive with a bumbag and frantically transferred everything into my rucsac.

• • •

We hauled up and around Bole Hills, over to Coldwell Lane, through Fox Hagg into the setting sun and over to Stanage Pole, keeping one eye on the clock to make sure we arrived at the pub in time to eat.

Chris shot off down the causeway at warp speed, a testament to the lots of riding he's been doing while I have been a deaf granny. 

Also, I was wearing my sandals and not wanting to break toes on a crash and I was still struggling to get to grips with my bike again. The road held no such risks and we plummeted into the Yorkshire Bridge pub only to find they weren't feeding non residents so Chris rang the Ladybower whilst I loaded my stuff up and started the sprint over there, as soon as he said we had 10 minutes to place our order.

Glutes engaged.

• • •

L ordered. I bagged the table. We sat out in shorts and down coats and drank our usual and pretended everything was normal. We were quite convincing.

The only thing to get us moving was the sense of chill in the air. I went to the loo. The speakers played out Stephen Fry reading "Harry Potter". It was calming, soothing, womb like compared to the chill air outside. I wanted to stay. Clever marketing people.

We started the steady push up the rocky steep track onto the moor, walked out of cold air and into patches of warmth.

I mused about letting my streak of 30 BAMs go. I pondered that one day I would regret it. Would this be that day? My first in a new streak also felt good though.

-1- 

The Come-back.

L was questioning our sanity. Maybe we should've just curled up with Steven Fry in the toilets.. What? Sure? Sleeping in toilets. Yeah - like normal people. Have you heard us?

Then we noticed the moon, almost full, over the trees below Stanage North end and it made everything OK again.

• • •

We intermittently got on our bikes riding over towards the Derwent Edges. I got off more than not, my skills and balance just done for. Something wasn't right with my seating arrangement but I just put it down to the play in my dropper post because I sure as hell wasn't going to mess with it in the dark.

By the time we got near the summit I was done for. My core ached, my arms ached and my legs had no power in to pedal. For the third time I wobbled over on the gritstone slabs and fell onto the peat bog.

• • •

Thankfully it was dry and I did not even sink. I reverted to my current work mode of a determined trudge. At least I'm successful at stomping.

We passed a number of tents on our way but what I was really looking forward to was the rocky nook that Landslude and I reccied on another trip. We passed other features or stopped to water the heather before reaching our destination, manned by 2 other camping groups already.

In a gesture of not-quite-defiance I sat on a rock. I was exhausted. It wasn't the riding though. It was the week. It was life. I was so tired of it all.

• • •

Thoughts of just riding straight home played on my mind as the city twinkled in the distance but L convinced me there was another spot just around the corner and offered me jelly beans by way of motivation but I've eaten so much crap recently it just didn't appeal.

We put on head torches and trousers to keep the breeze off and busied ourselves rigging camp amongst damp earth and lichens, sheep shit and gritstone. Layers went on and bags rolled out. L set about brewing up his second meal of the evening. I sat and stared at my "Apple and Custard" desert and one aged tea bag. I wasn't really hungry but felt a little left out of the camping experience. Foggy cloud rolled in across the moor to complement the greyscale effect with backlighting from the now-obscured moon.

L asked if I felt better now, being out in nature. My flat answer was "not really" as I stared out at the grey. Damn it must be bad.

• • •

For a moment I lay down in my bivi bag, not even in my sleeping bag yet, and stared at the moor. This was ridiculous. Out of sheer need to do something other than wallow in my own depression I fired up my stove. The meticulous rigging, finding a sweet flat spot within reach, the slow unpacking of kit, the glow of the flame, the careful water pour, making tea with the leftover water or packing the lid down for it to brew.

I stirred the water into the custard powder, set the pouch on my lap inside my bivi bag and waited with the lights out for my mood to brew into something better. There was only distant sound from a few motorbikes. All other campers were either sound asleep or buffered from earshot by the gritstone crag.

Not quite enough water to make liquid custard but more like a fist-sized patty of yellow mush containing apple chunks. Still, the semi-solid mush tasted like egg custard from out of a tart and it was warm and actually it was good. Really good.

The tea went down well. I enjoyed cans of (I don't know what) and we talked - and didn't talk in perfect balance.

Each of us picked our own spot but gradually nature shaped us into a perfect L with my feet sliding down hill to gently butt up to his shoulder.

I adjusted my tyvek a little so that I didn't rudely kick him in the head all night.

When we went off to sleep I closed my bug net but I had a restless night, constantly getting up for a pee and in the end left my bivi open to the elements to let it breathe. For the first time in ages I slept outdoors without coat, gloves or hat on.  

An intermittent breeze occasionally flapped things but I just lay still and listened and watched the darkness until finally I relented and dug out my ear plugs. 

The dew had fallen outside the crag and I closed my frame bag to stop it getting any wetter but we were dry under the protective shelf of gritstone.

At 5am we were woken by grouse, seemingly debating these strange objects that had arrived on their territory. I knew L had to be home to take his son to football but I snoozed in for a while and he busied himself with his breakfast. The grey clouds disappeared in a whisper of breeze and by the time I was properly awake, colour had returned to the world

"Now. Now I feel better."

• • •

The porridge I brought had clearly been around for some time but eating it was better than not. It had a slightly acidic tinge to it. The coffee had been ground down to fine powder and topped up multiple times so it was very good.

I wobbled my saddle around to see how much play was in it. It slid back and forth on the rails taking my bag with it and I remembered it was a new saddle which I had bunged on there in a rush one weekend with a plan to fix it properly next time I rode the bike. Ok. No wonder my core was fucked and my undercarriage chaffed.

• • •

We watched a kestrel browsing for its breakfast then Landslide set off and left me with the spiders and the midges who made a sudden appearance as soon as the temperature hit just the right level and the breeze became less consistent. Despite the warm start to the day I put my gloves on.

Aware that we were reaching more sociable hours I packed up all my stuff but it was already warm enough to just sit out - given that I needed to stay in my waterproof trousers and long sleeve coat, just to keep the midges off.

• • •

For an age I just sat and stared at the moor - drinking it all in. Listening, watching, being. Finally I was happy again and I had some time to myself.

Ever since I started this bike packing journey I've had my eye on events - TNR, the winter ride, BB200, Braunton150, HT550, Trans Atlantic way. I realise I've never actually done it just for the joy of sitting around doing nothing. There's always somewhere to be.

My nothingness was broken up by the steady pitter-patter of mizzle.

Realising I had waterproof everything except socks I decided I should lay those tracks back towards home. I had two very important things to do before heading back to work that evening:

• Pack up my shit
• Eat some more
• Sleep some more

I stripped off the warm layers, left on the waterproofs as the mizzle matured into full-on rain and put on the thick wool socks I'd brought to sleep in in the hope they'd keep the rain off long enough. 

As I left the crag the lads from the other tent were teetering around in jeans and teeshirts and dressing into puffer coats to "keep the rain off". I left them to it and enjoyed the descent all to myself except a group of 4 female runners also enjoying the weather.

• • •

I took all the off-road I could to get home. At the road I could have turned left for the easy road ride to Bradfield and a roll down the valley road to home. Instead I turned right towards the bridleways.

The climb out of the gully on the road was easy -peasy on the mtb compared to the last 8 weeks of riding my confused gravel/road gear ratios on Dignity. The secure saddle position did wonders for my agility despite being tired from a night out.

Even the oncoming roadies were cheery. Clearly they hadn't wetted out yet. Then I left them all behind and climbed up 4x4 tracks to the farm, clanged through gates, said good morning to farmers and paused at the bridge over the river Rivelin to watch for the dipper before clattering through the allotments to home.

My socks only just wetted through. I was relatively warm and happy. Without a hot shower at home I reverted to sleeping-off my ride. 

I addressed the eating part by sharing dinner with TSK then drove over the Snake Pass in a contented fog to score myself a hot shower in the comforting environment of the same chain hotel in which I have spent many an evening, then passed out for the best sleep I would have for the rest of the working week.

Kielder Dirty Reiver 202(0)1

Knowing what I now know about the Dirty Kanza, the Reiver - its namesake in the UK - brings a little discomfort. While the battle to reach the line for sunset might be a rewarding experience in Kansas, in the UK, I found a superior sunset from the Moors above Kielder Reservoir than the head-netted midge crew out of the breeze down by the lake shore. Still, that is the end of the tail. (tale).

I wasn't really supposed to be there. 2 years ago I thought that in April, the Dirty River would make a good sharpener for the Highland Trail. The event was rescheduled for September, then cancelled for the following April then delayed to September 11th 2021 which is, of course, too close to the 3 Peaks. So I withdrew (or so I thought)

When the 3 Peaks was cancelled in the middle of my HT-550 rehab, everything that I had been training for evaporated. I let work take over my life and pretty much stopped riding my bike.

The first few reminder emails about the Dirty Reiver fell on deaf ears - I withdrew from that, right?

I went into my email to check - no evidence of a withdraw! and the last email from the organiser announced no refunds. Well, it's not like I had anything else to do.

Against a backdrop of unrelenting workload I squeezed in a 30k ride, a 100k ride, a hilly 60k ride and an even hillier 100k ride then in the last week I went for a 7.5km run (bite me, I felt like it). At least if I couldn't ride the hills, after 3 months onsite in steel toe cap boots, I could run to the finish. I actually had Friday off work to pack and travel up. Unfortunately, because I wasn't bike packing, I forgot fuel, matches, food for cooking, leaving me at the mercy of race snacks and venue food.

The hospitality at race control could not have been better. Unphazed by my slapdash approach to booking (nothing) I paid on the gate for 2 nights camping. I was reassured I had arrived, checked in and accommodated. I pitched my van in a row with other tenters - made a priority to race register and get food. The vegan burger I scoffed with a garnish of midges from underneath my head net was washed down with lemon ginger tea.  I was dreaming of the promised pasta party but the burger and chips filled me up nicely.  I couldn't complain really - I could have brought my own pasta if I'd wanted it.

• • •

Filled with food and needing a break from looking at the world through green mesh, I retreated to the back of the van to piece together my bike, food, number water and clothing and fill a small Tesco feed bag for the 94km food station. In fact, the food I stashed here was for me to transport to feed station 3. Knowing I struggle to skip meals, I packed in one of my dessicated meal food pouches for the feed station offering hot drinks so I could manage my skipped lunch by at least eating dinner.

Also, up until feed station 3, I estimated (at my pace) I would have zero minutes for sitting around doing anything like eating.

The tent went up in the darkness but, after months of bike packing my little two man tent feels like a cathedral and I spread out.

The only pillow I'd brought was the one I bought from ASDA last week to replace a shit hotel pillow. It was ultimate luxury as far as camping was concerned.

The alarm went off too early. I ate race snacks + peanut butter sandwiches for breakfast in preference over cold-brew porridge. At least the caravan cafe was open for coffee, drank in my tent while I dressed, avoiding those pesky midges.

I debated taking my spot tracker on the ride so TSK could follow my progress but in the end the battery was flat so I sprinted back to the van to drop it off rather than carry excess weight around.

Back at the start line I realised one of the zip ties on my number had disappeared. The large crowd left me no chance of getting over to the registration tent to pick up a replacement without being dropped by most of the field so just hoped that one zip tie (and the number) would last the day. I would put up with the number flapping about on the descents. Komoot were handing out stick-on route profiles so I attempted to stick down my number with the sticky strip of plastic showing the profile for the 65k ride. It didn't work and just made things even more flappy.

A group of around 800 people huddled and swatted midges then we were launched after speeches, up the castle road. Cue 20 minutes of being passed on the hill climbs then patiently sitting-in on the downhills. Why my bike rolls down hills faster than others' is beyond me. Sitting-in behind one particular sleep downhill I felt momentary impatience then decided I was probably better off surrounded by a few sensible people to temper my inner recklessness. I wasn't on a mountain bike today.

I got chatting to a few people, formed a 'club' with another rider as we talked about passing courtesy + with a Derwent Valley rider who agreed with me everyone else had gone off too quick.  I bumped into a "Belgian" and we chatted about the 3 Peaks for a while.

The first 20km flew past in a blur, clearly I was steaming! Then I realised I was riding above myself and found my own pace The next 25km crawled past as I stopped being carried along. I noticed that there wasn't really much to look at - trees passing, different kinds of rock surface, the wheel in front, occasionally some rolling lumps in the distance. It was a vast continuous high plateau lacking in distinct hills and valleys. I was actually missing Wales.

At the top of the final climb before aid station 1, I shoulder checked before switching lines to pass a slower rider and starting the descent. At exactly the same time the woman behind called "passing on your right". To avoid the inevitable wobbly confusion and avoid crashing on the grass up the middle, I held my line, kept the power on to finish my pass a left her to figure it out. After a few angry calls of "on the right" she finally figured I wasn't moving and called "on your left then" into my mostly deaf left ear.

The guy behind was horrified, "who does she think she is?"

Things got even weirder at the next hill when someone pulled alongside staring at me on the approach to the descent. My brain, given a choice between concentrating on the impending loose gravel descent and asking, "I'm sorry, do I know you?" chose the former.  My challenger kept pace, kept on staring and just as we tipped over the edge skidded his rear tyre as he almost ran into the man I was overtaking. I uttered an audible "Jesus!" before reverting to the business of dodging an overhanging tree branch. I'm glad I didn't engage in further distracted conversation as I would have been wiped out by a jaunty pine.

• • •

As the day went on a repetitive behaviour emerged of him spinning past me, MTB legs all a-twiddle, only for me to pass him and his comrades later, standing around. It was skiers vs snowboarders without the snow. I got to nodding terms with his female friend but silently avoided his gaze for the rest of the day.

• • •

I managed to drink. I managed to eat a few snacks but I was kind of ready for the descent to the 45km feed station.

More than anything I really needed a pee but was mildly concerned there might be a queue that I didn't have time for. Instead the perfect forestry lay-by appeared on a descent where other riders would be passing too quickly to be concerned by an abandoned bike in the trees.

Finally, peace and quiet. Amongst the trees, gold crests seep-seep'd at each-other in flocks. I realised I'd seen zero wildlife in 3 hours. With 16. 9km/h on the ckock - it felt faster but this was going well - I was ahead of schedule. Still, I didn't get off at the aid station. I stuck wine gums in my jersey pocket and two jaffa cakes in my gob before setting off up the hill again.  After the initial hubbub of the aid station party atmosphere, quiet descended once more.

At the top of the climb as we popped out of the trees onto the moor, I realised how the morning was so good. A chunky head wind blew as we turned to ride the other way.

The field thinned out so that intermittently I was riding alone. The view point so eagerly anticipated from my recce occurred just as I was thinking "Well this breeze will slow me down" and "I don't want to stop here and get cold" so I hesitated tolook at the view while I put on a windproof and then dropped like a stone back to Kielder and our first cut off point of the day, while others stopped to take a photo.

• • •

A nice lady pointed out the 65km route turn and the sensors bleeped reassuringly for those of us silly enough to carry on. Mentally I'd linked aid station 2 to the Kielder cross-over but there were 30km between the two so, "I'll wait" started to turn into desperation.

For a little while we rode along the main road. I knew where the second feed station was but from my sofa reconnaissance, I hadn't really noticed the long stretch of A-road where everyone who passed me did so at such a speed I could not possibly grab a wheel. Thanks to the boring road I had a full plan as to what I would do at the aid station with an energy drink top up being the main priority. Better to ride with it in drinkable liquid form than carry the undrinkable powder around.

It did not matter that it wasn't where I expected it, as soon as I saw a man in a vest with a 5 Gallon water Jerry Can and a tub of chocolate bars, I asked for a bottle refill. It wasn't until a lady with 5 border terriers started feeding her dog water from a bowl with her hand explaining he's blind I realised I'd just stolen water from the Dog's Trust charity walk I felt guilty for as long as it took me to realise they only had 1km to go.

• • •

At the actual aid station Rich Pipps was waiting for me, smile in hand and as I dropped myself and bike in a heap where I dismounted. He plied me with my feed bag. I packed the chicken curry away, demolished most of the Doritos and banana and thankfully, despite a lovely chat, he reminded me about the cut off just around the corner. I had 20 minutes. I took 10.

(c) @RichPips (slightly provocative - look carefully!)

Still it was nice to happen upon a friendly face. Elaine (owner of the legs above) who I had met on the Jenn Ride appeared at my shoulder. After I fed her my last chips at Seathwaite she had gone on to source food at the next pub and handed her leftovers on to the next tired rider to be refused service.

Pass-it forward - the joy that keeps giving.

• • •

Our next loop had big brutal hills and alarm bells had already started to go off with me, that my gear shifter was stiff and my gears weren't shifting back up the block without a little kick to get it moving. I resolved to use the shifter as little as possible.

When the really big hill struck I stopped getting bottom gear. For a while I persevered, then later fiddled with the adjuster (to no effect) then walked a bit. Frustratingly I had been enjoying the company of a chap from Bedford in a checked shirt (we didn't get to names) but the shirt continued on his way as I couldn't hold his pace with my trudge on foot

Eventually that sweet spot for a pee appeared and with an un-burdened bladder, my brain found the confidence to dig out an Alan key, tighten the cable and accept that having bottom gear was worth losing the top 3 gears on my rear block

I didn't really need them and I sure didn't have the time to look for them. I caught up shirt and rode with him again for a bit. I got into a rhythm of riding with a other individuals or a few different groups.

They all went up hill faster than me and either I caught them up while they rested or waited for eachother or I actually out- descended them because I'm a strong believer in the preservation of momentum and my bike goes downhill faster than most. My number continued to flap in the wind. A chap passed me at 3pm and announced we were, "probably going to miss the cutoff". I thought this was unfair and improbable but wasn't sure what time had been lost to facing with gear cables & bathroom breaks.

I managed to stay upright and check my pace notes at the same time, confirming we had 1.5 hours to do about 40 minutes riding. Still, now I had my bottom gear back I was happily dancing on the pedals to keep the speed up. On my plan I was to pass through the cut off at 4:15 and it closed at 5. I passed at 4:08, a little up on schedule and knowing that cut offs ahead of me only got "more relaxed": an 8pm one at the Dam for anyone riding into darkness and the 10 pm cut off on the line.

• • •

I started watching climbs rather than kms. They were easy to count - some monster long ones, some circulating surely towards landmarks - transmitter masts, cols, we sailed through the checkpoint, hardly noticing it, except Elaine who met up with her marshalling husband there - much to his relief

My legs were still turning the pedals but a blister was starting to appear inside my thumb and my tush was prickled and bruised from climbing and insufficient saddle time-in-training.

Dropping down from the transmitter I steered my front wheel on the narrow strip of clear ground swept away by 380 wheels before me & hoped I wouldn't drift off my line because I was travelling at ouch miles per hour. 

The facilities of the next aid station were a gift. About 8 riders were in various stages of packing up ready to leave or eating whilst huddled up on the steps.

I checked in with the guy who thought we might miss the checkpoint and asked him if he was happy or disappointed that we didn't miss it - he wasn't sure

There was a bit of a party atmosphere with most getting ready to set off on their Last hurrah.

One man arrived after me and left before me.

I hardly looked at the food on offer from the race crew.

I acquired water for my chicken curry pouch, a coffee, a packet of prawn cocktail crisps and the attention of a moggy who not only came for a purr and a stroke and head-buts but took residence on my knee whilst I ate my dinner.  I didn't argue. This was rather nice as my knees had just done a long downhill so were cool, despite the hot day & Kitty provided a little extra warmth. I wasn't going to bother putting leggings on as I'd only get too warm later.

After extracting myself from the cat I washed my hands (again) and face, got some Zinc Oxide tape for my blister then set off on my way, sending a text to TSK to intimate my impending success. He knew I was only worried about the first three checkpoints. I'm not sure why but I only had 3% on the phone - definitely no photos for the album then!

I waved goodbye to the jolly crew and didn't see anyone coming the other way on the way in, as I made my way out.

The crew started to pack up and I thought I heard someone say "Now we have to start taking a serious look at the ability of anyone else to finish" I might have been imagining it. I had every intention of finishing.

At least I had to prove to myself I could still get ready for a 200 in 6 weeks.

At the bottom of the hill we went straight across the road, back onto gravel and into some farmland tracks before starting back up onto the moors again.

The guy who left ahead of me was just packing away the coat he'd had on to warm up after leaving the aid station. I assumed that, given my fatigue levels and a sudden tendency to need to weave across the whole track to make it up hills, he would catch me up. He never did.

• • •

It was 6pm when I left the aid station. I needed to keep a close eye on my average speed which had dropped to 14.6 kph including my stop. The notes said there was a dam cut-off at 8pm and I had 27 km to do. Without any mechanicals I would make it easily. With all the people gone though, the day seemed to peak. First I disturbed a large deer which I only heard and did not see, though my hallucinatory gland did think it might have been a Sasquatch. I watched a buzzard hunting for mice amongst tree detritus from the felled forest. A little further along a roe deer spotted my approach and pranced with me for a few metres before disappearing into the trees.

As the light faded colours to tones of grey a flock of (presumably) blue jays frolicked through some trees, each displacing the next into flight till they ran out of trees then went back to the beginning

• • •

It wasn't quite all downhill but I really did enjoy the last km which was a clear curving descent down to the obvious long, straight dam. I knew there would be questions but I was ready for them.

I stuck my back lights on after the feed station in case any vehicles came up behind us but now it was time for the front light too.

Yes Mr Marshall, I have 2 good lights, I also have lots of food, water and clothing. I time-trialled across the long flat tarmac. Partly to keep out of the wind, partly to convince them I was still strong.

• • •

There's an aid station cut off on this dam in the Keilder Ironman and I played the same game in 2016, running tall and strong with perfect running form to persuade them to let me continue on to the end of the race where I finished at 10:30pm.

On the other end of the dam I nodded to the medics, poised to attend to any deflated exhausted people, then was jumped by another marshal checking my number in the radiance of my Exposure light. I mentioned the guy behind me, "aye, we'll look out for him". I suspected I was about to become the last rider on the course.

I believe the Marshall was the same guy who organises the Iron distance triathlon (though I couldn't be sure) and wondered if he remembered me heading off at 5pm to run another 5hour marathon to finish exhausted in the dark. Nothing changes eh? I resolutely climbed away from him into the darkness looking strong so he wouldn't change his mind and come running after me.

When I crested the hill and started descending the other side the familiar flapping of my unhinged number started and after being momentarily dazzled, everything suddenly went dark as it flapped up to cover my light.

I hastily tore it off and stashed it in my handlebar bag, I'd have to be anonymous for the last 20km.

• • •

Around the corner I faced up to (honestly) one of the steepest slopes of the day. I hauled up it till my legs shouted out through my rasping lungs then got off for an ickle walk. To be fair, I needed the change (rest), I moved faster because of it and the sun was just dipping so I stuck on my windproof for the inevitable downhill chill.

My bike light was adjusted to varying levels of brilliance depending on whether I was going up or downhill. When I reached the top of the moor everything got properly spectacular. "That there" was what I had come for. The golden glow across the horizon, fading to Orange, Gold, Navy, Royal Blue then Purple. The sun hidden somewhere behind lenticular clouds which fluffed grey with a gold lining and a crescent moon glinted off to the side.

• • •

Just as I thought it couldn't get more painfully beautiful an owl flew across in front of me, its head and body silhouetted by the sunlight like a winged comet in silhouette. I soaked in the last of golden hour before the light was gone and the stars started to emerge from the blue.

After a while, Simon and the Medic started following me. I hoped that wouldn't be it for the last 23 km, having a truck trundling along the trail behind me.

Thankfully the route went downhill suddenly on the sketchiest descent of the day to the Keilder shore path. The truck couldn't follow me. This I was not, however, the time to face-plant into one of the many bushes overhanging the track. I rolled carefully.

On the main track I whistled at the sculptures (I couldn't remember if one was a listening sculpture of sound). The sculptures did not answer back.

The Lakeshore path was like single track without anyone on it. I zoomed in and out, up and down. Occasionally Simon and the Medic would appear on an adjacent forest track or crossing and cheer me through in between taking down tape or uprooting direction signs. Now I knew no-one was behind me.

I'd been reckoning with myself what time I'd finish. It wasn't really important except it was really important it should be before 10. The 16 kph timeline promised 8pm but I was running just below 15kph - in fact 14.6kph.

• • •

At least 14.6 wasn't actually dropping.  It was my terminal velocity.  I could cruise on for hours like this now and I felt like I do on one of my epic long night race efforts. For ease of calculation, I used 15kph and reckoned between 9-930 maybe 945 at worst. 

I had been looking forward to losing elevation where the disappearance of the sun would be offset by the shelter of the valley and the retained heat lower down. Ha! The water mass sucked all warmth out of the air and I felt both hungry and chilly. I considered putting leg warmers on but as the legs started to slow, my stomach churned. I managed to wrestle a banana from my carradice without stopping and decided to tough out my cold legs - knee cramp and all - for my glorious finish.

I literally counted myself into my last 2km and still managed to cheekily deposit a banana skin with the medic rather than looking for a bin in a deserted car park at 9:30 at night. There was the stone bridge that I'd run across during my triathlon and then I spilled onto a lane and the gentle glow of lights from the pub and a cheer went up then clapping and whistling and I dinged my bell in acknowledgement and excitement that I could soon stop. One hill to go. More dedicated cheering, somebody brought me a badge and a meal ticket but all that was left was a place to lean my bike and a lukewarm chicken pastie which left me more suspicious than fulfilled. The lovely people from Komoot left me a couple of pressies - a spoon and a hip flask.

The hip flask was in a cardboard box so at the time I didn't know what it was but it had been in somebody's pocket in the pub so it was warm and I cradled it in my hands like a precious thing and thanked them profusely for my unknown gifts before burying my face in my pastie and looking around me at the feast I had obviously missed. I could have murdered an Erdinger!

The leggings and waterproofs went on my chilly legs that were well overdue a warm layer after the dark night time breeze: I added a wool top and windproof then pottered out into the night air. I mostly free wheeled towards the tent. Now that I'd finished I was just another body on a bike, pottering around in the dark.  No excitement, no cheering, just exhaustion. 

For the first time all day I didn't have to keep going. I had no moisture left in my body. What I craved the most was the bottle of San Pellegrino I had in my tent. When I reached the uphill slope to the campsite my legs didn't want to bend anymore so I climbed off and shuffled my way across the field, lifted the bike into the van then unearthed my beautiful, soft trainers.

Inside the tent I drank my water then peeled off grubby layers, using my relatively clean leg warmers to clean the worst of the grime from my body before folding into my sleeping bag and passing out before my head hit the pillow. All thoughts of a late shower before bedtime dissolved into sleep.

Last entry on the finishers page

Back in the Saddle without Touching a Bike

The last 2 1/2 months of chronic inactivity - or activity of the wrong kind - have meant that I am terribly wobbly and un-co-ordinated.

When I run or walk my hips and back are sore for days afterward and when I ride I'm tired and odd bits of me hurt. My legs are taking pedalling in my stride but cycling now makes my arms and abs hurt. I nearly went for a ride this morning but I then made the mistake of kicking off a Garmin map update "whilst I got ready" and instead started scrolling the internet looking at pictures of the Silk Road Mtn Race. I'd had a lie in. I had chores to do and I decided my 100k hilly ride would be best tackled fresh tomorrow so I finally got back on the gym bunny, grasped the gift horse by the mouth and went to the sports centre.

I did three sets of squats with some very light weights and the rest of it was unweighted or floor-work but damn I got through some moves.

I crawled out of there spent; inhaled a protein drink and bought some (no alcohol) beers on the way home.

It's only a start but the body and my brain seem to appreciate that it matters already and are onboard to eat healthier, rest healthier and recover harder through the rest of the day.

Dear Bearbones BAM

It's not you it's me.

At the end of the Highland Trail I didn't ever want to do it again.

Then I really wanted to do it again.

Then I never wanted to ride my bike again but I'd entered the Jenn Ride so I would have to.

In the end I really enjoyed the Jenn - the Lakes, the Camaraderie, no rules, no cut-offs, no dotwatchers. I still found myself digging deep for the last 20km & suffering an awful night's sleep both during + after the event and I was terribly washed out for weeks after. So I gave myself a rest for a whole month which wasn't much of a rest because it coincided with a big work project which has been both mentally and (in the recent heatwave) physically exhausting.

Last week should have been the end of my recovery period where I bounced back like a coiled spring but instead I fumbled through the weekend like a zombie & learned more about the Olympic rules of Taekwondo than I legally need to know.

I made a last ditch effort last night to get out for BAM. I spent most of the day re-packing my dried out bits of kit that had been spread out around the house in amongst bouts of chores (taking the race bike to the shop) Olympics (crying at the BMX) and eating food.

At 10 pm I couldn't find the glasses I wear to ride - a pair of varifocals that allow me to see where I'm going and read my Garmin too. I didn't get mad I just got sad. It seemed like all my bad shit was wrapped up in bike riding & camping and those damn sleepless nights and damn I can't risk those anymore and then I fell asleep in the chair.

So, there ends my straight run of 30 (31?) BAMS from 1st commitment in June 2021

I felt no sadness or regret, just relief that (after a week of staying in budget hotels), I could sleep in my own bed, kiss someone goodnight and stay there as long as I wanted to in the morning.

These are normal things one takes for granted.

I'm sure I'll be back to bikepacking soon.

Sometimes we can tell our brains and bodies to shut up and keep going. Sometimes we need to pull up a chair, pour them a cup of tea and listen carefully.

My sleep did the trick and reset my body clock. I got out for a decent proper ride today - unencumbered by the weight of sleep paraphernalia. It started Late morning and was done by 3pm. It involved weather and golden plovers and soup but no sleeping.

I still have a way to go to fall back in love with bike packing but at least me & the bike are friends again.