There's certain things I can't say no to and a summer solstice ride on a pleasant evening was one of them - despite having a booking for the Jenn Ride the week after.
With that, TSK, Landslide (and a surprise appearance from Mr S) joined forces on a Sunday evening for a ride out to a much loved moorland spot in the park.
We rode towards the pinking sun, underneath firey clouds, disposed of Mr S who rode home to keep his injured ankle elevated (or something) and we all snacked and boozed as it went dark. I foolishly had put too much faith in the weather an forgot my warm coat so I shivered for a few hours until it clouded over then got up for the inevitable pee in the middle of the night (which always warms me up) before drifting off into a deeper sleep as things gradually warmed up with the arrival of the sun again, just a few hours later.
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(c) Landslide
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I slid about 3 ft down the hill in the night into an uncomfortable position but my bivi gave just enough protection to the gentle breeze that piped up as soon as I got my stove out, which was great for getting rid of the midges.
Landslide suggested we complete the ride we talked of last time - up to Back Tor then over the bridlepath to the Strines Road, Bamford and home.
I was up for it until remembered we were on gravel bikes and I was wearing flipflops. Still, it was an enjoyable push for 4km and we watched hares having a stand-off across the path and continued to enjoy that rising sun.
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Lost Lad, not lost lad
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We all went our separate ways - Landslide to to Child-things and me and TSK in to work in our respective offices. I'm not ashamed to say I spent a large part of the afternoon asleep on the floor of my office because I've made up for one lost afternoon over and over this last year.
So that was Monday. I had a site visit on Wednesday which is a blessing and a curse for recovery as it's both active to loosen the muscles and stressful because of driving and face to face interactions with other people. By Thursday, I was on a late finish from the office but at least I had Friday off.
The question for the impending Jenn Ride was which of my mountain bikes was the least fooked?
More to the point, which one did I want to take?
After a lot of fearful walking in Scotland to avoid large rocks and big drop-offs, I decided the only thing for it was to take the 130mm travel Cotic and leave 100mm travel on the Trek at home. The Lakes was going to fly better with some decent bounce.
That left me with new tyres to fit and brakes to service before the ride. The brakes still felt awful so I tweaked up some of the hose connections just in case then frightened myself that I'd cracked an olive on the rear brakes faffing with it. I had to pray for the best as I ran out of ideas and time.
Friday disappeared in a flurry of bike maintenance and packing and I left for the lakes at about 5pm - just in time to hit the end of commuter traffic in Glossop but not so much as to make it horrendous. I made the chippy in Staveley in time for halloumi and chips for dinner then set off down the lanes to pitch my tent on the rapidly filling event field.
Everyone was working well to maintain the distancing that worked for them. Mates I haven't seen since a chance encounter last August showed up a few minutes after me and we all pitched then headed to the pub - my bike already fully loaded, I had to call to them to stop sprinting about (unladen), though I was slightly nervous I wasn't as recovered from the Highland Trail as I'd thought.
I really enjoyed the feeling of civilian camping in a real-size tent with double skins and space for stuff - such luxury. I was warm and toasty as I made sandwiches for the next day, still not entirely trusting cafes to be fully open or have enough tables available. I should've done a bit more socialising but I wasn't ready, wasn't well rested so went to bed to get some sleep. The few social groups that were "up late" weren't up too late and my van
did a pretty good job of drowning out any noise while being back in the
outdoors did a pretty good job of lulling me fast asleep.
I snuggled into my 300 sleeping bag, expecting to be a bit too warm but strangely, I shivered through the night till about midnight which pissed me off quite a lot as I had been intending to pack light for the weekend and only take my bivi bag.
The pair next to me - a father and son team (son had been bribed into attending with the promise of a hotel room in Langdale) - set off early morning - around 6am. None of that for me. I was up around 7, fed and packed and left just before 8. I was torn between waiting for my friends and getting some miles in but as I planned the full route, they were being more relaxed, heading out for 100km instead.
On the first turns, I was so alone, I questioned my route finding at first, only being joined a few moments later by a pair of brothers who were having a little adult bicker about the route which we put down to a Garmin/Wahoo discrepancy. I also spent some time talking to a chap from Kent - but not for long enough to learn his name before we got separated by a gate-holding moment.
The peloton of joy grew and grew with new faces to chat to, laugh with and fall into the cow shit with (them not me).
Then before we knew it we were at the Windermere ferry and I hadn't even taken any photos. A ferry crossing is always a nice time to take a pic and if I've crossed water on a boat with my bike then I feel more like I've been on holiday. It was the best balance of vehicles to bikes and as the last rider on board, I was really pleased with my timing.
Soon though it was down to business as we left the road and climbed steeply up through trees to the hillside. I took my first opportunity to sit down and eat something whilst waiting for riders to thin out. I'd rather have some opportunity to ride rather than queueing. My Kentish friend stopped for a chat.
We ploughed across fields and laughed when the chap I was riding with slid sideways into cow poo. We laughed with groups as I flitted from one pack of waiting friends to another. Occasionally I'd end up with another solo rider or some pairs.
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The guy on the right was holding his own on a cargo bike with a beer keg on board, bouncing and jumping down the descents. Sadly the beer keg did not fare so well and I left them at the bottom next to a lake pondering sharing out the beer at around 10am.
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Up on the flanks of the Grizedale forest, a discrepancy in the route led me to adopt some bike trails that weren't on my map whilst the group that sent me down them waited for their mates saying, "It's basically just downhill to the visitor centre now". Apparently there were two versions of the route and clearly I had a different one to them.
Whilst I enthusiastically followed the trails downhill, soon, all the people disappeared and there was no longer a pink line on my map. I did the only thing I knew best and zoomed out and took the nearest line to get myself back on course. As I rode through the carpark, a lone child cycled by which I did not think anything of until I came across a confused looking dad. "Have you seen a small boy in a red helmet?".
"Urm, yes, heading for the car park". He headed off to retrieve his property whilst I found a bench to eat my first lunch alone and try to get the actual route off the internet.
I found the website but the "Download" click took me to a sign-up page and at that point, in the bright sunlight, I really couldn't be arsed to co-ordinate my fingers to type in my personal details - or make some up. It was a charity event and for once, not following the route to the letter didn't matter - in fact many many people had already planned their short-cuts to make the route more manageable.
Whilst I had come out with the intention to do "the whole thing", I would mostly make that my version of "the whole thing" - i.e. the version I had with me.
Decision made, the mum and daughter that accompanied the father and son stopped by for a bit of a whinge. I helped by suggesting the child's saddle be raised as it was about 2 inches too low and also sent them off to ask dad to flatten it out as it was tilting her off the back of the bike. They thanked me and I hope she discovers a life long love of biking as a result - I can but dream.
I set off at 90 degrees to them, smiled politely as unladen trail riders on the up-trail wished me luck and foofed through their teeth.
On the next big descent the weirdest thing happened - a couple of riders were coming towards me.
It was sunny and brilliant and I didn't care. After a tour of Arnside and Yewdale, I found myself in Coniston and headed for the first "biker" café I found as it was now 2pm and I didn't fancy another slightly beaten sandwich. Dusty, sweaty riders lined the high street supping cold-brew coffees and munching on supermarket fodder but I was up for a longer sit down and fancied eating something that involved cutlery.
As I added my bike to the wall, I recognised my neighbours from the campsite. They looked as exhausted as the people lining the street and were befuddled as to how I had put 90 minutes into them (assuming they'd been there for half an hour at least eating lunch). It did my ego no end of good that I felt so on top of things until dad said, "I could've done without the descent all the way into Grizedale".
Clearly this was my missing piece.
Well, anyway. I scoffed a jacket potato, had a second coffee - half of which I poured over an icecream and said goodbye to dad and son and hello to the next rider to join me - Dave from Birmingham.
I pondered a bike shop to help out with my brakes that were a bit sketchy and we all laughed as my phone pointed out the one place that could have helped me was back at Grizedale on the bit I missed out.
From Coniston we went straight back up at around 20% on the road. It was off and walking for me and Dave and we stuck together until the final switchbacks where I stopped to take some photos and put on my suncream before it was too late. The cloud had finally burned off and the temperature was soaring. I wondered how effective a 50% mix of sweat and sucream was.
At the summit bodies spread out across the hillside and the ranks were pulled to help Dave to determine the whereabouts of the credit card he left on the table in Coniston. I had no reception on my phone so after a quick breather I started the descent which included a slight detour as I dropped down too low. Still, it was a charity event and didn't matter.
Part way down I stopped to mess with my brakes. I could distinctly see daylight more clearly on one side of the pads compared to the other so wondered if my issues were caused by misalignment. I put a great amount of effort into re-aligning them on top of the fell which seemed to make some difference. I also tightened the wheel a notch just to make sure.
At the bottom of the hill, I figured what worked to stop the front wheel squeaking might be a fix for the slightly dodgy back break too so I had a faff at the gate whilst waiting for some others to come on through.
A happy troup of descenders caught me up on the last lines into Dunnerdale and we all crept into the beer garden to get in line for chips and cold drinks. There was no real food on offer but chips saw me right for an early dinner and I donated the last 10 chunky chips to Elaine - a new friend who turned up just as I was packing to leave, getting full of potatoes by now, and she was completely refused service.
We talked about energy gels, Torq powder and fuelling and I admitted I thought I'd spilled Torq powder in my frame bag. I didn't *think* I'd brought it with me but for some time now, a white powder had gradually been accumulating in my bag. We joked about me sharing my cocaine later.
I'd had a lovely chat to Andy from Wigan as he sat in the shade with a shandy. He disclosed their further plan was to eat down the road at Dalegarth. I didn't fancy risking it and having waited too long for the chips and downed my coke and water, I cancelled my lemonade order and cleared off with a full water bottle, enough to brew up my emergency food if I needed to.
I climbed Birker Fell alone, calling out to another of the Wigan massive waiting for his dad or eggs from the farm shop maybe. Just after the peloton passed me I saw Elaine then noticed that my route turned off to the right down a track I'd just missed. My route was much better from the top, taking in a steep but sweet mtb descent after being bumped around a farm with poor signage which I finally figured out.
Down at Dalegarth I rolled on down past the pub. From where I passed, it looked like there were around 50 riders splayed out across the beer garden at the front. I was glad I didn't need to go in and flew past then started the slog around the back of Harter Fell. My plan to go through the night to finish early was starting to look sketchy based on fatigue levels due to the heat. Although I felt hungry I decided I'd only eat when I bivied since I had no stove so my re-hydrated food would take longer to "cook". Rather than sit around in the midges or risk spilling food everywhere, I'd mix it up and leave it to cook whilst I pitched my bivi. In the morning I'd try a new breakfast combo.
Just thinking about it made me realise - the white powder I'd been finding in my bag was actually the spills of my museli that I had carefully packed for cold breakfast - to be supplemented by one of those cold-coffee drinks as the milk substitute and caffeine pick-me-up I would need. Rather than carrying a stove, fuel and mug, I had successfully transported the coffee drink around - without drinking it - but sadly the museli had not fared well. I looked to see if it was salvageable and thankfully about half was left. The other half I shamelessly scooped up in my hand and placed carefully back in the container before securing the lid. Hygeine was out the window, fuel was important.
I walked and ate at the same time as much as possible which wasn't much given the steepness and trickiness of the climb. I stopped and had a chat with a few new campers on the way up, folk being at different stages of bedded down the further I walked up.
The hungrier I got, the more likely a bivi got but I was trying to balance being in a breeze against not having another night shivering in bed. At the top of the track I was really tempted by the layby campers, out in the breeze at the top of the hill without a midge to be seen but I wanted to camp low down.
Just as I most felt like stopping, the route took a turn off the lovely fire road on to a boggy rocky trail and while I was nothing compared to Highlands standards, I did pick up my bike and started focussing on keeping my feet dry as I was about to go to bed.
After a steep descent the surface plunged into a descent through the woods and flatted out into more bog before opening out into swirling switchbacks that were perfectly rideable, though sketchy on my now very groaning rear brake. Not much further on, a slight breeze blew through the branches and an iconic surface opened up invitingly. It would make a perfect shelter in bad weather but there felt like there was just enough breeze for good weather too.
As soon as I looked in my frame bag I realised I still had a sub-roll to eat. Even better than waiting for a dinner brew, I threw up the bivi and mat, sleeping bag and bedded straight down to close the midge net and scoff my small dinner. I set my alarm for 5am and I'd passed out by midnight, waking only once to remove every item of clothing I was wearing and quench my growing thirst. I was boiling hot!
At 5am I stopped the alarm. The birds had already woken me and I'd been listening for a while in between snoozing. It was only a charity event and so it didn't matter. I had a "lie in" for 30 minutes then decided that I was best off to get up when it was cooler to minimise the risk of midges. There were already a few around and I managed to make - and consume - my new breakfast solution (delicious and only one bit of grit) and dress in my bivi without opening the bug net.
Once up, the temperature philosophy worked right up until the sun came out from behind the Seathwaite fells and I was inundated. I put my windproof coat on over my midge net neck, pulled the sleeves over my gloves and wore my windproof skirt to keep the off my legs and still had to keep walking away from my pitch to do discrete tasks, like packing my mat, away from where the midges could find me.
I finished the descent to Wrynose Bottom then headed for the pass, picking up and saying goodbye to other riders on the way. I took the descent off the other side with some trepidation. It's fucking steep and if my brakes were going to go anywhere I did not want it to be on Wrynose.
No sooner as we were down, it was time for Blea Tarn then the Back o' Langdale - a hellish path that took forever. Before it, the pub was closed for Breakfast - across to Mill beck - The Walker's bar also not open till 11am and the route dodged Chapel Stile. By Elterwater very few of us could be bothered to divert up a steep rocky rooty climb just to avoid less than 1km of minor road at 9am on a Sunday. Instead we flopped variously onto the village green or into the cafe at Elterwater.
Our responses to the cafe's welcome ranged from relaxed, cheeky, outraged and enthusiastic. A 40 minute wait for food sounded perfect to me. I ordered a veggie breakfast to keep it light but calorie-loaded and sat out to prep on coffee. The waitress brought me my cake with my coffee so obviously I needed a second coffee to go with the cake once I'd drunk the first with my veggie breakfast.
Just as I was leaving my Kentish friend turned up so we exchanged places and I donated my table 11 as 8, 9 and 10 got taken up by the next wave of riders. I could understand their frustration as they'd had to bring extra people in to cope with the demand, having started the day with one waitress and one chef.
The bus pulled out of a side road, missing my handlebars by inches, I secretly wished he'd flattened my bike and offered me a free ride to Ambleside.
Time to take on Rydal water, this time caught up by another lady rider. Grumpy hikers on the top path tutted and rolled their eyes at us but most people, by the time the reached the water's edge had chilled out and were welcoming. The lakeshore was like the Costa del Sol, lined with semi-naked people, dogs and towels laid out for sunbathing. We cursed our way up the steep climb out and I was distracted into tea and scones and breaking up duck-fucking and crow-fighting by the water's edge. I was glad to stop here for a light lunch instead of tackling the throngs in Ambleside - though I believe I missed a trick with the Alpkit support for the ride.
Instead I fought traffic around the town and got out as quickly as possible. It was a steep and hard traverse of the hillside but it avoided the main road and showed me a bit of the lakes I'd never bothered to explore before as I normally have blatted through here on my way elsewhere.
I stopped on this bench to figure out my route. If I'd lost distance in Grizedale, where did my route make it up? I was quite concerned I was about to be hit with an extra two hours riding to make up for it and I wasn't sure I had the legs for it.
Thankfully, once I'd stopped riding, I stopped caring. I wondered if I could still make the whole thing fuelled by nothing but love hearts and the packet of crisps I picked up in the shop.
However, the awe of hikers who stopped to ask about the race filled me with a new motivation. One lad had clearly been thinking about it since the last person he saw and had come up with a question, "Are you camping out? Are you carrying your own kit?!" Another asked after the cause and gave me £2 that he had in his pocket to add to the coffers of St Gemma's Hospice. I thanked him and stuffed the coins in my handlebar bag reminding myself to put them in the bucket later.
I promised myself I'd not stop until I got to the decision point where I could chose between an easy ride back to the finish the way I'd come (or otherwise) or the final loop over to Kentmere. As I climbed the road my resolve started to falter. I was getting hungry and wasn't sure I could manage the extra distance, although I did have my emergency dinner with me if I really needed it, I didn't want to sit around being eaten by the midges again. I remembered my packet of crisps I'd bought at the cafe and made a new resolve to stop somewhere off road away from the traffic and eat them.
At first there was a long slog of a climb where groups of school children were out for some hiking. No adults were to be seen for miles but they seemed happy and self-confident. I called out to them to open the gate for me and they obliged although it took a bit of education to help them understand how it worked - that gates aren't so easy to open if 6 of you stand on it. However, after they apologised for slowing me down (as if!), I thanked them and said I was very tired and every little help mattered.
I hoped they would also get the gate for the next rider - whose brother had been flipping about for some time now - going much faster and frustrating the hell out of me and his brother!
The next thing I saw the faster brother bombing down the hill the other way. Not quite catching what he said, I assumed it was something about his brother and muttered something about him being a while back.
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Hogg houses of the Lakes
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Up above High Borrans education centre, a gentleman washing his car commented, "not far to go now, unless you're going to do Kentmere of course!". I was affronted. Why wouldn't I do Kentmere!?
I smiled sweetly and carried on to do Kentmere. Hungrily.
When I reached that decision point, I flopped down and sat down in the long grass to fuel Kentmere with my packet of crisps. Just before shoving another handful down my gullet, I managed to stop myself before dropping a solid pound coin into my gob.
Expensive dentistry avoided, across the other side of the field, the slower brother appeared. "What happened? Did you kill him?" I asked. Far from it, he'd lost his phone in the pub and had headed back to retrieve it. Can't beat a few extra laps. I was quietly impressed that all I'd managed to lose was a buff.
Next, a Bearbones jersey appeared. It was my mate Andy Bennett who had come to the rescue of my soul during the BB200 last October, here to save the day again. We sat in the grass, talked shite and laughed about our respective months off - him after the Dales Divide and me after the HT. I asked him if he thought I could do the next 10km on nothing but a packet of love hearts but I think he thought I'd lost my marbles or was being polite.
We set off again together, full of beans and helping each other with gates in turn. It flowed well - except for when I was being a clumsy git.
Unfortunately, I couldn't persuade him to do the last 10km and he took a different line off Three Rivers, avoiding Kentmere's descent and climb of Green Quarter Fell. On the flip side, I dropped into Kentmere, at one point finding myself facing Rob Jebb coming the other way. I suspect he did not recognise me though he got a full-on hearty hello from me as if I'd just bumped into him on his way down PenYGhent in September.
On the climb out of Kentmere I had to wait while a sheep got its antibiotic dose before being allowed through the bridleway but it didn't matter because it was a charity event and it didn't matter. What mattered to me more was on the descent out of there I mis-navigated, missed a turn and had to re-trace 200m uphill to get myself back on track. It might've been a charity event but if I'd continued on my mistaken track I'd have ended up in the wrong valley with a long way to back-track at the other end and would miss a bunch of off-roading.
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| Kentmere |
The descent from the top of the moor was as delicious as the scenery right up until the point where it dropped vertically into the forest on the other side of a substantial deer gate. It all got a bit highlands but it didn't matter, I was home.
I checked in with Rich and chatted for a bit but largely didn't dare sit down until I'd actually got to my van which I did - for quite some time.
I'm not actually sure how much of a thing it was earlier in the day but with only 5 or 6 of us left in the campsite, we all generally stripped off and had a good shower in the cold outdoor shower near the gate. The boys were a bit modest but given my ageing floppy body and the heady mixture of sweat, sun cream, dirt and midge repellent, I happily stripped naked and fully washed off (except for my hair) in the icy flow. It was the best shower I've had in ages.
As I wheeled the bike across the field, it rattled unnervingly. The source of my crap braking and groaning brake pads which switched from the front wheel to the rear turned out to be a loose skewer which was solved at the front when I tightened the fork QR then gradually got worse on the rear wheel as I'd not torqued it up enough when I gave it a bath on Friday. Doh! July's aim is to get a ride in on a functioning bike.
Camping for the whole weekend was fair game and with Monday booked off work, I made some dinner at the campsite and flopped into my van at 8:30 pm to sleep for as long as I could bear with accumulating CO2 and H2S building up in the roof space of the van. Eventually I risked the midges and cracked the door open. I then concluded I couldn't sleep in the van any more and instead, got my bivi bag off my bike, blew up my pillow and moved the mat and sleeping bag outside to sleep.
For the second night in a row I completely roasted but once I was completely undressed I fell soundly asleep until the temperature finally dropped at 3am when I climbed back into bed then the sun hit at 7am and woke me up being too warm. If you can't eat most of a packet of jaffa cakes for breakfast on your day off, what can yo do? I did that midge-free then packed the bike away and headed into the village for second breakfast.
I was still too early for the cafe so Icecream from the shop sufficed and I hit the road. Sleeping was for later.
