Last year I trained for the Dirty Reiver in 6 weeks through a process of gradually increasing the distance and resting. I call it a process - I went with what felt right. The timing of it last year made it my 3 Peaks Cyclo-cross replacement ride and as-such, it took on all the importance of an event one has trained for 6 months to achieve (or 6 weeks!). This year, it was in April. One month before the start of the Highland Trail.
Four years ago when I first conceived of completing the HT, the Dirty Reiver seemed like a good warmup event - 200km of gravel one month before the start date. Over the years, it seemed like a bad idea since it often takes me a month to get over such an effort and I didn't want to be knackered for the HT. Somehow that went out of my mind this year and I entered it.
Now, it seems like a good idea. In absence of all other training, I might as well cram like a teenager before A levels. I had enlisted the company of my sports massage therapist, Helen, who (during lockdown) has ditched ultra running in favour of bike packing and had done proper training for the DR, and everything. She persuaded me to take two days off work and we drove up to the event campsite on Thursday. I spent most of Wednesday rebuilding my bike after I got a hole in my lauf forks so packing was frantic and chaotic to say the least.
Our camp was very special. I'd brought a substantial ammount of kit but only my two man tent, not realising we had to park cars away from the tent space. Helen had brought a 3 man tent with a big porch but not much stuff. Between us we had the perfect pitch. We'd sit outside and I'd chef up fresh food every night then we'd pack everything away into her tent in the evening to stay dry though the overnight dew.
On Friday we went for a shakedown ride around the reservoir. It was an absolute pleasure. We rode the trail in reverse to what we'd do on Saturday so we got to see the sculptures properly. We ate an apple in the sunshine overlooking the sparking water. We stopped at the sailing club for icecream and tea then took the road for the last part back and troughed our way around the green in the village - the new finishing route to avoid the last bit of trail damaged by the storms 6 weeks ago. Whatever happened on Saturday, we'd had the best day on Friday.
Back at the car, I cleaned off Helen's bike as she'd not had chance nor inclination after her last long trip and we rigged her Garmin mount. I had some structural retention work to do on my feed bag.
We slept pretty well the night before a race. Getting up to go for a wee in Kielder is sublime because of the stars and you walk to the toilets craning your neck to see the stars. There are so many it becomes impossible to pick out the major constellations.
We pottered up to the start on time the absorbed the usual amount of shuffling around in a big group before the start and we could actually get on our bikes. Every woman for herself was the slogan. I held my own better as Helen is tiny next to me but then I was pleased to see her slink past me on the first climb with a smile saying, "ha! Survived the start". I wouldn't see her for the rest of the day.
I knew I'd be slower than last year - but by how much was unclear. I also didn't care nearly as much what happened to me. I tried to keep riding sustainably and ended up quite warm as I couldn't be bothered to stop to take my knee warmers off. Finally, at control, I stopped to oil my chain some more and remove some layers. Unlike last year, I actually had a sit on a bench, stretched my back and scoffed some jaffa cakes. After the climb to the sculpture, I added my windproof then set off down the descent, making my way through a group of triathletes who were sitting on their brakes and then caught me back on every climb. I also blew up a bit so stopped on a pile of gravel to eat a ham and cheese cracker-sandwich for my lunch. A lot of people asked if I was OK as if skipping lunch should be normal - weirdoes.
Next the sprint was on to meet the cut-off. Last year I didn't need to worry about it. This time I sneaked through with 5 minutes to spare. Bollocks, I said to the guy next to me, does that mean I'm committed now?
On we went. My legs were tired now. I had a little walk. I was only 65km in but already I was feeling tired. It's been a month since I've ridden that far and mostly that was on the road. The walk was more about being in a different position for a little bit though. The mountain bike has become my default ride position so new bits of my body were aching from being on the gravello.
I had forgotten most of the bits of the second loop of the ride and it's some of the nicest terrain and I seemed to be surrounded by some nice people too. The friendly folk at the back. I also stopped at the van serving water to top up my bottle as it was absolutely bone dry and I was getting desperate.
Before I was ready for it, we were out of the forest and back onto the road for a stretch before the next aid station and the next cut-off point. I knew I had to get a wiggle on to make the cut off again and started to put some real effort in. I thought I'd try and catch someone and work with them to speed us both up. The guy in front of me stopped just as I caught him up to "get a drink" bollocks and the guy behind me sat on my wheel like a useless appendage then as soon as the next hillclimb came up, sped past at an unsustainable pace after I'd tired myself out dragging him for 3 miles. Twat.
The trails restarted and I made my way as quickly (and politely) as possible to the aid station and panicked while looking for my food as the organiser kept reminding us there was 5 minutes to get to the aid station that was 5 minutes away. I was so annoyed, I only had enough time to say "Hi" to Rich and Tom after I finally found my feed back and then poured a can of coke in my bottle before hammering down the trail. I got stuck behind a lady skidding down the switchbacks with full brakes on and swore at myself for not taking the direct line down. I dropped into the cut-off with 30 seconds to spare but was cut off anyway by a volunteer.
Now, I'd already rationalised cut off as this: I would be stoked to continue and finish but if I was cut off I'd also be fine with that decision and save myself another 5 hours of battling a brutal headwind.
So I argued momentarily about closing the cut-off over 30 seconds early cut off ("over" because they'd already cut it off when I got there) - I mean there's hundreds of people there working on GPS time ffs, but basically, I remembered I'd got lamb chops back at the tent and well, if I didn't go back then Helen would just make herself a pot noodle and I'd get back in the dark to a finish area that had saved me a shitty pastie and life would be a bit crap. Plus, I was in training for something bigger. This was just the warm up event.
So, I pretty much sailed past the cut off onto the shorter 135km course without a bother. I tried to enjoy the route and both sped up and started to really engage with my surroundings but I remained pissed off about the early cut-off I mean basically I wasn't getting my money's worth. I saw a newt on the trail which was nice. I went through the dam checkpoint pissy because they said "you look great" which made me think, "because I have 65 unspent kms in my legs" and I enjoyed the company of the fast people zooming past to finish their 200kms before I'd done 135.
I grumped at the woman on the finish line about being timed out early - sorry - I was quite happy really - and I ate stew curry and drank my cup of crabby orange squash but still, it was better than a half-baked pastie that I stuffed down my throat last year. I walked back down to my tent and called out "hi honey, I'm home" to a snoozing Helen.
The shower was luke warm but heyho, it happened in daylight. The lamb chops were delicious.
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