BB200 2022*

*no placenames have been used in this report so no spoilers for the November crew.

I get pretty fed up with the comparison between bike packing, unsupported racing and life - especially work. "It teaches me resilience for my job" Bollocks. If your job ever puts you in the hole I am in now -you need to leave and get a new job.

I wanted to get a blue badge this year. In the (all of 2 weeks) build-up between my last race and this one, I set my heart on a blue badge. I have 2 green ones already.

Last week I sat at my computer to figure out the time gaps between "aid stations"- or as we call it in the self-supported world - every village offering a food source. I worked it out for 3 speeds - 28 hours for a blue badge (6.8km/hr), 6km/hr usual Trep speed and the 36 hours time limit for a Green again (5.4km/hr).

• • •

There was nothing else for it. I'd have to ride my long legs off to make the petrol station in time for closing. My best plan was to carry a dehydrated meal for dinner & hope to top it up with hot water from the petrol station coffee machine, not cold. I left the stove behind and pared down to a top tube bag and minimalist seat pack. I still took a tarp, lightest sleeping bag and mat - despite my temptation to throw caution to the wind. I know it gets dark and revolting when I have no quality sleep.

It felt too easy at first. I met Tom coming the other way at the top of a road climb - which alerted me to my wrong turn. He's right, I do owe him beer.

Nelson and Hannah soon caught and passed me. I wouldn't see any of them again.

Finally we turned off road and I instantly regretted not switching to grippier tyres until I got used to my racing tyres and thanked myself later for sticking with the lightweight option (as I pushed the bike uphill and needed to lift it over fences).

At the next descent, torrents of water paid testimony to 3 days rain just-passed as spray peeled off the tyres and onto my legs. I went in for the gaiters and they stayed on until lunchtime when they got too warm to tolerate.

• • •

Cath caught me up on the way into town and I started off by almost leading her the wrong way then calling her Fiona all day. Sorry!

We spent the cruel detour chatting as much as we could, debating loss of layers. We did some bike-sitting outside the shops as John (see later) popped in to buy his lunch, then Cath and I set off together for a while. One steep push-up and all my cyclocross training separated us again as Jay and Mart/k(?) caught up to take the reins. We switched around the order of things as I passed them faffing or snacking and they were faster on the bike.

• • •

Eventually a steep climb left me just taking time to walk while I ate some food - partly so the eating was easier, partly to get a rest from my saddle. My mates disappeared over the hill, only for me to catch them again. They were filling water bottles by a river. The moon was rising behind. There should have been a kiss. I thought we were nearly at the pub so I'd wait to fill my water bottle there. 

We weren't nearly at the pub. 

Landmarks came & went. There was no pub. Another rider caught me as I faffed. Sorry dude I never got your name. He was younger, fitter, more gravelly. Then there were 4 of us for awhile, and just as quickly our young friend pulled away, as did Jay, chasing the closing times at the pub.  There was a lot of hungry struggling from all of us.

I arrived at the petrol station to our young friend eating, Jay & Mark/t heading up to the pub and then John arrived. (I have no idea what his name is so John will have to do).  There were 3 of us again. 

We debated whether the others would make it out of the pub.

I brewed up my dehydrated curry which was fantastically shit. Sorry Firepot, it didn't hydrate on just 400ml and I couldn't be arsed to fetch more water.  It was ridiculously spicy for an adventure meal. No. 

Half of it got packed in case I needed it later then I regretted carrying it, it was so bad. I enjoyed coffee a bag of crisps so stocked up on some other stuff before setting off again with John just behind me.

• • •

I mused on my plan - were there really, as I remembered, lots of road miles between here & the next stop? Probably not but I thought, maybe. I piled on leg warmers - my waterproof coat for extra warmth and set off.

Of course just as Cath (Fi) arrived, we were ready to go. We wished her well.

There weren't more road miles We were on a bridleway - in a field. The road wasn't far away - so close that when I hit it I called out "not far" to John behind me. He passed me in the forest with a "What brings you here at this time of night?" As the stream ran down the path we were walking on I responded with "the water, I just fucking love the stuff" He offered to help me lift my bike over the fallen tree but I was resolutely purist, admitting I'd have said yes had we been on a fun event and not a personal ITT "challenge".  I slung the bike under and just about managed to un-wedge the Jones bars from the fallen trunk whilst I scissor-kicked my legs over.

Onto the steepest of descents. My pal had ridden ahead. At the top the tyre track was so deep in the gully I could crawl either side on my knees.

In the middle I cursed Stu. This wasn't any good for tall people at midnight as the trees whipped my helmet. Then I remembered I had a dropper post which helped a person of almost 6ft a little better.

At the bottom the slope threatened to tip me over - thank god for the dropper post.

I dealt with the chill by keeping turning the pedals on the road section. I knew where I was and there was a flat grassy patch ahead I'd scoped to sleep in if I was desperate but I wasn't desperate enough as it was too open and breezy.  I reasoned that there might be somewhere lower down (but before I reached "The Fog") that would be warmer and out of the wind.  I had my eye on the shelter of some bracken and briars.  

Climbing up the mountain road I let a few drivers pass as this is rural Wales and you never know how drunk/high people are at midnight.  The second guy turned off at my exit from the road, parked up and turned his lights off.  I rode past as quickly and discretely as I could hoping I wouldn't by mauled by released dogs or joy-ridden off the route.  My plan to pitch up for a sleep was being scuppered by the thought of a rogue 4WD rolling through my pitch at 2am.

The route detangled into a stream of ruts and puddles.  I fell in one and when I went to put my foot down there was nothing there and my whole body weight pitched onto one hand.  There was a lot of swearing and one soggy hip as I tried to wrestle myself upright again.  

Just then I noticed my water bite value starting to leak. I did the best I could to stow it away from my shorts but my left leg was soaked again.

As we descended into town, I felt a cold drip of water run straight down my bum crack from the spray off my back wheel. What kind of fresh hell? Though I was actually impressed that the shorts had done this good a job at keeping me dry so far.  I stopped and added my goretex trousers over the knee warmers, hoping that my body would push the trapped moisture out into the cold night air. I'd noticed the temperature inversion at the petrol station and the valleys were only starting to get colder. By the time we approached town, I couldn't face camping low down away from the Bridleway so thought I'd push on through. By the time I reached John snacking, I was hell-bent on reaching the town at the bottom of the valley and climbing back out again as soon as possible.  I checked he was OK and continued on.  It was the last time I'd see him.

I wasn't really OK though.  I was a bit sleepy and I also recognised that if I were going to carry on I'd need to wear my insulating layer to ride on.  When I saw a sign for public toilets, I felt like all my prayers had been answered.

Tentatively I tried the door on the ladies'. Not only were they open, it felt so warm inside. I set my bike against the wall, folded the baby change station back and sat down on my sit mat. Perfect. Wrapped in my sleeping bag I fell asleep with a bar of chocolate in hand, my head wedged between the cubicle wall and the baby-change table. At some point the motion sensor reset and the lights went out. I grabbed my pillow & blew that up but couldn't be bothered with my mat. It was too much effort and thought it'd look worse to have blown up a camping mat if I was disturbed and moved on.  I tried lying down with my bum on my sit mat but it was too cold and uncomfy on the tile floor so I sat up again and used the pillow to prop up my knees so they didn't feel locked-out. I slept a little more, only being disturbed by someone else leaving the gents next door and I wondered if it was John. My alarm went off at 3 am and I stayed in my makeshift bed a little longer - consuming the breakfast I had carried with me all day - which was very satisfying compared to chocolate and crisps.

Before I left I tried my new toothpaste tablets but was too lazy to dig out my toothbrush. I was pretty disappointed that the chalky, flouring lumps just stuck to my teeth uselessly and I probably swallowed more of it than I should have.

• • •

I redressed in my goretex trousers for warmth and tried on my highland trail Marigolds for extra hand warmth but they were too tight to fit over my long finger gloves - good job it didn't rain. I had liner gloves with me that did a great job of making my hands feel warmer and I tore into the warmer pads I'd packed at the last minute on Friday night - putting one in each of my gloves and my waterproof socks.

There were a few cars still moving around town - people coming home from clubs in Aber, I guess, or going to work. I passed through town and onto yet another steep bridleway, constantly looking out for the haematite-coloured glow of a lightening sky in the East. It didn't come soon enough to stop my second wave of sleepiness The toothpaste incident had left me feeling somewhat sick and I didn't dare drink any more of the half-empty bottle of coke in case it ended in some kind of volcano effect. Eventually I decided to try it out and stop for a turbo kip while the sun came up and/or I vomited.

This time I got my Tyvek out to lay on the damp grass and threw my tarp over me like a makeshift bivi.  I put the sit mat under my bum and just used my helmet as a pillow. I was warm enough in all the layers I was still wearing from town and by elevation I was above the temperature inversion.

I didn't need a second alarm, the birds started singing above me.

• • •

Crows were caw-ing and a red kite mewled overhead. When I opened my eyes the sun was already rising. I got moving again, getting joined by a much faster rider who gleefully told me he'd had a luxurious sleep in his little tent, then he was gone as I continued to deal with night demons and my dodgy tummy.

One thing that was reassuring me was the passage of kms. No matter how rubbish I was feeling, 70 soon turned into 30km to go and I started to believe that a sub-28 hour finish was possible. 

I constantly recalculated. Going up hills it didn't look good. At the bottom of downhills it seemed just in reach then my gears started to play up. Several people had already been laughing at the bizarre noises coming from my drive train but now, when I went to shift up, the change only came 20 or 30 seconds later when I least expected it. It was not what tired legs were expecting for the rolling hills and country lanes to the finish. I checked the distance to go and the elevation profile and discovered a new climb which I had completely forgotten about. Selective memory? 800m! FFS

All of a sudden it didn't seem doable. A band of 3 merry men came by. Each one asked me if I was Ok. I was not Ok. They didn't hang around long to talk to the grumpy old lady. The last guy passed saying, "It's ok, we've got all day". I did not want all day. There was no way I could go on feeling this shit all day and this would be a lot of effort to go through just for another green badge. Serious thoughts of quitting entered my mind. It felt like there was little between me and the finish but a lot of time. In the next village I went to have a sit on a bench then realised the 3 merry men were along the road a little sitting at tables outside a shop serving coffee. Perfect.

In theory I waved goodbye to time limits and decided to stop for a lovely brew with my new friends, try not to depress them any further, and eat some cake.

For the fifth time that morning I decided it was all stupid, I wasn't going to play any more and the clock could go to hell. I'd have had a lovely sleep if it hadn't been for that pesky alarm. What was I rushing back for anyway? The coffee, cake and company was good and I found I was slick at getting my stuff together and getting on the road. By the time the guys caught me up I had stopped to remove my layers before the big push up to the wind turbines in the sky. For a moment I started to think 28 hours was still doable.

Somehow, two "camp" stops meant my gear was all awry and despite ditching/eating a lot of food it was quite a challenge to repack all my bags. Some things that had been packed away had to be unpacked, relocated and repacked and my coke bottle finally drained and squashed just to squeeze my gaiters into my stem cell bag. There was stuff everywhere.

• • •

I set off up the climb at an angry stomp. I was soon off the bike and pushing but the coffee and calories were doing their thing. The canister of tuna bean salad I'd been carrying for 2 days was digging into my shoulder blades but there was no time to stop and sort it out.

An undefined track across tussocky moorland leads to a wind farm. Only the thought of gravel roads leading to the turbines brought me any hope and then the locked gates came.

The first was the worst. A primal scream was the only mechanism I had to lift the heavy bike over the tall fence and then I got the rear wheel caught on the barbed wire and dropped the whole thing hard onto the crushed stone, carbon bars first. That made me mad. Then some gymnastics to get me over the awkward gate rendered un-climbable by the anti-sheep mesh welded in place.

The next one was easier but still annoying. The third one was taking the piss. There was a lot of swearing as I wondered: why lock the internal gates? Do wind turbines escape? Surely it's inefficient for the work crews. I was further enraged by the perfectly acceptable bike gates at the other end with full, unhindered access.

The tuna salad still dug into my back but I was cheered up by a happy farmer on a quad bike giving me a wave with his stupid collie grinning into the morning sunshine.

I checked the distance to go: 13km in 24 minutes. 32 kms/hr average - a big downhill but some flat and short, steep climbs on the road to go. First gravel then slate flew by under wheel, then more gates - horrible gates. Gates you have to get off for. Gates you have to lift shut. 

8km in 20 minutes 24 km/hr. I flew down the hillside, cow shit and water spraying everywhere. For once the cows were running the other way- thank god.

6km in 12 minutes but now there was tarmac and a sweet, sweet tail wind. I stamped on pedals, hauled the bars span my legs on the downhill till I couldn't go any faster then tucked hard. Begged drivers not to pull out, took the racing line, ran the red light through the roadworks because it will catch you even if you wait for green. 2km to go in 5 minutes. I rounded the bend. No-one was in the carpark to witness my elation. I totally missed the driveway so ran down the stairs with my bike and banged on the windows.

"I'm back".

27 hours 58 minutes. One very happy Trep.

Looking for Love

On the last day of March, I decided "this is it, Highland Trail - now or never".  

I've been crap this year.  Some self-inflicted crapness.  Other external-factor-crapness.

I've 7 weeks to go.

On Friday morning I set off for the day with no excuses.  On my ride to work I was going to quit work early, go home, pack my bike, be on the road early on Saturday, stay out all weekend". 

I got into work. We got an email from Alan.  "7weeks to go".

"Oh *&$)! ALAN. I KNOW"...

"we've put one of your favourite bits of the race back in".

"Oh Alan, I love you". Little happy dance in the office - yes this was all out loud.  Yes, my colleagues were bemused.  

I enthusiastically explained to them what was going on.

Then I forgot about it, left work at 8pm  and got home exhausted at 9 and flopped into my dinner then went to bed.

On Saturday morning though, I did at least load my gear on my bike then remembered that I have a new wheel with a new block.  So I thought I'd put on a new chain and smaller chain ring so I was race ready.

At least the new gear helped me feel better going up the hill - once I'd squeezed past the queue of labour candidates trolling our back yard trying to win my vote.  Stopping me getting out on my bike is not how it's done.

On the bridleway out of town I was pleased to see my friend EP who has recently moved back to Sheffield.  We had a catchup and EP asked where I was off to.  I explained how gammy my last few months have been and that I'd lost the love a bit and so, honestly, I was making it up.  I was going out..."in search of the Love".  Yes I was off to find the Love.

She went home and I bravely headed up the side of the hill.  I wanted to test out this new gear and wheel and sure enough it stuck to the trail like a dream and I cleared something that currently, I shouldn't technically be able to on my fully-loaded steel bike given my current perceived fitness levels. 

Things were looking up.

Next stop was for pre-lunch at the Apple Shack but unfortunately it's still closed (till April 16th if you're local and wondering), so me and my hungry belly crawled on up to Fox Hagg where we sat on a bench and troughed honey roast peanuts instead.

It was insufficient and in my rush to get to the Peak, I cut a corner short then remembered the existence of two pubs in Lodge Moor.  The 3 Merry Lads looked more appetising - mainly given the sunny bench out front, sheltered from the wind and something to lock my bike to.  Beef stew and a half pint of beer were demolished.

The ride over Stanage and down the Causeway was better for it.  Some passing hail showers made the descent chilly but the sun came out again at the bottom and lapwings entertained me on the other side, vying for supremacy in the nesting stakes.

I dropped to the Ladybower, dodging the Chinese students who insist on walking four-abreast down New Road.  The beer caught up with me and I popped into Heatherdene toilets for a wee and a moment to re-dress and warm up after the hail storm.  I slipped onto the lake shore path, hoping it would be starting to get quiet by now.  This was a pleasant trundle to get me away from the busy areas quickly.  It worked and I found myself pushing up a deserted and plush green steep to get out into the Edale Valley on the other side.

Once there, I couldn't resist the draw of Jacobs ladder - so much for avoiding the busy.  A 70 year of the Peak Park anniversary hike / run (it was hard to tell which) was drawing to a close at 4pm with a steady stream of backmarkers making their way off the hill.  I contributed in my own small way to the rememberance of the trespass.

The edge of Kinder was peppered with hikers so I almost felt privileged to be on the Bridleway pretty-much alone.  The ride over to Hayfield was absolute blissful solitude.  I stopped in to say hello to Charlie and then stopped to take a break at the info-board.  I had the place to myself.

My plan was to enjoy the ride over to the main road then turn right to drop into Glossop for some dinner.  I didn't really care if it was petrol station sandwiches by the time I got there around 7pm.  I'd already had a rather hearty meal for lunch.  Instead, by the time I got to the road, I'd enjoyed my solitude so much that sitting on the main road into Glossop was the last thing on my list of desires.

Instead I turned left towards Hayfield, intending to pick up the Peak 200 route at my earliest convenience and maybe drop into Hayfield to pick up some scran instead.  

I missed the first turning for Lantern Pike which - with hindsight - is probably a blessing as it would have been a fuckton of extra climbing only to come all the way back down again.  

Instead I passed through Hayfield and turned off to pick up the Peak 200 after the Pike.  In doing so I completely forgot to pick up any food at all or more water.  Still, I had enough with me if push came to shove - and push I did.  

Coming out of East Hayfield my legs were shot and my body was not in a good mood either.  Still, the sunset did a lot to dull the pain.

I waved to mum and dad on the other side of the wall (in Manchester somewhere) and watched as the lights on all the tall buildings pinged on in the fading light.  A few nervous moments when I thought I was going to be besieged by offroad vehicles but they passed along the main road and I felt no need to duck for cover... except of course to brew up some food.

Tussocks, ditches and walls passed but nothing had any water so I continued my steady trundle until I did find running water.  

A stream crossing the trail gave me some hope but I had to climb a gate to access sitting and sleeping facilities.  A farm was too close and a vehicle pulled slowly along the road and into the house - possibly wondering why someone with a head torch was loitering at the gate.  

I carried on.  I knew where there was water and aimed for there.  Sadly, as I headed down the hill, the temperature also dropped like a stone.  

I filled up my bottle at the appointed spot and scouted around for a bivi.  Nothing was flat enough so I carried on even deeper down the valley to the next stream where I have stopped before.  My previous spot was available but I noticed a gate I hadn't seen before.  

Behind the gate was a shitting spot.  Disgusting.  Human poo, tissue paper everywhere.  Well beyond it though, on the other side of the stream, was a perfectly flat spot.  It even had a tree for company.  I went to check it out and found that it did indeed have enough flat space for a bivi between the tussocks and was out of stench range of the toilet.  The tone of the stream was just right.  Yes, it was a bit close to the Manchester Airport flight path but sometimes everything is.  The main problem was, it was fucking freezing.  Still, I was as tired and hungry as can be so I stopped.

The bivi went up quick.  I got completely changed into sleeping clothes.  Berrated myself (again) for forgetting my down coat and wore all of the layers instead then got out my stove.  The SateBabi was DELICIOUS.  It may help that I've never had read Sate Babi but the dessicated sachet version was so good I'm not sure I want to ruin it by tasting the real thing.

By the time I got around to eating, my stomach had shrunk so much I struggled to finish all the food but force-fed myself to the end.  After all, I'd spent the fuel heating up, I wasn't going to waste the thermals.  I also recognised the signs of dehydration so brewed myself a very full mug of herbal tea, turned my headtorch off and looked at the stars while I shivered and finished my brew. 

Let's be honest, this didn't look like it was going to be much of a night.

Sure enough, I lay in my bivi bag and shivered some more.  Closing the lid wasn't helping me to warm up.  I found whatever remaining clothes I could (wind-proof and slightly damp teeshirt and wrapped them over my legs.  

I got up for a wee. No better. 

I checked all my bags to make sure I hadn't stashed any hand-warmers anywhere - no joy.

I ate an energy gel in case my calories were still to low.  Not sure where that came from but it really shouldn't have been in the bottom of my bivi bag.  It didn't help.

I felt like I'd been lying there shivering for 2 hours but checked my watch and it said 3am. OK, so I managed some sleep then.

I got up to pack up and get riding, reasoning it would at least be warmer on the bike.  Then I thought of crashing in the dark and freezing to death or my lights suddenly dying (I'd left them on the bike instead of taking cold lumps of metal into my chilly bed).

As soon as I got up I knew I wasn't going anywhere for another hour.  I had another wee, shivered and got back into my bivi - which was at least toastier than being outside.

At 4:15 I woke up shivering again but at least recognised that if I got up and brewed breakfast now I'd be on the trail in about an hour and the sun would be making an appearance.  While I still knew where my bib shorts were and knew that they were dry-ish and warm-ish I put them on to avoid them getting wet in the bivi bag or any colder.  I put everything else back on top - leggings, goretex trousers and sat cross-legged with my sleeping bag over my legs and feet.  Finally, enough to keep me warm whilst I wrestled with the camelback to unfreeze the opening which let me access the water inside. After 5 hours of misery, suddenly everything felt super-worthwhile.  The ice which had cored through my bones during the night now sparkled prettily in the headtorch while I looked up at the stars and watched Cassiopeia fade into the lightening sky.

Porridge and coffee later, I was ready to pack up and I finished the job without a headtorch as the first daylight infiltrated my tidy little valley spot. I won't go so far as to call it sunshine.

I wasn't too surprised to see that the condensation on my bivi bag had turned to ice while I cooked breakfast.  What I was surprised to find was the amount of it stuck to the underside of my sleeping mattress.  Why didn't I bring the thermal one!!??

The great thing about sleeping in a cold valley? The warm up as I pushed the loaded bike back up the steep bank to the way home.

By the time I got to the tops again, the sun was already risen and the gentle re-warming began.  I dipped in and out of shaddow as I climbed up Rushup Edge.  Instead of diving off towards Peak Forest, I continued along the edge towards the direct route home.  I wanted my first ride back to be gradual enough to give me Sunday afternoon to recover and be able to ride to work on Monday morning and I wanted to get that sunshine and a sleep back at the house, not disappear back into the cold fog.

I was also hungry again so, after happily riding through a bunch of bogs which were perfectly frozen to a spongy crust, I found myself a nice sunny spot on the Pennine Bridleway with a flat rock and took out my stove to make second breakfast.  I'd eaten the porridge already so second breakfast was the leftover chocolate pudding from the night before.  It was perfectly made - just the right amount of water. I brewed it for the right amount of time and managed to mix it in properly so there were no crusty dry bits lurking in the corner of the bag.  I'm getting good at this dehydrated cheffing.

I sat still, I listened to the skylarks and I enjoyed the peace before the descent back into the chaos of a sunny peak district weekend.  While I ate my pudding one walker climbed the stile on the footpath behind me, with a cheery "hello".  Another early starter avoiding the crowds.

Well, I could've stayed up there all day but I'd run out of food so I carried on to Mam Tor road then dropped down the broken road into the valley below.  I've never ridden the broken road descent loaded before but it was fun.

In Hope I got distracted by the thought of a savoury breakfast and fell into the cafe with outside seating.  It was now perfectly warm enough to sit outside in the sun and I scoffed a bacon buttie and tea and attracted the attention of the neighbour's cat - though he lost interest once the bacon had gone.

All that was left was the ride home.  After I'd used the Causeway to get out to the Peak, I opted for Burbage or Houndkirk to get home.  Burbage came first so won out.  I can rarely resist a gritsone slab so spread out there to consume biscuits and sweeties - reluctant to waste the sunshine.

Once the elevation was attained, I high-tailed it all the way back into town along the road from Lodge Moor, intent on getting home and doing... well more eating really.

Not sure I found the love for riding my bike any more than when I left the house but I certainly renewed my relationship with the outdoors again and can feel the cloak of winter lifting.

Things feel possible again and that's good.

A short winter ride

Yesterday I got my boots sorted out.  The cleats were worn down to a level of ineffectiveness that was getting dangerous and they'd been in the wrong place for months.

I sat on the bed, unable to decide what to do.  After another week of riding to work, I felt too tired for a big ride.  Eventually I completely dressed in cycling clothing with all the figuring that I'd go out and see how it felt and then make a decision.

I fixed the cleats on the boots and set out without a coat or gloves for a little test ride up the hill.  

The feet fine.  The bike felt surprisingly comfortable.  For some reason I was expecting 400m of torture but no, it was comfortable - almost easy - even if it was fully loaded.

Unfortunately, a vicious wind ripped up the valley and it started to rain.  Cold and snivvelling, I retreated to the house, put the bike inside and changed my clothes.  Instead we dressed like hikers and walked into Sheffield for lunch and a spot of urban training.

Today however, nothing was going to stop me from going out.  My fears of a torturous bike had been allayed, I could go out with ease and riding in the rain would give me an opportunity to finally take my lightweight paramo out for a proper test ride.

With all layers assembled I stepped outside to lock the door.  I'd been here before - that feeling of being indestructible, immune to the weather.  This is what I do - tough.  That's me.  I certainly didn't care that it was raining - that my rucsac was already wetted out as I swung it onto my back.

I rode back up the hill and onto the climb past the pump track.  Half way up my left knee was screaming in pain again - there's the familiar bleedin' torture - ignore it, it might go away.  I pedalled across the sodden rugby field and up the short kicker into the woods.  At least my tyres held out over the slippery tree roots and I managed to pedal the loaded bike up and over without my legs dying or the wheels spinning out.

It was a different matter on the descent as I scrabbled to maintain control and avoid a sideways slither off the path and into the brambles.  I only just held it together which was a relief as there were a lot of people around.  I survived the road crossing and dropped onto my local trails.

Things went well in the woods and then I climbed up onto the roads that lead to the open hillside.  By the time I turned away from roadways, I quickly realised I no longer wanted to climb any further upwards, especially not to follow another exposed road towards the peak.  Instead I rode as far as the Good Dog's farm then made the decision to complete a loop of the valley before heading home.

 

For a fleeting moment I enjoyed myself.  I was in the trees again.  I considered a loop over Stanage, up to Burbage and back via Houndkirk but I soon realised I was a bit tired and fed up so I stuck to the original plan and continued to the top of Wyming brook past a succession of soggy-doggies until I reached the road to the Sportsman.

At least I cheered myself up by blatting down the descent on the big bike with hardly a touch of the brakes to slow me down and no sense of sideways about it.

On the traverse to the next offroad section I wondered if the Apple Shack would be open for flap jack but as I watched to see if they were open, I was momentarily startled to see two adult bucks leap across my path.  One of those days when you know you've seen all that you came out to see.

I rode the final climb with moisture soaking through my gloves and into my fingers all the while enjoying the birdsong.

I've been reading "The Lost of Art of Finding our Way" by John Edward Huth as a book I lucked on in oxfam.  I decided to recall the alternate route home from the trail through the housing estate - hoping to find my way across the cemetery into Crookes village.  It was a fail and instead I crossed to Stephen  Hill and dropped down to home the quickest way possible - across the tarmac - and all in time for lunch.

As days out go it was a short one but everyone's got to start somewhere.  It was one of those days that you feel that its impossible that in 3 months time you'll be riding 110km a day over mountain passes and wonder how the hell you're going to get there.

It might have helped if I hadn't taken the kitchen sink with me but there you go.

Bear bones Winter Event. Pleasant Valley Sunday.

A pub on a Friday night? I haven't done that by design for a long time. I took a half day's leave to give me packing and driving time and we managed 2 pints, unfortun­ately missed chatting to Verena, met Ben, Sam, John and chatted with Reg and Andy and my travelling partner Landslide.

A few of my companions tried to persuade me to join their groups but haunted by a lack of training - so far & a desire to not slow anyone down (including myself) I turned down the offer of a yurt and a pub and cafe ride to moans of "What are you going to do between 4:30pm and 7am??" My response: "that's what lights are for!". I've become accustomed, no, enamoured, of riding at night.

The Wynnstay inn is run down but affordable and held together with warmth and the enthusiastic care of Pauline, landlady who looks after everyone - and I mean everyone and everything. She left Highgate in London in 1984 and the only obvious remnant of the big smoke is a hint of the queen's English - though she speaks and understands the Welsh crowd at her public bar.

My blood sugar couldn't handle the beer so at 3am I was sat on the stairs eating chocolate buttons to get rid of the nausea. Once I'd got a hangover my stress levels dropped. When I realised the weather was mild and wet for now, I downgraded my sleeping bag (ignoring the overnight forecast) and sat around in the community centre too long drinking tea and chatting but it was all in the name of avoiding the rain on my ride. I started (after 3 lashing showers) at 11 am. My first checkpoint was at the bottom of the Pennant valley.

I had to stop on the way to remove my waterproof trousers & change into lightweight gloves when I started to melt with the sunshine that was flooding into the day.

• • •

My kit packed away surprisingly easily until I realised the reason. I had forgotten my big coat and any form of lunch to keep my energy levels up through the day.

I reckoned I'd have sufficient to sustain life just long enough to get to Mach for dinner and I could stop and brew up a dehydrated meal if I got desperate.

 

I had a chat with a man trying to unearth a telegraph pole from a flowing stream then turned tail and headed out behind BB Towers. 

 As I rode up the track on the Eastern flank of the valley behind my friends' house for the first time, I realised you only make the mistake of using the path on the West side once in your life. As I pedalled smoothly up the wide forest track, my mind cast back to the WRT in 2019 when I carried my bike up a scree slope, after I fought my way past nettles, brambles, tussocks and gates overgrown with grass (but still bolted in three places).

I had a pleasant valley wee, reassured that most folk had left by now and gone the other way.

After that it was time to take on a much longer slog onto the moors to visit three checkpoints in succession. I had plotted a very uppy downy route to take in Bugeilyn but the forum gods advised against it & I used Landslide's alternative route to dab in and out of checkpoints without losing too much elevation. First off the North of Glaslyn and the nature reserve. It is high and it is wild up there.

On the way it started to rain. I looked out for some shelter to scurry back into my waterproof trousers and change my gloves but the only things on offer were 4 scrawny yew trees battered by hundreds of years and some corrugated steel sheep pens.

The steel was mostly embedded in a mound of earth on the leeward side so I used what I could as shelter and planked myself down on my sit mat on the grass and faffed with my boots. 5 minutes later I pulled my hood sinch tight around my glasses against the hail, thankful I stopped when I did.

After a seeming age of picking my way across heavy and tussocky bridleways, swearing at the sheep it was already pleasant to have the respite of the road for a few hundred metres. Two riders crossed it ahead of me from a different direction but I couldn't catch them and they certainly couldn't hear me over the wind. We all turned off for the checkpoint and from my vantage above I captured them admiring the view before the long, steep descent.

 It was very steep and I soon caught them up where they started to walk. I couldn't get my dropper to drop so I walked sooner and soon realised that for the out-and-back I did not need to take my bike down the hill with me, only to have to push it back up again. 

The rider at the back noticed I was walking bike-less, checked I was OK with a thumbs up (yes) then descended into the rain.

I enjoyed the scenery, then ran back to my bike terrified I'd taken my eyes off him for 5 minutes. Of course I'd travelled further than I realised and every empty tussock was agonising until I finally saw the outline of handlebars in the fawn-coloured grass.

Back on the moors I pedalled over to the next checkpoint on the mines around Penycrobren to the South side of Glaslyn nature reserve.

At the bridge crossing the ford over the reservoir I held my breath as I tipped the bike up on its back wheel and literally walked the plank, balancing myself and my 20kg bike over the roaring, raging torrent pouring over the dam and onto the broken concrete 4 feet below.  I had zero chance of recovery if either of us went in and my heart stopped for a moment as a gusty sidewind struck us mid span and we wobbled heavily before regaining our composure and teetering to the final leap out of the roaring torrent.

Alongside the Lyn, seemingly devoid of any nature as the wind rushed across it and buffeted me sideways or head-on, slowing my progress to very little. It was another out-and-back on my route that Landslide had  chopped away, saving me from Bugeilyn and cutting off some distance before deciding on going for the pub option ride instead. 

 

I dropped into some farm buildings located by the headworks of a mine and enjoyed the rushing torrents of water between crags and trees before backing up to the buildings with what remained of the daylight to sit on a rock out of the wind and eat half a pot of honey roast peanuts for my late lunch.

On the way out I topped up the camera with some photos of valleys, waterfalls and sheep so my Welsh vibe was real.

Finally I reached a descent which was fast and fun right up until the moment I overshot my turn off by 200m and had to retrace up hill. Something creaked in the trees and for once it was neither my knees nor cranks. A large, single rook swirled overhead then returned to the darkness for cover.

I felt uneasy as this wasn't my route plot.   I'd forgotten to refresh my memory or check out what Landslide proposed so I had no idea where I was going or where the next point was.

I soon realised I was going to scatter the sheep I'd just photographed "all the way over there" as I pushed my heavy bike up the hill through their midst.

The route chosen for me cut straight up the grassy bank to my left then eventually contoured around the hillock to my left. On the map it looked easier to skirt the other side of the Cairn since the "path" was non-existent any way, it seemed mostly harmless to smooth the route. I started grasping at straws and nearly found myself at my first fence crossing of the day when I mistook a fenceline for the trail in the already-failing light (how was it getting dark already?) and tussocks.

Thankfully I realised my mistake in time, completed my circuit of the cairn and then stumbled upon something resembling an old cart track that was actually probably my route for as long as it lasted before degrading back to sleep field. I slalommed between the ewes - a careful balance of not disturbing the flock and not falling off and reached the track and its inevitable locked gate for the first lift-and-climb of the day.

• • •

The route soon turned again but thankfully this gate wasn't locked because I was already pissed off with locked gates and could have quite readily stormed into the nearest farmhouse, grabbed a rifle and shot all of the occupants in the house without question. 

I set off into the dusk riding just on my dynamo light for as long as I could manage.

There were a few more positive gating experiences until I reached the final straw - a friendly gate marked "Mach 6 bike route" That had been super-imposed by a much less friendly rusty steel pipe gate with a big steel box and padlock over the top. Fucking fucksticks. Thankfully no barbed wire on the fence but I managed to drop my bike onto its handlebars on the fence rail so that all of its weight was on my garmin.  The one remaining flange on my Garmin and the Garmin mount shattered leaving me with a Garmin dangling on a piece of string.

Thankfully I recently added a Moloko bar bag to my Jones bars and stuffed the device under the bungee cords next to my Spot so I could read my map for the rest of the ride-albeit sideways and between the strings.

• • •

Around a corner on the forest track I startled a very handsome little snipe standing in my lane before it fluttered away.

I finally garnered enough speed on forest tracks to make the big light worth while. At some point in the evening I stopped to take one last photo before the light went and realised I was (not surprisingly) really rather hungry. Except for my peanuts I'd eaten an ancient SIS energy bar and a gel - packed 5 months ago for such emergencies.

It was past 5pm.

A look at the route profile on Garmin included a long descent, a little climb and another long descent. I'd been promising myself it was all downhill to Mach "soon" but my poor progress and a late start meant Mach was not just around the corner but a whole half a day away on-route.

 

After I took my photo I started to notice rude signs. "No access except for permit holders". "Anglers only" "No Entry! CCTV" . They were very bright and shiny. I had made it to "Angler's Retreat". I remembered this from the map and I also remembered that nearby there was a water crossing where I had simply hoped there would be a bridge. God. I really was not in the mood for my feet to get any wetter. I had waterproof socks on but my feet had sweated in them for 6 hours and as the temperature dropped I could already feel my damp feet getting chilly when I stopped.

I stopped by a sign claiming the mountain lake as private and consulted the map. I had a lot of route to go to Mach but also if I abandoned the route in a bit, there was a bridleway going straight North that went directly to Mach. I could get dinner after all and I wouldn't get shot by angry fishermen. I'd continue for a bit and make my mind up at the junction. Out of the darkness a tawny owl swirled up from the field below. I managed to focus my headlight on its belly as it whorled away to find another hunting ground.

On I went until the Garmin piped up "off route". I'd just passed another flourescent sign and a gate. Please tell me my route isn't through there. Half expecting to be accosted by night fishermen; half expecting to drown in an epic river crossing - or worse get stranded between both.

I think Andy is wrong - I'm not a stress bunny - I'm a drama queen (especially when hungry).

I checked the map. Sure enough, my route went that way and it was also my quickest route to Mach and dinner. I decided it would be best to give it a go and deal with any consequences if and when they arose. What's the worst that could happen? A grumpy exchange with a fat bald man with a flannelette shirt and a big rod.

As I approached the lake, I gave them their due. It was a lovely looking lake but I didn't linger as I was distracted by a light ahead. I turned off my headlight so as not to draw attention to myself and aimed to pass quietly without disturbing anyone.

I think I made out two people and a tent in the darkness but I was so concerned about looking innocent and not getting bollocked by anglers that I didn't even think they would be friendly bike packers. Sorry for being ignorant-whoever you are!

• • •

I was so grateful to them though for sewing the idea in my tiny brain.

My mind flipped back to the pub, "What is there to do between 4. 30pm & 7:30am?". I had the answer:

• Cook food
• Eat
• Pitch a tent.
• Drink
• Sleep
• Had I been really desperate, start writing this up on my phone

The temptation to eat then lie down in a sleeping bag for a very long time was super high. 12 hours sleep? Luxury. I pedalled away from the lake on a sweet bit of single track but instantly fell in love with a tussocky bit of grass without any slope in a fire break in the forest.

• • •

I lay the bike down and on closer inspection found a rare flat spot in the tree line where there was just enough space for a tent pitch and cook spot between the trees. I was hidden from the world and the wind and felt so secure I didn't even care that there were no scrawny trees to tie my bike too.

The tent went up first in case it was needed and I unpacked all my stuff then I brewed the water and sat out on my mat to eat before having a last wee and retreating to my tent.

Right on cue the first rain shower came and I grinned insanely with the self satisfact­ion of someone who isn't out in it any more. I made a point of letting it go and won.

• • •

By the time I'd eaten and made myself comfy in the tent it was 8:30pm There might have been a tiny notebook in my frame bag but I couldn't be bothered to get it and was perfectly content after my efforts and a late night last night to lie down, listen to the trees and gently drift off.

I woke up many times in the night, shivering. Even when I eventually found the will power to go for a wee (which usually makes me feel much warmer), I was shivering again within an hour. I cursed myself for switching sleeping bags but getting up or riding my bike was not a tempting option given the snowy hailstones that kept falling on the sides of the tent like a million hissing grass snakes in the night.

• • •

I'd found a pair of foot warmer pads that I was saving for the morning but since my hips and thighs refused to warm up under fleece leggings, Paramo, liner bag and quilt, I resorted to sticking the foot warmers to my leggings, then - when that didn't work - to my groins to warm the blood in my Femoral artery. At one point I stuck them straight on my skin (you're not supposed to) until I woke up 20 minutes later in pain (the next night I had little rectangular pink marks on my legs).

The heat pads did the trick and I woke naturally in the morning. Thanks to my hideaway and the eventual realisation that only bike packers, not anglers, would be anywhere near in these conditions, in that shit, I didn't bother with an early alarm and let myself sleep in until just before dawn. When I got up for a wee, light was just breaking at 7.  

When I found my little note book in a pouch in the bag there were also 2 fresh sachets of hand warmers so a pair went in the boots and a pair were saved for my gloves.

I managed to ration my water overnight. I'd been sipping. It was easy not to guzzle long mouthfuls of ice cold water. I had enough left to brew up my porridge and coffee. My new porridge experiment was a hearty success. As planned, when I re-emerged from the tent to pack up the dawn had well and truly happened and the sky was silvery and cloudy.

I finished packing and pushed the bike back onto the trail.

• • •

My old porridge plan was only ever enough to get me through loading the bike but this time, when I got to the Mach turn-off I was already committed to stick to my plan for a tour of the South Dovey Peninsular and two more checkpoints.

My commitment was further enforced by the appearance of some very satisfying downhill with grass up the middle and trees overhead so I had to hang off the side of my bike and limbo my way through. It was only interrupted by a fallen tree. Not from last night but certainly from last December's storms. It was only to be expected after such an excellent start to the day but I got around it with reasonable ease following a dirt bike track that went before me.

When the downhill track ran out, rather than leading back up, the Garmin suggested I turn right on the unpaved road. Through the proper bridleway gate I soon realised that this was my river crossing on the route plan.

The unpaved road was a little less paved than expected but about as good under wheel as a path through a field can be. After I drew my eyes away from the amusing bus stop I was more excited to see a gate leading to a bridge that crossed the stream ahead.

Sure, it looked like it went straight through the forest garden of the house on the other bank of the river but a quick glance on the map showed the house was riddled with bridleways above it and to the right.

I pushed my bike out from under the tree swing and passed several odd-looking wooden buildings balanced atop stilts like bird hides. The gate to the bridleway was locked (of course it wouldn't be that easy) and when I got through it I realised I'd gone the wrong way and had to turn tail and go straight back past the house. Much to my relief, despite the warm lights in the living room, there was no-one around and I just sneaked through the unlocked gate, onto the road and on my merry way.  When I closed the gate behind it was Blaeneinion Beaver reintroduction scheme - which I assume explains the hides to watch beavers a-beaverin'.

They'd clearly picked the right valley for wildlife as I stopped to photograph fieldfares on a wire (and failed), I instead snapped (badly), this bird stomping around in the long grass.

The road was an uppy downy joy alongside Einion (onion) valley or the Artists valley, where the mountain water burst ice-blue over the rocks, occasionally right next to the road, occasionally 40ft below the lung-busting climb I'd just been sent up. I managed to ride them all.

Faced with choice between Ford and turn-off I took the turn-off only to realise I'd skipped the carpark for the Eonion valley mines infoboard.

The other entrance to the carpark was via a perfectly respectable bridge so I stopped for a read.

 

Before the bike and I were spit into the Irish Channel, the route took me down to the E..onion river where I disregarded all the properties I'd just passed and sourced myself some wholesome welsh mountain river water before climbing up to and across a road onto the lovely path,

I can see the sea!

At the top of the path was an even lovelier viewpoint over-looking the whole Dovey estuary and Cadair Idris that was still underneath cloud cover. 

 

 

Now I could smell the breakfast, however my route had other plans.

I dropped down to the nice big road that could have fast-tracked breakfast but instead I followed my route onto a minor road and then onto a Bridleway. "Explore Dovey" promised the plaque on the gate. The sun was shining and birds were singing. How could I refuse?

Within 10 minutes any traffic noise from the big road was gone and forgotten and a big old oak tree presented a flat spot and a carpet of leaves on which to park my sit mat, pull out my stove and brew up second breakfast and coffee or more specifically: last night's desert and coffee. Dehydrated apple and custard never tasted so good.

• • •

A choice of route ahead led me to take the upper route where I enjoyed the company of a chaff whirling and croaking above the crag. The Garmin said I was off route but quick deduction told me I'd soon be back on-route. For a while I told myself I wanted to stick with the chuff and the crag but I was missing a checkpoint so I backtracked, calling myself "silly" all the way down the hill whilst sneakily enjoying it. The fun doubled up with a bit of forested single track which eventually decayed into pushing up something too narrow and overgrown to ride without snagging a pedal and being catapulted 30ft off the hillside. Still, it was better than the muddy track at the bottom made up of puddles and round rotting logs.

It was the only checkpoint I didn't photograph, boo.

• • •

At the end of the track some old hall-style buildings were eye candy for the road ride to my final excursion past a smallholding where I was swiftly put right by the owner when I strayed off path and accidentally towards the veg patch. I thanked her for the directions and we waved happily to each other as I cursed the footpath sign hidden by the long grass just at the point when all your attention is on fastening the big, awkward gate and she probably cursed the "bloodymountainbikers who can't follow perfectly good signs".

• • •

Thus my eventual arrival in Mach at 1pm, 19 hours later than planned, to eat some "real food" from the Spar sitting on the step of the toilet block in the car park as it seemed to be the only place in Mach I could get out of the wind. Everything looked shut and one look at "the Wynnstay" pub there put me off the idea of hauling my muddy ass inside a respectable establishment.  From what I've heard the welcome was not a good one although I could have made an effort with the White Lion.

The pay-as-you-go toilet was locking people in so a steady stream of folk were thankful for me stopping the door open with my rucsac while I ate my lunch in a never-ending queue for the toilet.

Every time I finished a piece of food the Loo was occupied so I started eating something else.  Still, I met more people there than I would've done in the pub.

Eventually I let the door go, jumped on the road, cast recklessness aside and plotted an easy road ride back to the finish in time for tea. My adventurising was done and I now know how easy (or not) it is to get home from Mach the quick way.

Whoosh

Christmas Week.

Monday

Despite the heavy missle going on outside I was extremely motivated to get out for an overnighter. I ambitiously packed my bivi bag, plenty of dehydrated food and two coffees. I checked the weather. My phone was set to look at the weather in Dent as I had been cautiously pondering a YD 300 winter attempt. 

Despite me knowing I wasn't in Dent, I dressed for 3°C cycling and packed my new down klymit mattress.

After all the faffing loading my bike and making lunch it was 11:30 by the time I left the house and I was already a little hungry. At 11:45 I pulled up at my local duck pond, sat under the fir tree and ate all of the lunch that I'd just made, watching a female duck splodge about in the reeds.

Canopy

I spent a considerable time packing up to leave as the lovely mat of pine needles I'd sat on was held together by a glue-like mixture of duck and heron poo along with occasional chunks of (what looked like) small dog poo. Every leaf I picked up to wipe off the poo also had poo on it. I left my lunch spot still with poo on my gloves and rucsac, hoping the mizzle would wash it off.

At my regular faff spot I had to stop again to remove a wool layer. I cursed my weather check as my fleecy leggings started to get damper on the inside than the outside. My legs were getting tested. I've recently changed my bottom gear on my training wheel to make me try harder on the climbs and I forgot to switch it out before heading out on a loaded ride. I was pleasantly surprised that I still managed to ride most of the climb up to Bingley Lane. After a brief interlude with traffic I had the place to myself again. Sheep watched me pass their fields without lifting their heads from chomping the grass.

I cursed and slow-pedalled through the puddles as I realised I forgot the gaiters that stop the splash back heading down between my waterproof trousers and socks.

• • •

I pulled onto the Byway at Rod Side and a man walking a tiny terrier warned me about the "people in four-by-fours". Damn. Assuming he was the last person I'd see up here and I was going to stop for a wee.

Through the gate I could neither see lights nor hear engines. Warning: over-helpful men.

Previous 4x4s had, however, made a complete hash of the track. Not satisfied with the grooves in the landscape they've already crafted they have started to carve new lines, hit rocks, got stuck, made more mess and twated (and upended) my favourite gatepost. Poor farmer.

I considered continuing down the muddy descent beyond the farm as my primary goal of the day was fun and traffic avoidance. I didn't want to see what the idiot 4x4s had done to the descent though so followed my usual line past the lodge.

• • •

Given that both the farm and lodge were shrouded in mist I took the opportunity to dive in between two birch bushes for that wee and to put my wool layer back on for the descent. The over-gearing was already taking its toll and I struggled to stand up again.

At the road junction my big gloves went on for the descent. It was a day for changing layers: Conserving body heat and keeping things dry from sweat or rain.

My main aim was to get to Fairholmes asap but I didn't want to go straight there. In the end I decided to suck up the extra traffic and do Summer Pastures as I hadn't been in ages and it's always quiet. Today it would be especially quiet.

• • •

I had a record number of safe and respectful passes on my way there. The climb up was short-lived until all the excess layers had been removed again and the warm gloves packed away for later. 

These sheep were really used to having people around and sometimes I wondered if they were ever going to move as I slalomed my way slowly through the flock on the 1:6 climb.

The farm dogs did not notice me pass until I changed the gate in the murk... and don't 2 runners show up when you've gone to the effort of carefully closing the latch?

Up on the moors I was alone most of the time. I pondered going to check out the hills for lunch spots in future but the thought of navigating through the fog wasn't appealing and I might be up there for some time.  Reccying anything in fog didn't seem wise so I kept going.

Mentally I was congratulating myself on knowing this track by heart until I realised I was following former quad bike tracks and most of the mtb tracks had disappeared. A slight diversion got me the right side of the dry stone wall. I contemplated returning later for my sleeps as I'd often fancied staying up here and the cloud would be perfect cover.

There's a very attractive looking bomb hole-though it's right by the trail. This time it was occupied by a rotting sheep carcass - erm no thanks.

At the end of the crossing, audacity got the better of me. My body had clearly warmed up to the bike. My brain had come out of its shell and generally, wherever I pointed the bike and pedalled hard enough, I cleared stuff. I set about riding the descent with gusto - hoping for a PB with this new found form - but failed on the big slabs when my bottle went on a drop off and then I realised my downhill endurance is not there yet and I had to go slow so I could sit in the saddle and rest my calves from time to time. An excellent excuse for some more Northerly excursions before May.

• • •

At the bottom of the hill, back on the valley road, I was met by people, so many people. I threaded my way between walking poles, dogs and strollers and ended up taking to the muddy footpath and leaving the road to the people on feet. Finally the cloud turned into actual drops of water falling from the sky so I tucked into the shelter of the dam tower to cram myself into waterproof trousers before the cold, fast descent to the cafe. Still, I beat all the foot-people to the queue at fairholmes. Pie, peas, gravy and tea were demolished. Cake - both eaten and stashed. I was joined in the shelter by one too many people for covid comfort but managed it by shuffling around my rucsac for a little bit of social distance and stuck to watching the chaffinches and cheeky robbins stealing crumbs.

I had to pack up my bag extra slowly to avoid an interested hiker man loitering around my bike, brimming with questions: the answers to which he would inevitably not understand or, worse, would lead him to declare me "brave". Some people relish these conversations. I prefer to avoid them as I have become bored of other peoples opinions on the subject of "my idea of fun". 

As I delayed declaring possession of the object of his desires as long as possible, he could not bring himself to assume that the only cyclist and the only bicycle in the area were an item and once his companion had emerged from the toilets he had to leave but not before I had carefully walked to the bin with every morsel of litter from my lunch - instead of banging it in a pocket until later - like I'd normally do.

Soggy gloves back on, I set off to the other side of the valley. The dam was finally over-topping. At my last visit it had been kinda low. I felt the need to pop over and experience its enormity and of course test out the Panorama mode on the camera. 

The pause gave me time to realise I hadn't yet topped up my water. I had enough to brew up dinner and breakfast but only if I didn't drink anymore. I soft-pedalled back to the cafe's water tap.

One of the volunteers stuck his head out the door and said "looks like you'll be looking for a campsite".  

Good deal for a bath?

Knowing the company I was in and every chance there was a Park ranger in earshot, I stuck to the "just training" line and he seemed unimpressed yet sated that I was actually heading home for a hot bath and some BBC 1. 

I loaded 3 litres of water into my rucsac and wondered if he really believed me.

I rumbled off a second time but didn't get too far before bumping into John Brierley - a friend from triathlon days. Someone I don't mind talking to about bikes and I admitted my night out "under the stars" was looking less and less likely. 

I wasn't 100% sure what to do next. It was too early to camp. I decided to go as far as slippery stones and decide. 

There was Cut Gate or lapping back to Fairholmes and going on somewhere else from there.

Cut gate would, admittedly be in poor condition and I should not: but I'd like to see how last year work is holding up in the winter weather. Naturally my overnighter instincts, against all reasoning, dragged me further and further away from the people and up on onto the moors. The first hurdle being a stream crossing where my trace upstream to find a narrower spot brought me up on a very sweet, flat bivi spot I'd never previously noticed but it was only 5pm and I wasn't too sold on lying down for 12 hours.

The up-push was tough but not terrible. 

At the top I realised my problem: on the rough stuff I just couldn't see very far ahead to pick any kind of line so I pushed on until things improved under wheel.

Soon enough though, came the messy, boggy bit I'd forgotten about. Suddenly my distain for e-mountain bikes was refreshed as this stretch of moorland has been torn up by a hundred motor-propelled tyres that would not have otherwise been there. As I pushed my heavy loaded bike I recognised I was part of the problem - although a much lighter part.

I thought hard about retracing my steps. It was the environmentally conscious thing to do. Did I really want to battle through thickening cloud, side winds and night time temperatures? Was it safe to? I wasn't in a race, I didn't 'have' to do this. But still the "retreat is not an option" message spoke louder than the others. I trudged through the cross-winds on the lookout for a pee-spot where I had the nerve to actually undress. Just below the summit I decided I needed to take the opportunity and found the perfect sheep trod to get out of the wind and away from the main track. It was a pleasant spot but not quite flat enough and still not late enough. 

A few hundred grams lighter, I felt much happier although I still couldn't pick out a line longer than 5ft through the boulders so I carried on hiking for what seemed like an eternity. I imagined my husband looking at the tracker at home and trying to decipher what kind of madness and difficulties had me progressing at only 3 mph.

I contemplated backtracking but that would leave me on the wrong side of the hill I had already climbed 2/3 of the way over. I kept pushing.

At some point a decision was made to go home for the night. Only the apparition of a new and very attractive dry shelter could have swayed me to overnight and I knew there weren't any. I'd risked bringing the bivi without a tarp & it did not pay off. I'd have nowhere to leave my wet kit without it getting much wetter over night.

• • •

The decision gave me a new lease of life. Wet feet were no longer off the cards and I could take the most attractive route home and be back at a reasonable hour for dinner.

Gradually boulders turned into a fast running stream and I took occasional opportunities to ride a few metres at a time. The summit lumps and bumps alternated between firm-and-rideable, loose stones and bog but finally the rideable paving appeared. An occasional drain was overwhelmed by water volumes. I flitted between risking puddles and pushing from one dry tussock to the next to avoid the deepest flow. Where the trail was rideable I rode every available inch. 

As technical problems appeared from the mist faster than I could anticipate them, I committed to them with gusto and, as frequently happens with the Cotic, I came out the other side upright, incredulous and giggling.

Up turned to down. I rumbled past the resurfacing works and cleared more rock drop-off than I care to mention until I finally remembered the abyss that was no longer visible off the edge of the trail.

For a short while I mused over the bridleway to Midhope Stones and a road ride home but the hills were more terrifying than the easy but muddy TPT.

• • •

I dropped down to Langsett. The climb up to the woods was not clearable on these gears and I had a quick chat with a couple disappearing into the darkness with 2 spaniels as I pushed up the slope.

It was a soggy Trep who crossed the Woodhead Road and span quietly past the cottages. I pondered changing my gloves but the next section could be strenuous - even if it is a flat ride through a field. 

I was right not to bother. About half a mile of battling a squirrelling bike to keep the tyres on a 4inch narrow mud slip between the clumps of reeds. One false slide can deposit the rider sideways into a 2ft deep icy drainage ditch. It took me all my effort and concent­ration to stay upright.

I breathed a sigh of relief through the gate at the bottom, styled out the "slip road" on to the TPT and only then, under the cover of the railway bridge, did I dare dig my phone out from the depths of my rucsac to message home that I'd be back for dinner before putting my thick gloves back on to get nice and toasty. I do love having that one pair of gloves that makes your whole body feel like you've just stepped into a warm room.

I really appreciated it because the TPT is not a strenuous ride until the last bit through Wharncliffe. First I had a good 40 minutes of pedalling downhill at 3% gradient.. There was some uncharacteristically vigorous pedalling going on and finally I started to really appreciate the fleece leggings I had sweltered in this morning.  I felt the slightest wetting out on my coat sleeves and my goretex trousers started to fall down, meaning I had to stop a few times to hitch them up and prevent a little rain patch forming on my back.  I'm hoping this will ease off once I've lost weight again.

Just as I thought all the excitement was over, spinning through the junction outside Penistone I caught an edge to the tarmac submerged in mud and tatted my right calf muscle fully square on with my pedal whilst travelling sideways. Four letter words were said.

That left me soft pedalling for a bit until I decided it was safe to shift again.

I'd forgotten how long it takes to get home from the TPT. The Climb from the stables was dreaded but still, I managed to ride it tired and over-geared. I think my legs are actually stronger than I give them credit for.

I missed the junctions in Wharncliffe woods twice!! as I didn't see them coming in the glow of my light rebounding off the fog.

Finally after more than an hour I dropped into Oughtibridge, fought my rear light on (then wiped it so it was actually visible) then wriggled my way through the smudged Christmas lights of Hillsborough to the Rivelin Valley. After fighting my way up so many hills I resigned myself to pushing up the short, sharp slope to home.

I was so tired I wasn't even embarrassed to be caught pushing my bike by Rick who was just moderately impressed or horrified by the state of me - I'm not sure which. 

Given the time it took me to get home, the remainder of the evening was consumed by, bike washing, Kit and boot rinsing  pouring myself into the bath, consuming copious quantities of couscous and falling asleep in front of the TV. I've been somewhat berating myself for starting my training journey "behind" this year, on the wrong foot, late. Investigations show I am 1 month ahead on longest rides and this time last year the next Sunday session I posted was, "Gym before it shuts for lockdown" and a whole 3/4 of my training tools disappeared from my schedule.

I've spent this week watching Emily's return to progress on the festive 500 and yesterday enjoyed this comment,

" ... but in 6 months time it will be warm and dry and the sun will still be high in the sky. The roses will be blooming... and I will be riding uphill... watching the sweat beading on my forearms and feeling the strength blossoming in my legs. It sounds like another universe at the moment but it will be reality soon enough."

12 months ago on my similarly aborted 60km ride into the Peak fully loaded last year, I said

"I still look at the HT as a potentially impossible feat at this time of the year, when 65km knocks everything I have out of me. When the sun has been gone since 3:40pm it's really difficult to contemplate going out again after dinner - especially during these Covid times when that dinner has been carried on your back for 40km and eaten under a hedge in the darkness.

The extra knowledge I have though is that it will come... like, so long as I start now. 

Note to self: stop fucking slacking off!" 

I love that I'm culturing some of that mindset - even if Emily is substantially more positive in outlook.

I guess it's interesting how knowledge of what can happen changes from year to year. Now I know that the HT is possible, that legs will turn and everything will live happily ever after. I just need to foster the positivity for Scottish weather.