I done a race

Or more correctly, I competed in a race last Sunday.

On a bit of a whim, Darren and I entered the XTM Enduro, a four hour mountain bike race organised as part of an off-road tri/du/mono-athlon weekend. Clearly as I'm not tri or du, I was only interested in the mono side of things - the mountain biking bit.

The main attractions of this race were twofold - it was pretty close (about 40 minutes drive away) and there was a free gold water bottle for all finishers. I'll do a lot for a free gold water bottle. The course was slightly odd, only being 5.5km. Almost like an off-road velodrome. I was concerned about getting dizzy.

The race itself was not unpleasant. The course was moderately interesting with a couple of fun descents and sharp climbs each lap, plus a mix of noodley singletrack and fireroad. It was mildly confusing though as the shortness of the lap kept surprising me - "What, that bit agin? Already?" - was my mantra. I started fairly fast, but not so fast that I'd suffer later. Darren started very fast and I made it my goal not to be lapped by him. I was lapping at about 17-18 minutes, so he'd have to make that up over four hours to catch me.

Round and round... I was overtaking far more than I was being overtaken, and I felt as well as could be expected. Towards the end my legs were teetering on the edge of cramp but they stayed on the edge without leaping over. About 8 minutes before the four hours were up I had a little chat with the guy behind me.

Me: "If we get in before the four hour mark, can we do another lap?" (this is fairly standard for most races)
Him: "No, only laps completed before the four hours count"
Me: (and I quote) "Thank fuck for that"

I crossed the line, had a slightly more interested chat with the other rider, then hunted out Darren, who somehow hadn't managed to lap me.

Darren was broken. Threatening to vomit. Shivering. Not making much sense, even less than usual. Not completely broken, he could still walk to the car to put on more clothes before having a little lie down across the back seats. Apparently he'd slowed down at the two hour mark, and then really slowed down for the last couple of laps. If he ever learns to pace himself properly he'll good at this bike racing business.

We collected our free water bottles.

They weren't real gold.

Bugger.

It's that time again...

Allez is back on the turbo trainer.

Sent from my HTC

Bike Seasons

As I dug the singlespeed out of the pit I buried it in last March, I started thinking about how my bike usage tends to vary throughout the year. Clearly, as it had been encrusted in sweet, sweet clay for the past six months, I don't ride the singlespeed much in the summer. And I kind of know that the Orca only has a few rides left until being sealed in the time-locked badger guarded vault, before emerging like a playful bear cub in the spring. The others tend to be used depending on the time of year too.

• The commuter (or as I shall call it, the exception). Used all year. It's nice to blow a theory in the first bullet point.
• The singlespeed. Off-road, mainly October to March. Big mud tyres, neoprene mudguard, one gear. Does not require cleaning.
• The hardtail. In the depths of winter, when the weather is really, really crappy, this is set up as the ultimate winter road bike. 1.5" road tyres, disc brakes, carbon rigid fork. Lights that stop traffic. In the spring, this has been the training camp bike, with summer tyres and a bit of bounce up front. For the rest of the year it doesn't get used much - apart from the occasional summer blast.
• The full-sus. Spring to Autumn, long off-road rides. Most of my races are long, so this is the race bike too.
• The Allez. Slightly less ultimate winter road bike. Road racer crud guards, a slight pattern on the tyres. Lights that hesitate traffic. Also, the turbo bike, for those days when it's horrible outside or I want to watch a bit of Buffy.
• The Orca. Dry, summer use only. If there's a puddle on the road I'll pull to the side and wait for the sun to dry it up.
• The track bike. Given I've only used this a couple of times, I'm not sure yet. Probably winter indoor training.

I know what you're thinking.

I need a Christmas bike.

I am being stalked by the press

Do you remember this?

Cycling Weekly Cotswold Spring Classic

I thought it was a random picture, a happy coincidence, that out of the hundreds of pictures they could have used, they used one containing Jon and I.

No.

They are following me. It's the only explaination for this.

Their coverage of the Magnificat, an event with about 1500 people, includes another picture. Another picture where I'm mysteriously in the background, slightly blurred.

If you doubt me, here it is a bit bigger.

Conclusive.

I'm struggling to understand why they are doing this, but I hope that they continue.

All this in the same week when the Bridgwater Mercury finally found space to print the story on our LEJOG. They have a lot of news down there, so we're just glad we made it into such an esteemed publication.

Can you spot the three mistakes? I'll reveal the results later...

Planning is overrated

A few weeks ago I outlined my plans for August and September. From what I remember, these were

• Go to Afan with Jon and ride all the waymarked trails in a day
• Ride the off-road coast to coast with Darren
• Do a 12 hour solo at the Gorrick 12:12 Torq in Your Sleep
• Ride the South Downs Way in a day, again with Darren

These have turned into

• Fours hours of local biking, as Jon was ill
• Tick (minus 30km in the middle. And lots was walking rather than riding)
• Rode as part of the Torq Development four man team at the Gorrick 12:12 Torq in Your Sleep
• 100km road ride

The last two probably need a little explaining. I was all set up to ride the 12 hour race - to the point of signing in and collecting my race numbers - when I was grabbed by one of the Torq riders to fill in a last minute gap. I didn't really have any expectations about the 12 hour solo (I only entered solo as I couldn't get a team together) so I accepted. There are a couple of differences between riding solo and riding with a team of fast people.

• Solo: Ride slowly for 12 hours.
• Team: Ride as fast as you can for 45 minutes, rest for two and a bit hours. Repeat four times. This hurts, especially when you haven't riden like this for about 18 months.
• Solo: Be self suficient. Have 10 litres of energy drink made up, an organised box of food, a bike that is comfortable for 12 hours and plenty of tools and spares.
• Team: Hang out at the team truck, under their gazebo, with all-you-can-eat energy bars, gels, drink and recovery. Watch the really good riders warming up on rollers and the mechanic fix all the bikes
• Solo: Let almost everyone overtake. Only overtake other soloists. Be very keen on pulling over to let others past.
• Team: Rarely get passed. Be accused of riding faster uphill than people ride downhill (hard to believe, but true). Be very very polite in asking people to make space where convenient.
• Solo: Carry on through fatigue and finish sometime after midnight
• Team: Finish your last lap at 1030, and be munching on a sausage, fried onion and brown sauce bap by 1045.

I could get used to it.

The South Downs Way ride has been postponed due to Darren's dodgy knee. If anyone has a spare (preferably right, but I'm sure we could make a left one fit) let me know.

So, various unexpected things have happened. One extremely positive one is that I've ended up with a new track bike - one that fits better, is a kilo lighter and has gold bits on it. All for not very much more money, thanks to Darren and Banjo Cycles. It's clearly way better than I am, and came with several warning stickers, two of which are now on my toolbox.

It also has a ma-hoosive chain, clearly needed to cope with the 35 watts of power I'll be putting through it.

Finally, in all its glory:

Overall, it's been an interesting month. I'm not planning anything for September. Let's see wht happens.

Traditional summer pub shot

I think I do one of these pics every year...

C2C Day 2 - The Clone(d Sheep) Wars

As we cycled out of Reeth (at an unspecified time) we had little idea of how long the rest of the day was going to be. The route was flat to downhill road for the first 70km, followed by a couple of cheeky road climbs, before hitting the off road sections across the North Yorkshire moors. Our experience of the day before had left us uncertain about the moor crossing, as with all the rain it could be saddle deep in mud. Still, there was good weather forecast for the day and we even had a scraping of suntan lotion on.

The 70km passed quickly, with just the occasional piss stop to break up the flow (there's a joke in there but you can work it out for yourselves). We stopped at a village where a couple of locals pointed us towards an open pub and a closed shop. At least I assume they were locals, as the pub wasn't going to be open for another week and the shop had at least three "Open" signs. The shop was probably the most poorly stocked convenience store since the closure of the Artyk Non-Stock in Siberia. We surveyed the shelves, rejected the tinned sweetcorn, Frey Bentos pie and shoelaces, and chose the biscuits instead.

Onwards and unfortunately upwards. After an unexpected half hour on a motorbike racetrack we turned off the road, and onto the off-road. This was shockingly rideable, meandering through the woods and gaining height quite rapidly. We didn't actually ride it though - but we could have if a) we'd really wanted to and b) didn't have knackered legs. This trail led up to the moors, the trail of truth that would resolve our fears of a four hour trudge through a boggy mess.

At the top of the climb we were greeted by this.

Deceptive isn't it? That boggy mess looks almost like a dry, hardpacked, slightly rocky trail, surrounded by purple heather in bright sunshine and a 10mph tailwind. We stopped and prodded the ground. This was promising... very promising...

We almost flew along, taking care not to run over any walkers, dogs or other cyclists. Sheep were different though. The sheep were... evil.

Dun dun duuuuuuuuur!

Your standard evil sheep would stand in the trail, forcing you to slow down until you were almost on them, at which point they would run along in front of you a bit before leaping aside.

Your enhanced evil sheep would stand in the heather, at the side of the trail, then leap in front of you as you came close, causing violent braking, cursing and slight moistness "down below".

And then we came across the most evil of all sheep... the ninja sheep.

The ninja sheep nearly killed Darren.

Picture the scene. You are riding at 20-25mph down a narrow rocky track. You spot a bunch of enhanced evil sheep on the right hand side of the trail, and prepare to brake whilst watching them carefully. As you get closer, they scatter into the heather, away from the trail.

You relax, and release the brakes.

False. Sense. Of security.

You have fallen for their trap.

Ninja sheep is waiting. Ninja sheep has buried itself in the heather on the left hand side of the trail. Ninja sheep is undetectable, a stealth sheep.

As you come alongside ninja sheep, it explodes from the heather like a woolly IED aimed at your front wheel...

At this point I screamed, and it wasn't even my wheel ninja sheep was aiming for. Darren shouted "duck" (or something) and somehow, no doubt the result of years of Quantocks badger avoidance, managed to leap the ninja sheep. Then ninja sheep was gone, in the blink of an Oakley clad eye.

We made it off the moors without further incident and with plenty of fun. The last 20km were a drag, forever uphill, with a 25% climb followed by a 33% climb. Round every corner we thought "it's got to start going down soon, surely the sea has to be at sea level... or pretty close". Yet on and up we continued. Finally the road flattened, and with just 2km to go, we plummeted down. I think we were still on the road, although judging by the speed of the descent we may have simply rolled off a cliff.

Robin Hood's Bay is your Hollywood seaside village, all quaint houses, souvenir shops and fish and chips. Oh, and tourists, lots of them, who tried their best to knock us off in the last few hundred yards of the ride. Compared to the sheep, they were amateurs.

So finally, after 240km of riding, 10km of hike a bike, and 30km in a car, we came to the sea.

Smashing.

(Thanks to Becky and Caron for the support, and the lady who took the picture at the end. I doubt you're reading this, but if you are, that was a lovely jumper - don't let anyone tell you otherwise)

More pics here

C2C Day 1... still.

As I mentioned, we had chips.

They didn't last long.

We also had an emergency planning session. Given that it had taken us seven hours to cover the first 55km, with 95km left to go, it seemed prudent to try and optimise the route a little. By optimise, I mean "cut out anything off-road that might slow us down". There were a few sections that we could divert around, but we still had a lot to do to make Reeth by anything close to dinner time.

We set off. Going by road was less interesting but much quicker. Darren's knee was getting steadily worse, to the point where he couldn't really put any force through it. I suggested pedalling one legged, but he announced that he had been since 9am. Oh.

Not much happened. We did re-ride some of the LEJOG route, along the A6, although I didn't notice. Darren was fairly convinced, and a map check after the event proved him right. The fact that I didn't notice is hardly unexpected - not looking at the scenery whilst riding is one of my superpowers. I've missed great swathes of North Africa, Italy, Norway, Sardinia, Yorkshire...

At about 7:30pm we arrived at Kirkby Steven, with 30km still to go. This 30km included the climb up to the Tan Hill Inn, the highest pub in England. I don't remember the exact point that we decided we were going to stop for the day in Kirkby Steven, but it might have been halfway through consuming the Frijj Cookies and Cream milkshakes and Snickers bars. Somehow another two hours of riding (at least) didn't appeal.

Logistically, this left us with a problem. We could eat where we were, once the girls had driven over (they were out hunting for food for us East of Reeth, in the assumption that we'd never get there whilst anywhere was open). We could then get driven to Reeth for the overnight - though this was about a 50 minute trip. We could then come back to K-S in the morning, and continue where we left off. Or...

One of these two things happened. One didn't:

• We ate, drove to Reeth for 10pm, rushed around sorting out kit and food and drinks and routes and GPSs for the morning, plus showering and trying to stuff newpaper in our sopping wet shoes. We then set alarms for 6am, slept briefly, woke up, leapt out of bed, drove back to K-S for a 7am start to ride the 30km back to Reeth over the moors with the highest pub in England, arriving back in Reeth for about 8:30am ready to tackle the day 2 route, all 135km of it.
• We ate, drove to Reeth for 10pm, showered, chatted, relaxed, sorted out a few bits, ordered breakfast, set alarms for 7am then went to sleep. In the morning we had a pleasant fry-up, got kit sorted and changed without any rush, then set off at 8am to ride the day 2 route, all 135km of it.

Day 2 to follow...

C2C Day 1 (A story this epic needs two posts. At least)

Every story needs an angle. Something to hang the narrative off of, to give depth, substance and a false sense of being a better writer than you really are.

At the moment, I'm angle-less. Let's just see how this goes. I'd suggest getting a cup of tea, maybe a biscuit (choc hobnob?) and a comfy chair. This could take a while.

We left Newbury at 5pm on Friday, with Darren driving his giant bike-mobile. After picking up Becky and Caron at the station and dropping off Becky's folding bike we joined the summer holiday traffic oozing up the motorway to "the North". I'd had a moment of amusement when Darren realised how long it would take to get to the B and B but this was tempered by realising myself. Sat Nav says... 10pm arrival.

11pm. We arrive at the B and B. We were greeted by a very friendly lady, asking if we wanted tea to go with our wine that was already waiting in the rooms. Not only did we have wine, but we also had slices of chocolate toffee crispy cake and little chocolates too. The lady also helped us with our kit and let us put our bikes in the beautifully decorated hallway! A big thumbs up to Fleatham House.

Morning, and the usual rush of breakfast, making energy drink, packing camelbaks, putting on sun tan lotion (risky, I know) and checking the GPSs. We managed to get out by 8am and rode the 1km to the beach.

Here is my bike at the beach. There is a photo of Darren and I, complete with bikes, but I don't want you getting too excited.

You may notice that my bike is leaning against a bit of a ramp. This is the slipway which I walked back up to the path. Darren rode up, stating that he was going to ride the whole way. Remember this.

The first part of the route was on the road, before turning onto a cycle track. We had a tailwind, almost sunshine and were feeling pretty confident at getting to the lunch stop (Ambleside) by about midday. Remember this also.

The first section of off-road arrives. Across Banna Fell, Whiteoak Moss, Mosedale then down to Crummock Water. You don't get names like that round Newbury. You also don't get tracks that disappear, knee deep bogs and suicidal sheep - including one that seemed to be stuck upside down. Not being well versed in sheepish ways we didn't know if this was normal or not, so felt it best to leave it as it was. Better that than getting savaged.

I walked quite a lot of this section. I'd say that Darren walked too, including a stumble caused by his front wheel disappearing up to the hub in a puddle, but of course Darren was going to ride the whole way.

The track next to Buttermere was surfaced and quick, but also full of walkers. On this ride we soon learnt that walkers meant we were near civilisation, and soon enough we arrived at the road by Buttermere Fell. Brilliant, we thought. Road! Road that goes up! At 25%!

Honister Pass. Actually, it was fine - we were on mountain bikes so just spun our way up. It was at this point that Darren pointed out that his knee was a bit hurty, and had been since the morning. Still, sitting and spinning wasn't too stressful on it. The descent was fun, dodging the traffic and more sheep. A few more roads and we arrived at the bottom of the big climb of the morning, Greenup Edge.

Let's have a look at the map.

Hmm. Lots of those funny red lines, quite close together too. Still, Darren's going to ride all the way.

I started walking. It was steep, rocky and quite hard going. It also went on... and on... and on. Without looking round (to avoid having to watch him ride it all like a mountain goat on a bicycle) I asked Darren how it compared to Trans-Rockies. Quite similar, apparently, although he walked that.

We got to the top. Well, we thought it was the top. Thing is, the path seemed to end and we were surrounded by what I can only describe as "minor cliffs" on all sides (except backwards). Then we spotted the path. It was more of a scramble than a walk. Well, more a climb in places. Up a waterfall. With mountain bikes on our backs.

Greenup Edge is not a bike route.

Strangely, we were still enjoying ourselves. The sillier it got, the more it made sense. A cross-the-country route should involve some hike-a-bike. Just not this much. It was now about 12:30. Lunch at 12 was looking increasingly difficult, unless it was the next day.

Once over the top the track did the comedy disappearing act again, but we managed to find our way across the mushy bits until we found something that could loosely described as a path. Or a stream. A stream would be an equally good word. We scooted/ran/walked/climbed/swam and even rode downwards, confusing some walkers who couldn't fathom how we had got across with bikes. Truth is, we were a little confused about the whole event too.

We made lunch at 15:30. Lunch was good. There were chips.

(TO BE CONTINUED. MY FINGERS ARE GETTING TIRED)

The B&B

Cake, wine and chocolate! How cool is that!