Ras y Aran- 2026

 It's been a while since I raced. Indeed, a while since I blogged about racing. Last year I did in fact do Cracken Edge and the Fell relays, but never got around to writing about them. 

Ras y Aran- an out and back race- although it starts at 1pm we got up super early as I was dropping Lynne off somewhere in Wales for her to ride home, and earlier was better for her. 

Lynne about to set off for home. Chilly, but sunny. 

 

No problem, and at 7:43 we parted ways and I carried on down towards Bala. Made a coffee and went for a wander at Llyn Tegid lake, and then onward to Llanuwchylln, the village where the race starts. I was indeed there ridiculously early, so took the opportunity to have a wander in the glorious sun, checking out the start and end of the route- even though its an out and back, they differ slightly. 

Acquainting myself with the locals

I was still far too early for race registration, so went and had a lie down in the van until about 1100, and then went to register. All good, I was number 5, and as I walked outside with plans for the next few hours to do not a lot, FOOM. I noticed I couldn't see anything apart from peripheral vision- migraine. Shit. 

Thankfully the van was a short walk away, where I necked a couple of asprin (theyre the only thing that seem to help), closed my eyes, set an alarm for 12:30 and resolved not to open my eyes until then and see what happenned. 

Not a lot to say about the next hour an a half, but when I got up and got changed, there were no visual disturbances, and the headache hadn't kicked in. Number pinned on, I gingerly ran up and down the road getting in a bit of a warm up. The sun was out, it was hot and I was kind of glad to have a t-shirt on rather than a vest, or I'd certainly have ended up very burnt. 

We set off at 1 on the dot, and as normal, I was looking around at all these people who looked very fit and wondered how I'd stack up. Top 20 or so? 65 runners, I think- maybe top 15? As we took the turn up the road that turned to a path, there were 5 runners ahead of me, and I was making good progress. You could see the hill above us, but from experience, I knew that the top was very much out of sight. 

See that lump in the background. That's halfway to halfway. 

As we made our way up past Garth Uchaf, the turn around for the junior race, I lost touch with Jez Brown from Buckley- still going very well indeed - and I ran for a while with one of the local guys from Merionydd. A fair amount of the route was kind of path-like, but with sections of bog, which was amusing to negotiate on the way up. It was a constant battle of "is this gradient slack enough to run? Is my heart rate going too high? why do I feel so awful?"

The migraine was not making any kind of come back, it was just that I was probably going at a faster pace for a more prolonged time that I have done for quite a while. 

At some point, the merionydd guy and I caught up with another Merionydd runner- the one I was running with took off like a rocket, and I ended up looking at the same vest, just a different runner. We went through the checkpoint at Moel Ffenigil, about the halfway point and continued up to the visible high point of Aran Benllyn. He was most definitely leading me at that point, but as we crested the rise and saw the top of Aran Fawddwy- the turning point, somewhat in the distance, I commented something along the lines of "thats a long freaking way away, isnt it?!" and continued running.. he somewhat dropped back, which was very surprising as he seemed so strong. 

Sometime prior to here I'd had a gel, which wasn't sitting well in my stomach, which was a bit of a concern as the only other "food" I had was another gel. The plan was to have it at some point on the summit cone so that I had some kind of energy for the way home. It felt like I was getting slower and slower as I approached the final climb- a bit of a scramble, and I only counted 3 people coming back from it in front of me. Or was it 4? I have no idea. 

Climbing the scramble, it was still astonishing that no-one had gone past me yet considering the snails pace I felt like I was going at. Necked a gel, got to the top where I told the marshal he was a liar for suggesting that its "all downhill from here". It really isn't, and turned back down. Right behind me was a Mercia guy, and behind him was the Merionydd runner. Feeling like I had nothing really left to give, despite being only halfway through the race, it seemed inevitable that at least 2 people would come past on the way home, maybe more. 

The slog back to Aran Benllyn was characterised by feeling worse, and following a Mercia top along the way, saying hi to all the people that were still on the way up. (saying hi = grunting in a pained way to impart that yes, Im acknowledging you, but really, I havent got the energy to do anything else). At some point, the Mercia guy continued up a line which followed a trod and the fenceline which made no sense, so I took the less obvious trod, and cut off a swathe of route, overtaking him without accelerating at all. Last time I did this race I must have been following someone else on the way down, or I had more wits about me as there were a number of slightly different lines taken on the way down than the way up... this time, it was almost all exactly the same route. 

The Mercia guy came back past, and I continued to feel awful. Trying not to overstride and end up with a stitch, taking it almost easy on the way down, it definitely felt like I was not descending to the level at which I used to. Age and reduced strength gets you in the end. 

That being said, he wasn't getting further away, and from what I could tell, no-one was really gaining on us (never look back!). We passed the checkpoint at Moel Ffenigl again and on the way down to Moel Ddu the Mercia guy pulled up short- Checking he was ok- a twisted ankle up here is going to mean a LONG walk off- he just said "cramp"- fine... I'll keep on going then. 

Down and down, and then he caught up with me again. Can't have been that bad then, but considering that I hadn't really slowed down from my already pretty slow pace, he must have put on quite a spurt of speed to catch up, which might mean that he would end up cramping again. He led me through the gate before Garth-Uchaf, we crossed the bogs and then I was surprised as I led the way up the hill and through the next gate... now we were on the ground I had recced this morning. 

I *know* this bit!

Still feeling like I wanted to thrown up (much like the previous 45 mins) I led the way down the hill, through the next gate and then left around the finish "diversion"... ie. the bit that we hadn't started out on. No idea how close he was behind me, sometimes it sounded like he was just there, and sometimes not. Through 2 more gates, around a sharp bend and then road. The sharp bend enabled me to see that he was a good 10m back, and although that should have been a comfortable margin, I still gave it some welly down the final 2-300m to the end. 1:51 and change- and I think- 4th. 

It was hot, I was feeling pretty ill, so had some water, went for a cool down "jog" that was more of a stumble and a walk. Luckily there were showers, so I was able to clean down- and then couldn't work out if I was hungry or if I still wanted to throw up. Grabbed some water for my bottle and then went and crashed out in the back of the van feeling absolutely terrible. 

Woke up on a number of occasions and didn't feel well enough to sit up, let alone move, so drank more water and lay there feeling pretty miserable. Missed prize giving, continued to feel awful and continued to drink and sleep. Eventually felt well enough to move at about 1700. I was meant to be going to a Mountain Rescue Exercise starting at 1800 on Bleaklow... well, I was goinig to be late. 

Started driving, stopped for some food (I was feeling OK to drive at this point)- got home at just before 2000 and basically just crashed into bed. 

Quite a day.  

Cycling home. The Badger Divide

 

For me, May is traditionally the time of year when I get out into the Lakeland Hills and bash around the Old County Tops Fell race. I must have 8 completions so far, but realise that at 35miles and 3000m of ascent, it isn't something to be sniffed at. 

Training was going well during January and Feb, but come to March and April, everything fell off a cliff, I had no energy, no ability to motivate myself and was pretty much a zombie. Tried all the normal things to get myself going and none of them seemed to work. Eventually got a blood test, and it seemed that my Ferrutin levels (standard is between 25 and 350- quite a range!) was at 27. Not out of range, but, lets face it, pretty damn low. 

Got some iron tablets, but to be honest, by now it was less than 4 weeks to the race and running 10k on the flat was flooring me. There was no way I was going to put my running partner through the pain and frustration of walking 30 miles. What would be the point? So I pulled out of the race, in plenty of time for him to find a new partner and wondered what I could do instead.

I know! I've always wanted to ride the Badger Divide. An offroad bike packing route from Inverness to Glasgow. It doesn't matter how long it takes- just going at my own pace, but once there, I can decide whether to continue riding on the route of the Second City Divide (Glasgow to Manchester), or just catch a train home.

A train to Inverness was duly booked and time off work negotiated. Packing commenced and pretty soon I found myself realising that tomorrow was the day. I was somewhat nervous at being 3kg more than I normally weigh- thanks to a number of weeks just not being able to exercise as freely as I would have liked- and also that I hadn't really been on a bike for months.

Due to standard rail clashes, the earliest train from Glossop gets in to Manchester 2 mins after the first train to Glasgow/Inverness leaves. Lynne very kindly volunteered to give me a lift into the city to catch the train and off I went. It seemed somewhat surreal that I was in Edinburgh by 10am, but the journey was smooth, and at just after 3pm I found myself getting off the train in Inverness, switching on my GPS and attempting to get out of the city. Offroad routes always seem to want to take you down some pretty random "green" spots in a city. It's like theyre desperately trying to establish the fact they are *really* off road routes, and as such you end up really going around the houses. Quite literally in some cases. 

Stop with that. Put me on a road to get out of town, and then plonk me on a bridleway. Far too much faffy nonsense. 

Soon enough I was out and away, but in the knowledge that I had limited time today. A good result would have been getting to Fort Augustus, but as I started riding, it became rapidly more evident that this was unlikely to happen. 

sometimes you've just gotta go over these...

There was a fair amount of gravel, however, there were also a number of sections of fairly un-relenting mountain bike trail. I'd have been happy on a hardtail with a dropper post, maybe even on a gravel bike on a daily run, but on a fully loaded bike, it was just a bit sketchy. Most of it was rideable, but there were a couple of climbs that required absolute full power and left me gasping for breath, with purple dots dancing in front of my eyes. I did start wondering if the gpx file had been corrupted as it sent me down tiny little footpaths with umpteen gates as opposed to the glorious gravel roads that you'd imagine you should be on. (don't get me wrong here, there were some excellent gravel sections, and some glorious riding, but there were definitely sections that made me go "ooo-er". 

Got my first puncture as well, going down through a foresty bit, but managed to fit a new tube in short order. 200 strokes on the pump got the tyre back up to a decent pressure and I was back off on track. It was hot, and by the time I'd done 50k or so, I was above Invermoriston looking at a lovely circular wooden sculpture, wondering if there was anywhere that was a bit breezy and a bit flat to camp so that I didn't have to worry too much about midges. Slightly further down the track there was a wide open space where I set up, had dinner (beef stroganoff) and settled down to sleep. The peace was only slightly marred by a car arriving at some point (yes, up quite a rough track), and people setting up camp about 10m from me. 

Day2

It was cold last night. So cold that I awoke to frost on my bike and bike bags. I also forgot to open the vent on the tent, so everything inside was coated in condensation. The site was in the shade, so had no benefit of the early morning sun, however, I knew that at the bottom of the hill in Invermoriston there was a community shop that opened at 7am. Shivering, I packed everything up and took off down the hill, with my hands numb from the cold. No matter how much I was wearing, it would have been a frigid descent, and my arrival at the community shop was with hands that didn't work. The manager, Stephane, was very nice, watching with mild amusement as feeling came back to my hands (not without pain), and offered to put the heater on for me. 

I spent a while there warming up in the sun, got a coffee and breakfast, and some food for onward lunch, and used the marvellously clean facilities across the way in the community centre as well. What a superb little place Invermoriston is, I can highly recommend it as a great stop- especially early in the morning. There aren't many places that open at 7am, especially not ones as well stocked as the community shop. 

Onward to Fort Augustus and second breakfast before the true adventure up onto the Corrieyarick pass begins. There are many stories about this pass which made me a little concerned about it. Yes, it's a big, long offroad track that goes up and down a long way. In bad weather it's likely to be utterly frightful. On a day like the day I was on it, it was a delight.

grafitti in the bothy

There was a bothy to stop in on the way up (such a shame I didnt have quite enough time to get there last night), some fantastic views, cuckoos were everywhere on the lower and mid levels, chasing each other around. I saw 4 in one go at one point. 

Despite being fully loaded there was no point where I had to get off and walk, but I did stop for a short breather near the top, and lo and behold- saw a titanium spork on the ground. Picked it up, because, well, you never know...

Onwards and over the top, the descent would perhaps have been easier on a mountain bike, but I found it generally do-able on the gravel bike. (the only thing is, with 650b tyres, the cranks are just that little bit lower to the ground, so I managed to strike the cranks or pedals on stones etc quite a lot on this trip). On the way down I caught up with a mountain biker who had indeed lost his spork earlier on, hadn't noticed, and was very grateful for it to be returned to him! 

Checked out the bothy at the bottom of the hill, and carried on along some lovely quiet roads. The mountain biker I had chatted to mentioned that Wolftrax was down the way once I got to the A82, which was probably a very good place for food. I took that advice, considering it was pretty flipping hot and I was intending on getting to Corrour station by the end of the day- and didnt really have much in the way of food beyond snacks. Once I hit the A82 I proceeded to do a 4 mile diversion to Wolftrax, and oh my word! Loaded Nachos, a chance to charge my phone and wahoo and a *shower*! 

So I sat there and chatted with the mechanic- she knew someone who lives in Glossop(!), bought a new inner tube, just in case, and finally said my goodbyes and headed off into the heat of the day with *another* calippo. 

The riding from there was hot and breezy, but on really good gravel roads.

Good progress was made and I saw some of the hills that we went across on the Ramsay Round a few years ago. More cuckoos, more amazing views and beautiful gravel tracks along lochs and lochans, and eventually the YHA and Corrour station came into view.

It was coming up to dinner time, and as I arrived at the station there were more people there than I had seen in one place since Inverness. It felt quite overwhelming. Having not booked a table, I wasn't entirely sure if I was going to be able to order food. Initially I asked if they had anything either fruity or savoury... and was directed towards the cake. "well, its got fruit in it". Hmmm. not *quite* what I was looking for. Another bartender came to my rescue and suggested they could have scampi and chips ready in 5 mins if I wanted; the place was due to be booked out within 30 mins, and I assured them I'd be well eaten and on my way by then. 

Scampi and chips it is then. Yum. Then out and off into the distance. But not too far- the beautiful gravel roads that had made todays riding so pleasent gave way to much chossier, grimmer riding.

The terrain was not fun and I only really managed a few more miles before calling it a day, seeing a flat piece of moorland by some old ruins. I pitched up at about 7pm noticing there was a tent a little way from me, so stayed out of sight. 

 

Day 3

The soundtrack for the day turned from Cuckoos to Stonechats. I started a little later than yesterday, learning from my frigid morning experience. The sun came up and warmed the tent, the condensation lifted and I made breakfast and coffee in the morning sun before packing up. By the time I was leaving there was still no sign of anyone in the tent near me, which was a little concerning. Would I have to go and knock on to make sure there wasn't someone lying injured or dead in there?! My route back to the trail took me close enough to the tent to see someone furtling around with breakfast stuff, so all was ok and I got on the bike and rode off into the distance. In comparison to Corrour, only a few miles back, it was SO quiet, so peaceful. 

The day wound up getting hotter and hotter, there were some gravel diversions which were truely marvellous, but in the back of my mind I had this niggling thought that it was 70k to Killin- and then *another* 140 to Callandar. (this is utterly incorrect, and was due to me misreading a text message from Lynne). I generally put this to the back of my mind and concentrated on enjoying the day. 

The gravel went from rough to smooth to really rough, and the descent into Glen Lyon was so rough that it shook the bolts holding my bottle cage loose. I caught it (by chance) before it totally fell off and rectified the situation. Onward to a small coffee shop in Glen Lyon, a chance to recharge tech, sit in the shade, eat lunch and have ice cream before a long and flat road took me into the heart of Glen Lyon before a strong hill tried to bar the way. However, I pulled out the stops and got over the hill and into the next glen to get down to Killin- the community shop had fruit!- and then I stopped at a campsite (note, 2 of the campsites don't take tents.... only the one furthest from the town!).

Sat writing my diary in the on site restaurant with a Guiness and a burger. Had an ibuprofen as my left knee felt a bit swollen. It's actually only 30k to Callandar from here, and I spent quite a while fixing punctures this evening. My back tyre punctured just as I got to the campsite, and I tried the 2 old inners first, neither held air, so it was very lucky that I bought that new inner at Wolftrax. I repaired about 5 holes across the other 3 inners, so all is now good and I think I have spares that actually work now.

Day 4

Up and down to Killin for 8am. I didn't put the tent up in the right place for early morning sun, so packed everything away inside the tent, then moved it over to a convenient sunbeam to dry it out. There was only a minor battle with the Midge, but it was nothing in comparison to how it could have been. A pain au chocolat in Killin set me right on my way, and a minor challenge of tough gravel to get up the hill before a long blissful descent into Callandar. 

I obviously chose the wrong day for this as there were hordes of charity walkers coming the other way up the path, seemingly with no idea that anyone else might possibly be using it. You could really tell it was a weekend. SO many people, and paddleboards everywhere there was so much as a puddle of water. 

The path avoided Callandar and went over and across to Aberfoyle on decent roads and paths, (though the cycle path 7 does go up the Forest Drive in the opposite direction to one way car traffic which is a little disconcerting). Lunch was procured from Coop in a very hot and crowded Aberfoyle, and from there it was fast riding (dodging West Highland Way walkers) into the outskirts of Glasgow, where progress was slowed to a crawl with simply incredible amounts of people out and about enjoying the sun in the parks, on the paths etc. There was also some kind of football match in the offing, and my main memory of appearing in Glasgow was a very low hovering police helicoptor. Great!

Got a hotel in Glasgow for a very welcome shower and a bed, washed my socks and a pair of bibshorts, repacked bags, bought more snacks and generally got ready for the next few days. I wasn't sure how much further I was going to go, but I'd at least finished the Badger Divide.

Day 5

Out of Glasgow while it was still quiet. Good thing too as they were shutting a load of roads for a 10k later that morning. The gpx route insisted on taking me through some absurd "green" sections of the city, when all I really wanted to do was get out of it!

The day started on quiet roads and continued through wind farms. Cuckoos were no longer really all that common, and it was much more wheatears and stonechats that were flitting around. The route took me through 3, maybe 4 windfarms, and what that means is two things. 1, the gravel roads are going to be pretty decent and 2. its going to be windy! 

The first couple were great, linked by good roads, and generally I held some good speed through them. The third I just felt like the route was taking me up and down every single hill it could possibly find! I kept smiling and eventually came out onto some tarmac down towards Tweedsmuir where I managed to get into a tiny cafe for a few minutes before closing time for a cup of tea and the *most* amazing version of a millionare shortbread I have ever tasted. - Go to "the wee crook". It has incredible snacks!

If youve driven up the M74, you know where this is

Then out and along the reservoir to the Wall of Talla, up and over into a headwind, and eventually I found a small deserted carpark on Megget reservoir to camp for the night.

This was a day of excellent small roads, gravel roads, windmills and sunshine. Glorious.

Day 6

I woke up thinking I could have actually done more than the 140k yesterday, and was up and gone by 6. Naturally it was cold and I wore pretty much everything I had. Shuffling along, I can't say I was actually enjoying it- Kielder water was about 70k away and it felt like I was riding through treacle. There was a long quiet road ascent where the rear wheel somehow punctured- and I was very very glad of that hour spent at the campsite repairing my tubes. At some point I took off my warm layer, and as I was riding slowly along some flat, innocuous gravel I was pondering putting my sunnies on and whoosh, my front wheel slid out and I found myself on the ground swearing rather loudly. No-one around to hear it. 

I wandered up and down for about 3 mins making sure I wasn't too bad, worried that I'd jarred my left hand pretty badly, but got on the bike and set off again. Within about 500m, a stone kicked up from a tyre and smashed me in the shin. Argh! excrutiating. 

My hands were not having fun on the gravel, but I was literally in the middle of nowhere, so nothing to do but ride. And ride I did, until there was a dead end, the gpx trail led me up a tiny grassy section between trees, to a scene of complete devastation. Where there should have been a continuation of the small trod was just open land of recently felled trees, virtually impossible to walk across... with people still felling trees around me! 

the "path"

I got across the 200m and across a massive ditch thinking "this really isn't my day", and was finding it harder and harder to change gear with my right hand, partially because the mech was full of gunk and partially because my right thumb was really hurting. Still, nothing to do but press on. 

I hit the A7 and saw a "carlisle 35" sign. Pulled over and had a chat with Lynne. My right thumb was now swollen to the point of "oh dear", riding off road wasn't comfy or happy and it was time to pull the plug. Luckily it was downhill with a following wind all the way to Carlisle and I absolutely nailed it on the roads. Caught a train back home and rested.

Next morning- massive thumb and the inevitable A&E visit. No- not broken... subluxed. So I ended up on some Penthrox with 2 strong nurses playing tug of war on my thumb to re-locate it.

before

 

Im now attempting to type and do stuff without a right thumb for the moment, but all is good.

after

And having realised how fast you can get to Edinburgh... the Pennine Rally might need to be done at some point. 

ah. plans....