To Hexham and back. Via Scarborough

We decided it might be an idea for me to try a ride starting in the evening and going on into the night. I've never really done that before, so it would be interesting to see what challenges it threw up in terms of logistics, admin and other things. The initial plan was to stay relatively local and do the Pure Peak Grit 600 route, just see how far I got, maybe sleep in a hotel and then continue on. Looking at the diary, though, it seemed like Im not really going to get a chance to do something like this where I can be very unsure of my timings... ie. This time I know I can be late and there isn't much that will be affected. All other times between now and the TPR are rather more time constrained.

So about 2 hours before I was due to leave, I picked another ride from my pile of "wouldn't it be silly to do this" rides and said: Yep. That'll do. A ride to Hexham, via Scarborough and then back home. 650k, and trusting the route pretty much entirely to a bike routing algorithm on Komoot. 

I set off with full TPR gear, and not a little trepidation as dark clouds gathered overhead. It was still daylight, but there was the consistent threat of rain. The climb over to Stayley bridge was fine, but as I ended up getting over to Greenfield and over towards Marsden there was fog on the tops and precipitation in the air. The waterproof went on, and pretty much didn't come off until after the sun rose. 

As it got darker I used the old Exposure Joystick that we have, adjusting the light for how much I needed to see. Sometimes there were street lights, but often enough, it was just pitch black. The routing got interesting as well... I was thinking it was going to go along minor roads and out to Scarborough that way, but no. I think I visited every housing estate around Huddersfield and went down some pretty dark alleys and around a greenway which, in the light, would have been probably quite pleasant. In the dark, I was very glad to have some big, bright lights. 

Come 9:30pm I realised I had made a mistake by not stopping at a Lidl to replenish supplies, and it was by sheer chance that 5 mins later another Lidl that closed at 10pm appeared... a quick stop for more food and I was on my way. Unbeknownst to me, this was my biggest error of the night- not picking up more liquid. With only 2 bottles on my bike, one of them half empty, there wasn't going to be another shop on the route until just outside Scarborough... in about 7 hours time. Even if there WAS another shop on route, it would have been closed. 

And so I rode through the night. At about 2am I changed the old Joystick for the new one. Food was eaten, as was caffiene chewing gum. Having realised that water was going to be the main issue, I made sure that I was being very circumspect about how much (or indeed little) I was drinking. Fantasies about people having hosepipes on the outside of their houses went through my head- indeed, if I was out on the hill, I'd probably have no problem finding water.... however, in suburban Britain, it's pretty much impossible to get any water in the middle of the night- never something I'd previously considered. 

Onward through lots of small roads and tiny villages, and finally- FINALLY at about 5:30 I came across a service station just outside Scarborough. Water! Coffee! Sandwiches! For some reason the coffee vending machines only do long drinks- no espresso, so a Black americano it was, then. Service stations are the equivilent to Japanese Convenience stores. Open (nearly) all hours, and lots of choice of things that you really might need. (It occurred to me that getting replenished in Japan with its plethora of 24hour convenience stores would simply have not been a problem). 

Having been suitably refreshed, I powered on to Scarborough, took a couple of pictures, and contemplated my thoughts in the middle of the night that I might just get here and then catch a train home... or turn around and cycle back, and then got on my bike and cycled north. Cinder track. It was far too early to stop for breakfast here- by any means, nothing in town was open. 

 

Up the Cinder Track, past Ravenscar and Whitby and then inland into a headwind. Places I didn't know and hadn't heard of came and went. My snacks grew thin on the ground as I turned up a hill into Castleton. (no, not that one). It was 9:10am. I know this because the shop had opened at 9 and I was very very very happy it was open. They had freshly baked quiche (literally just out of the oven), coffee, excellent brownie and vast amounts of things you could buy by weight. I had a 1/4 pound of dates and they were eaten in very short order. What an amazing little shop. It's called Off the Scale. Go here if you can. 

Onward and upward. Fatigue was beginning to creep in as I crept further north. My geography of this area isn't great. Middlesborough was somewhere on the way- but how far that is from Newcastle? I have no idea. Small roads and cycle ways made up most of the riding, with a couple of stretches of dual carriageway (yup... I know)... I remember being on a cycle track for absolutely AGES, just going north. It was as if time had stood still and pedalling was all that had ever existed. By about 350k my feet had started to hurt. Not really being able to move them much in shoes attached to pedals meant that presure spots were starting to appear- lack of sleep was a minor factor- but it was mostly me not really knowing where I was, just following a dot on a GPS unit. 

Time warp cycle path

Eventually I passed something I recognised- the Angel of the North. Well. That's a long way up. I must be near Gateshead. How far is that from Newcastle? Is it a long way?

No. Apparently not. It's literally across the river. Bang. You're in Newcastle- and Hexham is only about 16 miles away. 

This bit I knew, Lynne and I did it (albeit in the opposite direction) earlier this year. Hexham is more than halfway there.... my previous longest ride had been 230km. As I came along this section I'd already passed 250, 300, 350 (and therefore 200 miles), and finally 400km... It was approaching 4pm, I'd been cycling since maybe just after 7pm yesterday. I wasn't hallucinating as such, but on the approach to Hexham I was noticing that everything had a kind of heat haze around it. It definitely was NOT hot enough to have a heat haze. 

In my head, Hexham was kind of the prize. My willpower for the day stopped there. If necessary, perhaps I could have continued, but there was a hotel there. And a superstore. And a burger shop. I checked in, changed into what really can't be considered to be sartorially elegant clothes- but are light, and went in search of food. My idea was to sleep for a few hours, charge all my electronics and leave at first light- about 3 or 4am. 

 

However- the bike was going to be locked in a room which wouldnt be open until the morning shift came in at about 7. I could have left it outside, I could have taken a chance- but as mentioned- there was nothing to get back for specifically, so the decision was made to have more of a rest and start as early as feasable- which ended up being about 7:30. Too early, unfortunately for the bakery to be open, but such is life. 

Let no-one tell you England is flat. It is not. No, we don't have soaring alps. No, those massive long pases are few and far between. The hills we DO have, however, are short, steep and brutal. People expect there to be signs when there is a gradient of over 10%. Let me tell you- there are a myriad of slopes between here and Hexham that have gradients of up to 25% that simply don't have signs. They are just "normal" for round here. 

Totally forgot- there was a fun re-route around Edmund Byers as well

The main self-conversation of the day was "oh look. Another hill". In true "leave it to komoot algorithm" style, the route went on road, big roads, little roads, through fields, tracks which were more like mountain bike tracks, easy bridleways and everything else between. The worst of it was at the beginning of the day, so I ended up fighting to get my average speed back up to above 20kmph for the rest of the day. (managed it). 

The most surreal part of the day was battling through rush hour traffic in Bradford, trying to work out what was and what wasn't bike lane, whether I was meant to be on the kerb, or if I was allowed on the kerb, which lights were for me- racing cars downhill etc. to suddenly be swooshed left onto a completely seperate bike track, almost totally overgrown and with nothing else around me... quiet. What a huge contrast! 

I kept scanning the horizon for things I recognised, but it wasn't until I was past the Huddersfield loop (in reverse, and indeed, in the light, in comparison to yesterday) that Holme moss finally popped into view. I was joined by another cyclist, commuting his way home from Huddersfield- so I felt obliged to hammer it as hard as I could to either lose him, or give him a decent tow, which he was very appreciateive of as he left me at Honley. 

Ah- Honley! I KNOW where I am! A short skip to Holmefirth, up the hill and over to Winscar where I ate the last of my Tangfastics, and a final burst home down the trail. 

250k and 4000m ascent. If it wasn't for yesterday, that would have been my longest day in the saddle ever. As it is, that's a monster couple of rides, back to back. It would have been better if the bike had been free to go at any time in the morning, but I figured security over early start was best. 

Am I ready for the TPR? I have no idea- but at least this is another step on the training way forward.

Wasdale Fell Race 2024- English Champs

 So my place in the English Champs has already been assured. It isn't great, but having done a short, 2 mediums and a long means that whatever it is, it is. Considering that the current plan is to train up for the Trans-Pyrenees race on the bike, I thought it might be "fun" to cycle to Wasdale on Friday, race the race and then cycle home again. To Glossop. 

All set and ready to rock.

Any hopes that Lynne would tell me not to be silly and what a crazy idea that would be were dashed, and she packed me off with a smile and a wave on Friday morning. The original intention was to do it with just bikepacking gear, but carrying fellrunning kit and a sleeping bag etc. meant that I ended up with panniers on a pannier rack instead, which made the whole thing somewhat hard going. 

Oh great, THIS is what you need after 100miles.

Suffice to say I was worrying about wrynose and hardnott for about 100 miles, and still managed to get over them. Happy days. Got to the Achillie Ratti club hut in Wasdale for about 7, made some food and fairly swiftly went to bed, having made what I hope was some kind of sensible conversation with Jonny and family and Donnie who were also staying at the hut.

In the morning, my legs felt somewhat ok, but I was most certainly, systemically tired. The ride down to the start was not the most spritely, and while everyone else seemed to be bouncing around, doing warm ups and jogging about, I was standing in a warm jacket (which I was about to carry around the whole thing), whilst wondering if *just* a vest was going to be warm enough- there was quite a stiff breeze coming down the valley. 

Thankfully Colin B had a spare short sleeved helly that he let me borrow (I carried 10kg of the lightest kit I own to this race, and not a single helly!) which made me feel a little better. Wasdale is a bit of a beast. This is my first time on the race, and it really is a legend in it's own lunch time. What is hard is that although it is long and has insane amounts of height gain and loss, you are never actually all that far from the valley- it is VERY easy just to quit- because it's just a jog downhill. 

My plan for the day was to start slowly. And then, probably get even more slow as time went on. To be honest, I definitely stuck the plan! Fast running was not going to be a part of this race for me. The initial hill is classed as a "gentle climb"- over Illgill head. If you're Finlay Wilde at the front of the race, it is very runnable indeed. If you're at the back of the race, it is *maybe* runnable, but you know that you're going to regret it later in the day. As they say, many people go out too fast at the beginning and really regret it by hour 2/3/4. So I went slowly. No running until we got to the top. Funnily enough the breeze that had be very present in the start field had completely gone away and I was cursing my choice of borrowing a helly from Colin- but was fairly sure it was going to come in useful later in the race as I started slowing down and chilling off. 

The Ladies (and MV60) start

Over the top of Illgill head, off to Whin Rigg, and a mass of runners was in front of me. No worries about getting lost here. Checkpoint on the top of the Rigg and then a steep drop to the Southern end of Wast Water and a steady run through the flagged section of the course to Greendale. All conversation had ceased by this stage as the running takes a bit more concentration than just stumbling up a hill. 

Water stop at Greendale and then up Middle fell a ways, cut around the back, over Greendale Gill and a Long Long climb up to Seatallan. My left heel was starting to rub, so a stop to re-tighten the laces was necessary- it seemed ok after that. This certainly isn't a race which is going to have a huge difference for me if I'm a couple of minutes slower... so being bothered to maintain comfort is fairly necessary. 

Some misty rain kept threatening to come in as we climbed, and was certainly coming in a bit more on the journey down through Pots of Ashness. The route taken across here was a fair bit higher than that which I anticipated having looked at the map previously, but it meant that coming above Little Lad Crag meant significantly less climb to get to the col between Little Scoat fell and Red Pike. 

Waterproof gloves had made an appearance along here, as my hands were getting cold. We'd started to catch up with the runners who had started off 30 mins prior to the Open start- though I felt like I was moving pretty slowly to have only really started getting to those people at this stage of the race. 

Round the bottome of Black crag, and I was having a conversation with a guy from Clayton-le-moors who mentioned the cut off at Great Gable was at 2:30. ... 2:30?! We weren't even at Pillar yet and it was coming up to 1:50. Certainly there was no way I was going to get to Gable for that time.... and if *I* wasn't going to get there, there were a LOT of people behind me who were also going to get timed out. This made me reflect on being in a race where you're fighting cut offs... I wasn't particularly enthralled about the idea of pushing as hard as possible just to get to a time cut, to then be one of the slowest around. I'd just keep going at whatever speed I could, and see what happened. 

Down off Pillar following what is most likely the Bob Graham route, down to Black Sail Pass and then a really quite horrible traverse under Kirk Fell to make the short but very steep ascent to Gable. The Clayton-le-Moors guy who I was bouncing back and forward with took a superb fall into and through a bog at this point, pretty much covering his entire front half in mud. Quite an impressive fall. He didn't want to go back and re-create it for a camera though. 

The view from the side of Gable back into Wasdale

By the time I was cresting the summit of Great Gable it was 2:45 and I was resigned to being told "well done, but we're afraid you're past cut off- please make your way back to Wasdale". In fact, I was almost delerious with delight that I wouldn't have to make a choice as to whether to carry on or not. The decision would be out of my hands and I'd HAVE to take the short route home. 

Imagine my state of mind when I was greeted with a cheery "hello. Well done!". Nothing about cut offs. Hmmm. "What time is the cut off?" I asked.... "half past" came the answer.... "Half past what?". 

Three. 

Damn. Looks like the race is continuing then.... From this point on for the majority of the route, mudclaws (which until... well, Pillar had been fine) were basically a liability. Wet, slick rock. Great if you have irocs, but not mudclaws. A couple of hours of teetering around then- and the descent of Gable was the first point where my legs REALLY started to let me know that cycling 220km the day before might not have been a great idea. My descent was not one for the legends of history, but was a rather ginger affair and took a considerably longer time than I would have liked... however, better to get down well and intelligently than too fast and in a crumpled mess. A quick stop at the Stretcher box at Sty head to tighten the OTHER shoe and then a stumble walk/run up the path to Sprinklin tarn, and then upward still to Esk Hause.... from the bottom of Gable, it's essentially uphill ALL the way to Scafell summit. 

Just prior to the Hause, the Clayton runner started to pull away from me and was disappearing into the mist as we ascended. I wasn't too bothered about that as the route is the same as the Old County Tops. My concern was at the top of the Pike, although the route takes the tourist path to begin with- I've never actually been that way off the hill.... it'd be nice to have someone else to look out for, rather than rely on map and compass work at the tired end of 5 hours of running.

So I downed some more food and got my head down across the rocks and dodgy ground across to Scafell Pike. Last hill. I gained some time on the final ascent and reached the peak at the same time as the Clayton chap and another runner. We turned and took the tourist route- dodging tourists as much as possible on the way down the massive path to Lingmell col, picking up another couple of runners in th process- while the Clayton guy had another tumble- this time onto rock and stone rather than bog, so we took a few moments to make sure he was ok- and ran on together to the col.

A final run down a hill. By this time my legs were well and truely cooked. Running as a concept had been shuffling for about 5 hours, and there was going to be no sudden turn of speed, just a contiuous move in a downhill direction. As we hit the steeper part of the descent I stifled a groan and some profanities, and noticed that a female Todmorden runner was making much better progress just to the right of us- evidently a well reccied individual, so I dropped down and followed what wasn't really a line, but was better than the path. A little further down the way, I spied a scree line and surfed down that, seemingly leaving those behind me by quite a way. 

Then it was just a general "fall down a hill with some kind of style" at the end. I was NOT moving fast, but I was moving faster than those behind me, and finally came into the finish at a smidge over 5:30. 126th overall. Lower down in the results than I would normally expect to come, but perfectly happy with simply getting around. 

According to Chris (who ended up coming first V40!) I looked a fair bit shellshocked... which really doesn't surprise me. 

The bit that was worrying me now was getting back over Hardnott and Wrynose the following day!

Top of Wrynose

So- a longer story cut short, I did indeed get over the passes, and got back to Glossop the next day despite snapping a gearcable 20k out and effectively having to jury rig a single speed to get home. 

This morning, stairs are difficult.