Knock Ventoux 300

At the beginning of the year I wrote down a load of thing on post-it notes as potential things I wanted to do. I don't know where they are now, but one of them was a 300k Audax. Last year, the Tan hill 200 was the longest ride/audax I'd ever done, so why not step it up a bit this year. 

It also happens that after the post-its were written the Trans-Pyrenees accepted my application, and so a 300 with a lot of ascent about 6 weeks before the race seemed like a good training opportunity. Great. 

THEN I thought, I know... the start is only about 45km away from Glossop. Why don't I ride there, AND ride home afterwards? That seems like a perfectly logical thing to do. Reduce car usage, give my self a (bt more of) a challenge. 

1am coffee

And so I found myself waking up at 1am on Sunday morning, brewing a coffee and having some toast, preparing to head to Padiham. Fully loaded up with food and water the bike probably weighs around 16-17kg, so this was going to be a long day. The roads were quiet, it was a little chilly, but not so cold that I needed to put on any extra layers and the riding was surprisingly calm. It wasn't until I hit the top of the hill at Bacup and looked down to Burnley that the realisation struck me that the reason I'd found it pretty easy was there was a decent tailwind (well, from the South West) that had sped me along my way. Great for on the way there, and indeed, the first half of the audax, but if it continued, things may well get a bit tough on the return leg- where all the hard climbing was. 

All lit up

On the way down into Padiham my rear brake started rubbing and making some truely horrendous noises- so I suffered it for the final 2km to the Methodist hall where we were to start and the first thing I did was to fish out a spare set and change them by torch light. Then- it being about 4:15am, I wrapped up in my warm layer and leg warmers and lay down for a bit of shut eye. 

Only for Andy Corless- the organiser- to arrive about 5 mins later. Considering the hall wasn't meant to be open until 5, I let him do some organisational stuff before wandering in a bit later, got my brevet card, and had some of the breakfast that had been laid on- Alpen and Nutella toast. Food of Champions. 

Breakfast

Other audaxers started to filter in, bit by bit. Their bikes all looked really rather swish, and in comparison to mine- minimally loaded. (one day, I'd LOVE to do an audax on a carbon bike with just the bare necessities... or even just MY bike without ridiculous amounts of stuff on it).... stories were told, breakfasts were had etc. At about 5:45 I noticed a few people had gone outside with their bikes and not come back- the official start time was 6am- and then I realised that there we were just heading off in dribs and drabs rather than as a grand depart, so I got the bike, switched on the lights and set off into the dawn. 

Brevet card

300k. My initial thought was that it would be amazing to do that in 15 hours- effectively averaging 20kmph. Including stops for food and obtaining receipts (essential for proving where you have been, and when), this would be extended a bit- but 15 hours of riding time would be a good achievement.

Off out of Padiham and across to Whalley, I realised that a lot of the first half was going to be roads I'd ridden before, though some of them in the opposite direction (such as when I came back from the Lakes a month or so ago). The sun was rising and I was scudding along at some speed, marvelling at how strong I was feeling, despite the weight of the bike. The first of the hills was the Trough of Bowland, which I've been near a number of times, and ridden DOWN, but never up. Another audaxer passed me at the bottom, and the only other times I saw him during the day was at the out and back at Carnforth, and as he was coming back down Great Dun Fell as I struggled up the bottom of it. 

At the top of the Trough of Bowland

From the top of the Trough it was fairly easy riding, made all the more easy by the tailwind. I was averaging somewhere above 25kmph which is pretty much unheard of for me... *averaging*! Onwards and over towards Carnforth. I was following the gps and I was resolute not to look at the actual distance until I got to the first checkpoint. Every 35 mins a little alarm went off and I ate and drank, and beyond that, I rode. 

Carnforth

Carnforth truck stop appeared, where I caught up with 4 guys from Blackpool who were on the audax. We leapfrogged through the day- they were much faster than me on the road, but I took less time at the stops. A bar and a drink- and the ever important receipt, and I was on my way to checkpoint 2- Kirkby Lonsdale- a short skip and a jump away. These checkpoints are pretty close together, but I wasn't going to complain. 

The Spar shop in KL was the place to stop at (though in hindsight I should have stopped at the Bakery as well- it looked excellent, but time was of the essence). A chicken mayo sarnie, another drink and some bacon crisps. (note to self... should have chosen cheese and onion). The Blackpool guys were still there as I set off, onward and northward, but I was soon overtaken. 

Kirby Lonsdale with the remains of a chicken mayo sarnie on my face

Through the twisting backroads and hedgerows of northern England, I kept trying to remember the name of where I was headed to for the next control. The main thing that stuck in my mind was that it was to the East of Penrith. As long as the signs were of places south of Penrith, that was fine. To my right the Sedburgh hills appeared and were a delight to behold as I scooted northward. Normally you see these fleetingly as you storm up the M6, but this was a day of much slower travelling than that. I'd already passed signs to Kendal, then Tebay, and so on and so forth. Eventually, to my right I could see the Golf Ball on top of Great Dun Fell- the highest point of the route... and on the way back South. The wind was blowing a steady South Westerly, which was going to be a boon for the climb, but promised to be a complete nightmare for the rest of the journey south. 

To the North of Great Dun Fell, Cross Fell was in cloud, and I hoped that any sign of rain would stay away as I tucked into some more food. For some reason, Eccles cakes were going down very well today, yet the normal "go to" of chocolate chip brioche rolls just weren't cutting it. How odd. 

I was feeling pretty good at this point

Finally a sign to Penrith indicated I must be getting close- and at just about 6 hours in, I dropped into Langwithby, pretty much halfway through the route. I was feeling pretty good, all things considered and astonished that I'd made it this far in that amount of time. Yes, the tailwind had helped a LOT, and the second half was going to be a whole lot harder, and a lot slower, though I held hopes that my average speed might just manage to stay a little above 20kmph for the whole ride. 

A bottle of water, almond croissant (the last one in the shop), a can of Dr. Pepper and a banana. Oh, the food such endevours are fuelled by. Again I met with the Blackpool guys at the shop, again, I left before them, and again, they came past me- though a little later on than expected, just at the bottom of Great Dun Fell. Yes, the big climb of the day. It is long, it is steep and it is brutal. It nearly made me cry. 

The hills, until now, hadn't really been all that problematic, and now here I was struggling up Great Dun Fell. If this was hard to the point of insane, how on earth am I contemplating doing the Trans-pyrenees in less than 6 weeks? The WHOLE thing is climbing. I struggled on and basically the rest of the climb was a torturously slow wrangle against my bike and the hill. If the hills are like this in Spain and France, I stand NO chance of finishing it in any way, shape or form. It was horrendous. 

The top was windblown, cold and unwelcoming, so I rolled on my arm warmers and gilet and turned into the wind to get down. This was a strong wind. A wind I'd be happy windsurfing in. This was going to be a hard afternoon. 

I was NOT feeling pretty good at this point. The Golf Ball

I pedalled down (yes... pedalled DOWN) the hill and then through some delightful back roads for a while before hitting the horrendous A66 from Warcop to Brough- luckily this was in a direction where the wind was not so prominent a feature- but it was still pretty unpleasant. Then a slight turn toward Kirby Stephen, and then the left to start the 15km climb to Tan hill. 

Sign to Tan Hill

I've driven it before, supporting the Spine race, but cycling it- well that is a different prospect. Again, the wind was a cross/tail for a while, but then very much a crosswind. Again, my head started to rebel, saying that if you can't climb this then what hope to you have for the Pyrenees? The gradients kicked hard and my legs hated me. My hands felt raw, and my feet hurt. To be fair, I was over 200k in- well, 250 if you include the morning jaunt from home, and no wonder I wasn't feeling good. Not only that, I didn't feel like I wanted to eat- but the most important thing is to KEEP on eating. Feeling bad, and then not eating is a recipe for disaster. 

The hill kept giving, but eventually the pub came into view, and just as I arrived, the Blackpool guys were heading off. No problem, I thought, as I plugged my wahoo into the charger, I'll be in and out in no time, and then down the hill (into the headwind). As I walked into the pub, the queue was out of the door. The queue for the bar. Damn. All I want is a coke and a receipt.... but no. 1 person on the bar, LOTS of others around, but seemingly oblivous to the massive trail of people, and well... what seemed like sheer hostile inefficiency. What followed was a 20 minute wait of excruciating slowness- I was just lost for words. 

Anyhow, the J20 that I was eventually served was downed at the bar as my waterbottle was filled (how does it take 3 mins to fill a waterbottle?!) and then out, back on the bike and off. I had hoped to spend a short amount of time sitting down, doing some admin, making sure I had everything in the right place on the bike etc, but having wasted 20 mins in a queue I was less inclined to do so. By the time I was on the road again the Blackpool lads were probably most of the way over Buttertubs and down in Hawes. I was not to see them for the rest of the day. 

It's now a bit past 4pm and the wind is strong- pedalling downhill is not easy, and Buttertubs is rising in my mind. Down through Keld and Thwaite, and then a grovel into the headwind up the hill taking more time than it really should. Down, and into Hawes where I would have killed for a Callipo, but no, the Spar has been shut for 3 hours by the time I get there. Nothing for it, but to continue, and continue I do, on the road that goes to Ribbleshead viaduct. A long and hilly road that runs NE to SW. Directly into a block headwind. 

The Viaduct. The end of purgatory

I think I left something of my soul on that road. It takes long enough to drive, let alone ride and every single moment of it was hard beyond imagining. Having gaily sauntered along at 25/30kmph in the morning, anything above 10kmph was now rejoiced at. 15km- an hour- of misery before the turn Eastwards to Horton-in-Ribblesdale on a stretch of road that was finally, and blessedly not into a headwind. I stopped at Horton to put some lights on charge, it was definitely going to get dark soon, and to slightly reorganise my food- the Haribo needed to be much more accessible- before carrying on. 

Settle, then Giggleswick went past, 50km to go, then 40. There had been times when it seemed like this would never end- or indeed, that I'd simply have to give up and cry by the side of the road. I resolutely kept the screen on my wahoo to show the route only, not the amount of distance I had left... counting down kilometres always goes very slowly.

So tired I can't work out which way is up

I hit the A59 on the run down into Whalley, and although riding on A roads like this is not fun at the best of times, it was easy cycling. I could tell that I was in with a shout of getting in before 9pm and so it was lights on, head down and ride as hard as possible. By now, I was on roads that I vaguely knew having cycled them at least twice in the past (!). The final hill up towards the finish was pretty hard, especially as there were multiple fast food joints scattered around the place and I had a serious hankering for some actual food (the most recent actual food I'd eaten was at Kirkby Lonsdale, which seemed a very long time ago.

And finally, as the dark was closing in, I turned into the carpark and walked into the Methodist hall where Andy was waiting. Took off my shoes and lay very still for a while. 

Andy sorted out my brevet card while I had some milk and a load of mango- what a great post ride snack- and after about 20 mins of being a bit shellshocked, I got my act together, planned the route back to Glossop, got my stuff together and set off into the night. 

It was going to be a long slow ride home and I intended on getting some hot food, but wherever I saw a place to eat I made an excuse not to stop there. The main reason was because Rochdale seemed like a good place that was halfway home that would have food- and also there weren't really any hills between there and home... the idea of having a burger and then having to climb a hill was not a nice one. 

At about 1030 I finally stopped at a random kebab/pizza/burger joint in Rochdale. The guys were very pleasent, and asked me where I was from... unfortunately "glossop" was not on their personal map- and then expressed astonishment that I'd ridden from "south of Stalybridge" to Rochdale today... (Penrith also wasnt on their personal map, but hey). 

Half a burger and half a portion of chips seemed almost too much for me, and I was soon on my way into the night. The last portion of the ride passed without problem, and I finally rolled into home just after midnight. 

All told, 420k and 6661m of ascent. What a day

inertia

I like going on adventures. I keep telling myself that. And yet another year rolls by and my tents remain fairly unused, stoves still have the same gas cartridges as last year, great plans, ideas and routes remain just that. Planned, but not done. 

Do I like planning things, but just not doing them? Is it the fear of failure that stops me? Is it the knowledge that doing the thing then means that there is no longer anticipation for it? Perhaps the anticipation is better than actually doing it?

Well, having spent many years planning and not really doing all the stuff that I've set out to do, I wonder if I've come across the reason. (but not the answer).

It seems like yes, I'm quite a home bird, but the reality is that I find it really hard to break the inertia of being at home. Not just for a holiday or a ride, but in some cases just for a run! The bigger the thing, the longer I plan on being out, the harder it is to break the inertia and the feeling that I shouldn't be going. 

Right now, I'm waiting to go and do the Knock Ventoux 300 Audax. I have that same feeling of "I shouldn't really go" in me. That feeling of "I'm not really sure. Maybe it would be better to stay at home". Once I'm out there, and cycling away from Glossop, the elastic will snap and the adventure will begin. It will, I'm sure be a fantastic journey- but it will not be without that initial wrench of getting out of the door. 

If there is an event that I've entered- like the KV300, or indeed, the TPRno4 this year, then it is a little easier to break the inertia. I've paid, so it makes more sense to go. Equally, if someone else is relying on me- then it becomes easier to go, like in the case of doing a round or a joint expedition. 

However, I like the idea of doing long, crazy stuff- and have planned a number of fantastic days and weeks out. Have they ever come to fruition? No. Very very rarely. There is always an excuse to sit down and give into the elastic that pulls me back to home. 

I don't know how to break free of it- and certainly don't want to simply "buy" my way out of it by paying for more and more events. 

Maybe doing more of them might help- but just going for an evening out bivvying on the hill sometimes seems to be the hardest thing to do, let alone travelling to Inverness to cycle home. 

Fear of the unknown? Laziness? Elastic to the house? 

Or just inertia?

Cracken Edge Fell Race 2024

 Ah, that time of year again. Yes, I have indeed been running! The Cracken Edge Fell Race is firmly in the calendar now as it is organised by Kinder Mountain Rescue, and is the only race around here that has a Mountain Rescue Team prize. 

We (Glossop MRT) managed to get 6 people to the race this year, which is good. Technically you only need 3 people for the team, but it's nice to have extra. 

Although it was raining a little further north on the day, it was dry over Hayfield, so the initial climb, which can be a bit slippery was dead dry. Good grip definitely helps, and so we were soon enough all out and away. I was trying not to get caught behind too many people as there is a stile about a quarter of the way into the race which can turn into a bit of a choke point. The uphill wasn't too bad, and I kept StevieK in sight for much of the way to the stile.... cunningly keeping just about enough distance from a block of 5-6 runners in front of me so that my speed was just about right to hit the stile just as the queue cleared. 

Perfect. 

I then ran into and tripped over a load of brambles scratching up my shin nicely. 

Now for the run out along the path, managing to overtake a single runner on the way, maintaining that place all the way up the hill to the halfway point where another runner had seemingly decided to go the wrong way, but was now coming back to get on course. Very strange. 

Down the hill and through 3 gates, staying at the back of a decently sized group. Accelerating past them was not an option as I'd have had to slow down considerably directly afterward! So nice and patient, keep the pace at a decent level and see what gives. 

They got away from me down the road, but I gained and overtook people on the way up Cracken Edge through the quarries. Which was a real turn up for the books- that never happens... Felt decent all the way up to the steep climb to Big Stone, (where a couple of people took their places back), and then started on the down... where my legs suddenly decided they really weren't happy and didn't want to work... wobbly legs all over the place, and I was fairly content with watching everyone disappear in front of me. 

There were a couple of runners behind me at this point, so I had a bit of a talking to my legs and tried to maintain an even pace across to the turn along New Allotments, and onward to the final turn downhill. Legs still a bit trembly, I noticed a couple of people in front of me who seemed to be having more problems than I was... well, the downhill was taken nice and sensibly, (nice to Tim, Sarah and Ellie out supporting), and then down to the trees- where a Pennine runner sped past me on the steep section. Ah, to be able to descent properly again (it's coming back... but I'm not there yet).  So 2 places up, 1 place down, and through the trees at the bottom of the hill- with someone breathing down my neck....

Kept the pace up along the final section across the fields, but didn't quite have enough speed to catch and overtake the Pennine runner on the final descent to the finish. 

Just over 50 mins, and I wasn't totally destroyed. Faster than last year, and, it seems in better shape. I'll take that. 

Yes. GMRT retained the trophy.

A huge thanks to our friends and colleagues over in KMRT for putting on the race. It's always a cracker.