GT 24 Take 2

Unfinished business apparently, so I said back in 2016 after my last attempt at the West Highland way and Great Glen Way in 24 hours (also known as the ‘GT 24’). That one was a joint attempt with Saul Muldoon and we rode south-north with some support. Tonight I was back on the 1811 from Glasgow Queen Street, bound for Inverness for the ride south to Glasgow via Fort William in the morning. This time there was no doubt in my mind, I knew it would be tough.

Unsurprisingly it's an early start at the SYHA where I bump into fellow riders Alistair and Tam. There’s only four of us at South Kessock and we soon split to ride our own pace. For once I haven’t got lost out of the start and the going is good, dry trails weave through picturesque young woodland.

Scotland is bonny today; gorse in bloom, broom laden with seeds, and trees fresh with new growth. A headwind is the only factor against me in my quest to reach Fort Bill within seven hours. I mentally tick off what was ridden in reverse twenty months ago; steep climbs and rollercoaster gravel singletrack abound, the payback is miles of commanding views of the Great Glen. After Fort Augustus it's a slog into a stiff headwind to reach Fort Bill but eventually I round the Shinty stadium and pass old Inverlochy Castle to arrive at the end of the Great Glen Way. Garmin says 7 hours and 2 minutes since I left Inverness, a good start, now where’s the nearest chippy?

Only a ripped tyre sidewall slows me on the way to Kinlochleven, I fit an inner tube and hope that this will be the last puncture of the ride - I've only a single inner tube left.  I meet the first runners racing the West Highland Way a few minutes after I get going again, absorbed by their epic struggle they pass in silence. Its a different story climbing the Devil’s Staircase, runners stop to chat or utter ‘respect!’ despite their exhaustion. They set off at 1am today, our challenges are equally ridiculous.

Arriving in Tyndrum by 9pm is a relief, a final chance for real food and a water refill. The wind has dropped and the midges are hungry, they keep my rest stop brief. An Aussie guy wearing a midge net asks if I'm winning, I think so. 

I'm into the last third, and the worst is yet to come. It's late dusk by the time I reach the shores of Loch Lomond and I'm starting to feel the fatigue. Its hard work handling a drop bar bike on the trail which is littered with steps, water bars and tight squeezes as it snakes along the steep wooded loch side. The moon reflects off the loch whilst the hill tops across the water look majestic from down here but the spectacle is marred by my fatigue. I walk more of the narrow trail than I should and that's before the real hike a bike section takes me into the darkest hours. Several crashes and the onset of exhaustion brake progress, a ten minute power nap helps but I curse the seemingly unnecessary climbs that just keep coming.

Finally it's just a sharp shove and a carry up Conic Hill to greet the rising sun before I plunge back down to the moorland at its foot in a blaze of squealing brakes and dust. I’m pretty exhausted now, I can’t get my heart rate much over 100 even on the brief hills, this is like a modern diesel car’s limp mode. As usual time is flying (or I’m stuck in slow-mo). At least I'm familiar with this section and the route does a lovely job of dodging Glaswegian suburbs in favour of riverside paths that spit me out right by the finish at the Riverside museum. Selfie and sleep. 25 hours 11minutes will do.

    

Stats

176 miles

18437 feet climbing 

Dick’s 50 Climb Everest Challenge

If you always do the same thing, you’ll always get the same result. So the saying goes and there’s definitely some truth in it, after all we are naturally habitual in our behaviour. Year after year racing the same events and getting the same results if we are lucky,  watching performance tail off if we are  less lucky or motivated. 

This year I’m racing the Transcontinental Race (TCR); more than 2000 miles from Belgium to Greece and if training for that doesn't require some fresh thinking then I don’t know what does. The Racing Collective’s ‘Trans’ events have been great preparation; big rides which require strategic route planning much like the TCR. I’ve also been riding a single speed Kona Jake gravel bike and doing more races than normal in preparation but I still feel like I could be doing more. 

Early June arrives and I’m aware that I have only 6 weeks of useful training time left before I ride up The Muur in Geraardsbergen on the start of my race across Europe, this is my last chance to train. It’s time to step further out of that comfort zone. 

Leafing through my friend Dick’s book of 50 local climbs a few weeks ago had prompted me to plan a route linking them all together which with a few extra climbs would add up to an Everest (29030 feet of vertical ascent). The arrival of long summer days, anticipation of TCR and a free weekend conspired to force my hand. 

Up at 4am and out the door by 5, 14 year old son Arran joins me for the first few climbs and it’s good to be paced. Roads that are normally buzzing are deserted, Arran comments that it’s like we’re on holiday as we cruise past Crosland Moor golf club gazing at the golden afterglow of a summer sunrise to the east.

We tick off familiar pieces of tarmac; Deep Lane, Cowersley Lane, Varley Road, Hoyle Ing; Arran tires so I continue solo, I’m glad to tick off the 17%+ climbs at Marsden lane. My Cannondale Slate Force is making light work of these with its low climbing gear whilst fat slick tyres enable rapid descending, a welcome antidote to the relentless climbing. By midday I’m finished in the Colne Valley and can move on to the Holme Valley where climb number 1 is Castle Hill. Being focused on an Everest of ascent today makes my motivation a little different to normal. Usually miles are my indication of progress but today the more vertical ascent the better, extra climbs are welcomed, extra miles less so.  

  

Jen meets me in Hepworth and hands me sourdough sandwiches washed down by coffee, I’m feeling good riding on proper food today; pork pies, crisps and dates instead of endless bars. Gels don't get a look in either.

 

The day vanishes under my wheels and evening soon comes round, just another 10 climbs to go when a loud CRACK from my back wheel signals all is not well. Fortunately there’s a spare bike back at home which Jen meets me with in Holmbridge. Midges besiege us as we attempt to swap gear to the replacement bike and we soon retreat to the top of the next climb where a breeze saves us from being eaten alive. 

Darkness draws in and the wind picks up, the climb to the Isle of Skye drags, this time of night is always tough. Everyone else is going home to warm cosy houses and I’m still counting down the last eight climbs. Miry Lane is awarded the ‘bastard of them all’ award, its steep, slippery and gravel strewn surface is particularly unwelcome at 11pm after 18 hours. I take 5 minutes at the top to eat and enjoy the silence. 

Next up the last big one; Wessenden Head - 2.2 miles averaging 7.9% gradient, fortunately I’ve ridden it in all conditions including thick cloud and snow so it feels fairly benign tonight.  One month ago I climbed this in 12 minutes and 17 seconds, tonight it takes an extra 10 minutes - good pacing is crucial today. 

The last steep one is ’The Knowle’ out of Meltham Mills, a 16% lung buster, luckily it’s short and I’m then into the last few. Somehow I missed Linfit Lane earlier so I have to drop back into Slaithwaite to tick that one off. The end is in within grasp as I climb up past the rusting carcasses of obsolete industrial machinery piled high at Scofield’s scrap yard. Just one last steady climb up Netherton Hill remains. I descend this last one, turn round at the bottom, and set off straight back up not stopping until I am above Blackmoorfoot Reservoir. How many feet? What’s left for an Everest? I press the light button on my Garmin and hurriedly press menu buttons to access the total elevation screen. 2, 9, 6, 7, 5!!! I’ve done it! No more climbs needed for an Everest! All I need to do is go home from here, I’m relieved that I don’t need to find extra ascent, it’s been a long day. A final effort up Scar Lane to home and I’m done. All I want to do is sit down.

     

I’m happy to finish that one, there’s useful endurance experience in today’s ride and it always feels good to tick another scary one off. Give it a day or two and I’ll come up with something to replace it with on the list of ‘not sure if this is doable’ challenges but for now I’ll enjoy doing absolutely nada.


 

 A big thanks to Dick Facey for his book, Arran for riding the first ones with me and to Jen at Velofondista for bike prep and support on the day (top catering!).

Trans Scotland Trial 18

Friday’s 1811 from Glasgow Queen Street was packed with commuters and tourists, glad to escape the city for a weekend of freedom. One ruddy faced man was making good progress on a four pack of strong lager with a red wine chaser. Luke and I had driven from Manchester looking forward to a weekend in the hills, but our idea of freedom was probably a little more extreme than that of our fellow travellers. We planned to ride more than 300 miles through Scotland on The Racing Collective’s TransScotland18 event. Sleep would be optional, an appetite for big miles was mandatory. For now though we had a three hour train journey north through the Highlands to enjoy. A couple of beers from Drygate Brewery were the perfect accompaniment. 

Down at the VeloCity Bike cafe on Saturday morning riders made nervous chatter, one hour to go before we would push ourselves to endure in search of new experiences, people and places. 

I was the last one to leave the start at Inverness castle, I’d relaxed after hours of waiting so I was still tweeting my start photo as everyone else rolled out. I made some early routing errors as well which all contributed to a growing feeling of being way off the back of the pack. Still, plenty of time to sort it out I rationalised. 

 The A9 cycleway was a delight, sweet smelling gorse blooms overhung the old road which had long since been retired to cycleway and mile by mile I climbed towards the Cairngorm Massif.

I passed along quiet lanes through sleepy villages of bungalows and timber houses on my way to Tomintoul where I spotted fellow rider Nicky Shaw. She was in her own bubble listening to music and as I turned off at the end of the village she went left to follow the road to Braemar. My gravel shortcut would save me around 6 miles, but more importantly it would take me alongside the head waters of the river Avon up one of Scotlands quietest glens. No traffic, just bird calls and the rustle of water rushing in search of the sea. I was briefly held up by a grouse and it’s hatchlings as they ran along in front of me, I couldn’t see that happening on the A93

Tarmac, then singletrack and finally a steep Land Rover track took me to the highest point of my route at 2250 feet, from here a rollercoaster of a track dropped me through the Glen Livet estate and into CP1 at Braemar Castle. As I left CP1 I passed Nicky coming the other way, it was nice to see my ‘shortcut’ earn me a few minutes over the road route.

   

A late lunch sheltering from the rain under an archway and I pressed on to the Linn of Dee for my second off road shortcut. I couldn’t remember the last time I'd welcomed rain in the Highlands but today it was a welcome respite from the morning’s humid conditions.  Once again tarmac gave way to gravel and finally vague single track over the watershed into Glen Feshie. Fortunately I’d ridden this section last year so I had a good idea where the track went but it was definitely more of a challenge this time on a loaded gravel bike.

Steady on the descent in the hope of avoiding time consuming punctures and the steep sides of Glen Feshie enveloped me. Highland woodland was waking up from a long winter and rowan, broom and gorse were all boasting spring growth. I waded the river crossings with my bike on my back, I’d learnt the hard way that dynamo bearings do not like being submerged. After my third crossing of the River Feshie I found smooth new tarmac to lead me back to Feshie Bridge, what an unexpected result! In no time I was heading towards Glen Spean feeling like I’d saved some serious time. 

Loud country music could be heard from the hotel in Newtonmore where locals were enjoying the May sunshine over a few pints of Tennants. Down the road I noticed that my nav phone (spare iPhone running Komoot) had stopped charging from my dynamo. A broken phone charge lead was bad news at this point, I memorised the remaining checkpoint locations and hoped for the best. At least my dynamo powered lights were working OK.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, and Chris Pitbaldo swept past me as I sorted my bags in a midge filled layby near Loch Laggan. I rode off and kept him in view for a few minutes but he was soon out of reach. My gravel tyres were no match for his fast wheels and slick tyres, I reminded myself to ride my own race.

Fort William offered up a phone cable from a service station, I was excited to be able to run maps on my phone again. Glen Coe and Rannoch Moor by night were spectacular. The road was near deserted and there was enough light in the west of the sky to make out the mighty Aonach Eagach ridge to my left and the distinctive cone of Buachaille Etive Mor to my right. The lochans at Black Mount reflected the midnight sky and I felt privileged to have this place to myself. Well, nearly - Chris was a couple of miles ahead and I gradually chased him down Glen Orchy and through the clouds of midges alongside Loch Awe until I caught him on a rolling A road just outside Inveraray. Just in time to share photo duties at CP3 and roll on towards the the Clyde ferries. We agreed we were in no hurry with more than three hours in hand to cover the forty miles to the Hunter’s Quay ferry, but we still arrived early at 0545 after a couple of hours peering through the midge and mizzle laden air.

At Hunter’s Quay I laid down on the tarmac and closed my eyes for a while only to be woken by the ticking of a freewheel. Iain rolled in, he’d been twenty minutes behind us for hours and now we were on for a sprint finish once we landed in Dunoon. I had no appetite for racing the last twenty or so miles and I left Iain and Chris to fight it out on their road bikes after CP4. I rolled into the finish 19 minutes after Iain took the winner’s title. Chris and Iain were there waiting and after photos we enjoyed a well earned  al fresco breakfast nearby. 

 

The Finish

Riding many of my favourite bits of Scotland within 24 hours had been a special experience, now how am I going to better that? Maybe a little ride to Greece will do the trick...

Stats

• 304 miles
• 12,927 ft climbing
• 21h 39m moving time

In a Funk to the Pirates Ball

I had my doubts before I set off on a 195 mile ride south east to headline Maui Waui’s Pirates’ Ball with my band 'Klonk'. Two weeks previously I’d crashed out of my first proper mountain bike race loosing both wheels on a fast right hander. Lying winded and bleeding across the track it hadn’t occurred to me that it might take weeks to recover. It was now two weeks later and I'd already missed The Racing Collective’s Trans Wales event so I was determined to get a decent ride in, hence heading south today.

 

Jen had prepared my bike with a new crankset and fast tubeless Formula Pro tyres, I was all set for Friday morning. The weather forecast promised a southerly headwind for later in the day so I was keen to get as many miles covered before the wind picked up. Once through Barnsley's rush hour and out past Rotherham I cruised past blossoming fields of oil seed rape and through Sherwood forest under blue skies. The wind strengthened and I dropped low on the aero bars to cheat its pace robbing intentions. Newark was gridlocked by roadworks, I cruised past the last two hundred cars that had passed me, my Hope freewheel an irritating reminder  of progress to the motionless drivers. East of Newark I was dumped onto the A47 by routing app Komoot. Selecting ‘road cycling’ as my route type meant mixing it up with every lorry bound for East Anglia from the A1. Riding for hours with an injured back against a 15mph headwind whilst HGVs pass within centimetres of your elbow requires particular endurance skills that I haven’t yet mastered. This experience turned my mind to the TCR (Trans Continental Race) that I’m riding later this year. What if riding across Europe was like this? Had I committed to 14 days of this purgatory? Why? What was the point? What would the TCR prove? 

Big questions and yet no answers, despite the hours passing. Normally long rides are THE place to answer big questions but today they eluded me. A flat tyre in Kings Lynn and the featureless Fens did nothing to buoy me up and the pace suffered as I kept finding reasons to stop. 

Nearing the Suffolk coast I was at least riding on scenic lanes but I was still counting down the miles to my destination, I was not enjoying the ride. 

I ditched my plan to ride home on Sunday, I did not want to ride another mile of the A47 and I didn't want to slow my recovery so I took the offer of a lift from bandmate Tom.

Reflecting the following week I realised that I'd have to pay closer attention to my routing in future and given the choice I should take shorter mountain routes over longer flat alternatives. The TCR is a once in a lifetime opportunity to test yourself and overcome all adversity, and that includes training rides. Bring on the next one...