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 

Pennine Bridleway End to End

"I've ticked off a few big rides this year and I'm still thinking about more so I must enjoy them, right? Otherwise it's just masochism", so goes the internal monologue. I turn down the volume on that and look forward. Only a couple of days after returning from Crossduro Oxford I realised that every weekend until late September was taken up with gigs or family holiday. The weekend coming was also close to the summer Solstice which seemed like a good excuse to ride all night. A quick consider of the possibilities offered up the Yorkshire Dales 300 or the Pennine Bridleway. Both would be a big challenge but the Pennine Bridleway won out as I'd been mulling an attempt at the route for a year or two. 

Wife Jen generously offered to drop me at the Middleton Top start point and meet me at the end in Kirby Stephen. She also prepared my bike replacing the bottom bracket which was totally shot after the Capital Trail. Preparation for this kind of thing was definitely getting easier with practice, getting a reliable GPX file of the route was the main headache. I had no idea how long the 180 mile ride would take, Phil Simcock set a record of around 20 hours and 5 minutes in 2015, others had taken more than 24 hours over it. Only one way to find out...

Setting off from the former railway station at Middleton Top south of Matlock I'm feeling relaxed, the disused railway line is mainly flat and fast, a good fifteen mile warmup into a stiff westerly headwind. Limestone trails are beautiful at this time of year, yellow and blue wild flowers, cow parsley and long grass heavy with seed overhang the bright white stone. Further up the Tissington Trail at Parsley Hay I pass groups of school kids on Duke of Edinburgh expeditions, for many their first foray into the great outdoors without adult supervision. I'm glad to reach the end of this trail though and reach the first of many sections of single track on the PBW. The descent into and out of Chee Dale gets my heart rate right up and I have to make a conscious effort to shift into easier gears, there's another 20 000ft to climb in the next 24 hours.

Leaving the white stone of the White Peak for the Dark Peak feels good, real progress and a change of terrain. Mud, gritstone and moody grey skies, not that I get much chance to look up, I'm too busy staying upright on the challenging rocky sections south of Hayfield. A brief respite on the Sett Valley railway out of Hayfield before a climb up over Lantern Pike. My GPX route runs into trouble south of Glossop, a dispute over funding of the trail means the trail is officially closed with no official diversion. This throws me off route and I end up in someone's back garden high above Glossop. Back on track at Tintwhistle it's only a hop over the moors to familiar territory. Greenfield, Stanage, Buckstones are all dangerously close to home and a ripped rear tyre allows an opportunity for those 'wouldn't you prefer to be at home on the sofa?' thoughts that periodically surface during any challenge. Tyre fixed with a tubeless repair and I'm on my way, nearly one third of the distance under my belt but plenty of challenges ahead. A couple of minor mechanicals have me deploying cable ties and borrowing bottle cage bolts to make my left hand shifter work, at least it can be fixed. 

    

The setts of the old Rooley Moor road above Rochdale are always a slog, the ancient route to Whalley Abbey from  Rochdale  is wide and straight but decades of Pennine winters have left their mark. Near the summit above the popular trails at Lee Quarry the setts have parallel grooves worn into them where horse drawn carts have worn the stone away. A reminder of tougher times, when survival required routine hard physical labour. 

The steep descent into Stacksteads is over in a flash and a stop at the Coop is my last chance to pick up food today. Bags filled with bean wraps, croissants, chocolate bars and an emergency Coke I climb up towards Cliviger through the 'Gateageddon' section. There's a gate approximately every two hundred metres on which frustrates progress, fortunately the clouds have passed and evening sun lights the way. I even enjoy the climb out of Cliviger up to Hurstwood and Gorple. The new sections of trail between here and Wycoller are fantastic, fast rolling and well graded, there are even berms through some of the corners and a rock garden mid descent. It's early evening and lambs are playful on the lawn-like short grass alongside the trail, pheasants scatter from the trail ahead and I spot a couple of owls and a gull which is presumably far from home. There's a comedy moment above Wycoller when a lamb and a pheasant run directly at each other after being spooked by my bike before simultaneously changing direction at the very last second, the lamb looks very confused. 

I've ridden this middle section though to Settle once before on a recce ride, something I'm glad of as the trail gets very vague south of Long Preston and in the darkness it's difficult to spot the way marker posts. Still summer nights are always thick with insects looking for food, the odd one ends up in an eye, or worse, in my mouth. Dropping down into a steep wooded valley the thick scent of wild garlic hits me as I duck and dive through a tight tunnel of trees. On the far side of the woods Saturday night is in full swing, I pass several pubs with live bands and a large recently built house lit up like a christmas tree for all to see. Through the floor to ceiling windows I can see twenty or so immaculately dressed guests taking their places at a long table, I'd rather be out here I think to myself and press on north. I don't see anyone else until a farm near Long Preston where a farmer comes out to shine a torch in my face and ask what I'm doing. I apologise for scaring them, don't suppose they see many people out here at this time of night. 

By the time I reach Settle it's a new day but Saturday night's party is still in full swing at the Rugby Club where the local Moto Guzzi (motorcycle) Club are having their Summer Camp. I stop round the back of a dilapidated barn for ten minutes above the town to eat bean wraps and enjoy the view. Noisy bunch down there, most of them are customers of ours at work. I don't know the route from here very well, a glance at the map during the week showed it climbing over the south eastern shoulder of Ingleborough not far from Gaping Gill. To get there the route meanders along farm tracks and winding single track between crumbling limestone dry stone walls before climbing onto the flanks of Ingleborough. I push up one particularly loose, steep climb and am aware that I'm tiring, this is the most difficult time of night, my body clock wants to shut everything down for rest and yet I need to keep going. The emergency Coke is pulled from my pack and downed, within ten minutes I'm more alert and I imagine that I can see the silhouette of Ingleborough to the north east, the sky is slowly modulating from black to darkest blue grey.

Climbing up the track to Cam End I feel stronger with the dawn of a new day, the climbs are all ridden with the assistance of a tail wind and the well surfaced track encourages rapid climbing. I was last here twenty years ago in an ageing Land Rover which later caught fire near Settle after some over enthusiastic green laning. Back then the former Roman road was pot holed and rutted, this morning I find it in better condition than many roads in West Yorkshire. To my right I can see a couple of bright LED lights, I assume they are other cyclists on the road climb to Hawes but they are of course lights outside a house, at least I'm not yet hallucinating as I did on my 600k day ride. The descent from Cam End is another highlight of the route, a smooth and well surfaced strip of single track snakes down the hill to the junction with the Dent road. I laugh out loud at several points as I'm launched skyward, maybe that's an effect of sleep deprivation.

Descending the Old Coal Road to Garsdale Head I'm under the impression that the climbing is pretty much done for this ride. I'm proved very wrong, there are at least two more largish climbs and I'm not ready for them. Enthusiasm ebbs as the minutes tick past, I'm conscious that any hope of a sub twenty hour time has gone. I just want to finish now but the real stinger is the final climb, it looks like the trail funding ran out here, the track is way marked over lumpy moorland but there's no surface and no easy grading. The route heads straight up from the valley bottom to the ridge. I push most of it which makes it painfully slow but I no longer have the strength to keep the bike moving in a straight line at granny gear pace. I can't help thinking that whoever planned this section had a wicked sense of humour. At least the descent on the far side is better, finally on the road to Kirby Stephen I've just about cracked it. I roll in to the railway station at 0645, 21 hours and thirty six minutes after I left Middleton Top. I get a lift from here, I've no enthusiasm for a twenty mile road ride for a shower and change of clothes. Sunday is going to be a day of rest. 

Credits

• Velofondista for last minute bike preparation
• Jen for support, supplies, lifts and endless patience

Stats

• 20 300ft climbing
• 181 miles
• 9.9mph moving average
• 21hours 36minutes elapsed time

The Cairngorm Loop(s)

Veggie haggis, neaps and tatties with a
pint of local ale and a Laphroaig chaser

Back in 2016 I came across a bikepacking website which described a 188 mile route through the Cairngorms. Having never ridden in the Cairngorms this went straight on my bucket list of big rides and I decided to ride it with regular mountain biking accomplice Saul in the spring of 2017. Such was our pessimism about the Scottish weather that we put two dates in the calendar (one was bound to be wet or stormy and nobody likes riding for twenty four hours in Scottish rain). Fortunately our pessimism was just that. On checking the Cairngorm mountain forecast a few days before we the first date we'd pencilled in the forecast was ideal; light winds, dry and sunny - better than an average day in Yorkshire. "What's our plan?" asked Saul. We had a couple of options: a) ride 'til you drop or b) split the route across two days and use one of the many bothies on the route. For some reason when faced with this type of question my default choice is the hardest framed as the easiest, i.e. we don't want to mess about carrying bulky sleeping gear so lets not bother with the sleeping bit, ride on through and sleep later. I questioned the logic of this plan as we sorted our gear in the car park of the Tourist Information Centre in Blair Atholl after a surprisingly good nights sleep in the back of my van. I remembered our GT24 trip last year, that was a tough day (and night) out, the possibility of a repeat performance did not currently excite me.

Things did not not start well, there was no data signal for my phone and the route had not completed synching offline. Without the route we would have to work from four OS maps, and we'd be changing map sheets every few miles. We rolled out to the Bridge of Tilt at 7am and enjoyed the early morning tranquility of the Blair Atholl Castle estate. Once down by the A9 we had the old road to ourselves, a good warmup for what lay ahead. Unexpectedly at this point there was a good data signal for my phone so I was able to pick up the route and follow it on screen, this would save us time and navigation faffing.

GPX trace loaded at last

 

Our first proper off road section was an easy estate track climb over the grouse moors to the first river crossing at Sronphadruig (not a typo!) Lodge, then a brief section of bog leading to typical Scottish singletrack hugging a steep grassy lochside. We rolled downhill on estate road to Loch an T-Seilich where spirits were lifted by deep blue skies and bright sunshine, so far so good. We'd be round in no time if the terrain continued like this I thought. 

 

Riding on through pine forest under blue skies we were both feeling optimistic about what lay ahead, progress was better than expected and navigation was generally straight forward although we did take a couple of wrong turns around Feshiebridge which required us to retrace our steps. The trail was blocked here by fallen trees so we took a bit of a singletrack diversion up into the woods, all part of mountain biking in these parts. 

Forest track became fast single track through the woods to the Glenmore Lodge on Loch Morlich, the sandy trail lined by small native pines and heather - near perfection on a day like this. I occasionally wondered whether I'd got this right; here we were in Scotland riding great trails through stunning scenery under blue skies. The usual Scottish defaults of rain, bog and midge were curiously absent, at least for now. Saul commented that we hadn't seen a single other person on the trail all morning, which was the cue for us to encounter every dog walker, sightseer and otherwise at-a-loose-end individual within a ten mile radius in the next mile. We were obviously getting close to civilisation (or a National Trust car park). At the head of the Loch Morlich wex stopped at the Glenmore campsite and topped our Camelbacks up with water in preparation for the climb up to the high point of the route which lay ahead. 

 

The climb was on steep and wide gritty single track littered with water bars which tested strength. The single fork on my Cannondale F29er wandered skyward as I wheelied it up each stone step and I was reminded of our two rides up Conic Hill on the West Highland Way last year, at least the sun was shining today. We chatted to a couple of fell walkers at the top of the climb whilst we stopped for some lunch. Above us to the west was Cairn Gorm, the mountain, cloaked in snow. We had climbed to 2,600 feet, altitude that was soon eroded by an exciting jump strewn descent from the pass to the fords of Avon. Our progress was slowed here as the trail became strewn with large rocks, focus was required to pick a rideable line through a rock garden which stretched for miles down the valley. Some sections were walked, they could have been ridden on a full suspension bike or by riders who weren't pacing themselves for another twenty hours on the bike but we needed to conserve energy. 

Consequently the descent to the shelter at the Fords of Avon was slow and frustrating in places, but hike-a-bike is often the price of reaching the remote and spectacular vistas that surrounded us. The Fords of Avon shelter was actually a small shed nestled in behind a deep dry stone wall, it felt cosy inside and must be a life saver for those caught out by the elements. Luckily no such problems for us today as from here the trail slowly improved to a fast flowing ribbon of dry sandy earth down into the valley and along to a disused farm house. Not long after we reached a brief section of road at the Linn of Dee and took advantage of the tail wind as we headed south west up the valley on the final section of our first ring of the loop. The valley was wide and featureless, I was aware that we'd be returning here in several hours time as the second ring of our loop returned along this track but split off to the south further along. We stopped at the fork and I enjoyed a couple more of the burritos I was carrying, both slightly worse for wear after sixty miles off road. Meanwhile Saul attempted his customary afternoon nap, we weren't racing today.

After the earlier delays caused by hike-a-bike I was apprehensive about whether there were several more miles of it coming up on the climb over the watershed to Glen Feshie. The estate track became a grassy and boggy single track which forced us to dismount every hundred metres or so to cross peaty morass. At least the climb to the watershed was gentle and eventually we started to descend again into Glen Feshie. The valley was steep sided and clad in thick heather, we lost height rapidly whilst the river Feshie surged in size with the addition of each stream tumbling down the side of the hill from high above. After a brief stop to enjoy the late afternoon sunshine we needed to ford the river, fortunately it had been fairly dry here in recent days yet I was soon wading knee, and then thigh deep in the crystal clear water. The current tugged at the wheels of my bike sweeping it from the riverbed and dragging us downstream. Not a crossing I'd want to attempt in the middle of a wet spell. From here we enjoyed a mixture of estate road and trail centre quality singletrack as we followed the valley west back to Feshiebridge. Littering the now meandering river bed was the aftermath of a big winter storm, uprooted trees and sections of road and trail stolen by flood waters desperate to escape the glen. 

Our second visit of the day to Feshiebridge meant that we'd completed one ring of the loop, just the northern outer ring remained and fortunately we were now making good time on the road northwards for a few miles towards Aviemore. Lush woodland bathed in golden evening light and a few easy miles were just what we needed, a chance to let arms and wrists recover from the miles we'd covered in the mountains. We spent the hour before sunset riding quiet forest tracks disturbing the occasional deer under clear blue skies now tinged with all the colours of the spectrum from yellow to violet. The cold north easterly wind gained strength and extra layers were donned. Within a few miles I was wearing everything I was carrying including the white leg warmers that made me look like a marooned roadie up here on the mountain trails. Lights were needed as we approached Tomintoul and I looked into the cosy houses that we passed with a some envy. Would I swap a peat fire, a dram and a good night's sleep for our adventure?  

We reached Tomintoul just in time to find an open pub where Saul bought us crisps, coke and cake for later.  The ride from here to Inchrory in the absolute darkness of a Highland night was through thick mist and I became disorientated, unable to tell whether we were climbing up a valley or descending. After ten miles or so the trail kicked skywards on a steep gravel climb which rewarded with the most amazing views as we exited through the top of the low cloud into a starry moonlit vista which looked too beautiful to be real. Mountain tops poked though cotton wool cloud to soak up the milky glow of the moon whilst a thousand and one stars vied for attention above us. We stopped and turned our lights off so we could fully appreciate the beauty around us. It was a view that you would never see unless you were to stray from routine to enter this parallel nocturnal world, thoughts of cold fingers, aching legs and other temporary hardships vanished in the face of the beauty that surrounded us. 

As if this wasn't reward enough the descent into Braemar was fantastic fun and had us grinning into the darkness, we flew round natural berms and plummeted towards the valley floor. The centre of Braemar was unsurprisingly deathly quiet, we sat on a bench in the centre and enjoyed the cakes from Tomintoul before pressing on up the road on our second visit to the Linn of Dee. There was a possibility of more hike-a-bike up the Dee valley but fortunately little transpired. We followed a tight sheep track above the river until we realised that we'd gone too far and missed our turnoff. It was difficult in the darkness to see where we'd missed the turn but we found it and trudged up steep switchbacks to the top of the hill where we'd be able to ride again. As the sky slowly became graphite, then dark blue and then lighter blue we noticed the grass become crusty. There was a frost up here, we kept moving anxious to finish the loop before the chill could bite. The top of the climb led to a stream crossing where we found a farm high in the hills. A new farm access track allowed quick progress southwards towards Blair Atholl but the cold air chilled us on the descents and our bikes also suffered. Gear changes became more and more difficult until I could no longer change gear and was forced to climb and descend using the same gear. I guessed that the cables that had earlier been immersed in the River Feshie had now frozen preventing any change of gear. Not to worry, we're nearly back I thought. Or we would have been nearly back, except we talked ourselves into misreading the map and ignoring the GPS trace at the next turnoff, fatigued group think rewarded by seventeen bleak road miles running on fumes through freezing fog to Blair Atholl. Conversation dried up replaced by a silent focus to finish, I hoped for more climbing to warm up frozen digits and a chilled core. By the time we reached the van I was so cold I had stopped noticing but it took two hours in the van wearing a down jacket with the heater on before I felt warm again. Driving south between roadside naps we were pleased to be finished but sad to be leaving Scotland on such a beautiful sunny day, we'll return soon for another epic no doubt.

Gear

Cannondale F29er 

Apidura half frame bag

Exposure lights

Stats

200 miles, 12,478ft climbing, 19hrs 36mins moving time

Thanks to Velofondista for bike preparation and Saul Muldoon for some of the photos

Gravel Grinding UK: Return to the Dirty Reiver 200

numbers - boring, right?

Whatever happened to the art of cycling? Replaced by numbers, stats, sensors and spreadsheets in the endless quest for marginal gains. The route to success lies in analytics dictates modern sports science but what about those legends of yesterday? Marco Pantani did alright on a healthy dose of Italian passion (we'll ignore the widespread doping back then), and when it comes to riding a bike I prefer not to over analyse. But. Races are tricky, all that adrenaline mixed with excitement, expectation, anticipation and the sheer enjoyment of feeling fresh and fast has a tendency to lead to early over-exuberance which like those festive over indulgences must be paid for later. The closing stages are the flip side of this coin, payback time; we've all been there, running on fumes and pushing harder then we want to remember wishing for deliverance. 200k of gravel race is going to take 8+ hours which is longer than any race most of us will attempt so my survival plan involves keeping a close eye on my numbers.

start line at the castle - photo by San Kapil

This is the second year that Stadium Riders have made it to the Dirty Reiver and this year we have a good group of riders up for the challenge. There's Saul 'singlespeed terminator' Muldoon, Andrew 'nicest man in the world' Beever, San 'once you ride fat you won't go back' Kapil and Mr and Mrs Smith; Clare and Stephen. No one sleeps well Friday night, 5am  on Saturday morning eventually arrives and we're rolling off down the road from Newcastleton, Kielder bound following forced breakfast feasts of muesli, toast and coffee. I have fresh coffee and toasted wild white bread from The Handmade Bakery back home, thickly spread with cashew butter; proper race fuel - I'd take this bread round the world if I could. On the start line down by Kielder Castle the grass is white with frost, the air is a chilly 5°C but there's a bright glowing ball rising above us promising warmth for later in the morning.

This year the start is staggered, groups of twenty or so riders set off at minute intervals on the neutralised road section. The testosterone in the first group is palpable, I'm leaving them to it. A few minutes later our group freewheel off down the hill and despite yawning a minute or two ago I'm already overtaking other riders and winding up for the start proper. Clare Smith offers encouragement shouting 'the road is yours', go on then, lets do this thing. 

Compared to the Pennines this is easy terrain, back home we ride steep gnarly and technical trails but today's route is mostly well graded although there's still plenty of fun to be had drifting both wheels through corners and smirking at roadies dabbing nervously. Despite the lack of technical challenges today's course favours the mountain bikers and cyclocross racers, roadies may have the fitness but slowing down to walking pace through every loose corner will seriously dent your finish time.

enjoying the fast descents

At about twenty minutes in a group of riders merge from a trail on my right, it turns out that the first group out took a wrong turn and have stuck an extra few km on todays route with an excursion out and back into the forest. This group are in a hurry and it seems that a good few speed off ahead. I continue to keep an eye on my effort and push on. The crowds thin out and soon I am disturbing young deer and rabbits, tyres spitting gravel from the trail as I climb the wooded moorland west of the Kielder reservoir. After a few miles I am joined by a couple of riders; Jon, a bike mag editor from California, and Soren, a pro mountain biker living in the Netherlands riding for Stevens. Soren is fresh from a stage race in Ibiza, by contrast I've just survived another Yorkshire winter. Another rider, Dave Hopper joins us, he's a mate of Rich Rothwell who I assume is somewhere up ahead. Dave is kind enough to offer me water as my bottle has fallen out on one of the early descents, he does nearly take us all out though on a sharp right  hander which we all spot too late. Easy done when you are head down and charging as we all are on these fast forest roads. 

I am glad to see the first feed stop, I'm parched. The feedstop crew are still preparing but there's some sliced Soreen out and I fill my Camelback rucksack with precious water. Back down the road and some familiar faces nod as they ride towards the feed stop, it turns out that those are the fast group from the start, now back on track but behind us. I'm surprised by all the closed gates on the next section and we waste time opening and closing them, where are the marshalls? I make it through the river crossing without taking a bath and the rocky descent towards Newcastleton is completed without incident this year, last year I punctured my rear tyre here. This year the knobbly gravel tyres on my Cannondale Slate are soaking up the worst of the terrain with ease. A marshall we pass on one of the tarmac lanes remarks that he wasn't expecting us so soon and we press on to the 100km feed station, taking turns on the front into the cold breeze. 

"How many have been through?" I ask the marshalls, I'm a bit surprised when one replies, "you're the first ones", somehow we're out in front. I thought there were a few riders ahead of us but it does explain the closed gates and half built feed station. There's plenty of time to let the news sink in on the next climb, fellow riders Jon and Soren take off through the forest and I leave them to it, we're only half way and I'm pushing as hard as I should at this stage. I prefer to ride my own race. I reel the pair in a couple of times on the long drag out of Newcastleton but they get away further up the climb. I feel a strange disconnect riding hard up this track, the surroundings are idyllic - flowering gorse and new grass shoots nestling under pine trees, all bathed in Scottish spring sunshine and yet many will pass without noticing, focused on getting to the top. The climb back over to Kielder is a slog, this is where many have their race low point and I briefly question my motivation after thirty minutes of kidney and lower back pain on the climb but I don't race often and there's nothing worse than the disappointment of an aborted challenge.  Fortunately it's easy enough to shut those negative thoughts down and zone out until the descent to Kielder. I'm glad to see Sandra and Francis Muldoon (parents of Saul) marshalling here. Familiar faces and encouragement are much appreciated. In many ways marshalls have the harder day, hours of standing round marking the route offering assistance to exhausted, unfortunate and occasionally ungrateful riders. The next climb hurts but I catch a glimpse of Jon up ahead and it's these glimpses that keep me pushing on up the Forest Drive to the summit. The descent down to the last feed station feels great, down in the drops dodging and hopping potholes in top gear through the dappled light of the forest. I beg WD40 for my dusty chain at the feed stop and grab some flapjack for the final push back over to and round the reservoir. Encouragingly those glimpses of Jon become more frequent on the climbs and I start to feel that I'm making up time. Eight or so miles later I catch him on a climb. He waves me past, later confessing that Soren really pushed the pace after the midway feed station and he was now paying for it. Soren was somewhere ahead, the gap unknown, perhaps I'd spot him on the lakeside trail. 

I did spot him later, just a few minutes ahead but I was now in endurance mode, after six and a half hours any significant effort was short lived. I focused on getting to the castle counting down the lakeside miles until the final sprint up to the finish line where I slumped forward on the bike to be told 'that was really quick' by the marshalls. Yep, we set off at 7am and it wasn't yet 3pm. One marshall hands me a receipt printed with my result which I shove in my back pocket. I push my bike to the grass, peel off sweaty outer layers, rub my sweat encrusted face and collapse on the grass. Horizontal feels good. It's only after a couple of people ask me what time I completed in that I reach into my back pocket for the now sweaty and crumpled receipt; 7 hours 34 minutes bags me second place two minutes behind Soren Nissen. Maybe those numbers do matter after all. 

Route of the Dirty Reiver

An hour later I get back on my Slate and spin back towards Newcastleton, it might be a couple more hours before the rest of the Stadium Riders are in and I'm getting cold. The next morning four of us have a gentle spin round Newcastleton trail centre on CX bikes under glorious blue skies. The perfect ending to a great weekend.

    

Thanks to:

Velofondista for bike preparation
San Kapil for photos and enthusiasm (his Indian Fire trail blog is well worth a read)
Saul Muldoon for sorting the arrangements
Focal Events for organising a top event

Gear:

Cannondale Slate Ultegra, as standard except for wheels (front Stans Flow shod with tubeless Surly Knard and rear Hunt Adventure Sport wheel with tubeless Schwalbe G-One tyre)