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!).

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...