As an antidote to the flatness of Lincolnshire I had entered a hilly ride on the Cowl Peninsula with added time pressure of there being two 20 minute ferry journeys involved in the route, Hall accommodation was available to I travelled down to Gourock on the train after work on the Friday.
I'd prepared the Focus for this by removing all the excess weight, using a light pair of wheels with a spoke count that sees my weight troubling the recommendations and leaving only the top tube bag and the frame bag, the first to carry money and battery pack, the second to carry High5 powder, sun cream and electrolyte tablets with my usual jersey pocket set up of Food, Rain Jacket and Camera on my back. I could already feel the difference from the Genesis in long distance set up as I zipped over the Tay Bridge to catch my train.
Hall before the start
When I got to the hall a number of the Borders riders were staying over, as was a rider who had reversed my journey of the previous weekend by coming up from Lincolnshire and a Highland rider, the other Highlanders perhaps proving to be a bit soft having booked into a hotel.
Despite the hard floor surface, sleeping mat and makeshift pillow I got a decent sleep and woke up raring to go and sat eating breakfast with bleary eyed riders around me, the number of riders in the hall slowly increased until there was around 45 riders ready to take the start at 0715. The earlier time as chosen to allow us to catch the first ferry of the day at 0730.
All aboard for Cowl
Robert gave a briefing before setting us off and I was soon leading a group through down town Gourock towards the Western Ferry pier at McInroy's point. I felt good, setting what I consider to be a good pace for me on flat ground at 30kmh. Rather than bump up onto the pavement to get to the pedestrian gate I took the long way round and pulled a large group of cyclists into the HGV bay of the ferry line up as the ferry arrived on it's first trip of the day from Cowl. We were soon loaded on and sailing over the Firth of Clyde.
Bound for Ardentinny
We disembarked the ferry and I wasn't for hanging around here either, I managed to get myself on the 2nd row of the group on leaving Hunters Quay and sat there as we flew along the banks of the Holy Loch still holding around 30kmh towards Sandbank, no CalMac ferries were in reserve at the Marina and we were forced to stop at the junction with the main road from Dunoon as a solitary car was crossing out path. At Cothouse we stuck to the coast and turned back down the other side of the Holy Loch which turned us back into the wind but didn't affect our speed, as we rode through Kilmun the ferry that berths there overnight was getting underway to join the service.
The road undulated gently in places as we continued our unrelenting hurtle towards Ardentinny where we had to get the name of a house with a well placed nameplate that meant we didn't need to stop. I knew what was coming, the road climbed gently and then the 20% sign appeared at the side of the road, a very advance warning of what was coming, some riders rode round me, the gradient increased, more riders passed and soon they were strung out ahead of me on the hill and I was near the back of the pack.
More riders passed and soon they were strung out ahead of me on the hill and I was near the back of the pack.
Having ridden the hill before I found I had a decent memory of it, knowing what was coming and where it was hard, I set a pace and ground it out, around me riders got off to walk, another waited for his riding partner to catch up, I stayed in the saddle and kept going. I summited and started the descent, the same riders climbed with descended around me, some faster, some slower, but we soon found ourselves in a small group as we rode along the shore of Loch Eck and into Strachur and along Loch Fyne.
Along Loch Fyne
Although it's not flat we were able to hold a good pace along Loch Fyne on a gentle climb, one of the riders had packed on the North Coast 600 due to injury and I started chatting to her after enquiring about recovery. I was waiting for the junction at the "Tinkers Heart" that would signal the start of the next hill proper although it started on the Loch Fyne road at St Catherines, the zig zagging climb of the B839 is the tough part, 110m of it in 2km, and then a plunge, down into Hell.
Or at least Hell's Glen, actually a miss-identification, Gleann Beag being the map name the other Gaelic name is Glen Iarainn, meaning The Iron Glen. Hell's Glen actually refers to Glen Ifhrinn elsewhere in the vicinity.
Hell's Glen... Ish
The descent of Hell's glen is steep and tricky, zig-zagging through woodland on a narrow single track road, in the small group the riders that rode ahead of me did not surprise with Bob in the lead.
The gradient eased and the pace dropped, the heat in the woods was uncomfortable for me and I knew what was to come, over a bridge and a signpost pointed the way to Lochgoilhead, no post pointed the way to the Rest.
Gleann Mor is the map name, the more famous name is "The Rest and Be Thankful" though this should only apply to the car park at the summit it is generally given to the A83 climb and the "old military road" once a Sprint Hillclimb track where locals such as a young Jackie Stewart and established international aces once demonstrated their craft, that climb is more correctly Glen Croe.
Again I knew what was coming as I set up Gleann Mor, the heat felt oppressive until a gap in the trees gave me a blast of the cooling wind before the trees enveloped and sheltered me again, I had set off at a decent pace for me but the gradient on this climb increases as you gain height, mostly imperceptibly until the road lurches to the right then left while ramping up to 13% before starting to ease back off at a similar rate to the increase to summit with fantastic views down Glen Croe. The new A83 high on he slopes of Ben Arthur and the old down in the base of the Glen, with the hillside mobile regular works are needed to keep the A83 safe and the old road has been resurfaced for emergency use in the event of a landslide.
Glen Croe, the "new" A83 high on the slopes of Ben Arthur and the old road down in the base of the Glen, with the hillside effectively mobile regular works are needed to keep the A83 safe and the old road has been resurfaced for emergency use in the event of a landslide.
The road descends to the car park at the Glen Croe Summit, but Robert and Mick had set up the control in a lay-by at the Bealach an Easain Duibh the pass that links Glen Finglass to Glen Croe and the start of the descent, a car boot full of water, bananas and flapjacks. Perfect.
I took a bit longer than the rest of the small group to set off, I had a second flapjack stuffed in my face and I wasn't risking dropping it. I set off in pursuit and caught then at the corner where the Bealach turns into the Glen, my speed relented slightly as I knew there was a junction coming, it came faster than one of the riders expected and all I could manage was a "Ho Left!" to warn him as I swung from the deceleration lane into the new road. We were back on Loch Fyne and heading West, a small lump over to the Tinkers Heart junction split what was left of the group and I got into matching pace with Anne, I said I was wanting to stop at the Café at Strachur as I reckoned I'd be hungry before the next control.
This was another section where a good pace could be held, and after a climb in the woods we rolled at good speed into Strachur, no one had stopped at the pub, no one had stopped at the shop, no one had stopped at the Bistro, but where's the Café we were soon out of town. (The bistro is the Café). The road started to climb at a reasonable gradient and I dropped Anne, I dropped my pace when I realized it was too long to go as hard as I was but I was on my own for now. I was now heading for the Clachan of Glendarule where Robert and Mick would be with what was left of the water, bananas and Flapjacks. I don't remember them passing so I don't know how they got there ahead of all the riders. But first there was a good long descent to rest on, I was going to need this.
As I pulled up at the control a rumble sounded above, "That's no thunder is it?", "Nah it's a plane, I've never heard thunder with a turbo fan whine". Anne and a couple of other riders caught up again as the rain caused the control to be adjusted. Deckchairs launched behind the flapjacks and everyone huddled under the tailgate waiting for a downpour but the rain stopped as quickly as it started. Now it was time for the climb we'd all been waiting for.
Approaching the toughest section of the Ballochindrain Climb
The OS can't make their mind up what this is called; in some records it's the Bealach Maim, in others it's got the name of the farm Ballochindrain which is what the locals call the climb. But just to be annoying someone has when producing the newer 1:25 mapping has named the farm Bealachandrain. What ever the name this climb is a beast, I descended it once hanging onto my brake levers the pads stinking as I tried to avoid clipping either the grass in the middle of the road or going into the fence.
The hardest section gets two arrows on the map. I hauled myself up there matching pace with the others, but I chose to stop, a view I wanted to photograph and a respite I needed, it was only a few seconds but the others were out of sight.
Top of the Beallach Maim
I carried on up the hill, in places the grass was growing from the centre lien, the gradient no longer so viscous allowing better progress, the sky rumbled, the atmosphere was fitting for this tough climb, at times I was pointing the right direction for the rumble to be accompanied seconds previously by a flash in the sky out to the west.
I didn't count the seconds, I only cared that I was away from the lightning and making progress, I recognized the top, it plateaus in the Scottish sense, it's not flat, it's not hilly but the road winds it's way through the land at the top of the hill taking the easiest line rather than the straightest and flattest, and then it was time to descend.
I remembered this side was also a tough climb, not as tough as what I had just done but enough to make me wary of not over doing the descent. At the junction near Otter Ferry the riders I'd lost due to my stop were standing reading the sign for an info control, it seemed to be getting wet so I carried on to shelter and wrote down the answer losing the other riders as I did so.
I was rolling along nicely now, a bit of a climb and a descent, as I passed the junction at Millhouse and spied a café which was just what I needed, I found the faster of the Highland riders finishing off a decent sized lunch, unfortunately I was concerned about time so after my first choice from the "Light Bites" section turned out to have run out I opted for the "Cheesy Beans on Toast" from the children's menu with one critical alteration along with cake and coke. The rest of the cheese free options on the menu sounded fantastic but I didn't think I had the time.
Another info control was needed to make sure we didn't cut straight over to Tighnabruich taking us down to Ardlamont before making our way up the coast to Kames, where I decided I wanted an Ice Cream... I sat on the bench outside the shop eating a Magnum as a light rain shower passed over and thought back to the day of the Glasgow Commonwealth Games Men's Road Race when I stood eating ice cream in a heavy cloud burst.
Bob and Tracy had made it to Kames and along with some others were eyeing up the Little Kitchen's menu when I passed and then it was down into Tighnabruich, I just zipped through preparing for the Bealach a Chaisteil, as I climbed it I spotted a view of the Kyles of Bute through the trees I told myself I have this photo already and ignored it, the road climbs over a large rock that prevents a coastal route suitable for motor vehicles however the Cowal Way runs along the base of the rock, however the views from the rock are fantastic and as I reached the second view point by resolve to ignore it and keep going was beaten, it is a fantastic view over Loch Riddon and the Kyles of Bute.
Loch Riddon and the Kyles of Bute
A family on a road trip had stopped and were taking in the view, one of the riders I'd been riding with on and off was also taking in the view and exclaimed how amazing it was.
The road plunges off Creagan Dubh and almost takes you back to Clachan of Glendaruel, but the route turned to the right along Loch Riddon passing the junction with the Dunoon road before climbing up and over a small hill to Colintraive on the Kyles of Bute where the rider I'd met at the view point mentioned the uncomfortable reality of riding to a ferry port just to turn around and return back the way they'd come; it was a necessary pain for the distance of course!
Riders on the return as I head for Colintraive
I faffed through screens on my Wahoo as I set off back over the hill to the Dunoon junction and realized the screen was frozen, not wanting to stop but also unsure of the status of it I powered it down and hoped for the best on power up, the recovery process took around five minutes as I climbed the hill and I stopped at the summit to make it easier for me to recover the section from my backup device, if I hasn't entered Mileater I think I might have accepted the missing 2km.
Riders on the return as I head for Colintraive
As I descended I saw a woman standing next to her car with hands clasped to her face having clearly had a fright, I stopped and asked if she was ok. Fears of the worst were allayed as she revealed she'd just had a blow out and right enough her front left tyre was flat, unfortunately she had no spare, a tin of tyre weld, no breakdown cover and no idea who she could phone. I waited with her while she calmed down and worked out what to do, eventually phoning a friend and trying to explain her location to him, so he could assist.
Tarsan Dam (The one with the outlet)
Carrying on I knew there was only two climbs to go, the first a moderate climb over muirland to Loch Striven, the second similar in gradient but much more impressive with the climb to Loch Tarsan the reservoir with two dams, one that drains to Loch Striven and the other which holds the water back from flooding Glen Lean, along with many aqueducts to collect water from the burns on the hillsides.
I remembered the descent as being a fast descent on rough single track roads, a bit of a challenge however new tar had been laid and it was a thoroughly enjoyable plunge back to the Holy Loch from where it would be flat all the way back.
I was starting to feel peckish and decided that if I passed a shop I would stop and get something for the ferry which I reckoned would be at 1845 giving plenty of time to get there, At the junction in Sandbank the shop was still open so I stopped to collect a drink and sweets. Skimming along by the loch some kids were waving and cheering from a garden, I turned the corner and there was the "Sound of Seil" moving slowly away from the pier; balls. The service pattern had returned to 3 and hour so were every 20 minutes, something I should have realized when I saw the ferry tied up at Kilmun.
Missed the boat
I put the bike against the waiting shelter and while digging my sweets out my bag dropped half the packet on the floor. Typical! The rain came on heavy all of a sudden, I brought the bike into the shelter and mulled over the ride; I'd ridden much better than expected on the hills, maybe I could have put a little more in but I was going to get the ferry a whole hour earlier than I had allowed for, the fast rolling sections had definitely helped with that.
Sound of Soay at Gourock
The rain stopped, and soon after Sound of Soay arrived at the link-span and a local held the gate for me as I wheeled the bike on, I was all set to stand out on deck as we sailed but another heavy rain shower sent me scuttling to cover. We landed at McInroy's point and I set off for the last 3km through Gourock, the roads were soaking with the spray wetting my back, an unpleasant feeling after staying dry all day. Arriving back at the hall Robert and his family were serving soup and sandwiches; two riders had passed me when I was in the shop and had made the 1840 ferry with seconds to spare.
I had planned the ride based on being full value, but was in the end comfortable, this also meant I'd booked a nights accommodation along in Greenock as I thought I'd struggle to make the last train home but as it turned out I spent the evening photographing a stunning cloudy sunset before spending most of the day waiting in Queen Street station thanks to grabbing the last Advance ticket available!
Greenock Sunset
Further photographs:
Riding to the pier in the morning Sound of Soay having just arrived with the first load of the day
I was meant to ride the North Coast Classic 600, however following the Tour of the Borders and Galloway that sore throat and flemyness turned in to a hard cough that floored me for a couple of days. I contacted the organizer advising of my DNS and as I had train and accommodation booked I offered to help which gave an interesting insight into the other side of Audax seeing people arriving at the sleep control, the first riders alert as midnight neared and then as the night drew on riders arriving further into sleep deprivation, and then the later riders arriving with minutes to spare, a 5 minute power nap and off they went. The finish was a different experience again as darkness induced tiredness had been whisked away in the early evening, either by a good nights sleep or regular power naps.
Let sleeping Audaxer's lie...
The next weekend was the Borderlands Explorer another 600km, I started off feeling much better and I powered along the flat ticking away in a quick group, but as soon as the road went up I knew I wasn't right enough to ride the full 600, so after the first control I turned back to Gala and hung around the hub control for the weekend. No eye opening tiredness, but other interests and riders arrived and told us of their plans, a sleep, carrying on into the night or perhaps packing the ride. One rider returning having had a ride ending mechanical 10km into the final 150km leg.
Borderlands Ready to go... erm no.
After those two weeks off it was time for the 4th 600 I had entered, Yorkshire Via Essex; I decided to enter this for a number of reasons:
I wanted the novelty of a "flat" ride, there was only 2000m of climbing on the RWGPS link.
I wanted a ride where I would have to carry everything with me, this to mimick my need to do this on PBP.
I wanted something different, well Lincolnshire, Essex, Cambridgeshire and South Yorkshire are "different"
My window at the Sleaford Travelodge looked out onto the A17, a constant stream of vehicles slowing for the roundabout where it crosses the A15, the sun was low in the sky and an yellow glow lit this scene, sunset was on us already and darkness wouldn't be far behind, it isn't lost on me that I travelled far into Southumberland for the summer solstice, at home sunset was still half an hour away and darkness would be a function of the clouds with no night or astronomical twilight to be seen until mid-July.
Even as far south as Sleaford there is no night but Astronomical Twilight fell outside and I drifted off to sleep, unspoilt by the lack of darkness for the first time in a over a month. I woke with my alarm, half 4 in the morning, I'd discussed with some other riders staying at the motel about riding down to the start together just after 5. I had a small breakfast of tea and croissant ready as well as my kit sitting out and bike almost ready to go.
I waited outside for others to appear, and we rode in a small group into town, a slight descent involving navigating a one way system. We were first at the station where the start was to be, a velomobile arrived and attracted attention, this would probably be the longest it would be in sight for most riders. The organizer, Richard arrived telling us he had planned to ride with us but having already got his 600 on the Tour of the Borders and Galloway (I spoke to him at Biggar Sainsbury's) and after a late finish the previous night he decided not to ride. A good group of riders were now congregated and I wasn't paying enough attention to the time, but more to who was there and who I might be able to draft. Andy Berne another tall rider who I know I can get a tow from, though returning the favour is less common as he's a much stronger rider. Suddenly 6am was on us, I didn't have my GPS on and feck...
The Velomobile pulled out and overtook everyone
I waited for signal and mapping to show up, and set off in pursuit. Traffic lights helped here and I was soon in sight of the back of the pack, we flew onto the quiet lanes towards Chatteris, I was behind Jim Hopper on the trike, a good sized pack just in front of him, the velomobile appeared from behind me, I didn't even know he'd stopped, then as a recumbent rider passed Jim's trike the Velomobile zipped past everyone in sight and was off into the distance, I wouldn't see him again.
The speed of the group started to pick up, a car behind me starts to pass, I'm behind Jim's trike and I'm faster than him today and he's not for holding the group but I can't pass because of the car, the gap widens as the car passes, I get round Jim and just like on moderate grades the group slips slowly from my sight; I'm dropped already.
Flatness as far as the eye can see
I was cursing, a compound of mistakes and I've missed the train, I'm fighting into the headwind alone, as a slight consolation Andy B now tells me he slowly lost the others, he made it round to Boston with a 27kmh average allowing a good sleep, I doubt I'd have held onto him.
I looked around, the cabbage fields went on forever, punctuated by the odd tree or wind pump, no sign of rising ground anywhere. I scoffed as I battered through a village called "Peak Hill" but it turns out I had climbed to a whopping 5 meters above sea level without noticing it.
Fenland Friends
Riders started to pass in the other direction, the Fenland Friends Audax was running from Great Dunmow on what is essentially the reverse of the route with only a handful of routing variations and then mostly due to being diversions round roadworks in Lincoln that are more suitable for the direction and timing. I reached our first control at Chatteris a name that was causing me some problems, a table set up outside the Green Welly café, I contrasted the Green Welly I know in Tyndrum to this location and got my card stamped before sitting down to a breakfast roll.
Guided Busway
Riding out of town it was flat again and I felt I was making a decent pace, suddenly my Wahoo screamed at me to turn left as I crossed something suspiciously like a level crossing, but nothing like a level crossing. I remembered we were taking the path beside the guided busway into Cambridge moments too late and had to turn back to pick it up. Things got busier as I rolled along, the occasional bus passed or stopped at stations, pedestrians with dogs, students on bikes, a roller blader.
The guided busway turned into normal roads, the cycle way switching from dedicated carriageway to painted lanes and back, and then through the centre of Cambridge though throngs of tourists, the pace dropped drastically as I threaded through a pathway created by a cargo bike, thankfully the tourist trap isn't long and I was soon back to painted lanes and bike carriageways along a busy main road.
I hadn't noticed the climb to Cambridge, but the climbs after were harder to miss, short sharp bumps mixed with the gentle rise taking me to the ride's highest point at 120m just after Safron Walden. I don't watch much TV any more, and although I hear about shows like "The only way is Essex" my perception was formed by Spitting Image's "Essex is Crap" song, I was however pleasantly surprised as I climbed and swooped down through pretty English villages, big towered churches, country pubs, floral displays and the second control in Great Dunmow.
Some riders were sitting eating a pub meal at the table next to the controller, but I decided having been warned about service time to go to the co-op a few meters away instead, it was only now I realized just how warm it was, with the headwind providing some cooling I'd hardly noticed but now I was feeling the effects of not drinking enough for the conditions. I set off again into the rolling hills, I noticed that county marches are hardly marked on the road in England and I didn't know I had crossed into Suffolk at Clare where I picked a pub and made an impromptu stop for a glass of coke and water.
The next control was a receipt control at the end of a long broken descent in Red Lodge where I'd not paid attention to where the shops were, thankfully riders were just leaving the shopping centre and pointed me into it. Just under 12 hours and I was on 230km, not quite as fast as I'd hoped but still good going. a couple more bumps and it was back on the flat, a brief shop stop in Whittlesey for another receipt and it was a long press back over Peak Hill to Boston.
Following Dave into the night
Darkness fell and the temperature dropped, I reached Boston McDonalds just after Midnight having caught a couple of riders, Dave and Phil who was on a high recumbent. Dave and I discussed what our sleep plans were and we were both planning to Bivvy so set off to look for a spot together.
Somewhere in the darkness a low bright light was approaching, blinding me as it approached, the rider of the recumbent dodging rough surfaces by riding on the crown while I was doing the same, we both dodged out the way at the last minute, neither quite able to work out where on the road we were. The first of the Fenland friends had passed in the night.
Dawn
Somewhere on the water railway we went under a bridge, a heat trap that felt warm, we decided to try bivvying there and got set up. Bikes whizzed past in the night, I slept, and then I woke up cold. I decided to pack up and move on, Dave woke and I told him I'd probably see him in Lincoln McDonalds. I crawled along the Water Railway path at Sunrise, I remembered the advice of many 24hr MTB riders, "The hours around sunset are the most amazing but also your slowest". I'd never noticed it on the MTB, but I was noticing it today. I rolled past benches and even an old Plate layers hut, I wondered if the hut would have been a better spot but decided against checking.
Rejoining the road at Washingborough I was presented with a fantastic bus shelter with 4 walls and a wooden bench, balls. I carried on to Lincoln, winding through bike lanes that disorientated me, a late turn up a bridge in the wrong gear almost had me off the bike, through a retail park car park and I could see the Golden Arches ahead but with limited idea of how to get there, eventually I made it.
I ordered pancakes which I dispatched in short order, but took more time over my drink. Dave arrived and ordered breakfast, next thing I knew I was lifting my head off the table and Dave had moved to comfier seating, I'd also managed to give my battery pack and Wahoo full charges from the system, I discovered I'd been asleep almost an hour!
Lincoln itself is hilly!
We set about the climb up through Lincoln, a real hill here touching 7% in places only to lose most of the height in a plummet and then regain it in a similar steep hill; on that hill I lost Dave. I made a mistake while wobbling and put my wheel in the gravel at the side, I stopped and knew I wasn't going to get going again, my bladder told me I needed the stop anyway. I pushed to the top and set off again, a decent descent through Kirton Lindsey and I was skirting Scunthorpe, I started to recognise the roads from Great North Road and the Arrow. Goole was getting closer, and I was going well, there is nowhere to hide from the wind on the Isle of Axeholm but I wasn't wanting to think about the return leg quite yet.
I took a rest before riding over the bridge at Gunness, and then again at the shop in Keadby on the other side, 28 hours in and I wanted a second breakfast, Goole isn't far from here but it felt like forever as I caught the procession behind an oversized load that had just left the docks, it took me a while to realize that there was a shared use path alongside the road and taking to this I whisked myself past the queues of traffic once I knew there was going to be no more conflicting manoeuvres (right after it had gone the wrong side of a roundabout and clipped the kerb in the process), photographers were up the road from it as well making short jumps between photo opportunities and the challenge now was getting across the junctions with vehicles stopped on all sides I had to wind my way round them to use the crossings.
Pump or Mill?
At Goole I'd decided I wasn't having a McDonalds, there was the choice of a chain pub or a subway; I opted for the subway it would be faster and I could see the bike.
As I sat eating a steak sub I saw a couple of riders leaving, one in a VC167 jersey but they didn't appear to have the height to be Andy and I didn't see Dave moving around either.
I set off on the road back to Goole docks, free flowing again after the oversized load had passed, I turned into the wind as I crossed the bridge over the docks; the impact on progress was felt in the legs and body, thankfully this leg was taking me to Gainsborough rather than back the way I had come and things started to get lumpy after Crowle, climbing and descending 15m bumps along the way.
Street Art
I saw the photographers car again, along with a small crowd watching the oversized load which had now turned into a field. The road got busy as I plugged along and then oddly as soon as I crossed the march into Nottinghamshire the roads went quiet, the riding was pleasant again, though I didn't feel I had much left to give it.
I had a couple of bus shelter stops before Gainsborough, one in a nice box with bench out the sun, the other in what was more a village meeting place, a big circular hut with fences for sides, the first in Missingham, the other in Idontknowwhereborough.
Generic Flatland view
I reached Gainsborough and pulled into a pub car park, it was busy, very busy and I decided it wasn't the time or place for a pub lunch, even though that was what I was wanting but the chances of getting it at 2 in the afternoon seemed low. My cranks had been coming loose again despite tightening the lock nut and the main bolt so I tightened them up, I think despite many reliable years on a previous bike their time is up for me. There was a climb to a bridge and then a descent to a junction with a petrol station, I went straight for it and raided the shop of what I felt I needed, coke, sweets and pies.
I sat on the step of the forecourt with my bike leaning against the AdBlue and Coal, and as I was contemplating a bite out my Chicken and Mushroom slice Dave appeared. After I had the unplanned stop on the hill he'd held a similar pace and was just ahead all the time until my Gunness and Keadby stops, riders with more pace and better sleep in them had passed me as I shopped and he had managed to get a tow from them to Goole where they had made use of the McDonald's, I hadn't needed to ride alone at all if only I had been able to tolerate one more Chicken Legend.
Following a laden rider through Cambridge
Other riders appeared in the forecourt but they weren't looking very Audaxey, having just been for a relatively gentle spin in the nearest hills.
Dave spoke to them as he ate and I sauntered over once I'd found the energy, and then we set off again, a long drag back up the hill to the top of Lincoln where we made a last stop to top up liquids at a petrol station.
As we were setting off I spotted a rider entering the roundabout, suddenly my tiredness disappeared and I launched myself down the hill, trying to catch the unwitting victim, I was catching, I was aware of cars behind me not overtaking, I started to wonder if my speed was anywhere near sensible, Dave was behind me somewhere, the rider peeled off into a residential street, my quarry gone by a chance of routing. The traffic lights halfway down the hill changed to Red...
Dave screeched to a halt beside me and exclaimed something about not having a chance to look at his speed, and then the lights changed again, another kick and we were back at sea level and rolling well over the bridges. We regained most of the height lost on the other side of town, a short sharp climb followed by a lumping through countryside back towards Sleaford, on a tree lined road heavy drops of rain fell occasionally, enough to encourage the wearing of the rain jacket but never getting serious and thankfully we stayed dry.
We were soon rolling back into the car park of the Travelodge and obtaining our Sleaford reciept from the petrol station to complete the ride, then settled down on the benches next to a shipping container and with a fantastic view of the pumps for a rest.
I checked into the Travelodge and then we headed into town to deposit our Brevet's in the designated postbox.
Not a bad weekend, but the company was essential to enjoying it, I never realized flat could be so hard to ride!
After "Over the Hill and Back" the Focus was due a bit of attention so on the Monday night, as I carried out the standard routine of cleaning road debris from the frame, cleaning and re-lubing the chain and generally checking it over I felt a clicking in the headset. I decided to leave it for the night as it was getting late and I had a spare set of bearings in the toolbox waiting so it was only a 5 minute job.
On Tuesday I took the front end apart and found that as usual the bottom bearing unit had split into it's constituent parts, the top bearing was fine of course so I grabbed the spare bearing from the toolbox and discovered it was for the Genesis rather the Focus. Undeterred I found a website offering next day delivery on the bearing I needed, but it was well past time for that so would have to wait until Thursday for delivery, hatching a plan to visit the local bearing shop at lunchtime to see if they had any.
Clydesdale around sunset on the first night
After a few minutes in the Bearing shop at Lunch time on Wednesday receiving a not unexpected explanation of how bike bearings are either custom to the manufacturer or standard and that this one wasn't standard (you'd think then that the manufacturer would specify them with suitable weather proofing) I left empty handed and dependent on Royal Mail delivering on Thursday.
I was otherwise in the huff with the bike and therefore ignored it for the evening.
When I got home on Thursday the bearings and a new frame bag had arrived, I fitted the bearings with a bit of faff as I managed to drop the top bearing and then tried to use a spare which of course was also for the Genesis, but eventually I got the bike set up. I span the front wheel to test the lights and discovered there was no back light.
I checked the cable and found one line was failing continuity so I'd probably broken the wire while the bars were disconnected from the steerer; further to this my throat started to scratch badly.
I spent some time trying to get the cable fixed but nothing seemed to work, to add insult to injury I dropped the soldering iron on my finger while failing to tin a wire in an attempt to attach a ring terminal and lost some time swearing with my hand under the tap. Plan B was a battery rear light, the best I have is a B&M Secula but that has an issue with the operation of the switch, the rubber plug has gone soft and it can't push the switch, I'm still working on a solution to that as the previous fix involving a blunted drawing pin rusted away. I looked at removing the rear carrier bracket from an old rack for a cateye light that would fit nicely on the bagman... it was rusted on and wasn't going to shift, my throat getting scratchier and midnight rapidly approaching it was time for Plan G.
The Genesis was retrieved from it's storage location at the back of the garage, short ride wheels replaced with the dynamo and 36 spoke rear wheel, bagman on and little time to worry about the fact I've not ridden it in the new shoes yet, I fitted the new frame bag, loaded it up, loaded the car and went to bed.
At the start
I'd taken the Friday off work so I could get a decent sleep before a relaxed journey south mid-afternoon although the scratchy throat didn't help much with either and if anything it was getting worse.
Robbie had decided to enter the ride so I went to collect him from the station in Dundee just after midday and we soon joined the traffic jam that is the Edinburgh Bypass, we eventually made it to Newcastle just before 4, plenty of time to Metro into town for tea, for Robbie to panic buy a base layer and stock up with last minute provisions.
Waiting for the off
I got an early night, though I was repeatedly woken by my nose and throat, I felt pretty good for a morning when we arrived at the start in Ponteland. Andy had a good spread available and a good number of riders were lined up for the start. Robbie started faffing with his Wahoo which was failing to start up properly and none of the reset button combinations were working so he set the gps running on his phone and having left his route sheet in the car decided he'd just have to hang onto people. We rolled out at the back of the pack and set off for the first control at Alnwick. A number of good riders were around us including Michael and Neil, and Steve Scott who's Arrow team we rode in, so we barrelled along quite nicely
On the road
As is customary I was dropped as soon as the gradient rose. However I soon started to recognise the road and at Acklington Station I realized we were on the same route northbound as Merse and Moors uses towards Alnwick. The road was mostly flat with the odd bump and on each bump any distance I'd clawed back was lost again until the climb to Shillbottle where finally I no longer saw those in front. I started to see other riders again as I rolled through Wooler, the first Co-Op in town rammed with cyclists looking for receipts, some deciding not to wait went looking for another source. I rolled into the town centre and found the market to be on forcing a minor reroute, I spied the trusted cut out Co-Op logo only to discover that as I didn't have time to set up a funeral plan I'd need to find somewhere else, pausing to consider my position I spotted that I was at the back Morrisons and obtained a water top up and sweets considering that I would arrive in Morebattle at lunch time and there was a café there who were expecting us.
On the road
From Alnwick the route became bumpy and led us past the pub in Eglingham where their neighbour took the huff about bikes leaning against things and moved the bikes during "Nae bother to us" as we sat and rejuvenated at the bar.
Through Wooler where my limited English geography meant I was confused as to why we didn't need to control and onto the Yetholm road, I was suffering from my scratchy throat more now and I was gunked up a fair bit. Rolling into Morebattle I was delighted by the thought of a decent café feed... Unfortunately the café weren't quite prepared for 60 hungry cyclists descending on them in the manner I had anticipated, and the service of soup and sandwiches was slow. I skipped the soup and had plain tuna sandwiches, all the other options involved cheese, it was too early for the pub and too late for the shop.
Morebattle Café
I ate the limited fayre and cracked on pausing briefly at the public conveniences in the village centre before picking up the well known route to Selkirk, skipping the chain bridge at Ormiston for the blat through Eckford to get to Nisbet, I got a surprisingly clear crossing of the A68 and rode through Ancrum admiring the Vintage cars parked up including a Bugatti with the predictable puddle of oil under it. The long drag carried on through Midlem, and I was relived to finish what I reckoned was the hardest climb of the "first day" as I reached the road on top of Lindean Muir. The plummet to the Ettrick began, other riders had stopped at the petrol station to take on extra fuel but I reckoned I'd be fine to Moffat, 160m of altitude lost in the space for 5km almost half of the slog up from Morebattle.
Riding towards the border
The terrible surface of the Yarrow road jarred my wrists, the advantages of a gentle gradient lost as the bike jarred and jumped it's way upwards. Some riders caught up with me and suggested I try to join them which I managed for a few minutes, but I got confused with the way they operated the rotation (which was the standard way) and I decided to drop off as I wasn't getting it right. I saw a number of bikes sitting outside the Gordon Arms, I considered stopping to join them but decided instead to carry on to Moffat for tea. However I stopped at the café at St Mary's loch who had just switched to their takeaway service but still allowed us to sit at the tables and eat cake from paper bags. A biker outside asked if I'd kept dry and I said I had but pointing to the dark clouds at the summit I suggested I wouldn't be for much longer. I put my rain jacket on before setting off for the final leg of the climb to the Pass of Moffatdale.
The Border
Some VC167 riders had stopped to put on rain gear just before the summit, and I rolled past them preparing for the onset of the soaking from the dark sky in front however the dale was surprisingly dry, a mist hung in the valley hiding the summits, the plunge to the foot of the tail followed by the long "annoying" drag down to Moffat I was preparing for where to eat tea, I failed to find my first choice and I ended up going to the chip shop on the road out of town, a spicy haggis supper to fuel me to Lockerbie Truck Stop, possibly not the best of cycling foods but it was tasty. A quick bike check revealed my Non-Drive Side Crank arm was wobbling in a peculiar manner so I re-tightened it before setting off again.
Bugatti with characteristic pool of oil
With a belly full of finest Scottish grub I set off up the Deil's Beeftub climb out of Moffat, a good steady climb for 10km at 3%, as I climbed the mist came down, as the mists came down things started to get wet, however it didn't last long and as I dropped past the Crook Inn site of the "Cyclo Rave" during "Ride to the Sun" things had dried up again, Biggar was the next stop and riders were congregated at each shop, one told me that the small newsagents was open but I pointed out the Sainsbury's at the end of the high street, as I rolled through I remembered stopping here for Ice Cream on journeys south when it was still quicker to head directly south than to travel to Glasgow first. Another rider stopped at the shop as I stood eating the juice and sweets I'd purchased which included a Tony's Chocoloney salted caramel bar, one of my favourites when I'm visiting friends in the Netherlands, we briefly discussed the high aggregate content of Scottish road surfaces and the impact of that on hands, then I set out from the climb to Beattock Summit which I had convinced myself is at Abington services...
Traffic Jam D&G Style
Although the main A702 road was quiet I followed the GPS track on the A72 to Symington and A73 from there, the routes looked roughly equidistant, and last time I was up I rode the A702.
At Symington I joined the West Coast Main line as I entered Clydesdale, the bright lights of the services appeared on the horizon before a turn or dip in the road hid them, I was glad I'd soon be on a descent.
At Abington I could see some riders had stopped but I rolled past, soon the descent, but it didn't come, I'd misremembered the road; Beattock Summit not arriving for another 16km and 50m of climbing. I caught another rider just before the summit and I agreed with Robert that we'd ride together to the Truck Stop, the A702 here hasn't been resurfaced since it was one carriageway of the A74 and probably long before the A74(M) was built to make the number change. I looked for the best surface and found it in the "cycle lane" in the shoulder where less aggregate was set into the tar and so remains smooth despite water run off and traffic wearing down the tar in the main running lane. As I did this a police car passed us at low speed, curious, and being a long way from anywhere this was particularly unusual.
The pass of Moffatdale
At last the summit came, we left Clydesdale and picked up the Elvan and we picked up speed, hunting out the smoothest line trying to reduce the bar buzz, ahead a bright red light and a torch were to be seen, it was a Polis stop.
The Polis was interested in whether we'd been on the motorway as there had been a reports of cyclists on it, there are a number of spots where you can easily go wrong and also a number of spots where the NMU road that cyclists use could be misidentified as being the motorway.
The polisman was interested in more information about the event and Robert handled that while I re-tightened the crank arm, I eventually determined that I've loosened off the lock nut so while the crank is tightened onto the splines correctly it's able to come slightly loose in it's own mechanisms.
Climbing the Beeftubs
We were wished a good night with the football result and a suggestion we might be a bit far from Colvend for a sleep stop, although I'm a night owl so my estimate of a 4am arrival wasn't of concern to me, Robert was thinking of taking a longer stop at the Truck Stop.
We got there just after 1am, Robbie and Steve had been there half an hour and had decided to take rooms, I chose a plate of beans on toast from the menu and had a decent break. Two other riders with suspiciously Fife accents were there and were travelling north to Kennoway from somewhere in the middle of England I vaguely recognised them so briefly said hi.
I set off again on the road, things were still dry but it wouldn't be for long, 3 other riders caught up with me at Dumfries Tesco where I got an ATM receipt for the control and we rode towards Colvend together, I noted as we rode out of Dumfries that there's 2 roads that lead to Colvend and that I'd got the wrong one on the way to Dalbeattie 7 Stanes a couple of times, we didn't make that mistake and were soon riding towards the coast. My usual lack of climbing ability as well as a quick check of the opening time of the Dalbeattie co-op meant the other 3 arrived just ahead of me; I wasn't hungry so opted to head straight for my drop bag for fresh dry kit to sleep in and asked for a 6am wake up call allowing for over an hour and a half of sleep.
Beeftubs Plateau
I got a rough sleep and was standing next to my airbed setting my jersey up when the wake up call arrived. I had another plate of beans on toast along with cake before setting out into the now heavy rain. I forced myself out the door and onto the bike, setting off back for Dalbeatie where the route would diverge for a lap of the Glen Kens. Neil and Michael had stayed near Dumfries and caught up shortly after leaving and we rode together for a short while, the weather dried out, Neil and Michael carried on at their speed and not long after I took the Palnackie road Dave C caught up in their place.
We rode up towards Castle Douglas and back into the rain, I've never been there in the dry, I must try it sometime. Dave wasn't too sure of which side of Loch Ken we would be passing, I hadn't realized that there is a deserted A road on either side so wasn't sure either, as it turns out we only rode beside the top of the loch near New Galloway as we'd gone the other side towards Laurieston.
Leaving Colvend
A slight navigational error at Dalry which lengthened the climb (which I think was preferable to the sharp climb on a narrow road) and we were soon climbing a bleak drizzle swept muir that went on it seemed forever. Finally we approached some trees by Kendoon Loch where the Carsphairn road nestles, a short rest at the junction was followed by a short descent, glad at last to rest the legs and hide from the drizzle a bit in the trees but not long after that it was back out onto the muir again, I hit a wet cattle grid at speed and felt the bike slither as I hadn't hit it square. I told Dave about me looking for a camping spot out here while LeJogging and the lack of suitable spots, and he told me about his hammock based solution to that problem.
It was wet up at Kendoon
We passed through Moniavie, an oddity as the second syllable is stressed rather than the first making it Mony-AYVIE. I stopped hear for tea after making the mistake of taking this road over to Ardrossan and discovering nothing open at 3pm. I eventually staggered into the Craigdarroch Arms hotel parking my touring bike next to a massive Honda GoldWing and my self next to its rider and tucked into a massive plate of steak and mash as a band talked and sang in a mockney accent somewhere else in the pub. You can read about that trip in another post https://nefifemtb.blogspot.com/2015/05/outer-fife-penzance-to-thurso-via-lands.html (Although note I misidentified the pub, George was the barman):
We chose not to stop at the shop to top up as we had enough to get us down the hill to Dumfries, the rain was easing as we descended and in Dumfries it was almost pleasant, we spied a McDonald's which had a number of bikes parked outside and added our dripping kit to the cleaners frustrations.
After this staple lunch we carried on through the town centre as things started to clear up, a long steady climb out of town brought us to overheating point as our wet kit and rain jackets started to become liabilities and after a short period of descending when the skies showed there would be no more rain we stopped for 5 minutes to adjust kit. We rolled into Annan needing a top up and stopped at a chip shop/café for cake and juice before carrying onto Longtown.
Not the cattle grid I got a fright on.
At Longtown we managed to miss the decent looking café who having just got rid of the previous cycling customers were closing up, leaving us with only a pub that served distinctly average food.
Many other riders passed as we suffered from slow service both in delivery of the food and in provision of the bills.
The next section was the Hadrians Wall road across the roof of England, and Dave having coped with my slower flatland pace started to struggle to cope with my glacial scaling of walls. In my mind this road was a series of gentle climbs so I hadn't really prepared for the reality that soon hit me as steep walls appeared in front of me and all I could do was grind up them; eventually I told Dave to crack on, he's too polite to leave you but it got to the point where our riding was so different we couldn't ride together. I caught him at the top of Greenhead where he'd stopped to make a phone call and again at the Sycamore gap where he was taking a photo, he shot past me at a rate of knots shortly after that and I didn't see him again until the finish.
Heathersgill it's a long way up from here
The road was destroying me mentally, the sharp climbs and grinding out with all I had left was not great and I couldn't really see how much more of it was to come. However not long after Twice Brewed the wind started gusting strongly behind me and I felt a good shove along the road at nearly 60kmh on the flat not to mention the helping up the hills and then there was the rapid descents touching 70kmh. On the last final sharp dig two impatient drivers caught up with me and somehow thought hitting their horns would somehow help; then on the descent where I must admit I was going for it and my line must have been looking pretty ragged as I dodged the rough surfaces two more drivers thought it wise to hit their horns.
The descent off the Wall was rapid and I was soon at a junction I recognized from Merse and Muirs again, there was one last hill to climb, although we had been advised of an avoidance route I didn't have it on me though I wished I had as I can see riders that used this got back much sooner than they would have if they went over this hill. The road climbed, and steepened, climbed more and steepened even more, Eventually I was grinding my way up a 20% ramp thankfully near to the summit and the pedalling got easier as I entered an exposed plateau, I pedalled gently along recovering from the climb and saw that with the time on the clock and knowledge that it was down hill all the way from here I could still be back in under 38 hours.
Sycamore Gap
It was the red rag I needed, I set about making the descent as fast as possible, .I hurtled down the hill knowing it was 16km from the finish from the top, at the bottom things eased off to but I saw a sign telling me it was 6 miles to Ponteland, the same distance as it is from Hazleton Walls to home, what's more the profile was similar, starting with a lumpy plateau before descending directly though without the interlude of the Gutchers plunge. I pushed myself as I do on that route regardless of distance ridden. A deserted country road, no sign of others ahead or behind just me, I can't be last can I? I know I'm not as I passed a group of VC167 riders, a yardstick of how you're getting on in these parts at Greenhead, but then they're locals they might know the flatcuts!?
I rolled into Ponteland almost struggling to stop at the bottom of the path to the hall, Andy was waiting to welcome me in as I pushed the bike up the path, I took the bike into the hall and Steve was welcoming me back too; straight off I wanted to know when he and Robbie had got back! They had only been back 20 minutes and Dave was only about 10 minutes. Robbie started telling me about the wind on the descent from Twice Brewed to dodge the hills to the finish as I tucked into my 3rd plate of Beans on Toast of the "day", food I was well fed up of!
Second Sunset
I had entered the North Coast Classic 600 after seeing photos from Hellfire Corner, but as you may tell from the lateness of this blog post that the scratchy throat turned into a cold, the cold kept me off work and in bed and I realized I'd need to DNS.
A disappointment as the Far North is stunning, and almost every time I've planned something up there something's gone wrong;
On LeJog I was bustituted so I didn't get the journey on the Far North Line; another trip planned I didn't make it out my bed on the day of travel because I was struck down by a heavy cold. Another and strong winds made things interesting. Although I suppose the Ben Klibreck ride was a success despite having to use ice spikes.
The mid-morning start gave a chance for me to get a good nights sleep in, a welcome change from the common 6am start for a 400, the hotel breakfast preparing me for the days efforts.
The weather was dry but the sky was overcast, the forecast was threatening heavy rain for the Central Belt and borders while North Northumberland and Cumbria would get heavy drizzle through the night, however to counter this the temperature was forecast to be mild allowing lighter kit to be in the bag than I have commonly had of late.
As we set off from the Focus centre I stuck with the bunch and managed to keep with them as we rode along the usual mid-forenoon route over the hill from the town cross; as is customary once we reached Selkirk the stronger climbers disappeared into the distance as I renewed my never ending struggle with gravity, I knew I was slow, slower than normal, struggling against that other invisible foe, the headwind. When I got to the Old School Café Robbie was sitting with the SBR group who were nearly ready to go, they had been there for a good half hour having a leisurely lunch of a soup and sandwich.
I decided to partake the same victuals though swerving the cheese options left me with Butternut Squash Soup, a Tuna Mayo Sandwich and chocolate chip cookie to finish off; though I was doing okay for time I couldn't allow the soup to cool long enough so sadly had to let half the plate of soup go to waste.
We set off from Eskdalemuir with light rain falling with a plan to avoid the A7 on a route I had identified that looked like would reduce the distance and not climb as much; this involved taking the A7 cycle path to the Cannonbie junction and then turning onto country roads that would cut the corner of Longtown taking us more directly to Brampton.
As we approached the bridge just after Langholm we spotted the road closure signs had been removed, deciding that as Geograph showed a walkable route past the landslide that had closed this road for nearly 5 years it was worth a shot we escaped the horribleness of the A7 and found ourselves on a nice country road and as we approached the site of the landslip the fresh barriers, embankment and tar of a completed construction project delighted us. Not thinking the smooth tar let speed build fast on the twisting descent and suddenly I realized there was limited grip on the freshly laid tar, still greasy from a lack of traffic, destabalized by thus poor adhesion I straight lined hanging onto the brakes for as long as I dared before taking a turn away from the impending rockface on the first corner of note, I completed the descent a tad more cautiously.
Cutting the corner, increasing the climbing
The road descended rapidly towards a narrow bridge over the Liddell Water where the only hint we had switched country was a small sign welcoming us to Cumbria where at Heathersgill I was briefly confused by arriving at a crossroads where all of the other 3 legs were painted with give way lines; not a normal road set up.
As we reached the Brampton road along this "short cut" it became clear that either the mapping I'd used had duff elevation data or I had mis-read it, as we clocked up an extra 300m in this section and also that thanks to the unexpected road opening it didn't work out as short either. A welcome diversion from the A7 drag but perhaps not ideal during a 400km that's noticeably overdistance and also endowed with 2 AAA points for the climby section in England.
Brampton marks a low point on routes that go this way the road in sits at 36m as it crosses the river Irthing, on this ride unlike we weren't just going up to Alston, we were going "Over the Hill" to Barnard Castle; that hill is better known as Yad Moss the road sumitting at 598m! Though this isn't the highest road out of Alston, that is Killhope Cross which reaches 623m.
The Alston Train
The climb to Alston itself isn't too bad, after a sharp pull through the trees out of Brampton and the nasty crossing of the bypass and watching your wheels at the Milton level crossing it's evens out to a gentle climb through Hallbankgate, Midgeholm and Slaggyford. We passed a field full of tents and a sign stating "Heart of Scotland LDWA" curious! From Slaggyford the road ramped up, a bridge and a corner that leads into a sharp ride I call "the bastard" lifted us from 205m in the village to 272m only 2km out of town, from this summit it's gentle undulations to the town centre, however as we climbed we heard the chuffing of the South Tynedale Railway engine making it's way up the hill, we had overtaken it. The low speed it travels at making it easy to pick a photo spot to wait for it.
Bumping into riders on the 240 from Halifax
As we stood at the petrol station eating a mid-afternoon snack that could be Afternoon Tea a rider Robbie knows arrived much to his surprise, soaked and unseen at the start. The Old 240 was overlapping with us and the riders had had a soaking on their way north; this gave me a twinge of hope, the rain had not been forecast to pass south of here and certainly not so early, had the weather front brought the worst of it to the south of us?
Other riders had not checked the GPS route for oddities and had arrived via the NCN route and were reporting the typical involvement of a bit of off-roading including stairs, not ideal!
Maybe I should have shared my discovery on checking the route with others.
Conditions remained dry for us as we climbed up the cobbles out of the village and began out ascent to the Yad Moss ski centre, despite the severity of the ascent we were making a good pace and the thought of the summit passed my mind as the view opened out to my right and the scene to my left became bleaker; eventually the ski lifts poked their tower tops above the hillside but there was no obvious building like at the Scottish Centres just lifts in the moor. A good cattle grid announced our entry to County Durham and I noted that we still hadn't seen anyone heading North.
Yad Moss
As we plunged down the hill I noted the amount of habitation just off the road, slate roofs scattered around the moor generally with gable into the wind but a couple oddly set to take the full brunt of the wind, rain and snow. Through Langdon Beck, noting the pub and youth hostel for the ascent and finally into Middleton-In-Teesdale I was distracted by and interesting shop frontage on the corner and passed the junction for Barnard Castle.
Barnard Castle
At Romaldkirk we joined the route of the Great North Road of the previous weekend for a short overlapping stint to the turn at Barnard Castle. On Brant and Slape Paul Revell had recommended the Fish and Chip Shop so we were drooling as we climbed the main street of the town and arrived just as the outdoor and rear seating areas were closed. I assisted the staff with the seats so we could get the bikes against the wall and sat in the window eating out suppers, a Haddock for me and a Sausage for Robbie.
Yad Moss in Daylight
After we had eaten at stepped back out into the world I could feel the change in the air, the wind was gusting gently, the air was heavy, I could feel a storm brewing in the air.
We left Barnard Castle and started the climb as the light started to fade, gently at first through Romaldkirk and Middleton to Newbiggin;
I had paid attention to the speed and feeling of the hill on the descent and decided this was the easier side, mostly low single digit gradients with a sharper ramp at Langdon beck, the lights of the hostel shone out in the flat grey light, we could see guests sitting in the warmth playing board games, drinking, some were still in the kitchen.
By the pub things were darker still, the trees rocking in the wind, cutting out more of the light, again a welcoming interior scene was set, after crossing over the bridge and a sharp ramp took us out onto the moor proper. The houses I had noted scattered around earlier showed their habitation status, sitting room and bedroom lights shining out of the darkness in many but a few showed no signs of life.
Yad Moss in Daylight
We entered the mist; the first cattle grid rumbled under our wheels, a landmark in this bleak landscape muted by the whiteness of sensory deprivation. The wind and rain and mist continued in the nothingness, the summit cattle grid finally rumbled, now with the shelter of the hill lost we were assaulted by heavy horizontal drizzle directly in the face, the wind buffeting, my glasses became useless and were stuffed into my back pocket, I as now squinting into the darkness, my casquet doing little to keep the driven drizzle out my eyes as the drop towards Alston began; the mist thickened, visibility dropped to a few meters as the speed rose with gravity.
Houses on the Moss in Daylight
The mist eased and houses appeared to our side as Gargill and then Alston arrived, the late night control finding began as we threaded our way down the tarred line in the cobbles, no ATM at the Co-Op, an uninviting looking chain pub, the Cumberland hotel, no location of the receipt from the SPAR ATM.
As we pondered what to do I spotted a couple of walkers huddled under the eaves of the Spar, 2 other walkers passed on the other side of the road; I asked them if they were on some sort of event; turns out there's a form of Long Distance walking of suspiciously similar format; it was their National 100 miler taking place in these hills, that explained the "Heart of Scotland LDWA".
We retreated to the Cumberland, in the porch I spotted a CTC Enamel Plaque "10,000 Miles" with a map of a route on Great Britain, we caught last orders with seconds to spare; the inhabitants were a welcoming sort and we sat for a while drinking coke while head torches passed in the dankness of night.
Falling light on the climb back over Yad Moss
With the blustery headwind and the rain the descent out of Alston didn't offer the speed it promised, we both needed to eat and I mentioned a good shelter I'd spotted at Hallbankgate; it offered an open doorway facing the wind but two good windward windows and two side along with a good sized wooden bench provided a perfect spot to sit and eat cake and no doubt snooze.
But there's no time for such luxuries as a snooze on a tough 400 and we were back out into the wind, the rain was gone for now, the gentle descent to Longtown after Brampton is usually good for a bit of speed, and we were soon on the road to Gretna Services, with 3 route options through town we took the Springfield route that avoided the town centre and took us straight into Gretna Green; a wedding reception was in full swing in the hotel, and Robbie commented on how what was once a target for young couples from England eloping from dissenting parents (who were often hot on their heels to stop the unwanted tryst) to take advantage of Scots law.
We stopped at the services to use the facilities and I was badly in need of a chamois creme top up. I made the mistake of putting my head down on the table for a minute, Robbie woke me when he returned, I was groggy I needed a couple more... An hour after we arrived we were on our way again, the uninspiring B7076 taking us to the more salubrious services of Johnstone Bridge, and most importantly of all, we were in time for a McDonalds breakfast. We stayed long enough to eat our pancakes and crack on, the climb of Beattock summit starts here but we turned off into Moffat, another control with only the ATM to dish out a receipt, day was waking slowly, no drunks were around to shout abuse from a window. I normally find the ride out to the foot of the Grey Mare's Tale "Annoying" but the waking world provided distractions, the scenery was again visible and birds played their morning songs, although Moffatdale was dry Black Hope teased us with black clouds ahead as the dale teased us with it's rising and falling.
On the tail in the misty morning
Finally the Grey Mare's Tail car park arrived, no camper vans or tents this morning, but a handful of cars scattered around, their occupants no doubt asleep under canvas in the hills. The final climb isn't hard, a slow drag up a narrow valley and then at last the top it had just gone 8am.
This descent I now know so well, not a plummet by any means but a good fast descent on a wide road, the Borders side being of considerably better quality than the Dumfries. Life was present as we passed the café at St Mary's loch, we'd even talked of stopping for breakfast at the Gordon Arms, but we carried on the flattest route to Selkirk.
The sun was out and the skies clearing, the hard nights work was nearly over as we crossed the Tweed at Sunderland Hall, the small matter of 54m of climbing over Gala Hill was all that was left to do, the clock ticked past 25 hours as I approached the summit but we'd made it, Over the Hill, and Back.
I've got to thank Robbie for sticking with me after the first control, even though it meant he wasn't riding at his natural pace, an extra challenge that I know affected his riding, with the low number of riders and the AAA hilly nature I'd have spent the night in tough conditions pretty much alone as it was really only the tough riders that eat hills and rain for breakfast and those who had left their PBP 400 qualifier to the last weekend that took the start, hopefully I'll find a good group of slower climbing riders on my AAA 600 though out there the scenery is accompaniment enough!
"This ride will be for you if you like: bridges, canals, cooling towers, mostly flat roads and lots of pretty churches. This ride may not be for you if you don't like: village hall controls, the occasional A-road stretch but mostly quiet lanes, Yorkshire, and bridges. There are a lot of bridges."
That was me sold, oh and the 0.5% climbing rate, I liked the sound of that novelty.
