Highland Trail 550 Race Day 5

I first woke at 6. I was tired. I roll over and go back to sleep.

I wake again at 7, I am still tired. Very tired.

I decide there is no point continuing the race. A front wheel on a rigid fork cannot possibly survive another 300 miles of mountainous terrain. It'll break, probably breaking my face too when it does.

That's it I've made the decision. I'm going to scratch.

I lie in my sleeping bag a while longer. There's no rushing anymore.

My mind wanders. Hey it'll be good to get back to see my family.

Then I remember a ride with my lad aka Minipips in winter, when he was only seven years old.

He had joined me doing the Rapha Festive 500. On the first day he got cold and wet, though I've alluded to that before elsewhere, the fact is he got very cold. Things were on the verge of turning very nasty.

The following day though, in spite of his experiences the previous day, he came upstairs and woke me and said get up we are going riding.

What would Minipips do in this situation?

I packed my stuff, got on my bike and rode past the sign highlighting possibly not the most fun ever you'll have with a bike.

Then into the wind towards Oykel Bridge. I would nurture the bike, ride slowly and hopefully not break the wheel before the end.

There would be no giving up.

I like pictures that show the route heading off into the distance like this one.

After following over the brow to the bottom of the hill I check my GPS. See that red post by the first bend? That's the way the route goes. :)

I coax my bike to Ullapool for a fish sandwich. Here I see Nik. His blisters finally got the better of him. He was sadly on his way home. I think he'd done well to get there, to say he'd had them since Day 1.

From Ullapool the front wheel grumbles along the road. It'd soon be quiet though as the first obstacle to the Fisherfield traverse was just ahead.

The hill central pictured below might not look steep, but it was a step up, brakes on step up type ascent. My fell running legs didn't mind too much though.

No pictures of the descent over the other side, down to the A832 probably because the riding was so fine.

More up then down towards what had been in my mind the crux of the trip. Much has been written on various forums of the river crossing at the head of Strath na Sealga. The wide river crossing is near the entrance to the Loch na Sealga. The crossing can vary in height from ankle deep to totally impassable dependant on rainfall etc. The river itself is maybe 100 feet wide, but it's proximity to the loch makes it feel much bigger.

Looks scary eh?

This is how deep it was, and the current was slow. No biggie.

Once over the river I rode some North Shore. The route needs some EU funding for more of this. ;)

 

I swerved the emergency shelter nearby, and instead found this spot to spend the night.

 

A good day in spite of a maudlin start.

Highland Trail 550 Race Day 4.

What a stunning morning. I was in no rush to leave this place.

Soreen and water for breakfast.

About an hour after getting up, I was packed, and set off down the hill.

On the first up, I felt a hot spot on my heel. I stopped and put some compeed and tape on to prevent any further deterioration.

Going was slow down, and next, also up through Achfary forest.

The view from Bealach nam Fiamm.

My average speed so far was slow for the morning. so I smashed it down the hill.

Hungry I stopped for the most expensive burger and chips I've ever bought at Kylestrome.

And of course I had a beer.

 

As I rolled along the road I noticed a faint scratching/grinding noise. As I rode towards Lochinver it became more noticeable.

I stopped. I couldn't find play in the cranks, the pedals, the headset or the wheels doing the usual "wiggle" test.

I rode on. The noise was maddening. I stopped again. I took all the bags off, and did all the checks again.

Over 15 mph and the noise was crazy as if something was going to explode. At slow speeds it wasn't so noticeable. I started dragging the brakes as the noise wasn't too bad at slow speeds.

Nearly at Lochinver I heard metal on metal as I descended a short hill. My front pads had expired.

I stopped to replace them.

Whilst replacing the wheel I found the cause of the phantom noise. The right hand front wheel bearing had some play in it.

I was gutted, there were 300 miles still to do, and my front wheel was apparently on it's way out. I guessed one of the bearings had been crushed, leaving the others unevenly to take up the load.

I put the bike back together and rode on towards Lochinver.

Nearly at Lochinver I stopped to refill my water bottle. I stood by the stream, my legs wobbled, and I nearly fell in. All the worrying and ascertaining the cause of the metallic grinding noise had made me forget to eat anything for a couple of hours.

I arrived in Lochinver in a right mess. Two cans of coke, a pork pie and a whole ginger cake and I felt well enough to continue.

I was devastated. My fear had been my body packing in, not my bike letting me down. Incidentally, the wheel was near enough new.

The sun was out, I headed for Glen Canisp.

My mood was dark though.

The track starts off incongruously enough. Soon it turns into a much different proposition though.

The final straw in my day was having to change my GPS batteries in a cloud of midges. 10 minutes later, I'd jacked for the day, far short of my intended destination. A meagre 55 miles for the day.

I was mentally and physically shattered.

Highland Trail 550 Race Day 2.

Overnight another rider joined us in the early hours. Markus must have had a tough first day. Though in spite of comparatively little sleep to the rest of us, he was in good humour when we all got up at 6 am. I wouldn't have been.

I was ready to go first, but knew there was little point getting to Fort Augustus before 9 if I wanted some hot food. So I wasted some time watching the rain falling outside and chatting with the others.

I did set off first though. On the Corrieyairack there is currently a load of work going on putting up electricity pylons. Not far from the track I could see what looked like a heavyweight portaloo. I enquired further as the morning's toilet visit had yet to be done.

Excellent, the door was unlocked, there was toilet paper, and some handwash 1500 ft up a Highland Pass.

A poo with a view.

Once over the top of the pass I blasted down the other side. I was definitely somewhat chilled by the time I rolled up to the Cafe at 9:05. A couple of pints of tea, a breakfast, a bacon roll, and a couple of pieces of cake, and I was back up to temperature though. Alan (P), Bryan, and Mike joined me in the cafe. Alan had crashed coming down the pass, and the other two had escorted him down.

Alan was out, and the mood was low. Mike and I set off again into the rain.

Mike and I grab a coke.

As the day went on I left Mike and caught Andy and Markus. I spent some time riding with both.

Markus rides the beach in the mist.

It was cold, and wet. There were massive puddles to chance riding through, or, as I opted for, to walk around.

I arrived at Stratconnon and even before I'd dragged my bike over the locked gate I realised I was spent. I met Andy by the gate, he'd crashed and broken a brake lever. He was heading home. I rode on.

The last shop I knew of, for over 100 miles that I needed to resupply at in Contin had shut by the time I got there.

I could probably have eeked out the food I had, but I wanted hot food. I left the route and rode to Strathpeffer.

All the restaurants appeared shut. If I wasn't going to get a hot meal, I was going to have a warm bed.

I found a B+B and booked in. They said a hotel nearby would do bar meals, so a double win, I headed out for hot food too.

After food and a few beers all was good once again. I knew I could get food from the shop first thing tomorrow here, and I'd head back North again.

Whilst phoning my wife oustide the hotel, I spied Markus. He'd had a tough day too. He joined me for supper, and found himself a bed in town also.

Only 73 miles today, but that would have to do.

I hope tomorrow the rain would have passed.

Peak ITT

I could have gone to watch the Tour of Flanders this weekend, but instead as preparation for the Highland Trail Race in May chose to ride the 130ish mile Peak individual time trial.

The route put together by Ian Fitz doesn't require a skinsuit and Tri bars, as it's mostly off road.

Ideally one would ride a mountain bike, but mine is currently in bits, so instead I rode my cross bike .

 Here is it packed ready for the off.

There were 5 of us who left Edale together just after 10 on Saturday morning. L -R, me, John, Mark, Mark, Ian.

Though some had brought bivvy stuff which would enable them an over night stop if needed, I'd just brought food, warm clothing and waterproofs. I thought that a time of around 18 hours should be possible, so I went fairly quickly from the off.

All was going reasonably well apart from the fact that the ground was soaked. Cut Gate which I usually only visit when it is dry was a push most of the way up due to no traction.

At Woodhead tunnel, I noted my bar bag which contained my food and tools, was rubbing on my wheel. I lifted the bag slightly to find that the supporting bracket had snapped. I'm sure given time I could have fashioned some sort of repair, but I hadn't got time for that.

 

A quick decision that this wasn't to be a ride stopper. I took everything out of the bag and stuffed its contents into my jersey pockets, and saddle drybag. I stashed the bag under a hedge to pick up next day. (I've since discovered I probably left my pump there too)

At Charlesworth I stopped for a can of Coke, and saw Mark, John, and Paul (who had left before us). Mark John and I rode together on and off most of the way over to Edale.

From Glossop road all the way over to Edale Cross, there was a lot of bike pushing. I'd hoped to be up on Rushup Edge for 4:30, but we hadn't made the top of Jacob's Ladder by then.

At Barber Booth, Mark and I stopped for some food. Realising that this was going to be a much longer day than planned, some of my urgency had gone.

I knew the Rushup bridleway would be a slog, and it didn't disappoint. Though from there onwards the going was supposed to be a lot faster.

 My knees had started niggling me, they'd missed having a mountain bike granny gear. So though I should have been quicker on the next road bits, I wasn't.

From Peak Forest over to Chelmorton involved a good deal of hike a bike and I guess it was around there as night fell and it started to rain, that I began to weigh up my options. My plan was to get a meal in Bakewell, but it was looking like I may not get there in opening hours. I had a bit of food, but not enough to see me through till the end of the ride. That, my nagging knees and a near complete lack of brakepads, were enough excuses for me, so at Parsley Hey I called it a day.

As it turned out none of us got all the way round that day

Just short of 70 miles an 8000 feet of climbing, a lot of which was done on foot.

http://www.strava.com/activities/127257344

Definitely a route to do when it is dry and not wet. I wouldn't choose to do it on a cross bike next time either.

Abrasive stuff that wet grit.

3 Peaks Cyclo-Cross. 5th time Lucky?

I had ridden the Three Peaks Cyclo-Cross race four times before this year.

2006  4:50:39

2008 4:54:31

2009 4:42:00

2011 5:07:40

From the second attempt onwards, as I've signed up in July, I always think that this year all will go according to plan. Plenty of training before the race, peaking at just the right time, and no mechanicals or big crashes on the day. To date all these elements haven't been present together on that last Sunday in September. The last time most everything went wrong other than some sort of fitness.

2013 has been a good year on the bike for me. Fitness with six weeks to go was probably the best it has ever been. Then on a night ride I came off my bike and broke my arm. I'm sure it's no surprise but for the first few weeks, any sort of training just didn't happen whilst my arm started mending itself.

After a couple of weeks, tentatively I started doing the miles again. The kids were back at school now, and as most parents know, a new year at school comes with a number of illnesses that your children bring home. So another couple of weeks laid low first coughing my guts up, then secondly expelling the contents of my guts.

Two weeks to the race start, and I'm more or less healthy, but efforts show that I've definitely lost a good wodge of speed. Hard gained, and now lost without time to get it back.

Still to the start line somewhere in the first couple of hundred riders I stand prepared to give the race my best efforts. The heart rate is quickly up to 170 bpm which it stays near to for the rest of the race.

The "neutralised" start seemed much slower than in former years, and I easily kept up with the folks around. At Gill Garth there wasn't the usual traffic jam, and I rode all the way to the foot of the wall of tussocks.

Simon Fell wasn't as long as I'd remembered it, and Rawnsley's Leap quickly came.

It was then time to push on. I took a number of places for the first time during the day. Confident now I took a number of cheeky lines to take my advantage.

Impatient I took a chance.  A drop down into a sheep hole. If it'd gone to plan the two foot drop down wouldn't have been worthy of mention. However the front wheel didn't roll out, it just stayed there. I knew what was coming next. The riders behind going "Oooh" confirmed that.

Over the bars and a big crunch from my neck as I landed on the ground. Pins and needles pass from my neck down my arms to my fingers. Dizzy and I don't mind saying a bit shaken I lie there not sure of what to do next. A few seconds taking stock and I try and move. I feel no sharp pains,  and I can move my neck. My arms are somewhat numb, but hey they still move.  This the second time in six weeks I've landed on my head. What I did next was probably not the best course of action. I got up and made sure the bike was still fit for duty.

Back on the bike I look at my Garmin. My heart rate has dropped to 150 bpm. If I was racing it should be faster. Better crack on then.

The rest of the race passed without incident. There was wind and technical riding, but I focussed on the racing. I continued to pick up a few places and especially enjoyed Pen y Ghent both on the way up,  riding loads more ascending than in previous years, and the down where in spite of traffic I made up a good bit of time.

2013 4:26:17

A PB but again my planets weren't all in alignment.

Thanks to all those who shouted encouragement on the course.

Sorry I didn't catch up with everyone afterwards.

Thanks to the race organisers and the marshalls.

Finally a big thanks to my Family and James for providing drinks, bananas and encouragement.

Pennine Bridleway and not the MTL.

I wanted to do  at least a 40 odd mile ride at the weekend, with a plan of tapering thereafter for the Three Peaks Cyclo-Cross. I'd noticed that Rossendale and Pendle Mountain Rescue were organising their Mary Towneley challenge and that would fit the bill nicely. Also I am toying with the idea of doing another 24 hour mountain bike event in October, so thought maybe riding a little further, and at night would be good.

So a plan of sorts. I'd ride from home up the Pennine Bridleway and get to event HQ in Waterfoot for 8am. I'd take it nice and easy on the way there, then stash my bag and lights, and bomb round the MTL.

The picture above was taken on the obligatory pre-big ride test ride. Everything worked as it should and my light's batteries were fully charged.

I'd estimated that it was about 43 miles to Waterfoot, so at 2am I left Hayfield. 7mph was all that was needed to get there for 8ish. A steady pace.

I'd not got the top of Lantern Pike, and I had to stop and raise my saddle, then raise it again, then straighten my saddle. Ahh, the seatpost is slipping down. That grease earlier I'd applied eh. So stop again and tighten the clamp up properly. A few minutes behind schedule already. No worries, nice and easy to make that up.

Just as I ride off the top of Lantern Pike, niggle number two. My light gives the low battery indicator. When the battery was new it would last 3+ hours on full power. Now within 30 minutes it was already low. I had 3 batteries in total but this was a bit of a blow. If they all had the same sort of capacity I could be in big trouble if I tried running them at full power. I did think about turning round and going home, but reckoned if I rode on the lowest power setting I may be lucky. Worse case scenario was turning round later on the road with my back up flashing light.

With the light on the lowest setting it was a real struggle moving at any sort of speed. I was having to push harder than I would have liked on the uphills to try and keep up any semblance of speed, whilst dragging the brakes on the downs.

Even though I'd ridden the section as far as Uppermill recently because of the lack of light I managed to miss the PBW signage on a few bits. I swapped to battery number two at Diggle as from here on it was unknown territory. I tried running on medium power on a couple of downhill bits, but again I got the red light of low power much sooner than I had hoped for. So back to slower than I should be going speed.

In spite of the issues I was having an ace time. I have a mate who overuses the word special, but it was special, riding through the night on my own with the moon and stars offering nearly as much light as my bike had.

I'm not a get up early person so it's very rare I get to see a sunrise like the one above.

With morning came relief. No more worries about battery life. I also started to lift the speed.

At around 7:30am in spite of not knowing the area well I did know that I should have been much nearer to Rossendale than I was. My GPS said I had done 41 miles, and my GPS map showed that I was at least 10 miles away.  I had been 10 miles out with my estimate.. I was going to be lucky to get there for the 9am start.

Rushing I missed a couple of turns which cost me more time. Oh and the promised wind and rain started.
I made it to Waterfoot about 9:30 as the weather worsened. I'd missed the event start.

I sat in a bus stop ate some food and pondered my next move.

I could have ridden the MTL, but was aware that the last three hours of efffort had put some hurt in my legs. Oh an looking up towards the hills I could just see thick mist. I knew I could do it, but it wold have been messy. Though I did fancy doing a few more miles. A phone call to home and I found out I could get on the Rochdale Canal at Heywood which would take me into Manchester.

Getting to Heywood was horrible. Lots of busy roads. The canal was well a canal. I was bored and wanted to be home. I picked up the road back into Manchester after a while and took my chances with the Sunday drivers and the head wind.

At Manchester Piccadily 10 hours and 22 minutes after leaving Hayfield, I ate Burger King and took the train to New Mills. I'd lost an hour of time faffing with things.

80 miles and 7000' of climbing. I was tired when I got home, but not battered. Good to go for the Three Peaks.

Lesson learned. I have 2 new sets of bike lights ordered.

3 Peaks Cyclo-Cross Training - It was all going so well.

This year the plan for the 3 Peaks was to aim for a good time. No heavy steel fixed gear bike this year, but instead a nice light carbon bike with lots of gears and good old canti brakes. Training, I  rode my bike a fair bit.

By the end of August I'd done 4000 miles. Mostly on the road in the first half of the year, but with a bias towards off road as the trails turned dusty over the summer.

All year I have tracked my progress on Strava, and month on month I have got faster and faster.

I was definitely going to get a PB as long as a mechanical didn't spoil the day. There were even thoughts of going sub 4 hours.

They were my preparations and dreams.

On the 21st of August at about 10pm I get a call from a worried friend to say that her husband who went for a run at 7pm had not returned. She'd already set off to look or him. I offered to head up from the other side of the hill on my bike to see if I could find him too.

I grabbed all my usual bike stuff together plus a first aid kit and survival bag. I was swinging my leg over my bike on the road outside the house when my phone rang. Good news, I could stand down our "lost man" was now found.

Instead of going back in the house to watch some more rubbish telly. I thought, it's a nice warm evening, I'll just go for a short local spin. An hour of well known local trails that's all.

Good front bike lights and familiar trails must have caused a bit of complacency.

I was looking well ahead as riders do, except somehow a small dropdown on a left hand corner had not registered at all as requiring evasive action.

Over the bars I went with my helmet taking the full impact or at least so I thought. I lay on the floor for a few seconds. Slightly dazed with a sore neck and head for sure. No major pains though, I'm OK I think. Ride over. Time to go home.

I push a short section, then hop back on the bike and head down a rooty descent towards home. I don't exctly crash again, but my bike gets away from me on the descent. My right hand doesn't seem to want to assist in controlling the bike. I push down to the farm and it's metalled track below.

I remount the bike, but every slight bump in the track is causing my right wrist area PAIN. Thankfully I am less than a mile from home. I manage with my good arm to ride home. No need for rescue. Phew.

Once home it is clear that something is not right with my arm.

Lumpy Bit

So a £30 taxi to the hospital, an X ray and a diagnosis of a non-displaced radial fracture.

As reward I have this "you'll not be riding a bike for a while" thing fitted. My daughter who had insisted on coming with was most impressed and glad we hadn't had a wasted journey.

A Cast

Keen not to lose my fitness, a couple of days later I did 30 minutes of nice and steady on the Turbo. It left me tired, in fact I was absolutely wiped out. Rest needed.

I was resigned to it being very unlikely that I'd be lining up for the 3 Peaks in 6 weeks time.

6 days later I return to hospital. The consultant said that as the bone isn't in two seperate pieces I can have the plaster cast off, and instead have a neoprene velcro and aluminium splint instead. I enquire if it might be fixed sufficiently to do a "bike race" at the end of September to which he replied "maybe". More good news was, that he said that exercise would be beneficial in the healing process.

Another week passed before I felt that I could have another go at the Turbo. This time I could hold the bars albeit gingerly, and managed a good hour at tempo. Things were maybe looking up. My arm was still sore.

Three more days passed, and again I set the bike up on the Turbo. I placed my hands on the bars, and my hand felt noticeably better. Not 100%,  but like maybe, possibly, it may be able to do a short proper ride.

I cranked my arm support to the max, and me and my lad went out on our bikes.

We've a disused railway trail below our house. The ambition was modest. 2 miles on an out and back on a flat and smooth surface.

I moved through the hand positions as we rode down the trail. Tops of the bars good, drops good, braking good, hoods not so good.

Ace the two miles flew by. So what of hills I thought? Next we rode up a shortish 10% hill. No problems there, except I was told off for riding much faster than I normally do (with him).

Right so maybe a little off road next. Quickly I realised that the limits of my injury for now had been found. Any bumps just like on that first night a couple of weeks ago hurt. So no point doing anymore of that for now.

We dropped back into the village and then a quick blast on the tarmac out to Kinder Reservoir, then back home. Not far, just over 7 miles in total, but no subsequent additional pain.

After a couple of weeks of being on a bit of a downer about missing this years 3 Peaks Cyclo-Cross race, I'm beginning to think that I might be racing after all.