This week I’ve properly discovered riding my bike to work.

Yes, riding to work. How long have I been riding bikes? Seems I always drive (because I have to visit a client or something) or I walk, it’s only a mile and a half after all.

If I ride, it takes 10 bloody minutes!!!! The best thing is,  I don’t end up wanting to kill people like I do if I drive.

Down the road, turn right at the tip, along the cycle path through the woods, done. Work. Big sprint home again. Yeh.

Can you still get bicycle clips?

There. I did it. I’ve entered the Strathpuffer 24 in the solo category at long last. I’ve been threatening myself with this race for a couple of years now – in January I’ll finally do it. I stayed up until midnight last night to enter on the website – by 12:07 it was full. Dave’s also in again for double the Ragley awesomeness.

Budge and Phil have entered as a pair. I think they’re going to blame me if they get cold (they will).

I’m picking up the caravan this weekend. After that I’ll be getting it all nice and comfy and maybe I’ll drag it up to the Highlands for the ‘puffer.

Ding Dang Doo.

….or ‘Mr Sparkle and Terrahawk Do East Anglia’

Photo: Dave Franciosy www.davefranciosy.co.uk

I’d been bleating on here about my physical state for a week or so leading up to this race and moaning that I didn’t feel like racing at all, being honest. Simon, my team mate for D2D had also been suffering with a cold for a couple of weeks so we were unofficially ‘Team Crocked’ (this was the first time I’ve raced in a pairs category). We had a plan B that involved drinking beer and spectating for most of the 12 hour race but that would in itself be a huge disappointment as Thetford Forest is definitely A Very Long Way Away Indeed.

The weather during the drive down was wet and windy, me and Michael were not bothered though as we knew that the further South we went, the drier the weather was supposed to be and besides, we had no intention of pitching the tent. I was going to be racing all night and Michael was happy to bed down in the back of the van with the spare bike 😉

As per the weatherman’s prophecy, Thetford was dry, a bit windy and a bit sunny. We’d brought Michael’s bike with us so we went for a practice lap after meeting up with Simon and signing on. That practice lap was pretty cool as we did it wearing jeans and t-shirts whilst everyone else appeared to be wearing all the ‘right’ gear…I don’t think I’ll ever get all the chain lube out of my best jeans though.

Lining up at the start, I’d arrived late, too late to get really close to the front anyway. As it turned out it didn’t really matter because as 8pm arrived and we all set off into the darkness of the forest, a huge gap seemed to open up before me, allowing me to pass rider after rider, only slowing occasionally on narrow singletrack, waiting for an opportunity to put some power down and surge forward across the rough stuff at the side of the trail to continue my tear-arsing past other folk. Mile after mile of grin-inducing singletrack was despatched efficiently as the bike reacted with me to every twisty-turny-wiggly bit of trail and accelerated out of every turn. 29ers? Cumbersome? I think not. Not mine anyway.

I crossed the start/finish to hand over to Simon totally breathless having ridden harder in the last 50 minutes than I think I had done for a long time.

The thing about Thetford, in case you’re not familiar with the area, is that it’s almost completely flat. This makes it sound easy, but it isn’t. There’s no climbing therefore there’s no descending (and thus no coasting). The most appropriate gear is always quite a high one. The vast majority of the course is twisty, swoopy singletrack so it’s a very physical place to ride and it kind of beats you up with the regular dips and bumps sending shocks through your lower back.

The race went on and we’d totally forgot about Plan B, beer, heckling or anything else. We were racing, following the script of Plan A to the letter and just doing as best we could. I was finding the whole ‘one lap on, one lap off’ thing difficult as there’s not much time to rest but plenty of time to get cold and stiff so I was glad that we decided to start riding double laps through the night, allowing time for a proper sit down (perhaps even a sleep), some quality eating and a good faff with the bike. When I was on the bike it was easy however to find myself slipping back into my regular 24 hour soloist ‘maximum 70% of max HR’ pace and I had to really concentrate to make sure that I was riding as fast as possible all the time.

This was where my lack of fitness and fatigue manifested themselves. I’d do my first of 2 laps really fast (such as a fantastic high-speed 10 mile big-wheeled duel with Jo Burt), then I’d need almost half of my second lap to recover, eventually picking up the pace and caning it again before flopping into a crumpled heap in the van with a sleeping back over my head.

I wasn’t sure if Simon was having similar problems as for the whole 12 hours of the race I saw him only at the changeover point. “You alright?” “Yep” “Right. See ya.”, was pretty much it, apart from when I announced that I thought I’d broken my finger in a spectacular over-the-bars crash which probably surprised the bloke behind me as much as it did me. Anyhow, it bloody hurt. It still does. I think it’s broken. I’ve also got a bruise on my leg the size of a Wagon Wheel.

When I eventually bothered to look at the screen next to the timing tent (about 8 hours in) we were one lap behind the leading pair. Looking back at the lap times on the website yesterday we were in the top ten at one point but something happened towards the end – we’re not sure what, presumably some teams had laps missing or something – that dropped us down to 11^th place (out of 84), 2 laps behind the winners of the pairs category. We’re were a bit disappointed by that as we thought we’d finished inside the top 10 but it wasn’t too bad a performance. 14 laps between us was a lot better than we expected in fact.

Racing in the pairs category throws up a load of interesting challenges. Poor rest but also having to go really bloody fast, lack of communication with your team-mate but worst of all, it’s the changing of clothes after each hard lap.

By the end of Dusk Till Dawn I was clashing in a big way – my last lap ensemble consisted of orange gloves with a navy blue base layer underneath a red, white and blue jersey. I hope nobody recognised me 😉

What an utterly ace event though. Great course (even better than CLIC?), great atmosphere, loads of familiar faces and the cheesiest collection of music I’ve ever heard played since 1982. This one’s definitely on the ‘things to do solo’ list for next year.

I think this is what’s called a ‘late season lull’ or something. I’ve been feeling tired for a few weeks now, not the kind of ‘oooh, I feel like an early night’ tired, more like a ‘I can’t really be bothered and I don’t think I’m quite able to go out for a run or a hard training ride today’ tired.

It’s been a great year so far, so I’m definitely not complaining but since the summer 24 hour races I’ve definitely started to fizzle out a bit.

I’m at Dusk Till Dawn this weekend, I’m really looking forward to racing for 12 hours in a pair with Simon cos I know we’ll have a good laugh and we’ll even give it our best shot whilst we’re there. After that, I’m having some rest. No training, just riding bikes occasionally for fun, enjoying the local trails and the changing season, maybe a leg massage or two, eat nice ‘real’ food…for a couple of weeks anyway. At the same time, I’ll make it to a few local ‘cross races to make sure I don’t forget what racing feels like and then get my arse back into gear in preparation for the Strathpuffer in January…

This ‘getting my arse back into gear’ will no doubt involve a return to some proper big rides, some short rides too (following the advice of someone who knows better than I)….but mainly big rides 😉

Armed with what I thought was greater scrambling-up-hills fitness, a brilliant new bike from Brant to race on, a checked and double-checked seatpost for non-slippage and most importantly prior knowledge of the race, I was confident I was going to do better at the Three Peaks than my first attempt last year. We even arrived in Helwith Bridge earlier than last time, so all was good so far.

After parking without mishap and an uneventful signing on, I enjoyed an incident-free start to the race alongside Phil, Dave, Simon and Budge where I immediately found space and shot off as fast as I could. After the shock of last year’s start I was ready for it this time and made the most of it.

So did Phil and judging by the way he rode off in front, so did Dave. Phil and I started to take it steady and stayed with a fast group. Soon enough we were riding across the fields towards the first big climb up Simon Fell towards the summit of Ingleborough. The steepness of this climb really can’t be conveyed adequetly to anyone that hasn’t climbed it before, with or without a bike on their back. It just couldn’t be any steeper or everyone would fall off backwards. There are some great photos here that kind of explain things a bit better than words though.

What I do know is that the Rodwell was several times more comfortable to shoulder for long periods of time than the Planet X. This is without padding too. The top tube has got a ‘flat bit’ that does the job really well, surprising really what a difference this makes over a regular round profile.

This hill is ridiculously hard going but definitely easier the second time around. I was climbing well and passing several other people. My ‘very small steps on my toes’ technique was working and I was glad I heeded Dave Haygarth’s advice to remove my toe studs as I didn’t need them. I looked back and I had lost Phil (who I knew was good at this climbing lark) so I was happy for the time being, I was clearly doing ok.

Over the stile and at last it was time to get past a many people as possible. The Rodwell had only been built a few hours before so this was essentially the first ride on it. The bike immediately feeling snappier and easier to get up to speed than my other cross bike, the steering feels somewhat quicker too – less relaxed and fun in a, ‘you’d better be concentrating, pal’ kind of way.

photo:Wig Worland www.wigworland.com

I was in the big ring as much as possible, passing several other riders (one of which crashed into me and then blamed me) until the constant rattling over the rough ground caused one of the bottle cage bolts to fall out (that’s hasty builds for ya), leaving the cage flopping about with a bottle in it. I stopped, fumbled for the multitool and eventually sorted out the problem but it cost me enough time to see Phil and dozens of other people ride past, people that I had just worked so hard to get past just a few minutes ago.

On the descent of Ingleborough I made up some time again and pulled out all the stops on the road to Whernside.  I was gaining on Phil again and by the time we reached the top of Whernside I was one bike behind him. I’m not hell-bent on beating him, but the fact that I’d caught him again meant that I was still going well. I hadn’t forgot in 12 months how scary the descent of Whernside was and this time it didn’t disappoint; flights of steps follow rock-strewn narrow rutted tracks followed by long stone pavements with wide, deep gaps between some of the slabs. Stone water channels running across the trail at regular intervals have to be jumped over to avoid punctures whilst ramblers and other riders, many of them walking/running, need to be avoided.

There’s a stile part of the way down this hill that requires a dismount. As I was climbing off the bike my right calf started to spasm, I climbed the stile and then couldn’t get over it – by now both my lower legs were in complete rock-hard cramp leaving me straddling the stile with the bike still resting on my shoulder, the air quickly getting a distinct ‘blue tint’ as I struggled to deal with the pain. I’ve not had cramp for 5 years or so. I’ve no idea how to deal with it apart from swear at it (that incidentally doesn’t work). Eventually the cramp subsided and I carried on, quickly gulping down fluid as I had just been reminded that I hadn’t been drinking enough since the start.

I collected another bottle from Deb who was waiting for me at Ribblehead and carried on as fast as I could along the road to Horton-in-Ribblesdale and the final hill, Pen Y Ghent.  It was however now clear that cramp was going to be a constant companion for the remainder of the race – each time I attempted to accelerate or climb even the smallest of hill I was rewarded with more muscle spasms in both legs; every time I tried to pull my foot on the upstroke my calf hurt so I was reduced to pedal-mashing. Not only that, but it appeared to be spreading to my thighs.

I dug deep and eventually I got to within a few feet of Phil again, however I’d used up most of what I had left in the tank in the process. No worries, it wasn’t for nothing if I’ve regained my earlier position, I thought. Eventually Dave then Phil both passed me, already starting their way back down as I was almost at the summit of PYG. I dibbed at the top and started my ascent, exchanging a few words with Simon as he climbed.

The descent was probably one of the most sketchy things I’ve ever done on a bike. I was being bounced around all over the place on the dry, loose gravelly track, eventually reaching the relative safety of the stone slabs and then the bridleway to the road.

(photo Tim Kershaw)

Just the road now to the finish, legs still doing their new ‘thing’ of trying to make me cry and fall off my bike. I joined a couple of other riders and hung on to a wheel as best I could.

I finished in 4:03, ten or so minutes faster than last year. I’m pleased by that, but at the same time annoyed with myself for getting wrong something so fundamental as feeding properly. Next year will be different.