The Hobbit Ride

Prologue

I rode the inaugural Coast to Coast in a Day sportive, hosted by Open Cycling, in 2012 and it was a hard, but enjoyable day in the saddle, despite the four-seasons-in-one-day weather. I wrote an account of my experience here and gave a presentation to my fellow Bolsover & District Cycling Club (B&DCC) members in November 2013. I agreed to manage the Club’s Group entries and to drive some riders and their bikes to and from the event the following year.

We drove up from Chesterfield on Friday 27th June 2014 and the riders were deposited at their various hotels. I stayed with friends Gordon and Muriel in Cleator, but this was brief as I was soon retrieving the riders, who slipped quietly from their accommodation into the breaking daylight of Saturday morning . In the car park at Seascale I chatted with Darren Billings, another Club support driver, and we waved off 32 keen cyclists clad in the green and black kit of our club.

Later that day, as the cyclists reached the Finish line and surrendered their timing chips for medals it was a pleasure to see their faces, simultaneously glowing with both joy at completing the ride and with relief that it was now over. I recall feeling slightly ambivalent that I had not done the ride again as it is truly iconic, but, like so many events, the support of volunteers is necessary for their success:  I had done my bit, repeating challenges I have already completed doesn’t appeal to me and so I shelved the thoughts of what might have been.

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Over the days following the ride social media was awash with pictures and statements from those who had completed it. Soon afterwards I had agreed to manage the Group Entries again and was taking names for the 2015 event. Asked repeatedly by the keen subscribers whether I was riding it again I played with the idea as the days went by.

Jonathan Wardle suggested in a Facebook post that you should “try it both ways in a weekend”: Once I had overcome possible misunderstandings over his remark and realised that they referred to cycling I hatched a plan to ride from Whitby to Seascale on the Friday, and then ride back with everyone else on the Saturday. I referred to this new challenge as “The Hobbit Ride“. Aficionados of J R R Tolkein will know that There and Back Again is the subtitle of his book The Hobbit, first published in 1937.

In the book, Bilbo Baggins goes on a quest to win a share of the treasure guarded by Smaug the fearsome dragon. His journey takes him into some perilous lands and, knowing what Hardknott Pass and Wrynose Pass are like, my journey would not be too dissimilar.

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Thursday 25th June

The plan was to leave work in London as early as possible in the afternoon and head North. There was a big accident on the M1, however, and this resulted in bad congestion on every other route out of the Capital that day. I reached the family home in Chesterfield at around 8pm and quickly ate the dinner of pasta and bolognese my wife had prepared for me before hugging her and our son goodbye and jumping back in the van with my Mother and aunt for the drive to Whitby. We had a good journey and arrived at 23:30. After unloading their luggage at the flat they had rented for the coming week above Skinner Street, in the town centre, I drove the van to park it at a friend’s holiday cottage outside Whitby. Cycling back to the flat through empty streets in the warm night it was hard to believe that I would soon be off on my challenge and that Smaug would be enjoying his last night of undisturbed sleep. My bike was dragged up the stairs into the kitchen then I showered and got to bed at 01:30 after we’d all said goodnight.

Friday 26th June

After 4 hours sleep I got up and dressed in the cycling kit I had laid out on the other bed in my twin room. My Mother surfaced and went to make me breakfast, soon after followed by my aunt. We three sat and stood in the kitchen and the twin sisters I had known all my life watched me devour buttered toast, porridge, pasta and baked beans, all washed down with some coffee.

It was an easier task to get the bike down the stairs than up it and, at 06:34, I stood on Clarkson Street and hugged and kissed my mother farewell before I clipped in and set off for North Terrace. Looking over my right shoulder I saw the woman who had brought me into this World, and done her best to prepare me to live in it, waving with the concerned love only a parent knows as she watched me embark alone on what everyone seemed to consider a crazy endeavour.

Crossing North Terrace I took a picture of myself on the East Coast, just a stone’s throw away from where the organised ride would end tomorrow.

Having devised a route from Whitby to Seascale that more or less followed the Open Cycling (return) route and loaded it into my Garmin 800 cycle computer I set off and trundled through the sleeping seaside town located at the mouth of the River Esk.

Pedalling seemed hard work from the start and I frowned at the task that lay before me. Individual Time Trials (TTs) are popular in cycling and are known as the “Race of Truth”,  as it is just you and your bike against the clock: You ride alone for a set distance or for a set time and see how fast you are or how far you get. Pat Murphy is a fellow B&DCC club member who has been focussing on TTs and has recorded his journey in a blog, which is a good and honest read. The key to a successful TT is to expend absolutely ALL your energy over the distance or time allocated; typically this is over a 10 or 25 mile route, or over an hour. To get the best result you need to meter out your effort so that you arrive spent right on the finish line, being careful not to expire before it! I had a distance of 150 miles to go that day, and the same the following day so I was keen to make sure that my energy release was sustainable. As I rode out of town up onto the North Yorkshire moors I felt like I was gently opening a tap to release effort, but that it was not even dripping! The climb was both hard work and demoralising at the same time, not a great start. This was to be a mental as well as a physical challenge. The prevailing westerly wind was also something that I hadn’t considered; the dragon’s breath warning of what was to come.

Almost an hour into my ride I was just past Stonegate, on top of the moors, looking out over the roof of North Yorkshire and my Garmin was instructing me to turn tight…

I could almost hear Dave Nicholson’s laughter as I grimaced in despair at the route that was so obviously more appropriate to his preferred discipline of mountain biking. I carried on along the road and sought a right turn that would take me West, but keep me on tarmac.

Printing out a map of my route was something I had intended to do on Wednesday evening, but instead I had got bogged down in email correspondence with a colleague in California who did not seem to understand the scope of work expected from him. I now watched the ‘planned’ route move to the left of and then off the map display on the small screen of the Garmin whilst it repeatedly told me I was off-course.

I cycled on through amazing green countryside below a grey sky and, 5Km down the road, I rejoined the intended route. As I reached Danby it began to rain so I stopped to don my rain jacket. Passing through Danby and Castleton there were children in school uniforms stood at the roadside, clearly waiting for transport, but speechless as I rode by.

Past Castleton the road crossed the River Esk again, the waters below flowing down to Whitby, as I climbed 3Km up onto the moors again in the light rain. The left turn to Commondale provided a welcomed downhill section and some respite from the climbing. I was just over two hours into my ride and had found it hard going this far. Through Kildale and Battersby I arrived at Ingleby Greenhow which is where the final feed station is on the return journey but, more significantly today, marked the edge of the North York Moors National Park and the start of flatter country.

Checking the time it was 09:08 and so I stopped in Great Broughton, sheltered in a bus stop, ate some flapjack and called my wife to let her know that I was up, cycling and still alive.

The going was easier now and I rode on with my spirits lifting with each passing minute. I went though Swainby, Ellerback and Winton, but was becoming a little concerned about my fluid intake. After three hours I had only drunk just under two bidons; when it is cold and wet you tend to drink less simply because you don’t feel like it, but you need the fluids nonetheless. One aspect of the beauty of North Yorkshire is that it is not spoilt by chains of coffee shops, fast food outlets and retail malls. However, to the thirsty cyclist transiting this terrain this can also be seen as a drawback. In Brompton I stopped in relief at the convenience store (formerly known as a corner shop) and bought two litres of water and a Mars bar. I added an electrolyte tablet to each bottle, topped them up, ate the chocolate and resumed my ride.

Soon after I rode into a pleasant and quite striking market town and stopped again, this time for a double espresso.

I had been following the course on my cycle computer and didn’t know the name of this place so I asked a lady walking past and she stared at me like I was from some other planet and replied “Northallerton”. I explained that I was just cycling though, but that didn’t seem to help matters. I would have got the same reaction had I asked “Which of your Earth years is this?”. There has been a settlement at Northallerton since Roman times and it is the county town of North Riding, and of North Yorkshire since 1974 – how could the tall stranger dressed in lycra and a fluorescent yellow jacket not know this!?

I rolled on, crossed the A1, passed through Bedale, Patrick Brompton and Akebar before stopping for lunch in another impressive market town; Leyburn… I made a point of reading the sign on the way in!

I had completed my first 100Km of the route and, sitting outside K Teas in the warm afternoon, I hungrily consumed my jacket potato and tuna before enjoying the black americano I had ordered with it. It was interesting to watch the townsfolk coming and going before I forced myself to put my helmet back on and get going again.

The road rose out of Leyburn and I had to stop on a hill to put my rain jacket on again as the weather had changed. The steep descent into Redmire, though, took place in the sunshine. This village is in Wensleydale and on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales National Park. Do all national parks have to be so hilly?

Castle Bolton is the village built near Bolton Castle which was still as impressive as it was three years ago and, doubtless as it has been since the 14th century.

At the turn off for Aysgarth Falls, which was about half way through my ride distance-wise, I stopped to call Suzie again and provide ‘proof of life’.

The tarmac unfurled before me and I rode on over the undulating landscape. One of the problems with moving over the planet’s surface at bike speed, especially through such visually stunning  scenery, is that there is a constant urge to stop and take pictures. The captured images never recreate the immensity of being there though, they serve as a reminder and hopefully as an inspiration for others to go and have their own experiences. Just before Hardraw I had to stop and capture an unusual pool of flowers beneath a tree at the roadside which was a really dazzling display of colour.

Shortly after this I found myself seated at a table outside the Green Dragon Inn at Hardraw, a feed station on tomorrow’s ride and a cafetière and coke stop today. I topped up my water bottles and enjoyed a short break as, at other tables, people enjoyed pints of beer and lager to quench the thirst from their walks. Kindly, the Sun made an appearance and it was a pleasant break.

Rejoining the A684, last seen at Leyburn, I looked ahead into the wind and rain and saw the wet, black ribbon crawling its way West over the landscape towards a grey, cloud-filled sky.

By now I had spent over 8 hours on the road and, as any long-distance rider will tell you, your body becomes resigned to the theatre into which you have placed it and just gets on with it. Mentally, the strength of the wind seemed to gain in intensity the closer I came to Cumbria; Smaug could sense my presence and was stirring to prevent my passage.

I was beginning to wonder where the M6 was: The A1 is about a third of the way into the ride and the M6 about two-thirds. Continuing on the A 684, soon after the Moorcock Inn the road passes beneath the Dandry Mire/Moorcock viaduct which is just over the North Yorkshire/Cumbria border. As I cycled towards it the viaduct arch over the road framed a wet and miserable vista and the “Welcome to Cumbria” sign at the roadside made me laugh as that is not an image that will ever appear on www.visitcumbria.com.

From Garsdale Head the road goes downhill, through  Garsdale and on through the small town of Sedbergh. Riding over the River Lune the road then goes up in a long and steep climb that affords you a view to the left of Killington Lake, previously seen only from the service station on the M6 that bears its name. Crossing the M6 at junction 37 the road continued to climb before descending towards Kendal, which was reached 10 hours into my ride. A little early for dinner, I decided to press on and eat in Windermere and so took the A5284 out of town and then the A591.

At around a quarter to six I found myself sat on a bench outside a fast food place in Windermere tucking in to some calories to fuel the remainder of my ride, not what the Team Sky nutritionists would recommend perhaps, but it definitely contained carbohydrates. Thankfully the rain seemed to have finished for today and I ate in the dry, although there were still puddles on the floor.

My Garmin battery died as I ate and so I activated the Strava app on my iPhone to record the rest of my ride. The down-side to this was that I would now be unable to follow my planned route… the benefit of a paper map! I checked the route on my iPhone whilst I still had a data connection and it was the A591 then the A593, then Wrynose, then Hardknott, then I knew the way to Seascale.

The ride along the Eastern shore of Windermere was wonderful in the evening sunlight and I soon seemed to reach Waterhead and took the A593. I would later learn that just after Clappersgate I should have turned left off of the A593, but instead I continued on through Skelwith Bridge and Elterwater, adding 2Km to my ride, but saving 119m of climbing.

After a couple of detours I eventually happened on Little Langdale and the road that was the Eastern approach to Wrynose Pass. This is by far the harder of the two routes up to the top of this pass and, as the trees thinned out and gave way to moorland, I looked up as the road disappeared into the rocks above me. The main climb is 2.5Km long and seems to vary in classification as a Category 2 or Category 3 climb depending on where the start is taken from, this was sort of irrelevant as I ended up putting my cleat covers on and walking up most of it.

Cycling shoes, even with cleat covers on, are not ideal footwear with which to push your bike up a very steep hill and I stopped to have a drink and look back down the valley below on several occasions.

Eventually I reached the top and climbed back onboard for the descent into Cockley Beck. I enjoyed the effortless rush down into the valley bottom and saw that someone was wild camping by the river.

I almost sprinted over the bridge and began to climb Hardknott Pass from the East side. Whilst Wrynose is hard from the East and less difficult from the West, Hardknott is just mean and nasty from either side. It wasn’t long before the cleat covers were retrieved from my jersey pocket and my bicycle was being pushed and not ridden again.

Looking back up the Duddon Valley in the evening light I saw the distant top of Wrynose Pass that I had been on just ten minutes previously.

Now as Friday evenings go, pushing your bike up the steepest road in England does not feature on most people’s “Where Else Would You Rather Be?” list. I was almost at the top when a joiner’s van that had passed me stopped then reversed back to where I had stood in to let him get by on the narrow track. We talked and I explained that I had set out from Whitby that morning and was doing the C2C tomorrow as well. He and his partner offered me a lift, to Seascale if I wanted, but I declined as I wanted to complete my challenge. They were wonderful and, had they appeared half way up Wrynose I may have buckled and accepted a lift, but it was all down hill from here and I knew I could make it. Perhaps they were in league with Smaug to try and stop me finishing, but I decided that the dragon had probably given up on me arriving anytime today and had decided on an early night.

At the top there were three guys stood around chatting in casual clothes. We talked and it transpired that they had come to reconnoitre the climb ahead of this ride they were doing tomorrow called the “Coast to Coast in a Day”, had I heard of it? When I said that I was doing it too and that I was in the process of riding across from Whitby today they asked lots of questions about what was in store tomorrow.

Eventually, they got back into their car and drove off down the twisting road back to where they were staying. As I mounted my bike again it occurred to me that there I was, alone in the middle of nowhere and no one knew where I was, there was no mobile reception and if I fell off on the steep descent then… Better not to consider such things and I resolved to take good care on the way down.

I rolled over the cattlegrid at the bottom with relief and began the ride along to Eskdale Green, through Irton and on to Holmrook. The short stretch on the A595 between Kirklands and Holmrook I had driven many times on my way to and from Sellafield in what felt like a lifetime ago.

Turning left towards Drigg I pulled out my mobile and called Nigel Cocking to alert him to my arrival in about 10 minutes time. I apologised that I was later than the 8pm ETA I had texted from Windermere, but he was cool about it and had not yet retired for the evening.

I cycled into Shepherds View campsite and came to a stop outside Nigel’s tent. His son had agreed to drive Nigel to and from the event and they had kindly responded to my request for someone to take a bag to Seascale for me. The camping pods looked good and Ian Twigg, another B&DCC rider, was staying in one. We talked about John and Michelle Mannion, who had had vehicle problems and now were expecting to arrive around midnight. Nigel offered to drive my bag to Seascale Primary School, but it was only about a mile away so I politely declined and thanked them both again for making my ride possible.

With my bag over my shoulder I rolled into Seascale and asked a guy stood on the seafront to take a picture of me. Coast to Coast outward journey complete!

Parking my bike outside Event Registration I walked in to the hall and quoted my rider number, 583, to a lady behind the tables. “You look like you’ve done the ride already” she told me, to which I replied “I have!”. I presented my driving licence as photo-identification and, whilst I’m not sure my story was believed, a timing chip was fixed to my left wrist and the registration process was over; smooth and efficient in the usual Open Cycling manner.

My rider pack was stuffed in to my bag and I pressed the pedals for the last time that day up to the Primary School and bed for the night. I tie-wrapped my number onto my bike, dropped it at the secure bike parking area in the school hall and went to find a place to camp. It was almost 10pm so I pulled the pocket stool out of my bag and sat down to call home before my son went to bed.

We chatted away, interrupted only by me falling into the wet grass when the stool broke. We said our goodnights and I set about making camp with the daylight beginning to disappear as the Sun slipped into the sea. The Hi-Gear Soloista tent I had bought for this event was unpacked and, as I erected it, I realised that the smaller of the two fibre glass poles was splitting as I flexed it to put each end in its eyelet. I trekked back to the secure bike park and retrieved the duct tape I had in my saddle bag: This allowed the pole to function and the tent was soon up with no further issue. Never travel anywhere without duct tape! I put my iPhone and dead Garmin on charge with the battery packs from my bag and blew up the sleeping mat. Sleeping bag, blanket and pillow deployed I stuffed everything else into a large wet-bag and it sat on the grass, under the flysheet, on the other side of the small inner-tent.

There were no showers available so I washed the days exertions away as best I could in the hand basin in the disabled toilet, spoke again with my wife and then traversed the wet grass of the school playing field and climbed into bed, noted the time as 23:30 and was asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.

https://www.strava.com/activities/335527707/

 

Saturday 27th June

People were moving around outside at around half past three, I awoke, but thought this was far too early and eventually got up at a little after five. Quite a few of the tents from the night before had already been packed away and I wandered bleary-eyed back across the field, through the school and out to The Purple Lunchbox in the carpark for breakfast.

Seated back at a table in the playground with my porridge, sausage and egg sandwich and coffee I ate and watched the hive of activity as fellow campers and riders busily went about striking their tents and getting ready for the off.

From where my little tent was pitched I could see the Second Waste Encapsulation Plant in the distance at the Sellafield nuclear plant that I had worked on from 1991 to 1994, some 21 years ago. Where does the time go?

The common consensus on striking camp seemed to be to take all your stuff onto the dry tarmac playground, shake off the water and pack it up there, which was what I did. Finally managing to get everything back in to the single bag, I dressed in my B&DCC club kit, applied some chamois creme, and went to collect my bike. It had taken longer to pack up and set off than I thought and I was one of three camping riders yet to leave. Outside, I topped up my water bottles, applied some lube to my chain, pushed the lube into my bag and dropped it by the lorry for onward transfer to Whitby. I retraced my steps back down to the coast for the start. The majority of B&DCC riders were planning to leave at 5am so I now doubted that I would see any of them on the return ride. One of the Open Cycling photographers had caught up with around half of them though:

The weather forecast was for a better day than yesterday and I had left my leg-warmers in the bag. At 07:12 I dibbed my wrist-mounted timing chip and my second Coast to Coast in a Day, in as many days, was underway.

Despite failing to clip in properly and almost falling off the wooden jetty, the moment captured perfectly by a photographer, above, I made it onto the road and turned right, back towards Drigg. I chatted with a couple of other riders who were excited and nervous in equal measure at the day ahead, this being their first time and their longest ride to date. My legs span freely and I felt alright. I had experienced a little leg-cramp during the night, but that was to be expected when I had failed to organise a team car and masseur for my outward trip!

Riding out along Kirklands I was happy in the morning sun and soon I reached the bridge before the King George IV pub at Eskdale Green, where last evening a little girl had waved to me as she walked with her grandfather. The left turn takes you along the valley for about 8Km before reaching the bottom of the Hardknott Pass climb. Approaching the climb I looked and saw cotton wool balls sitting on the hills and thought “Let’s go play in the clouds”.

The aggressive start to the climb up towards the cattle grid had me off my bike faster than on my first attempt at this piece of road in 2011. I had already cycled up this without stopping in 2012 and was more interested in preserving my legs for the remainder of the day. The trusty cleat covers came out and I began walking as some riders slowly crawled past me and others died at my side.

A VW T5 camper van conversion came slowly up the pass and when they stopped to talk to me I asked questions about their pop-up roof and the work they had had done. I should point out that my T5 is my other passion and we are planning to add an elevating roof to ours later this year. The driver explained that theirs is a side-elevating roof with two single beds. They moved on and parked up near the Roman Fort and I waved when I went past them.

The walk up Hardknott was punctuated with drink stops as already it was a warm day and the fluid in my bottles was being depleted much faster than it had been yesterday. Looking back down the pass I wondered when I would see it again.

The descent is technical to say the least, twisting and doubling back on itself. As I was leaving the Primary School I overheard radio chatter from one of the Open Cycling team’s walkie-talkie discussing a woman who had fallen going over the top of Hardknott.

The Western approach to Wrynose Pass is gentle by comparison and I rode most of it, with just a short section at the top completed on foot. The view back down is amazing, this is rugged country.

By a quarter past nine these two monster climbs were out of the way and whilst it wasn’t downhill all the way to Whitby, I was now speeding down the road I had walked up last night and I had survived dragon territory. At the bottom of the pass there was a medic leaning against his car. I asked if he had any EPO as I passed, he just laughed and replied in the negative.

My outward route had gone around the top of Windermere, but today’s route was via the ferry across the middle. The route was well signed and took us on an undulating journey along pleasant country lanes. I recognised places we had walked through as a family in August 2011 when we camped at Hawkshead Campsite and I rode the Evans Lakeland Sportive, my first time on Hardknott and Wrynose. We rode past the campsite and through Hawkshead and Far Sawrey before descending at speed to take the ferry. The people I was riding with at the time and I were lucky – we were straight on to the ferry and the Open Cycling marshals recorded our arrival, and the start of the ‘excluded time’, by dibbing our timing chips prior to boarding. We laughed and joked as the ferry took us across the mere… Technically there is only one lake in the Lake District; Bassenthwaite Lake by the A66 – all other bodies of water are “waters”, “meres” or “tarns”… might come in useful in a pub quiz.

On the other side we dibbed again and I immediately stopped at the ice cream van, with much laughter and teasing from the other riders. I had been drinking heavily, probably a combination of the heat and possible dehydration from yesterday’s efforts, and I bought a bottle of water to make sure I had enough fluid to get to Kendal. I dropped in an electrolyte tablet and chatted to the friendly ice cream van lady before heading off.

I pedalled up Longtail Hill, crossed the A5074 and as I started off up the next hill a guy with his rear wheel off shouted to ask if I had a CO2 inflator he could use. I stopped to help and handed him the item, after unpacking my saddlebag. He was grateful and soon had a hard tyre again on his carbon rim.

The climb out of Windermere is category 4 and then it is a bit lumpy before the descent into Kendal. Crossing the roundabout on the A591 the traffic came to a halt. There were emergency vehicles and flashing blue lights everywhere. It transpired that a lorry had pulled out in front of two cyclists and the cyclists had come off worst. One of the two had a black eye and a few bruises, but the other rider had been taken to Lancaster in an ambulance. It wasn’t long before we were all underway again and rolling down into the town and the first feed station.

I ate carefully from the great selection of nutritious food on offer and then purchased a double espresso from Joey’s Coffee van which was a welcomed boost.

Sedbergh Road is a 2.7Km category 3 climb out of Kendal that is a detour from the more busy A684, but which is hard work. I passed a few riders who were pushing their steeds and one remarked that they were “Doing Wainwright’s Coast to Coast”: Alfred Wainwright being the famous author of  A Coast to Coast Walk.

The road dips slightly before you’re then faced with a 1.6Km category 4 climb, for which your reward is a fast descent down to and over the M6 and into Sedbergh. Continuing on the A684 the road passes through Garsdale and climbs up to Garsdale Head. I stopped to take a picture of Dandry Mire/Moorcock viaduct which is more impressive from a Western approach. This is part of the Settle to Carlisle train line and, whilst not as famous as the Ribblehead viaduct on the same line, but to the South, it is still impressive. Apparently the crossing of the mire was going to be achieved by building an embankment, but after pouring ¾ million cubic feet of earth into the mire, which all disappeared, they built the viaduct.

There was a group of riders that kept overtaking me, then stopping after each hill to regroup and rest. I tend to keep going and recover en route so we circled each other in this way for many miles; a drawn out game of cat and mouse.

The next feed station was at the Green Dragon Inn at Hardraw. I had been there less than 24 hours before and I pulled up and got off of my bike then wondered why the World had changed; I had arrived, but this was not familiar… I looked around and saw someone in a high-vis jacket waving at me further up the road, across the bridge. I looked again and I had stopped outside the Cart House Tea Room and not the inn. I pedalled up to the Green Dragon, no relation to Smaug I hoped, and walked to the outbuilding at the rear of the place where the feed station was.

There was soup as well as other great offerings and I had two helpings of the leek and potato, which was delicious, as well as a few other nibbles, pocketing a couple of packets of the Open Cycling branded jelly sweets for later. I’ve said it before, but the Open Cycling feed stations are the best I’ve ever encountered on any sportive and I wished they had been open yesterday for my outward journey.

Talking with one of the event staff in the bright afternoon sunshine about hill climbing, and the surprised comments she had heard from some people about the two infamous passes on the route, I described my outing to Box Hill in Surrey and how everyone talks about it being a big hill, when it is more of a slope, especially when compared with my native Derbyshire hills and the likes of the Cumbrian passes we had encountered today. She described a pub which she thought was near Box Hill called the Snowdrop Inn, named after an avalanche, not the flower. It transpires that the Snowdrop Inn is about 45 miles further south than the famous cycling climb used in the 2012 Olympics, but the Lewes avalanche is interesting in itself. She asked how I was finding the ride and I mentioned that my efforts the day before had taken their toll. One of the group of cat-and-mouse riders chipped in to confirm that he had heard correctly, that I had ridden across from Whitby yesterday!? I admitted it and he concluded that I needed a psych evaluation. He was Jon and his black-eye from the lorry in Kendal was starting to shine by then.

I got a coffee and joined them. They had heard from their friend, Sam, in the Royal Lancaster Infirmary and told me that he had been lucky as he had only suffered a broken wrist. I replied “I bet he thought ‘that was a stroke of luck’ as he hit the lorry” and this was met with relieved laughter.

Following another coffee I asked the cycle mechanic to have a look at my rear mech as it wasn’t shifting properly. A quick tweak and a cycle around the car park seemed to confirm that it was fixed and I resumed the ride.

The weather was glorious riding through the Yorkshire Dales and I seemed to fly over the undulating road. Flying down steep sections I was amazed to realise that I had pressed hard on my pedals just yesterday to climb up these same hills going the other way in the rain; it seemed like a memory from another lifetime.

Castle Bolton appeared into view and slid past as I cycled on, now convinced that there was something in the soup that was aiding my performance. I was really enjoying this and such majestic scenery in fantastic weather, whilst seated on a bicycle makes you happy to be alive and appreciative of life.

The fast descent into Redmire yesterday was, unfortunately, going to be a less fast ascent today and, as I left the village, a young guy with a Northern Irish accent asked for advice on how to combat the cramp he was suffering. I imparted what wisdom I could and rolled on towards the climb.

The climb out of Redmire is known as Scarth Nick and I held a KOM on this from my 2012 outing, but inevitably someone else soon surpassed my time and I was under no illusion that I would be getting it back today.

Rolling on, up and over Barden Moor there were signs in the car parks next to the road that you shouldn’t leave your car unattended as (military) tanks need to turn around. The Royal Armoured Corps have a regiment at Catterick, the largest British Army Garrison in the World, and they obviously train in the area.

Leaving the moor, it’s all down hill into Tunstall, location of the third feed station. Propping my steed against the fence I walked into the hall and, although not feeling hungry, picked at a few of the treats on offer, had a few slices of fresh orange and a coffee. The Open Cycling event crew were friendly and welcoming as ever and, on returning from the toilet and having seen my reflection in the mirror, I thanked one of the women for not screaming when I walked in. Back outside I called home to provide an update on my progress and left as the cat and mouse boys arrived.

From Tunstall, the roads through Catterick, Bolton-on-Swale, Whitwell, Streetlam and Danby Wiske were the flattest section of the route and the miles disappeared beneath the wheels in super-fast time before returning me to Brompton, but my bidons were not empty and I didn’t need to stop at the convenience store today.

On to Osmotherly and the first of the climbs presented by the North Yorkshire Moors, hard work 180Km in, especially as you are returned to the same altitude almost immediately by the sharp drop into Swainby. Pedalling on and still feeling good I reached Kirby and, at a gentle rise in the road, I stood up to sprint a little and change my position on the bike and wham! I screamed in pain as my left knee felt like it had been stabbed with cold, sharp steel. I stopped, dismounted and stood motionless at the roadside.

Time seemed to stand still. I had not considered that my body would not be able to deliver all I was going to ask of it in two days. I stretched and flexed my leg, stood on the kerb with my toes and dropped my heals, no pain. I walked a little, no pain. Gingerly I got back on the bike and pedalled again. The road was flat, perhaps it was a glitch, something twisting inappropriately?

I tried to stand again, not a good idea as a dull ache presented itself in the same place in my knee. Not far to Ingleby Greenhow now and the next feed station, sit down, press on and evaluate the situation there.

5Km later I dibbed my timing chip as I entered the car park at the village hall and dropped my bike at the rear of the building. Again, the food held little fascination, but I grazed and drank anyhow; not a reflection on the provision of Open Cycling, more of my state of mind and body.

I asked one of the event team if the first aider was around and she quickly went to find him. Putting my cleat covers on again to allow entry into the rear room without damaging its wooden floor I sat and let the first aider examine my knee. Concluding that there was not a lot he could do we agreed that it would be best to apply a bandage that may support the knee, but that I could remove if it became a hindrance.

Back on the road, again the memories of yesterday morning seemed to be from a different age and the road began to climb. I tried to pedal whilst seated, but when I had to stand the pain returned. I stopped, dismounted and calculated: Around 45Km (28 miles) to go, how long to walk? Should I cycle back to the feed station and abort? Would I do more damage by continuing?

I resolved that I was over 90% into my Hobbit Ride and I was not going to give up now! I walked up inclines that were too steep and learnt that if I pressed hard with my right leg on each pedal stroke I could let my left leg complete its revolution with no force applied to the knee. This was possible on the flat, on slight inclines and obviously down hill was not an issue. It would take longer, but I could do this.

Up through Battersby and Commondale was slow going, then there was the descent into Castleton and on to Danby. All the while there was no service on my mobile phone and I was getting concerned that I had told my wife to inform my Mother and Aunt that I would be arriving in Whitby at around 20:15. It was 19:40 when I reached Danby and I asked a family leaving the Duke of Wellington pub which was the flattest way to Whitby, they concluded that the route I was following was probably still the best bet.

I set off from the pub up Brier Hill and then decided to roll back down and use the payphone to let people know of my delay. The payphone didn’t take cash and did not have a card-swipe so I had to call a number, enter the details from my debit card, enter the expiry date, enter the security code, dial the number I wanted to call and, after all that, I got the answerphone as my wife was out!

Riding on there was no sign of the sea and the moors seemed not to relent.

There were a few other riders on the road and we kept going to Glaisdale where the road dropped down to the railway station and crossed the River Esk. From here it was up Limber Hill and Egton Lane to Egton itself where I saw an interesting sign:

I wondered whether Great Fryup Dale was nestled between Muslei Dale and Continental Breakfast Dale, providing a balanced choice of options for the most important meal of the day.

As we rode out of Egton I saw that the ‘official’ route indicated a right turn to Aislaby, but I recalled this as being undulating in 2012 and expected that the local geography had not changed since. I opted to continue on the current road and join the A171 with the expectation that it would be a steady incline that was more suited to my single-leg pedalling technique. I was a little way past the turn when a few cyclists behind me started shouting that I had missed the turn, I felt bad, but I pedalled on without acknowledging their concern.

Eventually I reached the apex of the climb, 258m above sea level and that was it, done. The initial misery of my climb out of Whitby yesterday morning was cancelled out by the 7Km (4.3 mile) rapid descent back into Whitby. Miraculously there was no traffic behind me and I fell like a stone towards the sea for almost 15 minutes with no pedalling.

Navigating the Whitby streets was easy as the Open Cycling arrows continued to indicate the way. As I rode towards the finish I was applauded by people in cycling clothing who had obviously finished already and I waved and smiled in thanks. Eventually I reached the official finish line and came to a stop beneath the arch where I dibbed my timing chip for the last time and had a medal placed over my head and on to my chest.

My Mother and Aunt were there on the other side of the barrier, all smiles and cameras and we kissed and hugged our hellos. I surrendered my timing chip and received a print out of my times and almost exited the arrival lane, before going back to have some photos taken.

One of the Open Cycling event team asked if I was the guy who had rode out from Whitby yesterday and I nodded. “You can’t ride it three ways in a weekend, what’s your next challenge?” she asked. “To find a decent excuse not to ride your Wales in a Day event in September” I replied.

https://www.strava.com/activities/335533692

 

Epilogue

My Mother wheeled my bike to the Leisure Centre where we collected my bag from the Event Team. As I was handed my bag I was asked “Are you the guy that cycled over from Whitby yesterday?”; I was beginning to feel like I was on some sort of watch-list, but it transpired that the van driver from Hardknott last night was a friend of his.

We walked back to the flat above Skinner Street and wrestled the bike up the stairs again. After a much-needed shower and a cooked meal, prepared by the twins, I had a couple of beers and we talked and laughed. They had kept a vigil at the finish line since around 8pm and at one point had bought a couple of coffees nearby. My aunt thought she saw me approaching so they threw the coffees in the gutter and ran to the line, only to find out it was someone else! I went to bed relieved that I wouldn’t have to cycle across the country again tomorrow.

The Open Cycling team had managed and delivered another fantastic event and had stayed on the cliff top in Whitby until the last riders arrived at 02:15 on Sunday morning.

On Sunday we had a late breakfast, walked around Whitby and stopped for a coffee before I headed home.

My aunt bought me a coaster as a gift. I told her I thought it a bit harsh as I had only walked a little bit and she laughed and said that she hadn’t been able to find a cycling one. I’m sure there’s a merchandising opportunity there for someone.

Back in Chesterfield a friend, Sandra, who is a physiotherapist, diagnosed my knee as having damage to the medial collateral ligament (MCL), more than certainly brought about by repetitive stress. I was advised rest, ice-packs and gentle exercise after Wednesday for a proper recovery.

Craig Devonshire, the fastest B&DCC rider this year, commented on Facebook that he wouldn’t have wanted to cycle back again on Sunday. It was unfortunate that I didn’t ride with any of the other club members, but I was pleased that they had all finished the ride in one piece. Vern Richardson had to abandon due to injury on a previous year, but had succeeded in 2015.

As I write, the Tour de France is underway and, whilst I know that the riders don’t go back to a broken stool and a broken tent each night, they don’t just ride, but race similar distances every day for three weeks. This thought doesn’t detract from what I had done, rather it shows me what the human body and spirit are capable of.

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My challenge was complete. I was not desperate to better my previous time, I was not going to beat myself up for getting off and walking, my challenge was to get there and back again in two days. Maybe I had not done battle with a physical dragon, but I do feel that I have returned with some treasure. As Henry David Thoreau aptly put it “What lies behind us and what lies ahead of us are tiny matters compared to what lives within us.”