Mille Pennines 2017

In praise of Mille Pennines.

Two days before the event my riding buddy Graham came down with a cold. He has no concept of the word “can’t”, so I found myself loading my stuff into his car for the long drive, with me dressed in full breathing apparatus grasping a bottle of hand sanitiser.

A good feed and fitful night’s sleep in the Premier Inn (he was coughing, I was “nervous”) saw us leave the depart. Graham waved me on for my usual suicide mission to get time in the bank, while he tried to preserve his very slightly improved lungs.

We all knew that there would be time-pits of walking speed climbs and this was a chance to get ahead. On through Arnside in chaingangs and then further with Parky doing most of the pushing. More steady rollers into the lakes hitting Dunmail Raise after Grasmere with the average at 28kph to that point. I chose to follow Deano’s advice at numerous points (brilliant thanks) and fuelled in Keswick just stopping at Whinlatter control for jelly babies and a receipt.

On we rolled, slower and wetter. over the moors and down to Seascale. Much of this spent in the convivial company of a Malmesbury Clarion rider. His first ride over 400 and doing well. How did he get on?

This was going to be the weirdest most convoluted coast to coast (and back).

Now some pootling for me to the foot of the monstrous Hardknott and Wrynose. This discretion and the possession of a 29/32 gear got me over without a dab.

While taking pictures of mist from the summit Parky hauled himself up and we rolled on to Troutbeck Bridge Spar for a final fuel. I got a head start on my SWRC buddy expecting him to reel me in but before that could happen a team of serious rouleurs including Bianchi Boy came hammering up behind on the main road to Keswick and with this group, occasionally in the company of the flying tandem duo, we stuck it out the rest of the way to Sedbergh. As BB and I congratulated each other on being way up on expectations I pondered the carnage still to be wreaked.

Fabulous control at Sedbergh with plentiful grub, great and very experienced helpers, great showers, drying capability and plenty of air beds saw a five hour break. Sadly only an hour of actual sleep and two hours lying there planning the slow strangulation of the inventor of impossibly noisy space blankets. They overcame my ear plugs. Graham had rolled in only an hour behind me having punched his way round largely solo.

Up for a pre-dawn breakfast and onwards over Garsdale Head at first light for the first of three crossings. Down and through Hawes into a glorious sunny morning saw Buttertubs slowing our speed dramatically. We took the Tan Hill route and the Sleightholme Track giving us the most amazing views across the moors while we snacked at the pub picnic tables.

The long climbs up to and over the moor tops continued for hours as the route took a direct northward route over the generally east/west dales.

At this point I was pretty cooked and desperately needed Graham, still stronger than me despite running on half a lung, to push off up the road. The little psychological pressure to avoid him having to wait was slowly killing me. He went over the top of the climb and descent into Stanhope but we ended up wasting ages faffing about finding each other following café confusion. An excellent bargain breakfast in Andy’s recommended pit stop restored morale but the climbing pain continued all the way to Hexham. That turned out to be one of the two hardest sections. Hardknott didn’t come close – that was monumental but part of a more modest day.

We crossed Teesdale, Weardale and others on the way to Kielder and dined royally at the Tower Knowe Centre overlooking the lake. Deano was right to recommend it. The shop at Kielder where we controlled was like Monty Python’s cheese emporium by the time we got there. They lacked not only cheese but almost everything else. The uppage was almost but not quite over, and we had enough strength left to push the headwind down to Newcastleton where the final serious lumps of Langholme Moor popped our ears once more. Tremendous views appeared across to the Solway Firth and the north Lakes. We were passing and being repassed by Richard and Dave from Kingston Wheelers among several others and there was plenty of collaboration when it worked, combined with the awareness to know when to drop back or push off with no offence taken. This was a pretty experienced field.

I’m seriously allergic to A roads but the A7 down to Carlisle was welcome and not bad at all. The A6 to Penrith not so. The roughest grade of chippings and wide road made it feel painfully slow, but we could see why Andy had it in there. Graham knew the lanes in the area and to use them would mean time loss and compromise elsewhere to keep the thing do-able.

Penrith MacDonalds – substantial refuelling again. Graham waved me on – I think he was giving me a bit of a start, while he finished off. As I left in the dark, Veloboy, GPS and friends arrived and I pointed them in the direction of the golden arches. They would ride mostly as a group for the whole event and seemed to be riding pretty fast between sociable food and drink stops. Out for a good time, not a fast time. Making sure everyone got round.

Graham caught me in Shap and thankful not to be climbing to the summit we hacked a left over a lump and bowled, mostly downhill, through Tebay and then along the narrow, winding switchback lane running along the valley east of the M6. Just like being back home in Wessex again. Finally into Sedbergh once more, feed, shower, with no chance that the space blankets or even heavy gunfire could prevent me getting a couple of solid hours sleep.

Graham had a lie in for an extra 45 minutes. How is he still alive? Pushing on solo. I’d worked out that most of the day’s effort was in the North York Moors though the run in across the hills to Richmond was challenging. Waiting at the temporary lights on the way in to town the sunny morning view of the castle was amazing.

I wound uphill into the square and failed to find coffee. Costas closed. Co-op milkshake didn’t hit the spot. Graham emerged in the square, got some food and we pressed on to the Yarm control and the recommended prison café. Absoflippinlutely outstanding.

Fortified for more suffering I pushed off again, Graham hanging back and winding me in again later. This stretch was pretty hard but joyous with steeper and (relatively) shorter climbs than the northern dales moorland. A contantly yoyo-ing batch of riders hauled ourselves up, soaked in the view , then hurtled down once more. Eventually a long screaming descent into Whitby led on to the 7k grinding climb to Robin Hood’s Bay and a plummet to the best beef dripping fried battered cod I have tasted in years.

Contrary to Mr Hennessey’s theory this isn’t the resting place of the DNFs

I needed ice cream and climbed a little way out of the bay to get it. More grinding climbing  but with the knowledge that from here to the finish the direction would have some west in it. Just another coast to coast via Sedbergh. There were a couple of landmark climbs but what could possibly hold us up now?

It didn’t take long to find out. This was the second of those two hardest sections of the event. There was some regrouping and a crazy switchkback route followed a range of valleys with 20-30% bits through Littlebeck to Sleights and Egton Bridge. This was like being beaten with a tenderiser before the double onslaught to come. The foot of the climb from Egton Bridge wound precipitously up with the road edges washed away and fist-sized stones littering the road. A fleet of motorbikes forced me to keep left inside a bend and that was that. Shanks’s pony. Another 50 metres and a remount was possible then up onto the moors. I have never climbed a hill with five blind false summits before. The joy. The view from the top led to anticipation, working out which lane up the opposite face of the valley would be Rosedale Chimney. Oh…. Good grief. From the vantage point I noted the relatively short aftermath of the brute and dropped like a stone to face my destiny. What a grind. I can’t claim credit for the ascent as the tiny gear and the ability to almost track stand between tacks gave me an advantage. I did pause and put a foot down at the slight easing before the last pitch. I knew I had more or less cracked it but something great was happening behind me. Two powerful looking guys in slick kit and with carbon weaponry had been tacking up behind catching me steadily. In a moment of weakness I considered asking how far they’d come. Then a lady rider hit the climb hard coming straight up, in the saddle, no tacking. She absolutely rinsed us all and disappeared over the top. Oh yeah.

There was a little more rolling around Hutton-le-Hole but the major effort was done and I pondered the “fast” A170 route down Sutton Bank to Thirsk versus the laney alternative. The A road never-ending drag after Helmsley made my mind up for me and I turned off down the descent to Wass and into the lanes. This was a brilliant option as the lanes were well surfaced and fast with little more than gentle rises all the way to Ripon. The evening light, villages and a ruined Cistercian Abbey made the route even better. Rolling into Ripon at dusk I found the control garage and picked up a text from Graham. He isn’t prone to swearing so I took the two words “I’m f****d” quite seriously. He rolled in while I was necking coffee and calories. He was wondering about sit-down food but we were on the edge of town and there didn’t seem to be an option. He did the same as me and we wandered off after a break. There was a certain amount of yoyo-ing with him going ahead on drags, me on descents but I lost him when I stopped to pick up a bike lock in the road. I was able to return it to a rider later.

In Masham there was Graham sat at a pub picnic bench having a rest. A brief word and he waved me on again and I expected to be caught as my pace was pedestrian now.

Soon after this the GPS/Veloboy team caught me travelling fast and it snapped me out of the doldrums. I dropped into the wheels thinking this might last a few helpful kilometres before getting blown out. About 50k to go. After a little while it was OK so I thought I’ll give it a go further forward and make some contribution before the inevitable explosion. Still OK. These boys would generally have me on toast, but it seemed their longer stop time and considerably faster moving speed over 900k had taken a toll. Onward we zoomed in close formation. Up drags and down hills, swinging over bridges and through sleeping villages. Fantastic riding.

I found myself on the front trying desperately to be helpful rather than screw up the rhythm. GPS was still looking good on the climbs, and I followed with Veloboy and another. We finally hit the top of Garsdale Head for the last time with the group split by a minute but all heading down that long descent to Sedbergh and some kip.

Graham rolled in just before I got my head down and we decided rather than a short sleep and hammer on to the finish we’d have a bit longer. A wet but mostly downhill ride and leisurely second breakfast in Lancaster saw us swing into the arrivee in time to help Andy unload the drop bags.

It’s a great ride, a great challenge, a lifetime memory.

Thanks to everyone especially Andy, and Graham who is a determined bugger putting up with a cold and me having collywobbles. He’s recovered now thankfully.