Highland Trail 560
I’ve entered. Al Goldsmith has added an extra loop on to the northern part of the route, taking the riding up to an overwhelming 560 miles. Scary.
Luckily I have until the end of May 2014 to prepare – I’ll need all the time I’ve got.
Horizontal rain/sleet. A bastard headwind. A short climb on tired legs. Wonderful. Jenn’s Timbuk2 slung over my left shoulder, weightless, waiting to carry a bottle of single malt home with me. I’m on the right side of underdressed. I can feel the weather – I’m not insulated against it, but I’m not subjected to the full harshness of the wind. By the top of the climb, I can no longer feel my hands, but my legs are alive.
A whole week off work. Holiday. Time with my favourite person and my family in a beautiful part of the world. Nothing on the agenda other than having fun and relaxing. Work has been getting on top of me. Life has been getting on top of me. Imperceptibly the weight bearing down on me has been growing. I don’t think I have necessarily dealt with it well. Maybe it is because it was imperceptible… In the same way that a skydiver appears to shoot upwards when their parachute is opened, it is only when the weight has been lifted that I notice I was falling.
Breathe.
Thoughts of work creep into my mind while I am away, but I don’t dwell. I can distract myself with the stunning views, the deep rich autumnal shades, map contours, unfamiliar place names, possibilities.
My head still feels full. No room to process, just act. The act of riding, of being close to important people, of running, of being outside, of eating and drinking, of reading. This is enough.
The sun is out by the time I leave Tomintoul. I have been lectured on the virtues of non-chill filtered, uncoloured whiskies, and have left with a lighter wallet, though heavier bag. My legs have cooled. The temperature has dropped as the sky cleared. The sun sits low in a cobalt sky. The oranges and browns of the leaves are intensified. The still-wet tarmac shines, and my tyres sound sticky as they roll.
The wind has spun around and I pedal to maintain speed down hill. Onwards.
I’ve got two new pairs of shoes at Chateau Hill… Sitting at the opposite ends of the off road riding spectrum.
I’m testing some Lake MX330 for Singletrack Magazine. They are top-end cyclocross race shoes, designed for when the going gets muddy.
And a pair of Mavic Alpine XL shoes, bought with my own hard-earned. Designed to be comfortable for prolonged periods of hike-a-bike, without giving too much pedalling performance away… These will hopefully be perfect for non-racey stuff, and big mountain adventures… And I’ve got a small eye on the Highland Trail next year…
Up there ^^^^^^^^^. Right a bit. There.
Or just click here… https://projectenduranceracer.com/reviews/
Tim was someone I knew. Actually… I didn’t know him at all. I followed him on Twitter. I read “his” blog at The North Race. I’d never met the guy, never had a real life conversation.
But, I saw that he was thinking of getting a disc-braked CX bike, and fancied a Kinesis Crosslight Pro 6. As a fellow Leeds resident, and owner of said bike, I offered to lend Tim my pride and joy, and show him around some of the local trails.
We met on a Wednesday evening – on one of those perfect late summer days. It was warm, but not oppressive, and I knew the trails would be in beautiful condition. Now, it is a bit of a cliche, and sometimes proved wrong, but I stand by the truism that the vast majority of people who ride bikes are Good People. Tim absolutely falls into this category. Very friendly, personable, and he was enthused at the opportunity to try a different kind of riding to his usual road-based and fixed gear activities.
We headed out from my house, and span and chatted our way up to the first section of singletrack. I could hear Tim giggling, whooping and generally extolling the pleasures of off-road riding just behind me, as I re-familiarised myself with the stopping properties of rim brakes (they don’t work quite as well as discs, in case you were wondering)…
Much of the ride continued like this, as we wiggled along swooping, buff singletrack, to be spat out onto roads and field edges. There are times where I am at risk of taking what I have for granted. The urban/rural cross over trails on the north edge of Leeds are not the Highlands. But, on their day they are wonderful. Seeing them with the fresh eyes of someone who has very rarely ridden off road, and lives just a couple of miles away in the city centre reminded me how lucky I am, and reinvigorated my enthusiasm for my local riding.
We continued as the sun got lower, nature putting on a perfect slideshow backdrop for our couple of hours of escapism from the city… I led us through shadowy woods and dingy ginnels and snickets, trying to eke out the very last sections of off road before we arrived back at the start. Or not quite the start, but the pub round the corner for a pint or three… for rehydration purposes, and more enthusiastic bike talk.
Tim was sold on the Pro 6 (lets face it – it wasn’t a hard sell. Great bike, in perfect conditions!) and will hopefully be picking one up in the near future. He seemed to enjoy the ride too: http://thenorthrace.co.uk/2013/09/crossing-over/
Broken bones are like buses. You go ages without any, then two come in quick succession.
Just as I was getting some semblance of fitness back, enjoying riding, enjoying summer, making riding plans, I fell off a bit of singletrack on my local loop. The front wheel was simply not on the trail any more. Superman. Slap the ground hard. Result = pulling away a bit of bone at the top of my humerus (the bit that the rotator cuff joins on to).
It actually took me a couple of weeks to go to the hospital – I’d assumed that I’d just pulled something. The plus side of this meant I only had a month or so of being off the bike. Could have been much worse, and I’m glad I didn’t land on the side with the still-healing broken collarbone!
Without riding, I’ve also been lacking inspiration… hence no posts on here. I’m now back on the bike, looking forward to more writing, more fun adventures, more races (although not in the very near future).
Finally, thank you to Garage Bikes and Kinesis UK, who have been great and full of support, despite the fact that I’ve done very little recently.
It has now been over two months since I last rode a mountain bike. Not just any two months either. It has felt like every day has dawned brightly, skies have permanently been blue, the weather always mild. My mind has fizzed with frustration, gradually eased by running, and more recentlyriding on the road (even if I did get carried away immediately take the Kinesis Pro 6 off into the woods). The reality of summer in Leeds so far hasn’t been quite so stunning, although we do seem to have faired better than recent years.
My shoulder never really hurt, at least not after the initial aches of the surgery. I have felt it get stronger by the week. This has fed my frustration, as I have had to deliberately avoid my bike, make the conscious decision not to ride, rather than be physically limited. It is still technically too soon. I have another x-ray tomorrow, and will hope for good news.
I was in the Yorkshire Dales, camping in Grinton, next to the brilliant Dales Bike Centre. Jenn was racing the ‘Ard Rock Enduro, so I thought I’d keep her company, but do my own thing while she raced. I was willing to take a calculated risk and have my first mountain bike ride. I think racing a gravity enduro would have been somewhat foolish, even if the FF29 wasn’t in rigid mile-munching mode. I must be getting sensible in my old age. Garage Bikes team mate Joe Roberts was there though, and bagged a very respectable 7th in his age group.
The FF29 was looking in fine fettle. I’d fitted some lovely new Kinesis Strut bars – the crash was heavy on my USE bars, and while I probably trusted them, they have always been a little too narrow for my taste, especially when hauling on the singlespeed. The Struts add an extra cm each end… not a huge amount, but noticeable. While fettling, I also added a nice new Charge Scoop saddle to test for Singletrack (I’ve always been a fan of the Spoon, so I have high hopes for this) and swapped my 32t front ring for a 34t Renthal offering (thanks Garage Bikes). Maybe not the best timing, as my legs aren’t exactly full of miles after the recent lay-off, but the FF29 is so light the previous 32-18 ratio always felt a bit spinny. The added benefit of a “magic ratio” and doing away with the tension was a bit of aesthetic win.
Swaledale has some impressively steep climbs, made even harder by the gale that was now blowing through the valley. Much of the morning seemed to involve cranking out of the saddle, with my nose glued down to the stem, sofa-softened legs getting a harsh wake up. The gradient/terrain never got so hard that walking was necessary, but I slowed to a trackstand in places, before finally turning over the pedals and recovering a mite of forward motion. It felt odd to be by myself having been in the company of hundreds less than an hour ago, but it felt right for the day. I think I’ve missed the solitude.
Climbing into the wind had its pay offs, as I whipped down wide grassy carpet-like descents at warp speed, trying not to think about the consequences of a hidden dip or gust of wind. Singletrack was a rarity, but the little of it that I discovered was superb. Dry, twisting, flowing, exaggerating the sensation of speed, rewarding the conservation of momentum. The FF29 revels in conditions like this. The carbon fork has enough twang to take away the immediate sting of small vibrations, it tracks well as the tight rear triangle transfers power brilliantly. Short stabs of power are rewarded with quick acceleration, belying the usual 29er criticisms.
This was a day for one-more-hill-ism. While the wind was ever present, the sun had burned through morning grey. I linked up familiar trails with new ones, found new views across known landscapes. It was the kind of mountain bike ride that I have done since I first ventured out. Bridleways, tracks, distance. Little technically challenging, or adrenaline fuelled, but just out there. It felt good, and I lost myself in riding, checking the map, and riding some more. As the ride came close to its natural conclusion I eked out one last climb/descent and rolled back into the garden at DBC, where Stu had a barbeque on the go, local beer was being served, and riders were sunbathing, full of excited tales of their day.
I wasn’t quite ready for the crowds, and could have happily turned round and headed out again. The smell of burgers cooking, and smiling friends convinced me otherwise though…
Welcome back mountain biking. How I’ve missed you.
***written on Wednesday, so a little bit out of date now***
Last night, I cleaned my bike.
I always perform this chore in the same order. Frame in stand, top to bottom, plenty of soapy water. Remove the wheels. Get the toothbrush out for the chain and derailleurs, maybe resort to using some degreaser if things are getting clogged up. Clean the wheels, working my way round each side, quickly wiping each spoke. Scrub the cassette. Replace wheels, rinse. Air dry. Lube.
I quietly did this on the lawn. Snatched pieces of conversation drifted over from the radio in the kitchen. Dandelion seeds, carried in the gentle breeze stuck to the wet frame of my bike. The young birds that have had the garden almost to themselves for the last few weeks watched from a cautious distance.
The bike didn’t really need washing. Everything was functional, it wasn’t even dirty. There was a layer of household dust on the parts, a hint of dry salt on the top tube. The bike hasn’t been a bike for six weeks. I have sat on it, and pedalled, but it has taken me nowhere, other than away from distant mental storm clouds. Even then, the turbo will only ever be alcohol free beer, decaffeinated coffee, methadone.
The bike didn’t really need washing. This was a ritual. A clean start.
Six weeks ago, summer finally came, the memories of late snow, cold mornings and wet rides started to fade. Evening rides became something to be savoured and enjoyed, something to look forward to. Singletrack that was a joyless, muddy slog just a month beforehand was now riding perfection. Smooth, dry, fast. Buff. Each ride allowed me to lean over one more degree through bends, clip a little more foliage, carry another mph of momentum. Rides were a mix of enjoyment of the here and now, and optimism for what more was to come.
Six weeks ago, at the end of one of these rides, as we were well on our way home, I pushed my luck one too many times. Nothing crazy or stupid. Nothing I wouldn’t do again. Nothing. Except it wasn’t nothing. I fell, and as is usually the case when one falls, I landed. Quite awkwardly. On my shoulder. While lying on the floor, my mind was already racing… quantifying and calculating scenarios and consequences.
I stood up. The crack that I heard on landing was as I had feared. My left arm was hanging limply. I cupped the elbow without consciously thinking about it, concentrating on the taste of dust in my mouth, rather than letting my mind run away with the possibility that I would miss races and events that I have been planning for for the last 12 months. There was virtually no pain, just discomfort and a hollow, empty feeling.
Accident and Emergency. Pastel coloured walls. Waiting.
X-ray. Compound fracture. A trip down the road to LGI. “Major Trauma” ward. Surgery. Real pain. Helplessness.
Home. Concentrating on the day-by-day. Short scale horizons.
Walking to work, a short spin on the turbo, freedom from the sling. A short run, a longer run, an off-road run. Physio, core work. Daring to peek into the longer term. Six week isn’t long. I could have broken a leg, or my back or neck. I was lucky.
Today I took my clean bike, rolled down the road to the woods in the valley near my house. The trails were still dry and dusty. The smell of wild garlic was less pungent, but still there. I was off road for all of ten minutes, before returning to tarmac and carrying on into work. It was the best ten minute ride I have had for a very long time.
It’s now a month to go until Highland Trail. How the hell did time go so quickly? Something that has been in the distance for well over half a year is now approaching at pace. Time is becoming compressed. I’ve still got plenty to do before then… a few long rides, a 12 hour race, preparing final kit choices, maybe a few summer series CX races, and a wedding to go to.
I’ve now made all my big purchases, and while there is always something else to tempt me, I’m confident I can rely on my current gear. There is just one final piece to the bike packing jigsaw – a framebag. I’ve done without so far, but for a ride of this duration, I really want to get all the weight off my back.
There are a few companies out there now specialising in this kind of gear; Wildcat, Revelate Designs and Alpkit amongst others. In the end I decided to go down a slightly different route though. Restrap are a Leeds based company, who initially started life making foot retention systems for fixed wheel riding. They have started to diversify into messenger bags and rucksacks, and I wondered whether they’d be interested in knock me up something custom for the Kinesis FF29.
A quick email to Nathan was all it took to set up a meeting at Restrap HQ. I brought along the bike, and Nathan got to it, measuring and taking notes. We talked about a few different set-ups and the pros and cons of each. While no bikepacker, Nathan has got a real feel for what I will need, and a wealth of knowledge when it comes to constructing this kind of stuff. The final product will be tailored to my preferences, and fit the bike perfectly. In the end I went for a framebag, and a gas-tank style bag for easy access to food and similar items.
And that is where I left it for now. We are meeting up in a week or so to run through the initial designs, giving us time for any final tweaks before the big event. In the age of the internet and online shopping, it is a pleasure to deal with real people, and a local company. So, alongside Garage, I now count myself really lucky to have the support of a two great Yorkshire businesses.
I’ll be updating the blog with pictures from the design/build process, so watch this space…
It is beginning to feel like the weather has a personal vendetta against me.
Race weekend = biblical conditions
Mountain Mayhem 2012 – oh, the mud
SITS 2012 – oh, the mud. But enduring it lap, after lap
3 Peaks Cyclocross 2012 – wind, rain, bare-knuckle fighting with Mother Nature
Anglesey Trail Ultra 2013 – cancelled due to snow
Edale Skyline 2013 – cancelled due to snow
I was meant to be running the 20 or so miles of fell encircling Edale, in the Peak District on Sunday. I was really, really looking forward to running. My last “serious” foot race before things take a two-wheeled turn for the rest of the summer. Fit. Fast. Keen.
Except it snowed a little bit. Quite a lot actually. The Edale valley was pretty much shut off from the world. A few hardy locals headed out on Sunday, and it took them two hours to reach Win Hill. At that rate, no one would have made the cut off time at Mam Nick.
Body and mind ready to race, ready to exert effort. Sitting on the sofa on Saturday morning, enjoying a second carb-heavy breakfast, the cancellation text message came through. I was left with an emptiness and loss of purpose for the weekend. I was ready to suffer, and to enjoy the extreme conditions. I wanted to be out there and experience nature, but I wanted it because there was a purpose. I was racing. Now that was taken away. I could of course still go out, but now that there was no need to, my urgency and drive disappeared.
We headed out for a local bike ride, earlier frustration slowly melting, unlike the trails which were buried deep under a luxurious carpet of snow. Ducking between trees, drifting wheels, vague steering, effort, warmth. Never more than 3 miles from home. Viewing familiar trails in less familiar conditions. One of the lovely things about riding locally with Jenn has been that she has now explored many of these trails herself, with the eyes of an inquisitive newcomer. She’s been up the trail just up from the one I normally turn off at, and been back down my usual climb. I now get her view of “my” woods.
Sunday. The day of cancelled race. We run anyway, changing in the warmth and convenience of the bedroom, rather than contorting in the car. Closing the front door and stepping out on to the snow. Run north west, snow now stained with black-leaf-litter footprints. Out into open countryside, wind-torn fields, bare of snow. Drifts, towering high. Picking footpaths linking place names more usually visited in the car or by road bike. Eccup, Bramhope, Chevin, Menston. Climb on to Ilkley Moor. Biting wind, wild. And descend, with loose legs, on loose snow, we tumble and slide, giggling. Within minutes bleak moor becomes Victorian residential, becomes Ilkley town centre. Coffee, warm train. Home. It wasn’t “hard” in the same way a race would have been, but it was out there. It wasn’t the comfort of the sofa. It wasn’t feeling sorry for ourselves.
The weather may have a vendetta against me, but I actually still quite like the weather*
*although would be really happy if it warmed up significantly and the sun came out, please.
Run, bike, run.
The commas are important. In a duathlon, these represented the transitions. The briefest of pauses to swap shoes, to grab/replace bike, and probably not much else. Each of my stops were around 90 seconds. The quickest people were nearer 30 seconds per stop. Where did two entire minutes go? Those two minutes were the difference between a top 10 overall and my 15th place. There is no way I could have shaved off two minutes from my run. I may have been able to on the bike, but more on that in a bit. Two entire minutes?
The Grizedale Duathlon took place on a bitterly cold morning, starting from the Forestry Commission trail centre. We arrived early (Jenn was meeting her brother to go and have their own epic adventure on Coniston Old Man), and wandered through the huge complex of trail centre buildings to find registration. There has been a fair bit of development since I was last here (which, to be fair, was probably 15 years ago). Modern buildings sit within the forest, complementing the landscape really well. I can imagine lolling around on the grass after a summers bike ride, drinking tea and eating cake.
The transition area was small, cramped maybe. But, it was early, so I had a choice of where to rack up my bike. I went for as close to the exit as possible. I laid my MTB shoes out neatly, open and ready to be stepped into. I placed my helmet on top of them. I hung my gilet on my bike, aware that while I would be more than warm enough running, I could well cool down while on the bike. I sipped flat coke, I felt nervous. A different kind of nerves to what I have experienced previously. I had no doubt that I would finish it, no doubt that I would do reasonably well. No fear of the total exhaustion that 12hrs+ of racing brings. I did have fear of the intensity, fear of the pain, fear of the taste of blood at the back of my throat, fear of cramp. Fear of not finishing the race having given everything. Fear of wishing I had pushed harder, fear of what could have been.
I did my best to empty my mind of those thoughts. Matt Brown, @singlespeedmatt from twitter recognised my kit and bike and came to say hello. It was reassuring to see that someone else was stupid enough to attempt this on a singlespeed. Unfortunately, Matt is seriously fit, a good rider, and a good runner. He also works for Inov-8 and was sporting some spanky new shoes.
Time stretches and compresses before the start of the race. The hours before seem to drag, nerves mean watching checking on a regular basis. All I want to do is start. Then, at about 30 minutes to go, everything seems to change. I am focussed on last minute fettling. I am focussed. I am. I am taking of my warm layer. I am standing on the line. Near the front. I want to get away fast, I don’t want anyone in my way. I am.
Minutes to go, and they hang in the air, like a wave waiting to crash down. Seconds span hours of thought. Go. Run, a line through chaos. In front of chaos, clear. Passing runners in front of me, gradient increasing. My system hasn’t yet caught up with what I am asking it to do. The beauty of the first few hundred metres. Pain receptors start firing. My lungs start to try and wrestle control of my deliberate breathing pattern. Legs already want to slow down. Ignore it all. Just keep running.
I can’t keep this up.
Just keep running.
At the top of a dirt road, there is a sign pointing to the right. Straight up. I can’t keep this up. And I can’t. My pace drops, but so does everyone’s. The climb gets steeper. We burst through, and back onto fire road. Flat. Quick, again, then back into a jumble of rock and mud. Steep. Upwards. Top out, and drop like a stone. Legs full with blood and lactic struggle to move fluidly and react to the technical, rocky descent. I don’t flow, but I progress. I stay conservative, no wild jumps and leaps, just safe foot placements, and progress. Until, after an age, I pop out on to the farm track back to transition.
Kick running shoes off. Put helmet on. Pull cycling shoes on and try to do up ratchets. They won’t grab. The plastic teeth are so worn, there is no purchase left. Finally I get both shoes secure, grab my bike and pass through on to the bike course. CX style remount and start riding. As I set off, I see Matt arriving into transition. I was expecting him to pass me on the run, but give him a cheer, and wait to be passed later. The climbing starts immediately. Jelly legs push my singlespeed gear. This feels wrong, but the gradient is ok, the track smooth, I keep pushing, ignoring the alien feeling in my legs. I turn on to singletrack climb. Steeper, rockier and requiring strong pushes and attention to maintain momentum. It would have been a pleasure if I was fresher. Grit teeth. Keep going. Why, oh, why did I decided to do this on the singlespeed? I struggle to stay on top of the gear. The trail joins fireroad, and my legs are able turn at a faster pace. I drink, take on a gel, spin my legs as fast as they will go, get passed by people cruising by. Where I can, I tuck in and grab their wheel for a while. At some stage, I am aware that my seatpost is slipping. My legs are becoming more and more cramped, unable to stretch to an efficient pedalling position. Stop, get passed. Re-adjust. Go!
Often, when the trail turns rougher, and back into the rocky singletrack, I am able to catch and pass people again, the higher gear forcing me to maintain momentum. Dig in. The Kinesis FF29 is so fantastically capable. Despite the tiredness, despite my mind being focussed on the race, it affords me moments of pure joy as I carve a corner, or manual through a rock section. It feels like a precision instrument. A scalpel cutting through the trail, rather than a chainsaw chewing it up.
After a long descent, the trail points straight up. The path, cut into the woods is steep, and unmade. In the interests of energy conservation and keeping cramp at bay, I dismount and push up, running where I can. My legs scream. I continue. I’m passed. I continue. Back down. Traversing. Descent. I sense the end. Another gel. Keep riding. Christ it is cold. I can’t feel my hands.
I run through the transition process in my mind. Park bike. Remove shoes. Replace running shoes. Leave. Quick.
Park bike. Remove shoes. I can’t feel the buckles, but no problem. Replace running shoes. Jam left foot in. Try and wriggle the heel cup up. I can’t feel anything, I can see my fingers are where they should be though, and eventually the shoes slides into place. Repeat the tortuous process on my right foot. Ignore the pangs of cramp in my abdominal muscles. Just try and relax. Stand up. Breathe. Go. I know what is to come. I hit the first climb, like a slow motion replay of my first lap. Gravity has grown stronger over the course of the last 90 minutes. My legs no longer have the power to push onwards. I simply move one in front of the other. Despite this, I am making up places. Onto the proper steep stuff. I can no longer maintain a run. Quick, long strides replace my shuffle, and still I progress. I can hear myself breathing. Gone is the controlled two breaths in, one breath out. It is replaced by a ragged sucking in of any available oxygen molecules in my vicinity. Groan.
Despite slower progress than the first lap, the climb seems to pass more quickly. I start descending, cautiously initially, but keen to keep those behind me at bay, and aware that others are not far in front of me. I will have nothing left when I cross the line. Powerful strides, quick paces, jumbled legs. This is no game of chess; I am not plotting a line, just the best place to plant my next foot strike. Reactive. Switch off head. I can hear the person in front of me. I am faster than him. I am gaining. I am running out of time. I will have nothing left when I cross the line.
I am a projectile shot out of the bottom of the trail, on to the track. He is in front of me. I can only hear my breathing. I’m sprinting. Not like at the start. There is no semblance of control, no reserve of energy. This is my last gasp. I’m alongside him. 20 metres to go. I accelerate.
I have nothing left when I cross the line.
It turns out I was racing for 15th place. This isn’t the glory of the podium. I’m not even that bothered that I came 15th instead of 16th. But, I absolutely had to feel like I had given everything. I would not have been satisfied if I sat up. I’d like to think that I would have sprinted as hard if there was no one in front. I had to give it everything. In the end I held Matt off – he finished about 6 minutes after me, after an over-the-bars on the bike stage robbed him some time. Still a strong effort, especially given a super-stiff gearing choice.
So, a few days down the line, I look back. I can pick points that I would like to have gone better. Yes, my transitions could have been a bit smoother. No, singlespeeding was not the fastest option. Yes, if I’d have checked my bike more thoroughly I might have noticed that my seatpost clamp wasn’t as tight as it should be. But, most importantly, I have learnt to give it everything in a shorter race. My ability to work at an intense level for a “short” (I know 2.5hrs isn’t short) length of time is improving. Ironically, I won’t be doing many short races for the rest of the year. But, it is nice to know I can.
Thank you as always to Kinesis for giving me a superb bike to race, and Garage Bikes for making sure it works and never let’s me down (and giving me the most visible kit on the start line!)
I’ve been getting away with using my lovely (if a little battered now) New Balance Minimus Trail 10 shoes for all running duties ever since I retired my aging (and deadly on wet rock) Adidas Swoops. They actually do a really good job, and cope well with most off road conditions. They do however begin to struggle in mud and on grass – typically the kind of ground most fell races and mountain marathons have in abundance.
With Mr Sparkle’s Dark Un looming, and another entry for the Saunders Lakeland Mountain Marathon in for later in the year, as well as Grizedale Duathlon and Edale Skyline, I decided to bite the bullet and get some new fell shoes.
Ideally, I wanted something with the same shape as the New Balances, the same low weight, the same minimal feel, just with a bit more grip… proper fell studs. Sadly New Balance don’t make anything that fits the bill, so I’ve had to cast the net a bit wider.
It’s about 10 years since my first mountain marathon, and in that time I have only used three types of fell shoe:
-Walshes… the classic, but superseded in quality by
-Adidas Swoops… more comfortable, better grip on grass, poor on rock
-Inov-8 Mudclaw 270… the holy grail, until a pair tore my ankle to shreds on Day 1 of the OMM 2009
-Another pair of Swoops… they really are poor on wet rock
Inov-8 have developed a far wider range of shoes since my mark-I Mudclaws, catering to every niche of off (and on) road running. Their heel cups have apparently been redesigned slightly, and there are a few shoes in the range that look perfect for the kind of work I’ll be putting them through. There was one sticking point however… price. Ouch, they aren’t cheap. Most are around the £100. It seems strange that I baulk at paying that, when I will spend as much on a tube of carbon handlebars, or a windproof jacket, but in comparison to my New Balances which were half the price £100 is a bit steep. Add that to the fact that they will undoubtedly wear out relatively quickly, I was wary of spending so much. Luckily Wiggle had a sale on one of the pairs of shoes I had been eye-ing up. The Baregrip 200. This is an ultra minimalist shoe, with virtually no midsole. Seeing as I’ve been getting on so well with the New Balances, I thought I’d give them a go.
Out of the box, impressions were good. They appear well made, and were supremely comfortable walking around the house. They are a smidge narrower than my NBs, holding my foot securely, without pinching. I’ve been out for a couple of runs in them now, including night time fell racing. In the end, the frozen ground meant I could have easily got away with the NB trail shoes, but the Inov-8s did what was needed. They gripped where needed, and felt light and fast. I could feel *every* little imperfection underfoot. It is hard to describe the sensation. It isn’t comfortable, but neither is it unpleasant. It just is.
One thing I have noticed with both the NB and Inov-8s is that with minimal shoes, I seem to be far less prone to going over on my ankle when I’m running. This has in the past been a fairly regular occurrence, especially off-road. I’ve luckily not had any injuries resulting from it, but I’m sure it was a matter of time. I simply feel more stable, and nimble in these shoes.
I’ll have to wait and see how the Inov-8s hold up in the longer term, but I’ll write another review later in the year.
It was just your average weekend ride in the Dales. The four of us were lying in our bivvy bags, under a children’s climbing frame, in a pub beer garden, in Aysgarth, as it started to snow. Again.
Stuart Rider (has there ever been a more appropriate name for someone in the bike trade?), owner of Riders Cycle Centre had planned out a two-day-with-a-bivvy-in-the-middle ride, that he was planning on guiding clients on later in the year.
Rob, who I met, and rode with on the Cairngorms Loop travelled up to join us. Reprising a Cairngorms Loop foursome, including Jenn and Stu. It’s no coincidence we are all planning on doing the Highland Trail in May. Stu’s mate Simon also joined us for the Saturday section of the ride.
Pre-ride fettling. Pic credit to Stuart
So, under a cloudy, grey sky, heavy with snow we set off from Stu’s shop. Our loop was going to be run anti-clockwise, 50-ish miles each day. Not huge, but a serious enough undertaking, and the furthest I’ve ridden off-road for a while now. We spun away on singlespeed gears (other than Stu, who runs 1×9 on his Ragley, chatting as we left Skipton, and gradually (and then less gradually) climbed our way on to the fells behind it.
The subdued green of the valleys became white, and our view was largely sepia toned, other than for our bright drybags, loaded with warm bivvy kit… and the sick green FF29 of course…
After a fast, long and cold descent to Appletreewick, complete with snow/hail stinging our faces, we hit our first bit of off-road, and steadily climbed along the bridleway to Stump Cross. Greenhow edge was appropriately bleak and buffs were pulled over chins as we cruised along the road, before diving off left for more bridleway descending to Pateley Bridge and a well earned brew and toasted teacake. Layers peeled off in the warmth of the cafe were replaced in preparation for the next leg of the ride, up the east side of Nidderdale, past Gouthwaite reservoir, before climbing higher and following the valley round to the NW, on to Scar House reservoir. The snow got deeper as we climbed, rarely so deep that it made riding impossible, but certainly enough to make things a little slower going than the last time I rode these trails, back in an early spring dry spell last year, when they were dry, compact and fast flowing. The wide trails again allowed us to talk some more as we rode, each of us tracking forward and back, sharing conversations. Often there would be one clear line, and we would drop into line. This left me in a world of my own thoughts for a while, content in the stillness, listening to 29er tyres roll over squeaky snow.
Solitude shared with great company. One of those oxymorons that mountain biking throws up sometimes.
Just above the dam at Scar House, we waved goodbye to Simon, who was heading off back to Skipton, a family and a warm bed for the night. The prospect of a warm bed may have briefly triggered pangs of jealousy, but I was looking forward to sleeping out, and had no desire to head home just yet. The next section was a long, slow push up on to the tops.
Pic credit to Stuart
The snow was deeper than it had been anywhere else, and the gradient was tough enough that gears wouldn’t have helped a great deal anyway. After the climb, we were rewarded with a sketchy, drifty descent in flat light, making it almost impossible to spot changes in the terrain. Often the first tell tale sign of a change in camber was finding the bike pointing towards a ditch at the edge of the trail, and showing no inclination to stop. The snow, which had stopped falling for a while, came back, accompanied by low slung, ominous looking clouds, and we were all chilled as we followed tarmac ribbons through grey looking Dales villages and hamlets. Time was getting on, and it was still only February. Daylight was still short lived. As we made our way over to Wensleydale, the clouds lifted once more, and we were treated to stunning pastel colours, and crisp skies. Onwards, and downwards towards Aysgarth. It was dark enough for me to pop my lights on for the two miles on road to Aysgarth. We climbed out of the valley floor, and our tea wouldn’t be earned without a 1:6 haul. Thankfully it was brief, and the pub lights were on.
We tumbled in, and were hit by the warmth. Layers were ditched as quickly as possible, amongst locals out for an early Saturday drink, and more suitably attired for the occasion. It felt fitting to have a pint of Wensleydale while pondering a great looking menu, and settling in, enjoying the welcoming atmosphere. As well as a great guide, Stu also does a fine line in tall tales, and kept us entertained with stories of his youth, as we tucked into big meals and more beer.
Our pace of consumption and conversation slowed as the days efforts took their toll, and we reluctantly thought about making a move back out into the cold and setting up camp for the night. Our original plan was to bivvy near Aysgarth Falls, but it didn’t take much persuasion by the pub landlady to use their beer garden instead. A children’s climbing frame was perfect for rigging Stu’s tarp up to, and after a few swigs of Jura Superstition, we all drifted off to sleep quickly. I woke a few times in the night to snow being blown on to my face, rolling over and drifting off once again, drowsy and warm, thankful that I brought my winter weight sleeping bag.
“Camp” Pic credit to Stuart
An unconventional breakfast of chocolate, nuts and seeds and chorizo had me ready and raring to go on Sunday morning. Actually, ready and raring is an overstatement, but “go” we all did. We would broadly be trending south and west, for what was actually going to be a longer day in the saddle than the Saturday. Our day followed a similar pattern to Saturday, with low cloud and snow showers to begin with, but it cleared significantly as the day progressed, treating us to blue skies and epic views. We picked up the Pennine Bridleway for a while, descending towards Dent. More sketchy snow. More fun. Then a bitterly, bitterly cold road descent, that had us all stopping for extra layers, and looking forward to the next climb, purely to generate some heat. The next climb would be on a familiar hill for me – Whernside, but from the north, on a trail I’ve never used. The climb was a little too steep and prolonged to make on loaded singlespeeds, but would be a good granny ring winch in other conditions. We then dropped down towards Ribblesdale, picking up the 3 Peaks Cyclocross route off the hill, popping out alongside the railway line, and following it to the hulking mass of Ribblehead viaduct. Tummies were rumbling, so Stu took an executive decision to shorten the next leg slightly by going straight along the valley road to the Pen-y-ghent cafe. Pint of tea, cheese and beans on toast, extra toast and a bottle of coke. Fuel.
The blue skies and sun beaming through the windows of the cafe gave an illusion of warmth. The reality was that there was still a chill in the air as we set off, and while it felt like the back of the ride was broken, we still had a good way to go, including a long climb up to Malham Tarn. More pushing, followed by tarmac slogging. Mastiles Lane was dealt with, fuelled by bullet-hard Skittles, a handful stashed in my cheek, gerbil style until they reached a warm enough temperature to chew.
Eventually, we popped out on to tarmac at Rylstone, leaving us with a 5 miles tarmac spin/slog/spin to get us back to Skipton. The light was fading quickly, but we were welcomed back to where we started by ringing church bells (I’ve no idea how Stuart managed to get that organised ;-)) and confirmation by Mr Rider that we had ticked over the 100 mile mark somewhere on the road stretch back to town. A couple of hours later, Jenn and I were tucked up on the sofa, eating enormous quantities of toad in the hole and mash, my face glowing with windburn and the joys of central heating.
The FF29 and bikepacking
So, I’ve established the FF29 makes a fabulous, fun trail bike. How did it cope with being loaded up and taken out on a long xc ride? Very well, actually. The light weight meant that, despite being loaded up with a bar bag and saddle roll, it felt far from sluggish. The extra weight over the back wheel actually provided a little more traction, which was handy for hauling up a few of the steeper climbs. Aluminium has a reputation for being harsh, but the FF29 was anything but. I was as pretty much as comfortable in the saddle at the end as I was at the start. Again, the carbon fork continues to astound me. It is so compliant and comfortable, it really does feel like there is a little bit of travel there, but I love the direct feel of the rigid fork. Happy days.
Thanks to Jenn, Rob, Simon and Stu for the great company. Biggest thanks to Stuart for organising, and planning the ride. He is a fully qualified guide, and can take clients on this trip, or one tailored specifically for you – longer, shorter, bivvy, hostel, hotel…
Pic credit to Stuart
Blinking felt weird. Dry and a bit painful. I realised it was probably because I hadn’t closed my eyes for quite a while, as I was scanning the frozen trail for the line of least resistance.
I don’t do many fell races, but I liked the sound of Mr Sparkle’s Dark Un, not least because it was on a Friday night, and seemed like a good way to kick off the weekend. It is a traditional fell race format, of broadly up, then broadly down, over around 5 miles. The twist is that, as the name suggest, run in the dark, with a headtorch added to the usual compulsory kit list.
Friday night was bloody cold. Sub-zero, and bone dry. The trails were rock hard, and almost sticky, in the same way your fingers stick to an ice cube from the freezer. Other than the icy sections, of course, which were as slippery as, well, ice.
I started near the front of the 75 strong field, and it was good to see a few familiar MTB faces there, including Phil Simcock, Amy and Ali. Jenn was also there, doing her first ever fell race. The pace was quick from the off, but not that quick. In fact, I seemed to be making up places, and while I was working hard, I felt comfortable. This was sustainable. We actually descended to start, and I let my legs go, and body plummet down the smooth, sandy trails. I moved up some more, but had someone right behind me, casting a shadow in front of my line. Luckily, we turned a corner and headed up hill, as I pulled away from him and passed one other person, as we chose different lines past the sheet ice that covered much of the trail. I was aware that there were at least two people in front of me, but I rarely got a glimpse of their lights as they pulled away. I had a man behind me as we settled into a regular pace.
At some point, along the ruts of the moors, I was re-passed, but stayed on his heels, actually welcome for a rest from choosing my lines, and able to follow someone else, learning from their experiences of slippery patches, or looser sections. A marshal shouted out 3rd and 4th. I’ve never been this high up in a fell race (or any other race, actually… other than the odd endurance race, before things have settled down, and I’ve shuffled back through the pack). Don’t mess things up now. I allowed myself a rare look behind. I could see the next placed runner, but there was a reasonable gap between us. Stay focussed on my own running. 3rd placed man increased his pace. I matched it. He slowed down, I moved onto his heels, and towards his side. He sped up. I hung on.
Intensity. I can never push myself this hard on a bike. I think I’d fall off. Every cell in my body is devoted to the act of propelling me forward as quickly as I can. One foot in front of the other. Simple. I’ve been doing it for nearly 33 years. A simple act transformed into the sole reason for breathing, for existing for 36 minutes.
And so it stayed, until the last rocky descent. We both had “moments” on the way down, requiring some rapid correction to prevent a nasty fall. The gap opened after I had one such trip. I couldn’t quite close things back down. Oh for a flatter run in after the descent. We crossed the line, a few seconds apart.
My throat was raw with the cold, and my eyes still sore as I blinked rapidly to try and rehydrate them. Deep breaths. Sharing stories on the finish line. Pint of shandy, chip butty, home (after Jenn collected her prize for 2nd place woman – not bad for her a 1st fell race!). Great start to the weekend.
I was 2nd senior male, 4th overall. I’ll be happy if I can carry that form through the year!
Thanks to Simon (Mr Sparkle) and the rest of Darwen Dashers for organising.
Brrrr… Bivvying.
Small matter of Mr Sparkle’s Dark Un fell race tonight, first. 5 miles above Darwen. Up, down, up, down. Eat chip butty.
Back at the end of the Cairngorms Loop I had a little think about the gear that I had used, and talked about what I might do differently next time.
Winter… long nights. Wet nights. Less riding. More time to spend looking at a glowing screen, researching kit. It is easy to fall into the trap of “needing” the best of everything.
The last few years have seen the evolution and maturing of the fast and light philosophy. What was once the preserve of alpine climbers, is now pretty much the de-facto way of doing things for anyone spending more than one day in the mountains. I’m sure that part of this is marketing led. Outdoor gear manufactures find a new niche to sell to, another reason for the consumer to buy a new jacket, or sleeping bag, or rucksack. What is interesting though, is that away from the Berghaus, Rab and OMM, there is the antithesis of consumerism. People making things for themselves, adapting existing gear (usually by cutting off superfluous weight, which is often driven by the big companies adding unnecessary marketing-driven features to gear), small companies being born making uber-niche products. Many of these small companies are American, but there is an increasing number of Brits out there as well.
Interesting times, and the result is more choice for the discerning consumer. And potentially more bewilderment… The challenge will always be to balance weight with practicallity, durability, function, fit and cost. Cost is an interesting one. Lightweight kit almost always sacrifices features and size, sometimes the price comes down correspondingly, sometimes it doesn’t, as lighter weight (and more expensive) fabrics and materials are used. Everyone’s priorities are different (and may vary depending on what kit we are talking about), but I am willing to make some sacrifices in the name of lightness, understanding that weight is not the end in itself, simply a means to an end. Broadly speed and comfort while moving take priority over comfort while stopped. There are a few caveats on this approach:
1) I live in the UK. Our weather is not known for being predictable. “Just comfortable” can quickly become dangerously cold/wet/exposed. Depending on the situation, I’d rather play it safe.
2) I’ve not yet been out for longer than two days/one night. A single night of discomfort isn’t so bad when you know you’ll have a warm bed the next. I also don’t believe that one bad nights sleep hugely affects performance the next day. Head down and carry on. On longer trips recovery becomes more important.
3) I sleep very well, and in the short term can make do with not much sleep anyway
4) I can’t afford to buy the best of the best for all conditions, so inevitably have to make compromises when choosing gear.
So, based on all that, what recent purchases have I made?
Top of the list was a sleeping bag that would keep me warm for three seasons of the year, to replace my worn out, and never very warm in the first place synthetic bag. I’ve gone for a Rab Neutrino Endurance 200. Toasty warm down, with a water-resistant finish on the outer. Useful for damp bivvies, hopefully.
I used a rucksack to carry much of my kit on the Cairngorms Loop. This wasn’t the end of the world, but there are better solutions available, which keep the weight off ones shoulders, and should hopefully reduce fatigue. At the moment, I am testing a Wildcat Tiger and Mountain Lion for Singletrack Magazine. They both feel secure, and allow the use of dry bags to keep kit totally dry.
For time off the bike, but not in my sleeping bag, I’ve bought a Golite Bitterroot down jacket. I’ve been looking for a hooded, lightweight down jacket for a while, along the lines of the Rab, or Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer. I spotted the Golite on sale for £100 (from £260) though, so snapped it up. So far, all I can confirm is that it is keeping me toasty while I have my first brew of the morning (at home), but it feels good.
I’ve used an MSR Pocket Rocket for years and years, and always been happy with the reliability and cleanliness of gas cooking. Meths brings back memories of heavy trangias and DofE expeditions. Times change though, and there are a new generation of ultralight meths stoves out there, ranging from DIY coke can jobs to something a little more sophisticated. Jenn has been sent a couple of minuscule meths stoves by Stu at Go
Bearbones to try out. I’m interested to see how they fare.
First test for a lot of this kit will be this weekend. Can’t wait!
What do I say about a bike/frame that I’ve been given to ride? What if I hate it? What if I just don’t get on with it. It just doesn’t feel right?
I did wonder that when I stood in my kitchen at 23:15 on Friday night, sipping a tumbler of Bowmore and admiring my handy work. A phone call from Al over at Garage at around 15:00 had me diving out of the office as early as I could get away with. Unpacking the frame, the bright “sick” green shone out from the cardboard, despite the opaque bubblewrap protection. It certainly isn’t subtle. Luckily, I don’t really do subtle.
Back home, after getting the bottom bracket expertly faced by Al, and the fork steerer trimmed while he was at it, I took my time assembling the bike. 6Music on in the background, a mug or two of tea, mostly new or as-new parts. Methodical, calming, fun. Brain occupied enough to forget work, yet not taxed enough to stop me daydreaming about riding on Saturday. A big group of mates, a trail centre blast, a fun-per-miles quotient maximising social ride. The weather turned out not to be ideal… Sleet, rain and the kind of grey, penetrating cold that I have grown bored of this winter. Luckily the bike made up for the disappointing conditions. First impressions don’t always mean a great deal when riding bikes. Some take a bit of getting used to, or setting up to get the most out of them. Others just seem “right” immediately. It was nice to find out that the FF29 fell into the latter description. So far, my thoughts have been:
-wow, it’s light. The full build as pictured is 19lbs.
-that lightness translates into a fantastic bike for climbing on.
-after a winter of riding 26in wheels, I’d forgotten how well 29in roll over small lumps and bumps in the trail
-this is so much more than a cross country race bike. A rigid bike, this light has no right to be so confidence inspiring and composed over quick, rough ground
-it is the most nimble 29er I’ve ridden, capable of quick changes in direction, with little effort
-it might look out of place on a the build, but the dropper seat post is a great addition. Getting the saddle out of the way really let me throw the bike around a little more, extracting as much speed and fun out as possible of every situation. I only fitted it as a stop gap while I waited for a new post to be delivered, but I’ll leave it on for for the time being
-I currently have 710mm bars fitted – wider than I anything I used until a few years ago, but times have changes. They are now the narrowest bars I own, and I miss the greater leverage of an extra few mm either side. Again, for pure xc duties, this is not an issue, but as an all-rounder, I think I want to go wider. The Kinesis Strut bars have caught my eye, and will allow me to gain the extra width without sacrificing low weight.
All in all, I’m a happy boy at the moment. I’m looking forward to a few longer rides, and some serious time in the saddle, but things have got off to a great start…
Bikepacking
Backpacking with a bike.
I’ve had a few adventures over the years which have involved riding somewhere, carrying camping gear, sleeping out, then riding home the next day. The concept appeals, not least because it allows one to explore that bit further than can be done during a day. Or, do a longer “day” route, but at a social and relaxed pace. I’m also a sucker for sleeping outside. Little differences, like the changes in sounds: no creaks and clunks of a cooling down house, no muffled traffic noise. Crinkles of synthetic fabrics, wind, rustling grass, creaking trees, the hollow echo of rain against tent/bivvy bag/tarp fabric.
May will see my longest bikepacking adventure yet. Not huge, but big enough, and with an additional time pressure. It’s an individual time trial, so while no one will be racing, it carries with it an implied goal of completion as quickly as possible. I’ve already mentioned the Highland Trail. I’m sure I will talk about it a lot in the months to come.
In the mean time, I want to be as prepared as possible. This will involve the “usual” training rides, and as much long distance stuff as I can fit in. I also want to make sure my camping routine is completely nailed, and is a “routine”, so when I’m two days in to the Highland Trail, and shattered, I know that my sleeping bag will be warm enough, where my stove is packed, etc. That means a few preparatory rides and nights out. I.e. a perfect excuse for more fun.
1st up will be later this month, with Stu Rider, of Rider’s Cycle Centre in Skipton. Stu is a top bloke – I actually met him on the Cairngorms Loop last year, and we have bumped into each other at CX races and the like since then. He is going to be taking on the Highland Trail too, so is equally keen to get some miles in. He has planned out a route in the Dales, on tarmac and less muddy sections of off-road. We’ll be over-nighting at Aysgarth, before returning home. 50 miles each day, at a social pace. If you fancy joining us, there are more details on the Riders Cycle Centre Facebook page. The route is here:
The kind of news that has made me feel excitable for a few days.
Kinesis Bikes are kindly giving me a FF29 to race/ride/play on this year. The FF29 is their first foray into the world of big wheels, but looking at the reviews it has received so far, they took their time to make sure they got things right.
Bike Radar
Quest Adventure
Singletrack
I will be building the frame up with Kinesis’ own IX carbon forks initially, although I may swap between them and some suspension forks as and when I feel like it. Other parts will be an eclectic mix of stuff that I already own and a few new bits and pieces. Can’t beat shiny new kit. I’ve decided to keep things super-simple to start, and run the bike single speed. Again, I’ve got a full complement of 2×10 gears to fit should the mood take me. And for some of the events, like the Highland Trail, I’m not sure if one gear will be a compromise too far for me. Riding all day on an SS is ok. Riding all day for days on end might be a bit much. We shall wait and see. Plenty of time to make up my mind on that front.
So, the next few days will be a matter of waiting for the odd parcel to arrive, doing a bit of preparatory fettling, and trying not to get too giddy while I wait for the good stuff to make its way up to Leeds.
Oh, and on a final note, the frame will be “sick green” (Kinesis’ description, not mine). I love the colour. (Un)fortunately, it will clash amazingly with my Garage Bikes race kit. I’m going to spend a year looking like a two wheeled tic-tac. I actually quite like this 🙂
Huge thank you to Dom at Kinesis for the frame. I just hope to do it justice, and have fun while I do so 🙂
projectenduranceracer 