July 28, 2005
Well OK. Sitting here at home, having finished LEL. I guess I'd better write about it...
Day 1
I started from Thorne, near Doncaster because I did it from London last time. So my route to the first control was over toward Goole, across the flatlands of the Humber and then hit the first hills at Castle Howard before dropping down for food at Hovingham. Should be OK.
I had an 8:45 start, right at at the back, but got into a fast group to make up a bit of time. Two German riders and our very own Dave Lewis and Jim Churton were pulling us along at close to 40 kph and I was spinning like a loon to keep up on 69" fixed. We pretty soon caught 8:30 start riders and even one or two 8:00 starters. There was the usual banter in the peloton, but when it turned to discussion of the possibilities of erotic liaison between one of our group and another (same gender) acquaintance of ours, I managed to lose concentration a bit. Not good. I touched the wheel of the rider in front and went flying. Being a fixie, the pedals kept going round as I skidded along the ground, still clipped in. I didn't take anyone else with me but I was pretty convinced that this was the end of my LEL.
Good old Mr Carradice. The ridiculously oversized cotton duck saddlebag and the handlebars saved me. I got off with bruising and the loss of some quite large bits of skin. The On-One got a radical new shape to its drops. But that was all. I was OK to go, it seemed. I waved the rest of the group- on as I didn't want to delay them and I doubted they could help anyay. Pete Marshall insisted on staying with me - I think he thought I might be a bit shocked. I think he was right. It was a kind move.
I cleaned myself up as best I could and applied antiseptic. It was messy and hurt like hell, but I was mobile. As I rode, it eased, though my knee was bleeding profusely and my sock had gone all pink...
We made it through the lanes to Castle Howard - the array of obelisks and follies on the road there just seems like one big FU to the peasantry - and the Howardian Hills (not enough to have a castle and follies ? Lets name the hills after ourselves too !). I was running on adrenlin still, and we picked up riders all the way to the Hovingham village hall control. Much sympathy there, but more importantly much tea and food. [It was a feature of this ride that ones stomach got stuffed to capacity with fine veggie cycling food every 3 hours or so. Going to be a hard habit to break, that]
Pete and I staggered out of Hovingham into more hills around Coxwold, and got on an official photo. Bet they don’t use that in Arrivee – my right leg was not a good advert for Audax UK. At this point it was still pouring blood into my sock.
The route then headed through Thirsk and the scenery calmed down a bit, but remained very, well, scenic, as the next control in a village hall at Etterby near Scotch Corner approached. The controls on LEL are 65-85 km apart, so at this point we were a little over 10% in. Time for lunch ! Pete and I seemed to be riding at a similar pace, and my adrenaline poisoning had subsided now, so after a very fine pasta meal we settled into a steady pace though Richmondshire to Barnards Castle. We knew what was to come….
Barnards Castle is a very pretty town, and the pharmacy there is highly recommended should you ever need 5 days’ supply of bandages. We whizzed down to Middleton-in-Teesdale and started the long climb over Yad Moss. The pretty wooded landscape dropped away to moorland as we climbed and climbed up to the Youth Hostel at Langdon Beck – the highest in England, and one of which I have very fond memories from LEL 2001. I spent a pleasant afternoon sleeping there, having failed to be anywhere with a bed during the hours of darkness. Not a good strategy. LEL 2005 would be better !
This time we had the option to control either at Langdon Beck or Alston Hostel, about 25 km further, and, most importantly, the other side of Yad Moss. It made sense to carry on past Langdon, up to the summit and down before stopping. So we did. We caught several more riders on the climb and I felt good. Until the very top, when I got the most horrendous stomach cramp. Maybe I’d overdone it. I took it easy by trying to keep up with a fully-faired recumbent on the descent to Alston, but halfway down I knew I had to divert into a quiet spot or explode. Oh dear. Break out the Immodium. Maybe it was just delayed nerves from the accident, but not worth the risk. Pete went on to Alston and I caught him there. After more food, we left for the lumpy-but-mainly-downhill leg to Cannonbie. It was very beautiful indeed in the early evening sun, but I had misgivings about the gradients for the return leg, and also about my digestive system. Two more emergency stops, three more Immodiums (!) and it seemed to be under control. I was still going well though, and rolled into Scotland at dusk in the company of a local fixie rider on a vintage Flying Scott.
The Cannonbie control was running at maximum efficiency and the food and reception were superb. The problem was that this was 291 km from Thorne, and it was another 96 very hilly km to the next designated sleep control at Dalkieth, outside Edinburgh. It was dark now, and it would make no sense at all to go on. So nearly all the Thorne starters overnighted at Cannonbie. There were bodies everywhere, and I spent a bad night on a pile of towels in a cold, draughty and noisy corridor. One guy slept in the shower room, someone else in the disabled loo.
We sleep perchance to dream ? No chance.