<usual apols for length>
The wind cancelled out my momentum on the descent, the rain pricking my skin and stinging my eyes like a vapour of hornets. I could hardly see through the cloud that enveloped me in the early morning light at 500m above sea level. It was madness to descend Hartside at 5am in a storm, but to stop would have been even more foolish. Darkness had been and gone, and there was the light of Langsworthy at the end of the tunnel. Rarely have I been so abused by rampant and raw nature. I eventually rolled towards the control where Andy stood outside; he had been concerned that I had gone missing as I was expected several hours ago. I explained I'd stopped some 25km away in Alston at 2:30 out of habit, shivering in quasi-sleep in a Spar forecourt, deciding not to push on in the dark because my body (and speed) was slowing down. Indeed, the gradual ticking down on the average speed on the GPS (20.3 tick 20.2 tock 20.1 tick) since Hexham was weighing me down over Alston Moor.
Andy and Damon did a great job of fussing on my arrival in Langsworthy, but thankfully not too much. After some tea and toast I stole away behind the stage for another hour and a bit of sleep. My rain sodden clothes dripped and sizzled on a radiator in the main hall, whilst I drifted off. I woke to clear skies and a much diminished wind, the descent now feeling like a story to tell. Optimism blossomed in the fertile ground of my esprit de corpse; I would finish this character building ride despite the doubts I had previously.
How different the experience was the previous day. I was brimming with nervous energy in the start HQ in Pendleton, having been apprehensive about the task ahead and being found wanting. Pride on the line and all that jazz. The first stage was a fast paced dash to the Yorkshire Dales at Plately Bridge where I'd done a 200 a couple of weeks previously. The area was as scenic and hilly as that ride suggested - Jonah evidenced this as he "timbered" to the ground on a particularly steep incline (one of the perils of riding fixed). Bob Bailek appeared determined to make a breakaway from the peleton on this stage, pushing ferociously on the pedals on descents, his escape having been frustrated on uphill roads. After about 40km, normal order asserted itself as Veloboy and Swiss Hat glided effortlessly into the distance on the run in to Ripon.
The next stage was a relatively benign run out to the Yorkshire Moors, and then some ferocious climbing in the indistinct sun. I suspect Yorkshire County Council has made a mistake in the past and batched ordered only two signs for gradients: 25% and 30%. Being Yorkshire, allegedly filled with people who have deep pockets and short arms, they couldn't face spending more money and scattered the surplus signs around the area. The Moors were quite stunning to ride through, and whilst tough, offered a fair challenge. Rosedale was challenging in both directions (I stopped to help a rider who had misjudged a hairpin and gone over the side, lucky to only have superficial lacerations to the face - perhaps Bob Harding? Beard with a Calder CC top?) and the rest of the stage had several hard gradients. But the pay off was the descent to Robin Hood Bay, a stunning coastal view. Only the arrival at Portland Bill on the Porkers 400 has matched it this year.
All those I saw at the Candy Cafe appeared to be in good humour - SimonP and Dr Mekon looked as if they were on their holidays - a tailwind having helped progress such that we were well up on the closing time. That was to be a useful buffer for what was about to come.
The tailwind had pushed us from Lancashire to the Yorkshire Coast, and turning westward it was clear that unless it dropped the next 300km were going to be tough. The road from Whitby was a long drag made dispiriting by the constant wall of air, and the rest of the third and fourth stage to Barnard Castle was relatively open; some flat, some rolling. On a clear day, this would mean making solid progress against the clock. As it was, the headwind frustrated progress. I made up no more than 30 minutes on the two stages (would have been more, but there was an enforced 5km diversion due to closure of the A67) which evaporated on stopping at the garage control to take on some fuel. Marcus and I chatted knowingly about the headwind, and he confirmed that I hadn't imagined that Andy had poked his head out of a car window to give encouragement.
I had a handful of hours until the sun extinguished itself on the second longest day of the year. As such, I saw much of the Northern Pennines in their dusk infused glory, the altimeter reaching the heady heights of 500m twice. The area was relatively hushed, and having turned slightly north the headwind was less of a hinderence. Progress was being made on the way to Hexham, but I was starting to feel a bit groggy, being slightly worn down by the past 100km. Having tackled at least one 20% slope in the dark after Bellingham, wheel bouncing against the road in tempo with my pedal strokes, I scouted out a bench/monument around 10km outside Hexham to clear the head, lay down to power nap and was woken by the tickling sensation of light rain on my face.
I descended to Hexham for a quick ATM receipt (it was pub clearing out time in the North, which means randy lassies - I was honoured to get the attention of one fine specimen! - and simmering blokes - fortunately I didn't see anything kick off!) and then headed out into the wilderness.
The wind was back. With a vengeance. There was light drizzle and what I thought was 4 to 5 hours to the sanctuary of the overnight control. The speedometer suggested that was optimistic. I had been chasing Marcus' tailight up Alston Moor, passed him in the village and promptly turned for a rest at the Spar. I woke at 4am and then had a torrid next 2 hours. Still, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger they say.
My stop in Alston meant I stumbled into Langsworthy at 6am. I couldn't quite fathom why Andy and Damon asked repeatedly if I was okay. A look in the mirror showed why: glowing face from sunburn and wind and crimson eyes which looked ready to burst. To be honest, the descent from Hartside made me think about packing. If the wind/rain had still been lashing down at 7am, it is touch and go whether my ride to Penrith would have been to catch a train. As it was, Andy provided reassuring words to the effect that you could leave an hour after closing and still make it round in time (he was right of course) and I saw Marcus making a move and remembered his words on the forum about having climb more AAA hills than anyone else this year. This gave me a bit of self-belief and I ventured out having changed clothes to those I had been carrying (the socks were soon soaked again though, due to still wet shoes).
The ride along the A66 was slow but steady. Traffic was light because of the hour, but the rolling road coupled with the westerly wind, meant determination was needed as I cycled past Penrith and then Kendall. I passed Marcus after Kendall, and he didn't seem to be in the swing of things yet.
The turn to Whinlatter was a relief, as it meant I was back in the hills rather than exposed roads. I'd never done Whinlatter pass before, but it was gorgeous. Almost Alpine in the way that it curls up the side of the hill through welcome tree cover, with several expansive and quite stunning vistas opening out. And coupled with a fantastic gradual descent down the other side.
We then rolled through lanes to Seascale, interupted only with another quite marvelous climb and descent from Ennerdale to Calder Bridge (with Damon capturing me in my element...) The sea at the west coast was being beaten into a froth by the gale, much to my relief because the next 150km was to benefit from its impulse. I gleefully tucked into a second breakfast at the friendly cafe next to the suggested control, and then ventured out towards Hardknott and Wrynose. I dislike these passes and wouldn't wish them on my worst enemies. Not because they are hard (which they are) but because the roads are spoiled by passing cars and motorbikes which steal from their stark beauty. Still, it is what it is, and I got over them by nook or by crook, reconnecting with modern life after Ambleside on the traffic laden A592(?) and then left it behind after Barrow on a less travelled A-road which really benefitted from mighty Zehpyr.
SimonP looked knackered when I saw him at the Truckhaven in Carnforth. DrMekon less so. Marcus simply looked ravenous as he tucked into Sunday lunch. I was keen to finish without lights, so quickly wolfed down a nomtastic baked potato and picked my way down the A6 to Lancaster. The hills started again in earnest, but by God they were wonderful. I can't remember if I'd ever pedalled the Trough of Bowland before, but if ever there is a finer more contemplative way to wind down a ride I can't think of it. It is like an area time has forgotten, with a river running through it, bordered with heather covered slopes. The area allowed me to reflect over the previous day and a half, and I felt an emerging rush of accomplishment from something that is hard fought to obtain. There was one final vicious climb (L at some inn; only 14% but felt like more) before a generous descent towards the the finish control and the congratulations of Andy.
Sitting at home now, I am sore and slightly shell shocked. This was a very hard ride, no bones about it. But it is a fair ride. Yes there are a lot of hills, many of them challenging, but those can be built up to and are manageable both physically and mentally. I suspect Andy put this route together to enthrall rather than inflict. As such, the route mixed hard stages with others that allow you to recover. In the hands of a more deranged organiser, this could be significantly harder but significantly less enjoyable. I guess that's me saying "thanks" for putting the event on Andy (and also to Damon for helping on the day).
Oh, my reflection in the Trough of Bowland was this. The Pendle is by head and shoulders my favourite 600. Period. I feel priviliged to have ridden it and completed it. Everyone who aspires to audacity should put this ride on their wish list. By being bold, and enduring the challenge to the end, you will achieve a sense of satisfaction and reward that money simply can't buy.