One of my Audax goals for 2008 was to ride the Maniac, a 1000 km Audax ride with over 17,000 m of climbing, so early in the year I booked two weeks leave from work in late June/ early July, hoping to take advantage of the long summer nights. I knew that I would have to plan my approach to the ride carefully if I was to have any chance of completing it, especially with regard to sleeping. I normally ride 600s straight through without sleeping, and on longer events (LEL and PBP) I have simply carried on riding until I felt too tired to continue and then stopped for a nap at the nearest control. I didn’t think this approach would work on the Maniac.
After considering various options I decided to base myself at or near Hexham and do the ride as three loops with sleep stops in between. The first two loops would be about 300 km and the third about 400 km. It may seem odd to leave the longest loop to the end but 400 km would mean riding through the night and I wanted to avoid building up a big sleep debt early in the ride.
Once my two weeks leave started I kept an eye on the weather forecast as I wanted to choose a three-day period when the weather was as benign as possible. It soon became clear that I was very unlikely to get three days of unbroken sunshine and light winds, so eventually I just decided to go for it. I set off from Peterborough on the train on the afternoon of Wednesday 3 July and by early evening was settled in a bed and breakfast in Haydon Bridge (west of Hexham).
I was feeling fairly positive about the ride but not 100% confident of success. I had done lots of hilly rides earlier in the year as preparation and was physically as prepared as I could be but I knew the ride would be just about at the limit of what I was able to do. There was nothing left to do now but give it a go.
Day 1
I made a leisurely start the following morning and it was 9.30 before I got to Hexham, my official start point. The plan for the day was a 291 km circuit to the Cumbria coast and back, taking in some of the famous Lake District climbs. The forecast was for heavy showers but it was dry as I set off from Hexham and immediately began climbing. There were three significant climbs before the first control at Penrith, culminating in the ascent of Hartside from Alston, but although the climbs were long the gradients were gentle and I was able to maintain a good speed. From Penrith the route headed west on the A66 to Keswick – not a very pleasant road for cycling but the views offered some compensation. Things improved after turning off the main road and cycling through Borrowdale to control at Seatoller, where I had a late lunch. Apart from a shower after Penrith I had so far escaped the rain.
The Lake District was virgin cycling territory for me but I knew some of the climbs had a fearsome reputation. From Seatoller I immediately started the first climb – up Honister Pass at gradients of up to 1 in 4. Despite the physical effort this was a delightful climb, starting off beside a small wooded stream before heading into open moorland and then a wonderful descent through a valley on the other side of the pass. The route continued through Buttermere and past several lakes before heading south to skirt the western edge of the Lake District National Park. As I approached Ennerdale Bridge there were ominous rumbles of thunder and the occasional flash of lightning, but although I got caught in one heavy shower I seemed to avoid the worst of it (and this was actually the last rain I had all day). I was soon descending towards the coast, catching glimpses of Sellafield power station, and I was in Seascale just after 17.00.
After a brief stop I set off east with a growing sense of anticipation/dread as I approached Hardknott Pass, parts of which are 1 in 3. It’s probably the toughest climb I’ve ever done on a bike. I made it up the first set of steep hairpins (just). There is then a flatter section where you can catch your breath before the final set of hairpins. It was here that I came to grief – I was climbing in the saddle (as I usually do) and simply could not get enough power in my legs to maintain progress. I ended up in an undignified heap by the roadside. However, I refused to let the climb defeat me. I descended a short way to a place where the gradient was sufficiently gentle to allow me to remount the bike and then powered up the incline out of the saddle (as I should have done in the first place). After the horrors of Hardknott, Wrynose Pass seemed surprisingly tame and I was soon up and over the pass and descending into Ambleside where I replenished my energy levels with pie and chips.
The Lake District had one final kick in the tail as I left Ambleside – a 400 m climb in just over 4 km up to Kirkstone Pass. I set off under leaden skies and soon saw the lights of the pub at the top of the pass through the patchy low cloud. I gritted my teeth and grimped my way slowly upwards. This was the low point of the day for me. However, after reaching the top I was rewarded by a good run along Ullswater in the gathering dusk before reaching Penrith, where I stopped to prepare for the night section. To my dismay I found that my front light didn’t work, probably because I had knocked it when falling off on Hardknott Pass. I had no choice but to get back to Haydon Bridge using only my head torch for illumination. This was not too disastrous as the route followed the A686 through Melmerby and Alston (the same route as in the morning, but in reverse), and so poor lighting wasn’t a big issue. I climbed Hartside and the other hills I had climbed earlier in the day and reached Haydon Bridge at 1.00.
After a quick shower and a bite to eat I was in bed by 1.30 and set my alarm for 4.30. It had been a good day. I had kept to the schedule I had set myself and had been very lucky with the weather considering the gloomy forecast. Things were going well.
Day 2
The alarm seemed to go off far too early and I had difficulty forcing myself out of bed. I spent ages faffing about and it was 5.40 before I set off, with about 320 km ahead of me. Although quite cold at first the weather looked good and the forecast was for a dry day. Despite this I was feeling rather down and wondering why on earth I was doing this. I quite often get these low moods at the start of long rides but they almost always dissipate once I have a few kilometres under my belt, and so it proved today. The first 40 km were pretty tough, with a series of ascents and descents as I headed south through Allendale and then a stiff climb out of Weardale. This was followed by a long descent through Teesdale to Barnard Castle where I stopped to try to buy a replacement front light. The best that Barnard Castle could offer was a front and back light set for £6 from a toy shop. The front light didn’t look up to much but I didn’t have any alternative. I continued south on minor roads, with no major climbs, and reached Leyburn, on the eastern edge of the Yorkshire Dales, in the late morning.
It was now warm and fairly sunny – perfect cycling weather – and I left Leyburn in shorts and a short-sleeved top. I ascended Coverdale, descended Park Rash, and was soon in Kettlewell. Curiosity meant that I couldn’t resist the banoffee flapjack on offer in the village shop. It was, as I had anticipated, absolutely sickly but strangely satisfying. From Kettlewell the route headed north up Wharfedale before climbing Fleet Moss and dropping down to Hawes. This was the first time I had climbed Fleet Moss from the south side – I think it’s slightly easier than coming at it from the north. From Garsdale Head I took a very pleasant B road to Kirkby Stephen, followed by a short main road bash to Brough, which I reached just before 17.00.
I was now faced with a long section (105 km) to Bellingham. Initially I followed the A66 westwards, which was infested with rush-hour traffic. I was greatly relieved when I turned off the main road and took quiet lanes north to Melmerby. From here I took the A686, climbing Hartside for the third time in 36 hours and then passing through Alston and Haydon Bridge. I resisted the lure of my B&B and took the undulating B road north up the Tyne valley to Bellingham. I controlled in a pub and set about assembling my new front light while I supped a pint (of orange juice and lemonade). The light was, as I had feared, pretty useless, giving off a feeble yellowish glow, but it was only 25 km back to Haydon Bridge. However, the light didn’t even make it that far and within an hour had given up the ghost completely.
I got back shortly after midnight, showered and ate, and allowed myself the luxury of four hours sleep. Just one more leg to go ...
Day 3
I was on my way just before 6.00. Theoretically I had plenty of time to complete the ride – 30½ hours to do 397 km. Despite this, I was feeling anxious. This was mainly because the route (south to Burnley and back) was very similar to a 400 km permanent that I had attempted in 2007. I had given up after 300 km, defeated by the unrelenting hills and a strong headwind, and had ended up trying to sleep in a phone box in Langthwaite in Arkengarthdale. This was preying on my mind, not helped by a dismal weather forecast and concerns about my lack of a front light. I also had a more immediate problem – I had checked out of my B&B and so had all my stuff packed into my capacious saddlebag. Unsurprisingly the bike felt very ponderous. I solved this difficulty by hiding a bag containing the things I didn’t need in a hedgerow just outside Hexham, taking care to mark the position on my GPS.
From Hexham I headed south to Barnard Castle via Stanhope. The hills came thick and fast (well actually not very fast)and I made slow but steady progress until I was able to pick up speed on the long descent into Barnard Castle. By now it had started to drizzle, and a south-easterly wind had picked up. I was feeling hungry, so devoured a second breakfast of eggs and beans on toast. The next leg, to Hawes, was tough, with several long, stiff climbs, including The Stang and Buttertubs. The rain had got heavier and showed no sign of easing off. As I ascended Buttertubs I became enveloped in cloud and visibility became very poor. By the time I reached Hawes I was cold, wet and miserable. I had intended to grab a bite to eat from a shop and move on quickly, but I simply couldn’t face it. The solution – another meal of egg and beans on toast in the cyclist-friendly cafe. As I ate, I reviewed the situation. Although it didn’t feel like it, I was actually making reasonable time, despite the rather lengthy stops to eat, and was still climbing strongly. I reckoned I was on track to reach Burnley by 19.30, which would give me 15 hours to do the final 200 km.
My mood improved still more as I headed towards Ingleton. The rain had stopped and the sky looked much lighter ahead of me. There were also no significant climbs on this section. Things were looking good. Needless to say, the weather soon changed and I reached Ingleton in a heavy downpour. I managed to find a shop that sold cycling gear but the only front lights they had were LEDs – OK for being seen, but useless for seeing by. I bought one anyway.
From Ingleton I crossed the Tatham Fells, accompanied by the sound of thunder but avoiding any heavy rain. At Slaidburn I stopped at the excellent Riverside cafe (by now in bright sunshine) where I quickly devoured a baked potato and a delicious caramel shortbread. I had a slightly bizarre conversation with another customer who had mistaken my baked potato and cheese for apple pie and custard. Then it was just 29 km to Burnley – a short leg, but with tough climbs over the Newton Fells and the Nick of Pendle, and with the inevitable heavy shower. My left knee had previously given me a few twinges but now became continuously painful, especially when climbing. I reached Burnley at about 19.00 so was well on schedule. I had expected to get a mental lift at this point from knowing that I only had 200 km to go, but instead I found myself seriously wondering whether I would be able to make it back to Hexham with a dodgy knee. I rarely take painkillers but this was one occasion when I had no qualms about doing so, and they kicked in quickly. I was soon back in Slaidburn, helped by the fact that the wind was now more or less a tailwind, and after a brief stop I was on my way back to Ingleton. Darkness fell as I recrossed the Tatham Fells and I had to take increasing care when descending because I was relying solely on my headtorch for illumination although my new LED light was doing a fine job of alerting oncoming cars to my presence.
From Ingleton the route followed narrow lanes to Dent. The descent into the village was treacherous, with steep hairpins and a couple of gates to contend with. There was nothing open in Dent at midnight so I posted a postcard to Andy Corless to prove I had been there, consumed some of my food rations, and headed on my way again. From Dent the road climbs 400 m up Cowgill before descending to Garsdale Head. The ascent was painfully slow and the descent wasn’t much quicker because of my poor lights. There was a persistent light rain and I was feeling pretty miserable. I kept telling myself that however slowly I was going I was still knocking off the miles. From Garsdale Head I took the A684 to Hawes and then stayed on the main road to Askrigg as I couldn’t face the minor road option. From Askrigg there was another big climb and steep descent, with visibility hampered by a thick mist. Finally I reached the penultimate control in Reeth. It had taken me nearly four hours to do the 45 km from Dent. I sent another card to Andy and then set off for the final leg – 81 km to Hexham.
I knew now that barring disasters I was home and dry but that didn’t make the final kilometres much easier. By now I was feeling very tired and was increasingly resorting to my granny gear on climbs. My knee was also intermittently painful despite the painkillers. Nevertheless I ground my way up The Stang and enjoyed a long swooping descent down the other side. The road north from Barnard Castle seemed interminable – a long, very gentle climb enveloped in low cloud and occasional drizzle. There was a long steep climb out of Stanhope, followed by a few shorter climbs on the moors, and then finally, just before 10.00, I descended into Hexham, 72½ hours after I had left there on Thursday morning.
After retrieving my belongings from the hedgerow I stopped for a late breakfast in a cafe before getting the train south. I probably looked absolutely wrecked. “Have you ridden far?” the waitress asked. “Quite a long way” I replied. I don’t think she’d have believed me if I’d told her exactly how far I’d bee
