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woodie, when you get to the finish line regardless of the time, i hope you will say it was worth it.. KOTP was fooping hard, much harder than KOTD but I was lucky to find some great local lads to bring me through..
good luck, also try to enjoy those moments between the hardships.. and give my fondest regards to the yorkshire dales, shit i'm missing it so much :(
al
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Will do later.
So anyone on here know who the nutter riding the fixed genesis was? Passed me on Ingleborough, saw the bike chainless at the finish so not sure he made it round!
Couldn't be certain but four people came past my spectators point on Pen Y Gent without chains and the prospect of scooting from Horton back to Helwith Bridge. Great day out spectating and confirmation that Nick Craig is still a legend. Good to see Rob Jebb being a proper sportsman and single-handedly handing out all of the prizes.
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A report was requested so here it is in all it's self serving glory - for those who have something to do with there lives the summary is 'Big Ted tries to make up for pathetic performance with lots of words. And fails'
3 Peaks Cyclocross 2011 – a personal report
Picture the scene. Paris’ Left Bank in the early 1930s. Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir sit chewing the fat over a couple of long, cool pastis. My French isn’t up to translating their deep conversation but one word stands out – pourquoi. This was a word, albeit in English, that had been featuring large over the previous couple of months whenever I thought about the 3 Peaks Cyclocross. But what relevance did the great existentialist have to lugging an inappropriate bike up a few large hills in the Yorkshire Dales? Somehow, I suspected I was to find out.
Day minus 2
The plan was to have a day off work, prep the bike, load the car and rest. By the end of the day I’d loaded a filthy bike with a dry but dirty chain, underinflated tyres and a non-working track pump. I’d also drunk half a bottle of what a restaurant would call ‘rustic red’ and eaten ham, egg and chips rather than something suitably carbo loading. Oh, and I’d had a pair of pints.Day minus 1
For Event Eve I was going to take a leisurely drive north, have a siesta and then meet up with Mark Sinnett to set the world to rights with a calming couple of pints. I set off in good time, fortified by a considerable breakfast and laden down with chocolate and Chilli Heatwave flavoured Doritos (Vinia’s latest version of ‘endurance sports food’). The three and a half hour journey morphed into 7 hours but I did manage to read 100 pages of a novel while on the M6 so definitely no time was wasted, even if I was when I arrived. No time for resting, I needed Sinnett’s sage words to calm the butterflies. All I recall was “take the high line” and “make sure your wheels are turning fast enough to clear your tyres”. Sounds fine until I also recalled that he’s not known as Crash Bandicoot for nothing. Hmm, perhaps time to evoke The Elf – “you’ve got to respect the distance, big man”. That’s better. But, really, 38 miles isn’t far, is it?Day 0
After a night spent with 8 men and a teenage boy in a bunkhouse I awoke in a truly horrendous, soup like atmosphere, reminiscent of a barn in Bavaria before bear fighting was outlawed. Modestly, I can only claim partial credit for the smell.Signing on at 6.45 a.m., the weather was warm but all surrounding hillsides were bathed in cloud. I wandered around, trying to keep calm, but was troubled that all the men, and most of the women, were thin and flinty eyed – where were the tubby fellows full of bonhomie? Tucked up safe at home if they had any sense.
I forced down as much of the ‘breakfast of champions’ (low fat vanilla yoghurt mixed with crunchy oat cereal plus a pint of Diet Red Bull) as I could, which wasn’t much. Just after 9 I thought that I should find my starting spot at the back of the field and stepped out into heavy rain. This boded badly indeed as John Rawnsley had advised the night before that Ingleborough was “very boggy” – would this turn out to be classic Yorkshire understatement?
Thankfully the starter held us up so that we started 5 minutes late so that we were drenched rather than merely damp. The opening 5km or so is on the road and I enjoyed the gritty taste of rear wheel spray for 10 minutes. If only I’d known that this was far from the worst thing I’d taste during the day.
The road turn off to Simon Fell came and it was immediately a mess of crunching gears and dropped chains. I was far too much of an old hand to make such an elementary mistake, opting instead to ride in a completely inappropriate gear. And then I needed a call of nature. By the time I’d finished – and is there a stranger sight than a man in a field, bent double in bibshorts, muttering “come on you bastard, come on”? – I was last. Convincing myself this was tactical to avoid the traffic jam on Simon Fell I set off, realising too late that I’d already lost one of the two pieces of pipe lagging that would cushion my body from carrying the bike. Which I was about to do up the 45 degrees of Simon Fell.
Somehow I settled into a steady plod and caught and passed lots of fellow stragglers, occasionally getting a tyre to the side of the head as they slipped (for accuracy I must record that ‘Wildgipper dipped in manure’ is an interesting taste, but possibly not one that I care to repeat. If only I’d known that this was far from the worst thing I’d taste during the day. I paused at one point to allow someone to move across and looked above to see silhouetted figures disappearing into the mist., conjuring up visions of the First World War (although obviously I’m not as crass as to refer to the Somme).
Simon Fell was bested without undue grief but it was still someway to the top of Ingleborough across open bog and in thick cloud. Oh, and it was still raining hard and John handed exaggerated about it being boggy, as I found out when the ground swallowed my wheel and I went over the bars. Undeterred I pressed on and the first peak was knocked off.
I do not want to talk about the descent apart from to say that the only time I rode I ended up diving face first into a pile of farmyard slurry to emerge looking (and smelling) like a mate of Bobby Sands during the Dirty Protests. Luckily the road beckoned which would give some relief. However Mark’s advice about ‘turning the wheels fast enough to clear the tyres’ came back to haunt me as at 30 mph I proceeded to snack on the farmyard slurry. And still this was far from the worst thing I’d taste during the day although at least it was no longer raining.
The road from the bottom of Ingleborough to the base of Whernside was undulating and after chatting briefly to a 70 year old (while half wheeling, naturally), I showed my own flinty eyed side by snicking down a gear and leaving him pleading while I rode off like a ghost faced killa. The ascent of Whernside was not bad at all, simply stepping from one geasy flagstone step to the next with the Ribbleahead viaduct as a spectacular backdrop. All too soon however we were back into the clouds and assailed by rude ramblers who insisted on pushing past us on a narrow path (I will note that the vast majority of walkers we saw on the day were very considerate and the fact that I caught one surly chap with a shit caked Landcruiser was merely an unfortunate accident). The top of Whernside wasn’t boggy – yay – but it was covered with sharp, greasy and loose stones – boo. There was also a pretty sheer drop to the right which would have looked good for the split times but perhaps made finishing a challenge. Asking the time as I dibbed my dibber I realised that the winner had probably finished and I had an hour to get to the turn off to Pen-y-Ghent to avoid being DQ’d.
I do not want to talk about the descent of Whernside other than to say that I walked (lame I know but combine greasy flagstones, 6 inch wide and deep drainage channels and it wasn’t at all Edwards friendly, indeed walking in hard plastic soles and metal cleats didn’t help. Nor did seeing someone wrapped in a survival bag, tended by Mountain Rescue).
I was feeling increasingly weary and the cut off was looking a challenge so to fortify myself I pondered about what Jean Paul would do (that’s J-P Sartre, rather than Jean-Paul who featured in my ‘O’ Level French textbooks). I found that this line of thought made my head hurt so instead focused on thoughts of Kate Moss’ charming bosom, circa 2001. As if by magic I was at the bottom of Whernside in one piece.
Now I may not be able to ride down a modest hill but I can own a transitional road section with the best. I’ve no idea by how much I made the cut off, but doubt that it was by more than 5 minutes. As I climbed riders came streaming down which was a trifle demoralising. And on I climbed. My ability to ride ceased as the terrain steepened so it was portage time again (by this time I was cursing the French roundly, for their damned world leading miserabilist philosophy and for not being able to ‘carry’ their bike like everyone else). Still, the weather had cleared and the views were absolutely staggering. And so was I. My left knee hurt. My right knee hurt. My lower back hurt. And my head hurt from trying to think up mitigating excuses for my paltry performance – if I wasn’t last on the course I was bloody close. It was no good, time for Moss again.
And with that I was at the top of Pen-y-Ghent with just a clattering, loose, rocky descent to come. It almost made the preceeding hours worthwhile but, not wanting to spoil a commendable record, I elected to walk as it was such a lovely day. Marshalls were asking “are there any more?” and, like Peter Ustinov in lycra, I was stopping for a chat; I was almost sorry to get back to the road for the quick scoot back to Helwith Bridge and the finish.
I managed to miss most of the presentations – they wait until the last person is home and I was busy changing when that happened as I’ve found that people don’t like standing next to you when you smell of shit. Sadly I didn’t see SuperGeoff after his brilliant 12th (although as I took 3 hours longer than him I’d have been too embarrassed to do more than mutter a few words), although in my own way I feel that my efforts deserve merit – after all, how many other people were 4th last? And of those, who then experienced congestion on the M6 on the long drive home withe the unidentified meat pasty (comfortably worst taste of the day)?
But what of Sartre, who started us off? He once said “for an occurrence to become an adventure, it is necessary and sufficient for one to recount it”. So I have. And it was.
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Ted, you weren't far behind me, I think I gave most (well there weren't many) of the riders coming up P-Y-G a shout as I came down. If so I was the idiot that thought white shorts were a plan...
Not sure my report will match that but here goes!
I've done the peaks 3 times before and finished twice. In between I packed up cycling and most sport for a few years and moved to London and only really began training 18 months ago. This year I've ridden lots, but much of it is my commute (out to Hatfield) and from there to my g/f's in Stevenage, rideen a few tt's and the occassional track league, I've also done lots of running. You may notice that omitted from that list are the terms "regular off road riding" and "lots of long rides". I'll be honest, if I go back next year both of those might just figure!
My plan had been to drive up saturday but last week I changed my mind, drive up Sunday morning from Stevenage, leaving at 4 in the morning is clearly a much better plan. I figure that this will be better for eating on the way and probably more sleep than I'd get in a tent or the bunkhouse! Saturday involves coming in to London and picking up the hire car and some stuff from home (nothing important, just helmet etc), getting a hire car and buying some gels and energy bars. Sensibly I buy energy bars that are reduced rather than the ones I usually eat... Thankfully Jess my (not so) long suffering girlfriend had convinced me that my initial plan of coming in to London early enough to do the Park Run is frankly ridiculous. She was right and I should listen to her more often. Get in to london, realise my house keys are in Stevenage, thankfully my flatmate is home. Then because I enjoyed the stress of that particular panic so much I leave Jess' keys in London as we head back to Stevenage. To break the boredom of this drive, I start at least 2 domestics, one on nothing more trivial than the radio channel we were listening to. At this point I concede that I am nervous! Get back to stevenage and thankfully lack of keys is for a second time not a problem. Fit the landcruisers, throw a tantrum as it proves very slightly difficult to change the front one and declare I'm not riding. Am told by Jess that "yes you fucking well are" and decide that as a DNS appears to mean that I'll also be single she maybe has a point and put all my toys back in the pram! Sort food and kit out, in bed by 10. Sorted.
Sunday 3.30 and the alarm goes off. I turn it off rather than snooze but thankfully only sleep for another 25 minutes. Load car and set off. I don't like driving but there is an undeniable buzz from almost deserted motorways. Despite being ahead of schedule, I stress all the way there that I will miss sign on and fail to eat anything other than a couple of nutrigrain bars. The cornflakes and milk (inspired by Me O'bree) remain untouched as I decide that I am clearly rtunning way to late for a 10 minute stop... Annoy Jess by becoming increasingly hyper as I get closer, but the star she is she just puts up with me.
Arrive at 8, sign on and all is well with the world. Then it starts to rain. Just once can I do this race in good weather please! Line up at the back in the 5-5 1/2hour grid having been amused by the fat blokes shouldering there way in to the front of the grid... Road section is ace, very relaxed at the back, move up a bit and can see the 600 rider bunch string out, catch the back of this bunch as soon as we turn off road and hit the bottle neck. There are probably 50 or so riders behind me, so I feel quite good knowing that. The ascent of Ingleborough is ace, I pick off some more places and feel pretty good. It is also incredibly tough. At one point I knock a woman over, she appears to take it well but subsequently recatches me and I get a wheel in the face so maybe she didn't! The top of Ingleborogh is horrible, cold, in the cloud and windy. Just like every other year. Like most of the riders around me, I figure that nominal vision on a mountain top makes running the start of the descent a better bet but a bit further down I start to ride as it's clearing aless technical. This part of the course is quite grassy, well apart from the bit where I topple over onto rocks. My hip doesn't like this. It's around this time that I decide that my brakes are shit. Totally and utterly shit as the new pads I'd fitted appear to have the consistancy of cheese. I suspect that this will become more of a problem later on! Undeniable highlight of the descent was coming out of the cloud and seeing the view - beautiful, particularly after an hour in the cloud.
On to the road, and I feel excellent passing around a dozen riders, stop at the feed for some water and decide to have an energy bar, discover that they are disgusting to the point of inedible. I suspect that this too will become a problem later on. I remember precious little of the ascent to Whernside, it wasn't overly grim except for hitting the back of my calf with my pedal, the throbbing does not stop for the rest of the race and clipping in and out ultimately becames a huge problem. I've realised by now that the more ambitious times I'd dreamed of are truly unascertainable and that getting round and enjoying it are the main thing. And then someone mentions the time cut. No one seems to know when it is except someone that helpfully states that as long as we are decent descenders we'll be well inside it. From memory I assume it will be 3 1/2 hours. I'm not a decent descender
The descent of Whernside is horrendous, I am passed by numerous riders. I also stop briefly to help the fallen rider mentioned in Big Ted's report. She has done her ankle in but is surprisingly upbeat. A few of us wait until some walkers arrive and take over prior to mountain rescue arriving, she refuses offers of food or water and tells us she has marmite sandwiches and will be fine. Despite hating Marmite I consider suggesting a swap for inedible energy bars but decide I should carry on. I run much of the descent, I tried riding but gripping my brakes has actually made my fingers bleed... Once it levels out then I ride and am going well, hit the road section alone and realise the time cut is close. Head down all the way to P-Y-G, I'm hurting but catch 2 riders and we get a good group going. Make the cut off, then discover the cut off was 4 hours and I should have asked the 2 riders I caught as they knew this and the 20 minutes I've just buried myself was actually pretty pointless... I'm aware that physically I feel totally fucked. Take on my last 2 gels and start to spin my 29*26 bottom gear up the lower levels. Pretty soon that is too much and I'm reduced to walking. Well walking a few paces and stopping. I'm not even on the steep bit yet and preying for those 2 gels to kick in which they do and I'm back riding. But now having real problems clipping in. This is hell. About 2/3rds up I meet jess coming down as she has spent the morning walking. Stop for a few minutes, dump my gillet and arm warmers with her, take on some water and I'm off again and felling much better, also helped by shouts of encouragement from many of the backmarkers I've been around all day who are now coming down. make the top and start the descent, can't clip in and brakes are gone and my hands are cramping as well as bleeding from attempting to get them working! So once again I walk/run much of it. Make it to the bottom in one piece, totally fucked and head down for those last few miles. So fucked I pretty muchfail to spot Jess encouraghing me at the roadside and finish wih 5hours 51 minutes on the clock.
Journey home continued the theme of things going wrong, lost in leeds, stopping in Otley for food and discovering no pubs server food on an evening (wtf?), having to give up driving home and sleep in the car...
It was hellish, and the time much slower than I planned but I know I lost something crazy like 25 minutes on P-Y-G alone. I plan on being back next year. The running really helped on the ascents (not that I ran) and I've got 3 1/2 marathons booked in for the next few months alone so that has to help. As would decent brake blocks. Anyone fancy a roadtrip to help at the Bradford National Trophy for a guaranteed start?
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My partner is in but we're already taking our own van. Are you camping the night before?
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I'm in. Need to do some serious work over the next couple of months. Planning on running a marathon August bank holiday weekend, so need to seriously look at what I am doing training wise. There may have been an element of panic when I realised I was accepted.
@coedywedy - interested in a lift if you have room and don't mind a random sharing.
@Ramaye - the weather will be horrendous. It always is the years I do it!
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I was going to report on the day and how it was very wet. Then I found this;
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I never accepted my slot, I realised in the summer something was not right and decided to decline it, a decision that was clearly a wise one as in July I ended up in hospital with heart problems and what for a time appeared to be a suspected heart attack.
I have real mixed feelings about missing it, all the pictures I've seen, and just looking at the times it looks like I missed something truly epic.
almac68
deleted
Woodie
Big_Ted
tonyme
Ced
Ramsaye-
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Three Peaks Cyclocross Report
Posted by
@The_Seldom_Killer
Lee, you're in great shape. Its good to be nervous but you have obviously prepared well.
The very best of British luck to you mate.