Ride report: London-Edinburgh-London 2017
https://www.strava.com/activities/1116993799
Now I’ve caught up on sleep and had a chance to stop it is probably time for a brief report. Thanks to everyone who commented, followed my updates and tracked me: it was appreciated.
The London-Edinburgh-London is the biggest UK event with up to 1500 riders this time taking a route from Loughton in north London through the east coast, across the Pennines at Thirsk to near Carlisle (Brampton) and back north-east to Edinburgh, returning to England via a slightly different route in places. It runs every four years. Why? Because this sort of organisation takes time and it was incredibly well organised. Apart from the weather, which was why a number didn’t bother registering despite paying their entry fee. The fee included all meals at controls plus beds where available and mechanic support at some controls:
https://londonedinburghlondon.com/
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Having registered on Saturday, collected and filled my two drop bags for Brampton (north) and Thirsk (south), my brevet card and lunch – all of which were a simple process – my things were prepared. Only a few people knew that I wasn’t well: not only did I have my hip injury but I’d also hurt both Achilles a fortnight earlier so wasn’t anticipating completing the event. A session with my local physio to work on them beforehand had helped though. As a result I’d not ordered a jersey, now bought, but was planning to see how far I got then stay and volunteer. The target point at this time was Barnard Castle in Co. Durham.
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At the start I look around my start group and I’m with a large group of Indian and Thai riders but very few on what I’d term ‘a decent road bike’. One rider, who finished, just left on a knobbly-tyred mountain bike. We’ve Bromptons, flat bar hybrids but not much else. Unbeknown to me at the back there’s 2 or 3 but that’s it. Hence the photo where I’m thinking “I’m on my own …”. We’ve just had our brevet cards stamped and scanned so are good to go. My Ridgeback Platinum, built from spare parts, had ridden a fast Paris-Brest-Paris and was OK for this with new wheels, crankset and a frame bag being the only changes.
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The start time came and went: a car was blocking the driveway refusing to move. Eventually we were sent on our way and I did my usual setting off at a steady pace. Or rather I thought it was steady – after 100 metres I was on my own! The route turns uphill fast and after a couple of km a pair of riders joined me; Giorgio who finished and a French rider who simply sat on our wheels saying nothing.
The route meanders through Hertfordshire to St Ives in Cambridgeshire for the first control point at nearly 100km. An audax has a series of ‘controls’ to prove passage on the ride where a rider needs to obtain a stamp or purchase receipt on their brevet card. My card was in my back pocket being kept safe: as it was sunny this rapidly got re-located to the giant seat bag I have. Riding with Giorgio we chatted in half-English half bits-and-pieces with him proud of riding an English cross bike with 35mm tyres. At this point I recalled being warned about wider tyres being needed when considering 23mm or 25mm – this became evident when riding from Moffatt. The hope was that better road-rolling tyres would help whilst moving through the flat-lands of Cambridgeshire and Lincolnshire.
Into St Ives, a brief meal and the all-important brevet card stamp and bar code scan. The Achilles was now starting to hurt … Food was fine with the control quiet and I stuck with Giorgio on and off through the flat part of Lincolnshire to Spalding until Horncastle when I’d planned a few detours off the route. The first saved me five minutes by going near the RAF base at Coningsby but going a different route into Louth from Horncastle didn’t work. An ice cream contemplating how daft I was for attempting this helped a little. Louth was the next stop, again a school which most controls were. Food, brevet card stamp, water, Facebook update and back on the road: here I was going via Grimsby to avoid some hills and again it didn’t work, losing 90 minutes on my planned times. Meandering through north Lincolnshire in the dark was good though and there’s some very pretty areas. By now the tail-wind had died and was replaced by showers, getting much cooler. I avoided one big shower by resting in a bus shelter and worked on a right Achilles that was now becoming painful.
Over the Humber Bridge and again my own route to Pocklington: the planned route was very hilly so I was going via South Cave and onto the A-road from Market Weighton. As long as a rider goes through the controls they’re free to design their own route. However, there was no support and unlikely to be anyone else with you if you are off-route.
The Pocklington control was getting busier, but still quieter than expected by the organisers. I kept being told that the ‘bulge’ being the majority of riders was further behind than expected. A tailwind should have helped initially but this was gone, to be replaced by showers. Again the routine of brevet card, food, water bottles and back onto the road. By now it was 2am and I’m getting sleepier: I’d not slept the night before due to noise in the hotel which meant I was facing two nights in a row without sleep. Also I was in pain from the right leg and anything hilly was difficult. Plans needed to change …
Official maps show the Howardian Hills as the route. I’d recce’d these in May on a ride from Thirsk so took my own route through Stamford Bridge and Easingwold. Lots of pretty north Yorkshire villages in the dark and onto the A19 for an 8 mile dash in the dawn. It did mean I missed the optional Coxwold control, which apparently was quiet but lovely, with a decent number of riders taking the same diversion as I did. Hitting Thirsk I decided to sleep for an hour, where at least I rested if not slept. This helped and it was onwards, and upwards, to Barnard Castle including a diversion to the official route that saw some riders heading onto the A1 by accident! Here I found Mauro, an Italian physio who had volunteered to help for the whole event. He took one look at the leg and went “is not good. I work on it”. An hour later the response was “is now OK. Come see me on the way back”. Brevet card, food, water bottles and back on the way feeling much more refreshed but with all the major climbs to come.
Out from Barnard Castle towards Alston there is Yad Moss and this is where my lack of decent gearing began to show. I rode Paris-Brest-Paris on 53:39 front with 11-28 rear. This time I’d gone with a 52:36 front and the same 11-28 rear but a lighter set of wheels due to my rear wheel breaking a spoke the week before. Basically I’d pinched my son’s new training wheels for the event, which he wasn’t happy with.
Much of the climb was taken slow and steady in first gear. Not stopping but going slowly – looking round and there are a few dots ahead and behind going equally slowly. That was fine but it would’ve helped to have a compact or wider cassette (or a triple) on a bike that weighed 18kg fully loaded. Slow, slow, slow and eventually, far later than anticipated, Alston came into view. Another optional control was here but it didn’t open until 8pm and this was only 2pm on Tuesday. I could wait in the showers or keep going. Time to push on …
My routing showed a left and right here. I took the right and it dumped me on the mountain bike track between Alston and Kirkhaugh – very pretty but slow and rough. Back onto the correct road and mostly down to Brampton, my first bag drop at 550km and scheduled sleep stop. Andy Callaghan was volunteering there (Calder Clarion and ex-Ravensthorpe CC) so we had a chat. Steve McCall (same club as me) was still riding, now behind me but catching up. Brevet card, food, water, re-stock the frame snack pack, new batteries, shower, change of clothes plus an attempt to sleep for 4 hours. No sleep came so after 90 minutes it was up and out again, heading to Scotland.
Possessing a Geography degree I should be able to find my way. But anyone who’s ever ridden with me knows I’ve the directional abilities of a blind snail. As a result coming out of Longtown I was more fascinated by the Scottish border sign than the turn for Gretna. It may have been the wagon lights in my eyes, but probably was my own stupidity. The road picked up, and up and I thought “Gretna’s on the flat”. About 5km of going up and I realise that my Garmin was telling me I’m off-route – but the head-torch was only lighting up the line. Oops! Back I went.
Onto the correct path and this rides through Gretna, onto Ecclefechan (no cakes as it’s 11pm) and along-side the M74/A74. Now that goes to Glasgow and was initially disconcerting but was the correct route. Given the rain there weren’t many other riders about: a couple of Italians who didn’t speak English and one other is all I saw on the leg to Moffatt. This leg was apparently very boring in the daylight, so I’m glad I saw it in the dark!
Moffatt was quiet at 2am with very few bikes in the racks. Usual routine and back out, despite offers of a bed: they had 200+ but only 20 filled. Soloing out into the night there was the climb of Glenbreck to do. My Garmin couldn’t tell me how far this was. Nor could my bike computer which had decided it didn’t want to work between St Ives and Brampton so any calculation needed me to detract 340 from the total: that’s fine if you’re awake but sleepy, no chance. All I could see on the climb was the small bit of tarmac in front of me as I went up, and up, and up. Over an hour in first gear and the top was a relief. The decision to go with battery-powered lights instead of a dynamo showed in places and this was one; the rate of failure for dynamo-powered light riders was higher however due to the heavy rain at times. There was a pair of rear lights ahead though, absolutely symmetrical – maybe a velomobile? There were several of these taking part but I’d not seen any to date. I caught them and no, it was another pair of Italian riders who managed to keep exactly 18” apart no matter what speed or direction. I don’t have those sort of skills!
Downhill and I’m tired. Very tired. I spot a lovely bus shelter in Broughton … taken! Eventually there’s a memorial garden near Halmyre Mains with a big bench: mine and I didn’t care about midges. 10, possibly 30, minutes later, an Achilles stretch and I’m feeling better. Back on the road to Edinburgh. I’d like to say this bit was lovely, but it wasn’t. Heavy rain and early traffic with close passes on a main road was concerning. What was worse was the cycle track – finding it I then hit a massive pothole in the rain with both wheels hitting hard. It won’t brake straight … is my wheel gone? There was only 3km to the control and I gingerly road the Ridgeback in. The mechanic, seeing a soaked rider, took over and sent me into the hall to dry out. Brevet card, food, water, etc. and I’m fine. The rain jacket, a newly-purchased Galibier Tourmalet, had again kept my upper half completely dry. Luminous yellow Gore overshoes meant I also had dry feet. Broken wheel? Nope. Bent wheel? No. Just the brake pad knocked out of place by the impact. Superstar Components wheels do tend to be tough despite the low spoke count and light weight. Brakes working and I’m all OK to continue. Needing sleep however I grabbed 90 minutes in a dormitory: this was the first time I’d slept since Friday with 3 days of no actual sleep.
The next stretch, from Edinburgh to Innerleithen, was lovely except for one thing. Great big climbs on quiet roads, the sun was out with only the odd rider around me. The problem? Headwind. It had changed and there was a strong headwind, which was to be facing me all the way back to Brampton. However, the road down to Innerleithen was amazing; it snakes down the mountain, through a golf course into a very pretty Scottish town. The control was great and had involved themselves – food, etc. later and I’m back out, refreshed and ready to go on.
Through to Eskdalemuir it was similiarly pretty and windy. An odd sight just before the control is a Tibetan Buddhist monastery – awaiting unexpecting riders. The control was staffed by local villages and was great: many of these have a local flavour and this was just the same. However, mustn’t tarry …
Over the next set of hills, Achilles now really hurting, through to Brampton. Gels needed, bars needed, more food and just keep going. Into England and things suddenly felt better: I’d done the Scottish leg of the trip. 900km done and only 550km to go. I’m convinced that much of long-distance riding is about mental attitude. Brampton was through in a flash (sorry!) and I set out for Alston, this time on the correct roads. The original plan was to sleep at Thirsk but I was about 5 hours behind an overly-ambitious schedule so was planning to use the Alston control instead. No more headwinds meant riding was easier and I picked up a group from Audax Hackney and hit Alston around 9.30pm. They were splitting up – two staying and two riding on – so I joined the riders ahead after a gel for the climb up Yad Moss into the dark. The reason? The road would be quieter at night.
A long trail of lights showed be the decision to be correct. There were about 30 riders all the way up the hill with an unexpected treat at the top: Drew Buck, of PBP legend, had parked his camper van and was handing out coffee and cake. Apparently he’d decided to give something back after the French had done likewise on PBP. I could’ve kissed him! Refreshed but now with a weird saddle squeak accompanying the bike it was the final bit of Yad Moss to climb and the long downhill to Barnard Castle and bed. Arriving around 3am I saw Mauro again to work on the Achilles “is OK now, go to the finish”, who appeared to have had less sleep than me, food and 3 hours sleep.
Onto Thirsk and I’m back with the Audax Hackney riders, who are a group of 4 again, until I call into friends near Newby Wiske for 30 minutes. Thirsk control, brevet, food and my second drop bag – shower and clean clothes and back out. Then disaster strikes: I rip my shorts on a wall avoiding a wagon. Do I continue? Buy a new pair? Or return to Thirsk? In the end I went back and changed into used 430km shorts for the final 400km leg.
Rain hits hard and the wind is picking up. It’s a strong headwind and I’m concerned: if this continues will the Humber Bridge be open? Will it get worse? Getting to Pocklington I hardly stop, just checking the weather, and head fast to the Humber Bridge. There’s riders also taking the South Cave route, although I stop for a cake in Market Weighton, with a steady stream heading over in the rain and a strong headwind on the Humber Bridge. I don’t like heights at the best of times – this wasn’t and I was on the road-side at a crawl! At this point I decided not to use my Grimsby detour but didn’t have a route, only directions and my memory from 2 weeks earlier. It needn’t have mattered: some kind soul has signposted the route through Barton-upon-Humber all the way to Louth. At this point I came along-side a rider weaving across the road – concerned I stayed with him but he got slower and weavier. I suggested he stopped, ate something, and I rode onto Louth, letting them know he needed sleep.
Mustn’t stop: the wind’s picking up and I don’t want a strong headwind across the fens. Dashing out of Louth I picked up a group of riders, only for them to take a different route. I’m now with 4 Thai riders who are mostly simply following my wheel. Then they weren’t. It was dark and windy, but dry. However the Achilles is now hurting and I need a stretch … along come a group of riders with the Thai’s following them. I jump on: there’s 60km to Spalding and it’s all headwind. The pace was quick, with only 3 of us arriving together into Spalding. They’re German (wondered why calls weren’t made) and were relieved to have someone help the pair of them on the front, rather than simply sitting on. However, one has broken a spoke and they were surviving on tablets to stay awake: I pass on my regards and head out solo leaving an almost-empty control with the main bulge well behind schedule. At this point I realised there was a chance for a sub-100 hour time, rather than just the 116 hour deadline I had.
Spalding south was windy, but less so than later on. The roads were silent so for the fourth night in a row I ride over-night across the dark fens lit by moonlight. There’s hardly anyone around: the only others I see are 3 riders from VC167 who are moving steadily. Good pace and a problem-free stretch meant I rolled into St Ives tired but happy with progress: it’s 7am Thursday and I’ve 24 hours left to ride the last 110km. Time for a short sleep; eschewing the offer of a bed (“I’d sleep for 10 hours” was my response) I had 20 minutes with my head down on the table.
Along the St Ives cycle-way, which follows the guided busway to and from Cambridge, pace is fast and the sun is out with the wind now gone. I’m aware it’s hitting riders further north and I’m glad I took the decision to ride on. Weaving through Cambridge rush-hour at 8am, more cyclists than cars, isn’t easy on a fully-loaded touring bike but it was on to the additional Great Easton control. 8km from here and I have a problem – my first flat. Getting the tube out was OK but I was clearly tired: I sat looking at the pump thinking “I know what this does, but I can’t remember how to use it”. Eventually, 15 minutes later, I’ve a bit of air in and limp to the control where they were happy to be busy: it was apparently very, very quiet. Fed with the sausage sandwich I’d be dreaming about since Thirsk (I’m easily pleased!) it was the final 38km leg to London. Now I know from PBP and my previous events I’ll try to do this fast; this was no exception and it was great fun. Only a short distance to go with lots of time I could’ve walked it, so at this point I could hurl the Ridgeback around. Faster, faster, faster … it didn’t matter that there was over 1400km in my legs.
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Flying into the start/finish point I got back in an official time of 99 hours and 31 seconds, although my GPS showed 98 hours, 59 minutes and 58 seconds. It didn’t matter: despite having a duff hip and sore Achilles I’d made it. The bike had got round another major event. And I needed sleep …
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Sadly the other riders I’d known to be starting struggled; they tried and whilst I feel sorry they couldn’t complete at least they started. The event had a 34% drop-out rate with only 55% apparently completing in their allocated time: it was brutal. And there’s always Paris-Brest-Paris in 2019.
For me the abiding memory will be that of the volunteers. Every single one, no matter which control point, was brilliant: ever helpful and cheery no matter how tired. Thank you to you all.
Great write up.
) but we were doing over 20 and were turning off at the next junction anyway so ignored it.
He got an old fashioned gesture. Hope his tractor gets a puncture.
