Pennine Bridleway End to End

"I've ticked off a few big rides this year and I'm still thinking about more so I must enjoy them, right? Otherwise it's just masochism", so goes the internal monologue. I turn down the volume on that and look forward. Only a couple of days after returning from Crossduro Oxford I realised that every weekend until late September was taken up with gigs or family holiday. The weekend coming was also close to the summer Solstice which seemed like a good excuse to ride all night. A quick consider of the possibilities offered up the Yorkshire Dales 300 or the Pennine Bridleway. Both would be a big challenge but the Pennine Bridleway won out as I'd been mulling an attempt at the route for a year or two. 

Wife Jen generously offered to drop me at the Middleton Top start point and meet me at the end in Kirby Stephen. She also prepared my bike replacing the bottom bracket which was totally shot after the Capital Trail. Preparation for this kind of thing was definitely getting easier with practice, getting a reliable GPX file of the route was the main headache. I had no idea how long the 180 mile ride would take, Phil Simcock set a record of around 20 hours and 5 minutes in 2015, others had taken more than 24 hours over it. Only one way to find out...

Setting off from the former railway station at Middleton Top south of Matlock I'm feeling relaxed, the disused railway line is mainly flat and fast, a good fifteen mile warmup into a stiff westerly headwind. Limestone trails are beautiful at this time of year, yellow and blue wild flowers, cow parsley and long grass heavy with seed overhang the bright white stone. Further up the Tissington Trail at Parsley Hay I pass groups of school kids on Duke of Edinburgh expeditions, for many their first foray into the great outdoors without adult supervision. I'm glad to reach the end of this trail though and reach the first of many sections of single track on the PBW. The descent into and out of Chee Dale gets my heart rate right up and I have to make a conscious effort to shift into easier gears, there's another 20 000ft to climb in the next 24 hours.

Leaving the white stone of the White Peak for the Dark Peak feels good, real progress and a change of terrain. Mud, gritstone and moody grey skies, not that I get much chance to look up, I'm too busy staying upright on the challenging rocky sections south of Hayfield. A brief respite on the Sett Valley railway out of Hayfield before a climb up over Lantern Pike. My GPX route runs into trouble south of Glossop, a dispute over funding of the trail means the trail is officially closed with no official diversion. This throws me off route and I end up in someone's back garden high above Glossop. Back on track at Tintwhistle it's only a hop over the moors to familiar territory. Greenfield, Stanage, Buckstones are all dangerously close to home and a ripped rear tyre allows an opportunity for those 'wouldn't you prefer to be at home on the sofa?' thoughts that periodically surface during any challenge. Tyre fixed with a tubeless repair and I'm on my way, nearly one third of the distance under my belt but plenty of challenges ahead. A couple of minor mechanicals have me deploying cable ties and borrowing bottle cage bolts to make my left hand shifter work, at least it can be fixed. 

    

The setts of the old Rooley Moor road above Rochdale are always a slog, the ancient route to Whalley Abbey from  Rochdale  is wide and straight but decades of Pennine winters have left their mark. Near the summit above the popular trails at Lee Quarry the setts have parallel grooves worn into them where horse drawn carts have worn the stone away. A reminder of tougher times, when survival required routine hard physical labour. 

The steep descent into Stacksteads is over in a flash and a stop at the Coop is my last chance to pick up food today. Bags filled with bean wraps, croissants, chocolate bars and an emergency Coke I climb up towards Cliviger through the 'Gateageddon' section. There's a gate approximately every two hundred metres on which frustrates progress, fortunately the clouds have passed and evening sun lights the way. I even enjoy the climb out of Cliviger up to Hurstwood and Gorple. The new sections of trail between here and Wycoller are fantastic, fast rolling and well graded, there are even berms through some of the corners and a rock garden mid descent. It's early evening and lambs are playful on the lawn-like short grass alongside the trail, pheasants scatter from the trail ahead and I spot a couple of owls and a gull which is presumably far from home. There's a comedy moment above Wycoller when a lamb and a pheasant run directly at each other after being spooked by my bike before simultaneously changing direction at the very last second, the lamb looks very confused. 

I've ridden this middle section though to Settle once before on a recce ride, something I'm glad of as the trail gets very vague south of Long Preston and in the darkness it's difficult to spot the way marker posts. Still summer nights are always thick with insects looking for food, the odd one ends up in an eye, or worse, in my mouth. Dropping down into a steep wooded valley the thick scent of wild garlic hits me as I duck and dive through a tight tunnel of trees. On the far side of the woods Saturday night is in full swing, I pass several pubs with live bands and a large recently built house lit up like a christmas tree for all to see. Through the floor to ceiling windows I can see twenty or so immaculately dressed guests taking their places at a long table, I'd rather be out here I think to myself and press on north. I don't see anyone else until a farm near Long Preston where a farmer comes out to shine a torch in my face and ask what I'm doing. I apologise for scaring them, don't suppose they see many people out here at this time of night. 

By the time I reach Settle it's a new day but Saturday night's party is still in full swing at the Rugby Club where the local Moto Guzzi (motorcycle) Club are having their Summer Camp. I stop round the back of a dilapidated barn for ten minutes above the town to eat bean wraps and enjoy the view. Noisy bunch down there, most of them are customers of ours at work. I don't know the route from here very well, a glance at the map during the week showed it climbing over the south eastern shoulder of Ingleborough not far from Gaping Gill. To get there the route meanders along farm tracks and winding single track between crumbling limestone dry stone walls before climbing onto the flanks of Ingleborough. I push up one particularly loose, steep climb and am aware that I'm tiring, this is the most difficult time of night, my body clock wants to shut everything down for rest and yet I need to keep going. The emergency Coke is pulled from my pack and downed, within ten minutes I'm more alert and I imagine that I can see the silhouette of Ingleborough to the north east, the sky is slowly modulating from black to darkest blue grey.

Climbing up the track to Cam End I feel stronger with the dawn of a new day, the climbs are all ridden with the assistance of a tail wind and the well surfaced track encourages rapid climbing. I was last here twenty years ago in an ageing Land Rover which later caught fire near Settle after some over enthusiastic green laning. Back then the former Roman road was pot holed and rutted, this morning I find it in better condition than many roads in West Yorkshire. To my right I can see a couple of bright LED lights, I assume they are other cyclists on the road climb to Hawes but they are of course lights outside a house, at least I'm not yet hallucinating as I did on my 600k day ride. The descent from Cam End is another highlight of the route, a smooth and well surfaced strip of single track snakes down the hill to the junction with the Dent road. I laugh out loud at several points as I'm launched skyward, maybe that's an effect of sleep deprivation.

Descending the Old Coal Road to Garsdale Head I'm under the impression that the climbing is pretty much done for this ride. I'm proved very wrong, there are at least two more largish climbs and I'm not ready for them. Enthusiasm ebbs as the minutes tick past, I'm conscious that any hope of a sub twenty hour time has gone. I just want to finish now but the real stinger is the final climb, it looks like the trail funding ran out here, the track is way marked over lumpy moorland but there's no surface and no easy grading. The route heads straight up from the valley bottom to the ridge. I push most of it which makes it painfully slow but I no longer have the strength to keep the bike moving in a straight line at granny gear pace. I can't help thinking that whoever planned this section had a wicked sense of humour. At least the descent on the far side is better, finally on the road to Kirby Stephen I've just about cracked it. I roll in to the railway station at 0645, 21 hours and thirty six minutes after I left Middleton Top. I get a lift from here, I've no enthusiasm for a twenty mile road ride for a shower and change of clothes. Sunday is going to be a day of rest. 

Credits

• Velofondista for last minute bike preparation
• Jen for support, supplies, lifts and endless patience

Stats

• 20 300ft climbing
• 181 miles
• 9.9mph moving average
• 21hours 36minutes elapsed time

Crossduro Oxford #XDO17

Inflated entry fees, prizes from the bargain bin, crowds and habitual nihilism. Just a few of the reasons why I don't enter many races. That's not to say that I don't like a challenge though, which is why the Racing Collective's web site caught my eye one dark winter evening. Their events looked like a real challenge whilst remaining low key. It seemed obvious, set a route, let Strava handle the timing and tracking, publicise through a Strava club and enjoy. No sponsors, no permissions and no paperwork. This is proper amateur racing; push on and enjoy but accept that none of us are getting called up by Team GB any time soon. Post race craic over a beer or two and ride home. 

I had pencilled in the Racing Collective's Trans Wales event in the spring but as the weekend approached I couldn't sort out logistics or justify another weekend away on the bike. A couple of months later in June XDO17 (Crossduro Oxford) looked feasible if I rode there and at least some of the way back. This was why I found myself in my garage staring at a pile of kit more suited to a polar expedition than a summer weekend in England. I pared it down to the point where everything including a change of clothes for eating out fitted in a couple of Apidura bags. I wasn't very keen on carting it all round the event but decided that a dose of #bemoremike* was probably required.

 

Friday dawned sunny and my route south through the Peak District was hilly but rewarding. Riding the Strines I chased the scent of sausages cooked by workmen on a roadside barbecue. At Tideswell bunting was out for the traditional well dressings and between bright limestone walls at Miller's Dale I picked up signs for that most traditional of cycle events; L'Eroica. Up the hill I found the Tissington Trail and began a thirteen mile descent into Ashbourne on smooth dazzling white limestone gravel. It was easy to imagine trains steaming down here as I cruised under narrow stone bridges between deep cuttings. I rolled along high embankments enjoying the panoramic views of the White Peak's steep sided dales and vales. 

BANG. 

Crumple. 

What the?!? 

On the floor and confused, I lie there for a few seconds trying to work out what just happened, I push myself up using the arm that doesn't hurt and check the bike. Both wheels are ok and the freehub is turning which confuses me because I was stopped dead by something.

Later in the day I decide I must have struck a pedal on a small curb in the shade under the trees. I'm bleeding so I stop in Ashbourne and get cleaned up in the Leisure Centre. 

From Ashbourne leafy meandering lanes make their way south towards my destination. The roads are quiet save for brief excursions onto the A50 and A5 and my old friend the Fosse Way is soon found. Eventually I reach Banbury and the final twenty or so mile in to Oxford. Reminding myself to conserve effort for the next day I roll into Oxford in plenty of time to find a good Italian meal and take a wander round Oxford's sights. 

 

After an interrupted night's sleep at the YHA (I have to put in earplugs at 2AM to block out my snoring bunkmate), I enjoy breakfast with a bunch of French school teachers. Slipping through Oxford's finest architecture on my bike just before 8am is magical, there's very little traffic and the morning light is bouncing off windows to illuminate ornate stonework. Our meeting point and start is the most ornate of buildings, the Radcliffe Camera. It's a relief to see other riders already there and introductions and photos soon follow. 

The Crossduro format is more social than many races in that only five short sections are timed, the rest of the ride can be more social. Our group of ten or so ride out together along the riverside greenways to the first segment. And... GO! Well that's not quite what happened. I set off up the first hill at a reserved pace, I'm running Strava on my phone to follow the route and as this is a starred segment it changes from route finding mode to "red mist" mode telling me how far off the fastest rider I am. This is great except the map has disappeared and there's a fork in the trail. I take the wrong fork and everyone behind follows. Not a great start, or a very clever way to make new friends.

Back on course we regroup at the top of the climb and ride on at social pace, leafy hedgerows and ripe fields of maize line the quiet lanes we ride between quaint villages. Idyllic road riding and plenty of time to get to know my fellow racers. Soon we reach the next segment, up from the flat chalk plains on to the Ridgeway where we enjoy commanding panoramic views of Didcot and Oxford. Very different to the Pennine terrain I know at home, its rewarding to know that I've pedalled all the way here. 

There are five segments in total and I blow two of them by taking wrong turns and puncturing on the sharp flint of the Ridgeway. I take a hard tumble on a third by over estimating the frictional quotient of dry chalk and getting very cross rutted. Blood looks good on chalk and my injuries are  fortunately superficial. The sun reaches its zenith and everyone is running low on water, a stop in the pretty Thameside town of Goring allows everyone a chance to rehydrate and enjoy cake. A love of cake and bikes definitely unites all of us today. The social pace between segments lets my thoughts wander to reflect on how fortunate we are to be here today. Many of us were strangers at 8am this morning and yet a common love of the freedom of bicycles and the outdoors are enough to bring us together in shared enjoyment of this experience.

After our our cafe stop comes the #bemoremike* segment, a mile long corridor of mech clogging grass overhung my brambles and choked by nettles that grab arms and clothing as we pass. I emerge bleeding from both elbows with legs tingling from the nettle stings. A souvenir of today's adventure. We finish together at the Isis public house down on the river Thames, friendly bar staff offer to take photos and then it's time for me to leave if I'm to make it to Rugeley tonight. Hunched forward on TT bars for the next few hours there is plenty of time to mourn the cold pint I turned down at the Isis. 

*#bemoremike - a reference to toughing it out in the spirit of adventure racer Mike Hall who was sadly killed whilst racing earlier this year

The Capital Trail

“The best 18 hours I’ve spent on a bike” came to mind during whatever subconscious cogitation Monday's early morning dog walk on the local moor had triggered. It wasn't until Monday morning after a full night's sleep that I had fully appreciated the awesomeness of the previous weekend's adventures. 

Step up Mr Stitz, fess up and take credit for:

1. Arranging for the Scottish summer to coincide with the Capital Trail 2017 
2. Sending the midges away for the weekend
3. Stitching together a varied and interesting multi terrain route
4. Timing it for the chip stop to still be open in Peebles

Ok, so we were lucky (again) with the Scottish weather but this really had been a great day's riding. Markus Stitz (organiser of the Capital Trail and other Scottish bike packing events) must have spent years searching out and linking trails to make this route. 

Saul and I had travelled up Friday afternoon, eaten Italian in Musselburgh and slept in a posh garden shed at Wallyford campsite. It was the usual early start to get to the start line on Saturday but less adrenaline than usual, we were here to enjoy this one and racing would be shelved for another weekend. 

Down at the start line a breakfast of hot rolls, coffee and orange juice was enjoyed overlooking the Firth of Forth at Portobello beach. A tractor was out combing and tidying the soft sand of the beach, meanwhile many of us riders took a minute to remember Mike Hall who's ashes had recently made it back to his heartland in mid Wales. 

 

The start of the event was beautifully relaxed, all fifty four riders rode as far as they could on the soft sand, shoved up on to the promenade and lazily span off towards Musselburgh. Once off the prom Saul and I picked up the pace along the greenway from Musselburgh out under the East Coast Railway and Edinburgh ring road into a housing estate, up to a large country estate and onto woodland single track. From here we enjoyed single track, old railway lines, narrow country roads and estate tracks up into the hills south of Edinburgh. Flowering gorse, buttercups, cow parsley and lush green grass everywhere. It was like the saturation filter had been turned up to the max on our surroundings, the colours around us were bright and vibrant under clear blue skies and this was a Scotland that I was unfamiliar with - used only to dull green under leaden skies, not this new technicolour version. It really was a privilege to be riding these hills on a day like this. 

We climbed high on estate roads over bilberry and heather covered moorland only to descend raucously into forded burns and grind back up quad searing climbs to the moorland plateau under the metronomic revolutions of wind turbines. Good times indeed.

Eventually we dropped down a long valley back towards civilisation taking in main road, more single track and ancient drove roads into Melrose. Gnarly single track alongside the River Tweed was great fun, Saul was as usual riding every flight of steps, I was more cautious. A particularly tricky set of steps saw Saul performing an emergency dismount and his treasured Yeti bouncing down head over heels to land on the rocks beside the Tweed. A two man recovery effort ensued followed by the realisation that the front brake lever was bent double and dangling under the wheel; broken lever clamp. Was that game over we wondered? 

I like the challenge of trail-side repairs, a couple of hefty cable ties were dragged from my toolkit to lash the broken clamp back on the handlebars. It wasn't ideal but it put us back in the game, or back on route at least.

Following a brief refuel in Selkirk (water and fresh croissants) we slogged our way up to the Three Brethren. Three big piles of stones with a commanding view of Selkirk, I had plenty of time to savour the view before we surfed the ridge with a tail wind towards Innerleithen. Cresting a ridge after a few miles I spotted a familiar sign, "7 Stanes Red". Several miles of fantastic trail centre descent wound sinuously across the hill dropping us back into the Tweed valley where we refuelled at the Co-op. I made friends with a small dog tied up outside the shop after sharing one of my now bruised homemade burritos with it whilst Saul ate cheese sandwiches.

 

From Innerleithen we rode south into a stiff headwind past Traquair house and up onto the rounded heather clad moors south of Peebles. At the end of the estate track we faced a route choice, hike-a-bike straight on or ride round to the left. We opted for the hike-a-bike straight up onto the moor but unfortunately the steep track petered out leaving us wading though thigh deep heather on soft mossy lumps. The track marked on the map at the top of the climb was overgrown with heather and unrideable, so we spent an an hour getting back onto a rideable track. We were both questioning the point of this diversion, half an hour later midway down the descent into Gypsy Glen it was obvious. This descent ROCKED!!! Smooth dry peatland gave way to close cropped meadow and finally woodland at Gypsy Glen. Better than many of the Glentress downhills and yet neglected by the hundreds of MTB'ers pouring into that Trail Centre. We weren't complaining, for twenty minutes we owned the place.

From Peebles we enjoyed familiar trails in Glentress, it was after 8pm so we had the descents to ourselves, a rare privilege. Back in Peebles I spotted an open chippy and treated us both to a portion of salt and vinegar laden chips, I didn't know how tough the rest of the route might be, but chips could only help see us though into the wee small hours. 

Old drove roads led us out of Peebles and across more moorland, a few steep climbs reminded us that this wasn't meant to be easy, but generally the going was good. I chased a badger down a grassy descent and the sun dropped beyond the horizon. The moon rose to share its milky hue with all who were still pedalling at this hour. Shortly after midnight we climbed into the Pentlands, these were right on the edge of Edinburgh yet still wild and beautiful. We looped though this cluster of rounded hills before dropping into the west side of Edinburgh following various tributaries down to the Firth of Forth. Sensing the finish line we picked up the pace here spinning fast in top gear on the promenade alongside the sea as an orange glow brightened the eastern skies ahead of us. A diversion into Edinburgh along sunken railways gave us a flavour of the Victorian city before looping us back on to the promenade and into Portobello beach. A few minutes later Andreas Shäffer rolled in behind us and took our photo. Just the six miles back to the campsite and sleep would be mine. 

Stats

173 miles including ride in from Musselburgh

17371 feet of climbing

16 hours and 5 minutes moving time 

Gear Used

Cannondale F29er

Apidura bags

Exposure lights