Epic(ish)

Did the Lakes Epic thing at the weekend with my mate Davey and it turned out to be mildly epic in a mellow sort of way. Took Rags the psychotic Ragley Ti to save some weight and add some interest and never once regretted it, well, maybe when I was pushing a 2.5 Minion DHF into a headwind, uphill, on tarmac, for ages, on day two, but off road and particularly on the technical stuff, it properly rocked...

Anyway, a sort of loop around the bottom of Skiddaw then down, via Threlkeld to Thirlmere and over Sticks Pass. Not ridden that before. Mostly the climb was a steep carry come push come short bits of granny ring spinning, but worth it for the descent into Glenridding, which was lovey and thought provoking at the same time.

And it got us down to Ullswater for a stormingly, lovely, traverse of the amazing lakeside singletrack - properly ace. Rode loads of stuff clean that I often faff up thanks to the Ragley's poise, whoomph and bright-eyed, big-grin, psychotic ti-grained soul. Got to the end of it and looked round for the folk who'd been with us at the start and they'd just gone.

Sticks Pass from the Thirlmere side - push or carry, your choice...

I'd been kind of worried that the Ragley wouldn't be able to keep with suspension bikes on the more teccy stuff, but the reality was that it handled everything brilliantly, even the fast bits. It really is something else, just over 25lb with a 2.5 Minion DHF on the front and a 150mm Revelation. The front end just feels incredibly planted, the bike oozes va-va-voom and despite the lightness, it never feels remotely fragile or vague or out of its depth.

Hike-a-bike two in the background, track on RH side aiming for that obvious notch.

 There was an amusing post on the STW forum that compared it to a shag-happy nubile, but for me it's more like one of those lightly-muscled folk who look perfectly normal till the shirt comes off and you realise they're all stripped-down, 100% functional, honed power and poise. Good enough to show a clean pair of heels to a Specialized Pitch on nadgery rockery, light enough to climb hard tec and way better than me. Anyway, I love the thing to bits and Brant for designing it in the first place.

All that and it'll handle 60-mile days in the Peak or Lakes too.

Anyway... one more hike-a-bike and some lovely flowing stuff down to the overnight camp at Pooley Bridge, we came in 12th and 13th, so that was okay, but to be honest, it was just great spending a day with a mate, chatting with a bunch of nice folk, riding some lovely trails and being grateful that the rain held off until we'd finished.

Oooops, pitched side on to a serious freak gust - bang, snap, drama...

 Tent pole snapped overnight in the wind. We decamped to a spare Macpac Minaret, slept, ate, and eased into a pretty wet and windy day two. Lots of road, lots of headwinds and a truncated route, but still good to be out.

One slightly bedraggled Davey at the finish of day two - hard on the
Keswick Mountain Festival which looked equally soggy...

 I've run out of words now, but a cracking weekend

Can we go now?

Whinbattered...

Did the Whinlatter Challenge on Sunday as an exercise in casual indifference. It started with the clothing - camo Windstopper, baggy, three-quarters, carried on with the baggage, a Haglöfs daypack with a three-litre bladder and was preceded by equally casual preparation. Think a day of slaving over a fresh web-site after a three-hour mountain bike ride - no taper - followed by too much beer and about fours hours sleep before crawling out of bed, into a van and up the M6. The bike, erm, Rocky, my trusty Setavento hardtail with Pikes and grippy tyres. Casual, see...

So it was that I stood on the startline, pre-dehydrated, badly fuelled and utterly lacking in any motivation whatsoever. The plan, in so far as there was one, was to ride round gently, take in the views, have a friendly chat or two along the way and then eat cake and drink tea afterwards.

So much for plans. Id forgotten about pre-race adrenalin, people's tight, twitchy, humourless racefaces and the pointy elbow brigade with their points to enforce. No place for a dozy, unmotivated, slow coach like me.

Anyway... I survived the terrible music and trundled gently up the first long fire road climb and up to the first bottleneck which is the province of the casually indifferent who can't be arsed to push to the front. Walked up most of the first congested singletrack climb then pottered gently onwards watching fast people scream past on the other side of the tape.

The views were quite stunning, really lovely. Trundled down some singletrack. Marvelled that some people are even less technically adept than me. Climbed some more fireroad. And repeat. Mostly it seemed to be uphill and gradually my legs sort of woke up and we even overtook a couple of people on one of the easier climbs.

Then suddenly it was all over. My legs hurt, mostly I think because I managed to drink just one liter of flluid in three and a bit hours, which will be why I finished with burning legs and a stinking headache and proves that not only do I ride like a muppet, but I'm stupid too.

On the plus side the cake was nice, I won't be quite so pointlessly casual at an event again this year and I met some nice people along the way.

Overall, a bit of a wake-up call. If you treat stuff with disrespect, it bites yer arse. Next time it'll be lycra, bottles, the fast bike and something a little more like thoughtful preparation. But a nice day out, even if I kind of wish I'd been on the hills on the other side of the valley.

Packing Frenzy

Off to the Lakes for the weekend with friends. Which is ace. It's a two-axe trip, because with luck and a bit of thaw/freeze something solo-able and high and scenic might be in nick. Cue mental HD visions of thunking axe placements in glorious neve and white, icy space beneath my feet.

But between the inception and the execution falls the shadow,  in the form of the darkness that is a packing frenzy. Funny how the 'Fancy a weekend in the Lakes' - 'Yes, brilliant!' exchange takes seconds, yet the practical preparation can expand to fill all available time and space to the point where it blots out the tingle of anticipation.

And 'Have I packed the sleeping bag liner?' 'Do I need a harness?' 'Which crampons for easy gullies?'  'Do I need to eat at all?' 'Is that gas canister half empty or half full?' thoughts spin around the room like frantic bluebottles.

And funny too how, if you don't look it in the eye, kind of sneak up on it while it's not looking, it suddenly shrinks and whimpers down into manageable proportions. And you can smack it over the head with a handy duffle, remember that your camping stuff is actually carefully and neatly stowed away ready to use and suddenly you wonder what on earth you were worried about.

Except thatdidn't quite work, so I'm getting an early night, getting up at the crack of pre-dawn and driving north first thing tomorrow. So now I can have a beer with my packing. Result.

Tightrope walking on dubious snow...

Ace day in the Lakes on Monday testing kit and clothing, or at least that's my story and I'm sticking to it. My mate Chris just bought a Mazda Bongo with camper van conversion, so we headed up on Sunday evening, parked up, pubbed up and went to sleep.

It'd be nice to say that we got up bright and early and embraced an alpine start so we could watch the sun rise as we reached the summit, but the truth is that we woke up quite late, pottered about gently with porridge and coffee, geared up in a desultory, random sort of way and finally set off up Helvellyn.

Snow conditions lower down were frankly crap. Wet, unconsolidated cack of variable depth, but things got better as we got higher and hit the start of Striding Edge proper. Weird conditions, soft and slidey except along a foot-wide trail of tramped-down, cramponed snow, mostly along the crest of the ridge. Mostly straightforward, but some interesting, floaty, high-wire walking with steep drops on both sides.

Crampons feeling quite alien after not having used them for over a year, so full-on relaxed concentration to avoid catching a point and going arse over tit into the abyss. At which point, according to Chris, Type One Fun, would have become Type Two and significantly less fun. Fortunately it all stayed as Type One despite the iffy snow.

Down the final scrambly down-climb - two moves, snow firm fortunately - then a scamper up and onto the plateau. Lunch at the summit shelter, banter shared with two men hiding under a blokka bag, then a gentle meander back down via Dollywagon Pike and a frozen Grizedale Tarn because I wanted to recce the bridleway.

Rrrright... It looks like a toboggan run, god only knows what's underneath... And just occasionally the clouds would lift to reveal seductive glimpses of tiger-bread mountain flanks, then just as suddenly, the curtains would be drawn across hiding it all again.

Back down in Patterdale and drowned by memories of the last time I was there. In the summer. When it was different.

Cracking day. And good company. I like mountains.

Almost Christmas Crackered by a denizen of venison...

Back from the Lakes and sportive number four of the year, the Cumbrian Christmas Cracker, a gently rolling 65 miles of festive Lakeland scenery starting from Grasmere, out to Cartmel on the coast via Coniston and its rather substantial duck pond then back through Grisedale Forest. It was cold. Very cold. Cold to the point where the route was neutered to avoid sheet ice, but actually the mix of gently rolling roads and relaxed friends was lovely and just right for appreciating some stunning views, especially across the Lake near Brantwood.

 Pre-Cracker frostiness, brrrr... - pic by Harsh

A few things I've learned this year: how to look sideways and still ride in a vaguely straight line; that I don't have to try and beat people up every climb; that there are always lots of people much, much faster than I am, including this time, a fella in full GB kit on a pukka time trial bike; that following people's wheels in a sportive is a bit like juggling a live hand grenade; and one more from yesterday.

After tea and cake at Cartmel, the three of us rolled gently back towards the Christmas pudding pausing only to lose a pair of ruthlessly-competitive roadies from our wheels - easily done, we simply slowed down and let them ride off - and really just enjoying the ride and the views.

Skimming along towards Clappersgate, someone shouted something at me as I went past him, that I didn't quite catch because at the same moment, I spotted a deer running flat out parallel to the road on the other side of the dry stone wall to my right. First thoughts were what a beautiful animal it was and gawping at the speed and flow of its movement. Then reality kicked in and I realised that something had spooked it and walls aren't much of a barrier to a frantic deer.

Gently on the brakes as the deer turned hard left, bounded over the wall, crossed the road without slowing one iota, took the top off the left-hand wall leaving a portable TV-sized rock on the ground and slammed itself through the gap between the top wire and the gridded part of a wire livestock fence before disappearing across a field.

Ten metres in front of me, maybe less.

All so fast and so slow at the same time that it seemed unreal and unfrightening in the instant. It was only afterwards, pedalling back towards Grasmere that the pointless thoughts about what might have happened kicked in. And the concern for the deer which must have hurt itself hammering into that wall.

Lesson? Deer don't conform to the Green Cross Code. Lesson two: Christmas pudding with custard beats chocolate milk shakes in the comfort recovery stakes every time.

A really mellow, lovely day in a beautiful place with good people. Thanks guys. And thank you Mog.

Lightpacking

Back from a lovely weekend lightpacking in the Lakes. Just a stunning Saturday, proper mind-blowingly beautiful views and all the better for being an autumnal special bonus limited edition. Just walking, talking and enjoying being in the hills. And that's it, apart from a couple of phone pics.