LEL 2017: Part I

It’s 4:35am and I’m in stationary traffic on the wrong side of the Thames. The engine is off and has been for 30 minutes. Torrential rain has flooded the Blackwall Tunnel which is closed and I’m trapped on the approach road. 20 miles away in Loughton the 5am racing group is about to start the 1,400km ride to Edinburgh and back. I have passed through the angry stage and am now resigned to my fate when traffic finally begins to move ahead of me.

---

Even at racing speeds 1,400km takes a while and reading my account will require a similar level of endurance, because I can’t bring myself to edit out any more of the details. Instead I’ve broken the story into two. Grab yourself a drink and some cushions to sit on. Or, for a more immersive experience, put some rocks into a cold shower, take a seat and read this through the wet glass.

---

Loughton, 5:01am; park the car, grab the bike, turn the GPS on and sprint towards the start. As I enter the school gates the peloton are leaving. I swim against the tide and search for whoever is checking riders out of the start. Somehow I’m no more than a couple of minutes behind. Chris Herbert and Jasmijn Muller are waiting for me outside the school and, mercifully, the bunch has settled into a leisurely start.

The early miles were about gathering myself, gradually moving forwards in the bunch and settling into a rhythm while avoiding wobbly riders and those without mudguards. An hour in and the group had thinned to safer numbers and we could get into the aerobars and ride closely. Chris and I shared the work on the front with Jasmijn resting at the rear. It was only a week since she clinched the National 24 Hour TT title with an incredible ride that put her third overall, so there was no expectation for Jasmijn to contribute on the front. We knew she could be relied upon as a steady metronome once Chris and I had knocked the ego out of our legs and settled down to a more sustainable pace.

The St Ives control, some time before it officially opened.

There were slightly panicked shouts as we pulled into the first control at St Ives. We’d laid down a ferocious opening stage and officially we were ahead of the opening schedule, with the volunteers not quite ready for us. There were scanners to check us in and they were excited to test the system out with us, only it wasn’t working and we eventually resorted to typing things in manually. In the world of audax success is measured by doing things by the book, with no concern for speed or any concept of competition. LEL isn’t a race (but it is) and the crew of volunteers didn’t really comprehend our desire to rush through the control. They had carefully constructed a maze for riders which guided you from check-in, through the kitchen, past the toilets and finally to the exit via another set of scanners to check out. There was confusion and a hint of disappointment when I insisted on cutting some corners and bypassing the kitchen. Our stop was 8 minutes. In my planning I’d budgeted 5 minutes, hoping it would be quick stamp in the card and then instantly away.

“LEL isn’t a race. But it is.”

My parents live in Peterborough so the next section from St Ives to Spalding was familiar from regular century rides between London and Peterborough. It’s flat and exposed. Its only feature is its lack of features, which means the wind often feels like it blows from all directions at once. This morning though we enjoyed a tail-cross, which saw us zipping along the arrow-straight roads at 37-40kph in tight formation. Chris and I rotated at 20 minute intervals. As his power meter had died this often meant my effort actually went up for the first few minutes of his turns. We snaked through Whittlesey, past Crowland and into Spalding, where volunteers again sprung excitedly into action. This time they knew we were coming, having seen our tracking data from St Ives. Their scanners didn’t work either. Jasmijn used the facilities. Chris smoked a fag. I found a quiet corner to smear a gratuitously large dollop of Sudocrem everywhere that might possibly need it. It was the first time riding this saddle so I was taking no chances.

Strong crosswinds heading into Lincolnshire.

Spalding had been a tardy stop (12 minutes). There wasn’t really any good reason for this and it’s a good demonstration of how it’s rarely faster travelling in a group. Even a group of whippets such as this. There was little dithering, but there was ‘3 x little dithering’ which tends to add up. Each of us thinking the same thing but each too polite to hurry the others along. I’d put in a bit of a stint coming into Spalding and foolishly led out of the control and into another long turn on the front. I’ve done mammoth distances before but never 1,400km at the sort of relentless pace I expected to ride, so pacing was a bit of guesswork. I guessed I might be overdoing it but was keen to do my fair share and repay Chris’s strength. The wind had shifted to a crosswind but the sun was out. We knew that most of the ride was going to be in foul weather so we may as well ‘make hay’.

20km later the route passed a convenient petrol station and we dived in to grab batteries for Chris’s power meter. While fitting that he worked through a fag and half a litre of Monster. It was like watching Popeye down a can of spinach. Back on the road and Chris had an extra 50 watts, which were put to fine use with a whopper stretch on the front, most of the way to the Lincoln Wolds. Note to self: take up smoking.

I’ve gradually come to enjoy hills, but they’re still not my forte. Not going up, anyway.  80kg and knees peppered with surgery scars don’t really lend themselves to climbing prowess. However, after the monotony of the flatlands it was quite nice to ride into the rolling terrain of the Lincoln Wolds and the third control at Louth. It was just after midday and we’d been flying. Our pace had offset the sloppy stops. Yesterday I’d taken carb-loading to unjustified extremes and then at 3am this morning I’d wolfed down a cauldron full of my pre-race rocket fuel porridge. I normally enjoy at least two good sessions on the porcelain throne before a big ride but this mornings antics meant there was no time for any of that. Seven hours into the ride I couldn’t keep the cork in any longer. TMI? You get all the gritty details on this blog! There was a definite spring in my step after that.

We might as well call that lunch time then.

These stops were getting slower still (22 minutes). Off towards the Humber Bridge, which felt as much of a checkpoint as any of the controls. Rolling into Barton the skies turned moody and we chatted about potentially raiding a mini market for some lunch. Then the heavens opened and Chris and I quickly and silently agreed to accelerate that plan. 30 seconds after the heavy rains started and we’d taken refuge next to a perfectly sized convenience store. Chicken sandwiches and an assortment of drinks were guzzled in the shelter of a bus stop while the storm passed over us. At 27 minutes it was quite a luxurious stop but as we’d dodged a pretty heavy shower it didn’t feel entirely unjustifiable. We knew we’d be in for lots of rotten weather but it was worth staying dry for as long we could. A decent feed also meant we could bounce the next few controls without stopping for food.

From the Humber northwards we’d be playing jacket yo-yo. The skies looked biblical as we entered the bridge so on went the weather gear. It’s better to gear up earlier than necessary and keep your regular layers dry, but the temperatures were high and it was sweaty work in rain gear. I could whip the jacket off, roll it and stow it all while moving but putting it on meant pulling over for a brief stop, which was getting frustrating. Entering Yorkshire I shared some of the lingo I’d learned from a local pal a few years earlier. We’d been riding the Yorkshire Tour de France stages and shouts of “arfalog” had me quite confused. When the fire burns too hot you take ‘half a log’ off to calm things down a touch.

Approaching Pocklington. I always try and eat something just before any controls. Digestion is easier when stopped.

At the Pocklington control, 341km into the ride, we were told we had an hour lead over the chasing group. That was based on arrival times at the previous control though and didn’t factor in our ‘lunch break’. Still, that felt pretty good. It felt even better when I realised we’d even beaten the van that was delivering the bag drops from London! Our average moving speed was around 34kph (over 21mph) and all three of us still looked pretty strong. At this point I was feeling super confident for leading this all the way back to London, even in spite of our relatively indulgent stops. Pocklington was 17 minutes and I’m not really sure if we did anything there. It’s amazing how easy it is to evaporate time whenever you stop! A local pal had been waiting with a camera at the entrance and got some shots as we arrived. Better still, he also came armed with a McDonalds milkshake! These have the same effect on me as fags and Monster do on Chris. He’d even had it for 45 minutes so it was the perfect consistency, with no danger of brain freeze. What a legend. Cheers Phil!

“Like being pelted with wet gravel” – Chris

Jacket yo-yo had us all frustrated but I think it was Jasmijn who called it first; we’d be less cautious and just ride through the lighter stuff. Moments after we’d all agreed this Mother Nature decided to be a dick about it. Within seconds a couple of light rain drops turned into what Chris perfectly described as ‘like being pelted with wet gravel’. Big angry hail stones and rain drops so heavy that you felt the impact of each one. A practice I’ve taken from ski-mountaineering is to stow my weather kit in such a way that it can be deployed instantly. My jacket, for instance, is always rolled from the bottom towards the top and packed so that the first thing I grab is the collar. This means I can be wearing it within a second of stopping. It also buys time to turn around and take what is perhaps my favourite photo of our group ride, perfectly capturing the beautiful British summer. This storm had no respect for rain gear though. Within seconds absolutely everything was totally saturated. Feet squelched inside shoe-fuls of rainwater. A particularly keen lump of hail shot right inside my ear and there was swearing.

“Do you have any salt?” The chefs at Thirsk do not fuck about!

Fortunately all this nonsense happened just a few kilometres from the next control at Thirsk, 407km into the ride. There was to be no bouncing of this control after all. Jasmijn charmed a volunteer into drying all of her kit under a hand dryer. This wasn’t actually as exceptional as it sounds. At every instance the volunteers were all brimming with enthusiasm to help in any and every way they could. If you were spotted doing a task they could do, no matter how trivial, then you would always be interrupted with ‘let me do that’. It is hard to overstate how amazing the volunteers were throughout the entire LEL experience. If you’d paid staff to do these jobs I don’t think you would get the same ‘service’. This was genuine enthusiasm and real joy at being part of something fantastic. Our soggy state and the warmth of our reception made it all too easy to get comfortable and we clocked up 65 minutes at Thirsk. I wasn’t happy with this (but was as much to blame as anybody). My original plan was to ride ‘quick but not rapid’ and be ruthless with stops; I had budgeted just four hours of non-moving time for the entire route and we’d already burned more than half of that at 30% distance.

Back on the road and the legs are grouchy at having stopped for too long. It takes 10-15 minutes to get back into the groove. The light is now fading and so, it appears, is Chris.  This is a bit of a surprise. He’d also come into LEL with a sleep debt and I think this was catching up with him, exacerbated by the leisurely stop at Thirsk. He also confessed that he’s not at his best at night. No worries though, Jasmijn and I both do well with night riding. We’ll get him through the night and then enjoy sailing in his slipstream once the sun comes up and he gets his mojo back.

The control at Barnard Castle is a beautiful old school with a Harry Potter vibe. It was now around 10pm and Chris is talking about taking a power nap as we approach. Once inside we scatter and focus on our own tasks. To the bathrooms first to take care of hygiene. Crack open one of my wet wipe rations and then chase it with a handful of Sudocrem. If we’re here for a while I’ll grab some warm food. Here my memories of the controls start to blur into each other, but I’m fairly confident it was some pasta with meat and grated cheese. We’re still leading the field so there are no vats of food ready to go. I have my pick of the tables in the dining hall and the volunteers will bring it out when it’s ready. Not being a tea or coffee drinker I often struggled for a hot drink at the controls. When they could the kitchen staff would rummage through the cupboards and whip up a hot chocolate, half the time by raiding the volunteers stash. It was a real privilege to have such enthusiasm to ourselves at each control.

At this point I hear “That’s Darren, there” and then the very lovely Lesley introduced herself as “a massive fan of your arse”. She was an avid dot watcher and had followed my antics on the TCR the previous year. Her husband was riding LEL and she’d volunteered to help man the controls. We chatted as I ate. Then I stretched a bit, I processed some photos, added some tweets, caught up with home. The chasing group came and went. We’d given up our lead.

We’d been caught by Luke, Anco and the chasing bunch, who now left ahead of us.

Chris didn’t sleep in the end, but probably should have. The rest just seemed to make things worse and no amount of cigarettes was going to turn this around. Yad Moss is the most significant obstacle on this year’s course and he was keen to clear this before giving in to tiredness. This stage is perhaps the toughest on the whole route. 80km of not a lot, over the North Pennines, through wet and windy conditions. At night. We set off at 11pm and the climbing began immediately. Temperatures dropped as we rose. I’ve ridden the northbound route once before and although we couldn’t see much now I remember this climb and how exposed it is. I tried staying chatty to keep Chris awake. It was mostly drivel, I’m sure, but hopefully it did the job.

The key to fast descending at night is being able to read the road accurately and quickly from whatever limited cues are available.

By the crest I was feeling the cold and was keen to push on with the descent and get to warmer altitudes and shelter as quickly as possible. I was also itching to have some fun on the downhill. At night, in damp, gusty conditions it was never going to set the Strava leaderboards alight, but I’m addicted to the buzz of nailing a twisty descent. Scan through the darkness for whatever cues you can pick up. Read the corners; are they tightening or opening? Manage your speed and take the optimum lines through the inky blackness. Always keep something in reserve for the unseen. The sensation of speed is magnified at night so 60kph became as thrilling as any 90kph descent. For a few minutes it was lovely to be in my element.

“I arrive into Alston at 55kph. It’s raining in Alston and Alston, as it turns out, is cobbled.”

Then, without warning, I was careening into Alston – the highest town in England – at 55kph. It was still raining in Alston and Alston, as it turns out, is cobbled. The cobbles also coincided with a 90 degree corner. I teased the brakes on as firmly as I dared, trying to be smooth. The bike skipped across the glistening pavé and I flirted with the limits of traction as I traded braking for turning. Any flickers of tiredness were now a distant memory.

Leaving the Pennines we turn almost due West and what had been a crosswind was now a cross-headwind, making the final push into Brampton a bit of a chore. The downhill has fractured the team a little and we stagger into the control a few minutes apart. Chris is definitely sleeping here. I’m wide awake so it’s off to the kitchens for another indulgent feeding session. My original plan had me grabbing 20 minutes shuteye in Edinburgh and then I’d see how the return leg went, but figured I’d probably need another 20 minutes half way back. An hour passed at the control and I saw more chasing riders arrive. Some headed for the dorm and others grabbed some food and then rode off into the night.

Jasmijn and I decided to try and grab 20 minutes while we were waiting. I checked the board to see what time Chris was due to be woken. He’d not eaten yet so I sent him a message to say we’d power nap and by the time he’d woken and eaten we’d probably all be ready to go. The timing worked well in the end, but sleep escaped me. I’m a fussy sleeper at the best of times. The creaky boards of this sports hall were comically loud and there seemed to be a continuous stream of chasing riders being shepherded in by volunteers. The rest probably did me some good but there was no chance of sleep. When the volunteer came to give us a wake-up nudge I was already up. We reunited with Chris and set off into the dawn light, 2 hours 15 minutes after arriving. My optimistic non-moving budget was now fully spent after only a third of the distance and we’d given our prey a 2 hour head start.

“Sunrise is better than any amount of caffeine. Once the sun is up I’m good for the rest of the day.”

Sunrise is better than any amount of caffeine. In my work as a freelance designer I’m often chasing crazy deadlines and working through the night. No matter how tired I am if I’m still up when the sun rises then I’m good for the rest of the day. I figured Chris would get the same boost but if anything he was finding it harder than before. Perhaps he’d slept too long and too deeply and now his body was struggling to shake off the paralysis. He announced he’d be stopping at Moffat and switching to ‘full value’ mode; enjoying the facilities at all of the controls and generally touring the route rather than racing it. My heart sank. I tried to talk him out of it, hoping he’d perk up as it got brighter, but he really did look in a bad way. At the Welcome to Scotland sign I was ‘that guy’ and cheerfully coerced everyone into a group photo. I don’t think Chris has ever hated me more than he did right then.

Once we were on the road that shadows the A74 I remembered there were a couple of service stations that were likely to be open at this hour of the morning. Hopefully there’d be some Monster and other goodies that could revive our man. A truck stop was the first that we passed. We parked up and Chris immediately lay down on a bench, in the rain, refusing any efforts to coax him inside. He just needed to be alone for a moment. At this point I accepted he was done and couldn’t be salvaged. Mostly. This stop was a greasy spoon with a closed kitchen, so there was nothing much here to fuel us. Another hour up the road there was a larger services and we pulled in here hoping to find some magic. I’m not even sure if Chris came inside in the end. It was now a more sociable hour and we had the full gamut of fast food options to choose from. I downed a milkshake and a Krispy Kreme. Damn that was tasty. Another 20 minute stop.

Thirty minutes later we’d reached Moffat – the final control before Edinburgh. The decision to abandon racing seemed to lift the pressure off Chris and despite the obvious fatigue he was looking better. His head had lifted. I checked the weather forecasts and encouraged him to join us to Edinburgh ahead of the coming storms. He’d surely feel better if he got to the halfway point before any long pause. In any case, the next stage was all up or down, so we’d all be riding at our own paces now anyway. He wasn’t going to be a burden on anybody. He was swayed and set off ahead of us, no doubt keen to get moving before his reserves ran out.

Jasmijn and I took our time at the control, with any sense of urgency now gone. In fact, any notions of urgency were impossible anyway once it became clear the main entrance to the building was now locked and none of the volunteers were able to make the key work. Jasmijn’s plan had been to test herself on a largely non-stop effort which would simulate the time her upcoming LEJOG record attempt will take. Mine had been to race the event with ruthless efficiency through the controls and rely on my ability to function without sleep. Neither was really viable now so we switched to a more relaxed pace and focused on enjoying the occasion. I edged away from Jasmijn on the climb up Devil’s Beeftub but was arrested halfway up by the scenery and a photo opportunity. I dug out my headphones, fiddled with Spotify and then grabbed a shot of Jasmijn passing the sign to Edinburgh.

This particular lump is a real favourite. I had an incredible experience here when I first rode it and I was really looking forward to riding it again. The geography of the place is remarkable and the very Scottish weather is so atmospheric. It really inspires a sense of raw elemental power and humility before nature. The clouds tumble up the mountains and over the pass. The large dramatic landscapes roll on through moody weather and, tarmac and turbines aside, the whole area has a very wild, timeless feel to it. I stopped to take too many photos and then to find just the right songs for a playlist. Then it got awesome.

Any hope of a ‘win’ had slipped away, the band were splitting up and I was climbing a hill in foul weather. But somehow this was one of those rare moments where the whole world made complete sense and there was nowhere I’d rather be. Maybe it’s the emotional state that comes with extreme fatigue (each time I rode this it was 600km into a ride) or maybe I’m a sucker for dramatic landscapes or the power of music. It doesn’t matter. The rain lashed and the clouds billowed around me as I cleared the summit and settled into the long, gentle descent. The perfect soundtrack piped its way into my head and amplified the whole experience. I have goosebumps just typing this.

I caught up to Jasmijn on the approach to Edinburgh, through steep drops and then urban traffic. We arrived at the halfway point with a very different mindset than the one I’d anticipated. All urgency had been abandoned, though by any measure it had still been a rapid journey to Scotland.

The numbers so far

Distance: 676km
Climbing: 5,500m
Average speed: 30.3kph
Riding time: 22h18m
Total time: 30h
Normalised Power: 220W
TSS: 963

Click here for LEL 2017: Part II.

SaveSave