Category: EWE 2012

Rain was falling. It wasn’t hard rain, but it was remorseless. In the pre-dawn gloom, there was no chance of staying in the garage and waiting for the weather to blow over.

The only comfort in putting my wet kit back on was to hit the trail as soon as possible and start generating heat. Rocky descents ran with braided water as Steve and I set off together. There was little to say to each other. The riding was sometimes great, but the cold and the wet crowded out almost every other thought. Visions of tea rooms danced in our heads.

We followed a bridleway along a river for a while. The roots were so thick and the natural steps so large that it was hard to know whether hiking the bike or riding between the pushing parts would be faster. Out of stubbornness, I rode and pushed and rode and pushed. The landscape was beautifully free. Untamed paths and boiling water. Rubble and mystery. It felt special but there was no doubt – the miles were coming slowly.

A long section of bog came as a severe test of patience. Little manuals and kicks kept the front wheel aloft sometimes but it was tiring work. Trudges bridged the gaps. Hunting around for a driest line was like trying to pick the shortest queue at the supermarket – every other one looked better.

The descent off Dunkery Beacon was outstanding. No time to let the tyres touch any ground between the rocks, just skimming over them and drawing broad strokes across the trail. The turns tightened and the angle steepened until the trail finally stopped going down. With that reminder of what it’s all about ringing in my legs and hands, I slowly wound back up the inevitable climb. It felt more populated, like we were off the moor and maybe in range of breakfast.

Zooming and twisting the GPS, I tried to check the coffee and cake possibilities: Dunster.

Steve and I rolled up dripping mud onto the, already wet, pavement. Shedding waterproof shorts and jackets to keep the worst of the mud outside, we were finally rewarded with breakfast. It turned out that ordering coffee got you some scalding milk with a hint of brown. I took satisfaction from the progress made so far in the face of deeply unpleasant conditions. Other people in the tearoom politely avoided commenting on the smell emanating from our table.

The hills from here to the Quantocks were positively Sisyphean. On occasions, singletrack would tease along a contour providing reasons to smile. But more often the trail would slog straight at the contours. With feet sucking into brick-red mud, one hill would simply trudge into another with walls of brambles and nettles holding us back. And I knew that I had made the actual Quantocks route from a loop that, maddeningly, nearly touched back on itself.

There is good riding to be had in those hills and there were moments of brilliance, but the hurt in the legs and the need to make miles was more important in my mind than fun. When we passed within a few metres of where the trail would return to in an hour, I had one route-change for next year planned already.

With dark clouds in the sky, the thick woods made it hard to pick out the trail. And the trail seemed to zig-zag across a river repeatedly. Fortunately, we couldn’t get any wetter. By the time we finally left the Quantocks and pushed over the last hill, the soles of my feet were pounding. My stomach was grumbling. And my head was spinning to adjust to new goals of how many miles could be made per day.

Finally arriving in Bridgwater, it was time to stock up on the usual suspects. Chocolate milk, an apple (trying to mitigate the feeling of unhealth), toffee waffles, pretzels, coke. It was a big heap of empty calories, but exactly what was required.

Steve and I had our hot meal from a chip shop and it was clear that neither of us would race away today. We cruised away from Bridgewater, looking out for a covered spot to bivi. It wasn’t raining now, and the chance to hang up our wet gear would be glorious. Unfortunately, we’d hit the Somerset Levels where everything was flat and agricultural. With no woods in sight, we started looking for an urban bivi.

In a small village, we found it. An “industrial” estate where the entrance was a 3ft gate had a couple of shipping containers for their recycling. One was empty, the other filled with cardboard. Hobo bed! Grabbing some ironic bike boxes, we lay them out in the empty container to make beds. Our gear could be unpacked, bikes inspected, and hopefully things would be drier in the morning…

Resolve. A dedication to the task at hand and an unrelenting motion toward achieving the goal. A certain hardness, selfishness, and determination.

The correct resolve is a pre-requisite before a big event. With the right resolve, all struggles pass, all obstacles are hopped, skipped, or torn asunder. With resolve comes patience. Always moving forward, there will be no questions of failure. By the time the event starts, it should be the most important thing in the world. That sounds selfish, but for all the sacrifices that others have made to get you there, all the sacrifices that you’ve made to get you there, the best thing to do on the start line is to give it your absolute all.

I started EWE without the correct resolve. And since then, I’ve been trying to make sense of a year that feels like failure. I’ve composed in my head lists of all the people who let me down and contributed to that unpreparedness. But it’s foolish to blame the things and people you can’t control. Liars and loudmouths only have the power that you give them. While I fretted and sulked at Mountain Biking, I forgot how much fun mountain biking was. I threw myself at work. Suddenly, I cared about getting a fancy Samsung Galaxy S3, I got some new headphones with great sound quality but too much sound insulation for riding. My priorities had swung away from what would work on a wind-swept hillside and onto more civilised things. Eventually, though, the actual riding brought things back into perspective. Mountain biking had saved me again. With lessons learned, its time to move forward. And to begin with, that means looking back to EWE.

Many thanks are due for creating what we did this year… All of the route scouts: Jase Billet, Ian Barrington, Stuart Wright, Cy Turner, Ben Haworth, Tom Levell, Stu and Nicola from the Dales Bike Centre. Matthew Lee and Scott Morris for Trackleaders coverage. Routebuddy for providing the mapping software that allowed me to create the route.

Day 1

Along with Steve Heading and Rob Dean, I stayed the night before in Plymouth University halls. It had all the hallmarks of a pre-event get together. Like-minded people. Nerves. A couple of pints. And the last comfortable bed for, well, who knew how long? It felt unreal. These guys had put their trust and their time into an event that I’d made up. We didn’t really know what trails would face us. We only knew that the trails conditions were certain to be ghastly, and the forecast was for sun tomorrow.

The route out of Plymouth was on lovely Sustrans trails. Easy miles, pleasant surroundings and chatting with the guys. No-one was going to sprint out of the gate. When we hit Dartmoor, things got more fun, but also wetter. Some early pushing left us with damp feet, but undaunted spirits. Dark soils and moorland were serving up some real climbs and I was starting to pull away with a pace forced by singlespeeding. Each time I pulled away, though, there would be some gate or some flat section where Rob and Steve would catch up.

I had planned this section myself with simply a guide book and an OS map. I had known that stepping stones on Dartmoor were a well-known feature so I had deliberate chosen some bridleways with river crossings. What greeted us now was a river in high flow. 20 metres across and with a good few inches of water flowing over the stepping stones. I didn’t fancy my chances on the wet stones, so I strode across the river bed. My grasp on the laden bike was wobbly and my feet were unsure. The water was up to thigh-deep and beyond what could have been safe in a more remote situation. Nonetheless, I continued, receiving water all the way up to my nuts. Steve was wobbling around on the stepping stones. Rob was following my path. A branch hung down to water level and I had to climb it before reaching the bank. Wedging my bike onto the branch, I freed my hands to climb over, then drag myself and my bike out of the cold water. Rob soon followed and seemed to be enjoying himself. Steve was not. I felt responsible for putting him there. I lurked and watched his progress. Which was, currently, backwards to get off the stones. I thought about asking him if he was OK, but took one look at his expression and figured that it wouldn’t be received well (he later told me that this was definitely the right decision). Eventually, we were all up and ready to squelch out of there.

It may seem odd that I didn’t just race away from that river. But I it won’t seem odd to anyone who has raced like this. The rules say self-supported, but there are moral lines to draw. If it were a puncture, and conditions were fair, I would have left. But a fast flowing river is not a game and we support each other through such things. Let the racing come down to the riding.

As Dartmoor wore on, Steve and I were pushing (foolishly) hard. Rob had dropped back a bit and it turned out that mechanical troubles would mean I wouldn’t see him again until after the event. Riding on, I was hungry, but damned if I was going to let Steve have an early lead. I was thirsty, too, but toughing it out. At some stage, he did slip into the lead and out of my sight. I forced myself to be wise. To eat and be ready for the long haul. I intended to get something to drink in Okehampton, and then chase Steve up the road/Sustrans trails to Barnstaple. The road section was an ideal place to eat on the move. Having starved myself a bit on Dartmoor, I shovelled down food and water now. Riding and shovelling, I eventually saw Steve – stopped on the side of the trail to do something or other. He was fine, I was pleased, and motored on.

It wasn’t long before Steve and his gears caught me up. We were riding back to riding at a pace that was costing me a little. I spun and spun on the flat, trying not to lose him. I just about hung on for our eventual arrival at a kebab shop. I carried extra bivi water and a fully belly into the post-dinner bonus miles. My legs were flagging now. Recovering from illness and tired out from the previous month’s riding, I didn’t have the strength to still be hammering the hills. I’d walk bits, Steve riding past, then get back on and be forced by gearing to power so hard that I’d grunt past him again.

The rain and the darkness came together. I plugged in my dynamo light (thanks, Exposure!) for the first time, and suited up with waterproofs. On Exmoor now, the earth was red, the vegetation more heavily watered and densely holding us back. The rain was setting in for the night and finding shelter would be a big win.

These hours are a blur. I recall squelching mud, gates, tractor ruts and the vaguest of paths. But eventually, there was an abandoned farmhouse with an open garage. Perfect.

I travel without a sleeping mat, usually making a natural, soft bed. So the concrete was harsh. But you can’t beat having dry sleeping kit in the morning.

It would be nice to think that I know what I’m doing with bikepacking by now. But every day’s a school day so there are various changing I’m making from my Grenzsteintrophy kit to my EWE kit. Things worked pretty well for me there, but there was definitely room for a little improvement:

• Gore Waterproof shorts – I used to have a pretty large saddle bag and it acted as a sort of mudguard. With more refined packing and a full frame bag, my rear bag is smaller. The day of continuous rain on the GST proved that the choices were limited to getting a hotel, or having a wet + gritty rear for the next day. These shorts will also double as hiding the lycra in shops/restaurants/wherever else.
• Drybag for backpack – I had loaded my water-resistant backpack with stuff that wasn’t going to be killed by the rain, but it was annoying to have to dry it the next day. Simply having an extra drybag will solve that.
• Replacement drybags – I’ve been using my existing ones since the Divide in 2010, so they’ve done a lot miles and leak a bit now.
• Replacement pedals – £20 Shimano M520s have probably done > 20,000 miles since 2010 and they don’t quite hold on as firmly as they used to. Plus I needed new cleats (RRP, £18).
• Replacement disc rotors – Singular Sam pointed out at the Black Mountain 3 Day that my old rotors were so worn that they were pretty close to killing me. Good call, replaced.

Other than that, I’ll be changing a few things on my bike for the nature of EWE:

• Dynamo front wheel + USE light – Bright light that never needs charging? Yes, please! I do expect to be riding into the dark most nights, so this will be really important.
• Suspension fork – would have been nice, but didn’t get around to it.

Unfortunately, physical preparation has been pretty non-existent. No time to ride after Black Mountain 3 Day and not a great deal of motivation. To change things up, I got some knobbly tyres (Maxxis Raze) onto the Singular Kite CX bike that has, so far, only ever been on the road. The plan was to ride out from home to Tunnel Hill, do a few trails there then a mostly off-road transfer to Swinley Forest, more trails there, and back home on the road.

Getting to Tunnel Hill was fine, with the tryes feeling surprisingly fast. Not as fast as slicks, but much better than riding a MTB on road. I didn’t feel that great in myself, but it was good to hit dirt. I never really got into riding those trails well, though. I was out-of sorts, on a bike that doesn’t really suit tight rooty singletrack, desperately trying to avoid pinch flats, and a little bit lost. By the time I got to Swinley, I had hit the wall hard. Over 25 miles to go, and eating wasn’t helping. I just went straight through the forest on the dirt roads. No interest in the singletrack, just a vision in my head of lying on the sofa sipping a cool drink.

I gave a bit of a sprint on the road towards Adam’s house in case there were some Strava bragging rights to nab from him, and then just disappeared inside myself for the remainder.

By the time I got home, I was shivering and delerious. I had a shower and ended up in my sleeping bag incapable of getting up for over an hour. I thought I had just pushed too hard on the bike, but the next day brought headaches. It got worse with little blackouts when I stood up or moved fast. My temperature was all over the place and my joints ached like mad.

I got myself checked out by a doctor, they ruled out Lyme disease (lots of bites in the Black Mountains, didn’t see tick bites but did see deer) and Meningitis (spent time at a school a few days before) so there was nothing to do but wait.

I managed to progress up to 40 minutes on the turbo without collapse (30 the day before nearly did cause collapse).

So, I’m certainly not over-trained. And I can’t wait to ride. Not a bad starting position.