Lakeland Monster Miles 2017

Cross Bike Ride.

The Fireman

15th October route

A wet weekend in Keswick is not an uncommon occurrence but Keswick excelled this weekend, managing to precipitate for the majority of the four days we were there. The weather gods must have admired our tenacity because they rewarded us with a weather window for this year’s Lakeland Monster Miles, the sun even put in an appearance.

The start line was moved to the other end of Fitz Park, to the more solid ground of the council car park, there were fears the sodden sward at the museum end would suffer from the feet and tyres of 850 cyclists. Me and The Fireman joined the lengthy queue, waiting for our turn in the exit cache and the safety briefing, which concentrated this year on the numerous route changes owing to ground conditions. The long route had been cancelled and everyone found themselves doing the mini massif. A few blows of the horn and we set off to a symphony of beeping timing sensors, adrenalised riders jockeying for the front even before we had left the car park, perhaps eschewing pacing because it is only a measly fifty miles. Older and lazier wiser, we pedalled through early morning Keswick, deserted apart from a few hundred cyclists and climbed up to the Castlerigg Stone Circle, the first ascent of the day thinning out the riders before we plummeted down to Threlkeld. Normally the start is much more amenable, along the old railway but some of the bridges are still down following the 2015 floods. The next part of the route remains unchanged, from Threlkeld to Scales, then on the gated road to Mungrisedale, before turning north to Mosedale, following the gently climbing road beside Carrock Fell to Calebreck and an unexpected food stop, in the even more unexpected sunshine.

A quick sugar hit and we were off again, venturing off road on a rocky mining track which climbs forever upward, through a couple of splash and dashes, which this year were more walk and wade. Eventually, a welcome downhill arrived, disappointingly it was too muddy for the speedy, swooping descent we imagine is our usual style. Green is grip: brown is slip, arms aching from braking, slithering through squelching grass, we proceeded downward somewhat slower than we went up it seemed. A mixture of tracks and tarmac took us to the second food stop, where we sat and watched some of the hares who had zipped past in Keswick staggering in.

We were sure Setmurthy Woods would not be included owing to the ground conditions: we were wrong. The usual finish, from the woods, down Watch Hill was not included, instead diverting through the woods on a fire road which climbed interminably through an unchanging landscape of green trees, grey gravel and panting cyclists. The road through Cockermouth came as relief, even the long drag on the B5292 seemed amenable. More climbing took us to the outskirts of Wythop Mill, where, we ascended some more to Wythop Woods, where the route reverted to fire road, beginning with a steeply descending and loose track, complete with whistle-blowing marshall and riders choosing the discretion over valour option. The novelty of ascending had long since worn off, our discretion may have been left behind somewhere near Over Water, the excitement of speeding over sketchy ground was soon dissipated by a cruel trick of memory. I was sure it was downhill all the way to the shores of Bassenthwaite from here but no, every bend revealed a new hill, grinding the pedals around in grim circles we plodded onward and upward, an asteroid strike or nuclear holocaust was beginning to feel as though it would come as welcome relief, the descent finally arrived and caution was again thrown to the proverbial as the limits of skinny tyres were tested on the bends, skittering over gravel, finally exiting the woods mud-splattered, drenched but happy the end was in sight.

The thought of only a few flat miles between here and Keswick livened us up better than any gels could manage, just as well because finding a part of my body that did not ache was becoming difficult. Legs aching from pedalling, arms, shoulders and back suffering from gripping the bars, an actual bruise on the palm of one hand from the rocky battering it took on some of the tracks. At Portinscale, the compulsory dismount for the suspension bridge came as a shock, cramping legs having their first go at walking for a few hours. Minutes later we were riding through the blow up arch and I was collecting my fifth Monster Miles finisher’s medal.

The medal felt hard earned, the ride more difficult than previous years, no doubt due to my lack of practice at long routes lately but my Garmin tells me the amount of climbing in the mini massif has increased by well over 500 feet from previous years. Shortly after arriving back at our rented house the Keswick weather reverted to type, heralding the arrival of storm Ophelia, it didn’t matter, pubs make the best umbrellas.