Cyclocross Bike Ride
The Fireman
It always seems a little unfair to be staying in a hotel and having to crawl out of bed while it is still dark; surely that sort of behaviour only applies to work days or catching flights to somewhere warm and sunny? But here I was, up at the crack of dawn, quietly munching down an in-room breakfast as darkness turned to grey, a most unpromising start to the day. Half an hour later, I was in Keswick’s Fitz Park, registering for my fourth Lakeland Monster Miles event and it seemed dusk was as light as it was going to get, not that it had put anyone off, the park was thronged. The Fireman appeared and we joined the ever-lengthening start queue, the event seems well attended this year. Cross bikes, mountain bikes, a few Pensioner style electric bikes and even a couple of fat bikes surrounded us as we moved forward in batches to be released into the awakening streets of Keswick, yet to be populated by hordes of walking pole wanderers.
The Fireman and I ambled along as the speedy boys took off as though prize money is involved. The usual flat warm up along the old railway track to Threlkeld was abandoned this year because some of the bridges were destroyed in last winter’s floods, instead we followed the A591 uphill for a mile, a proper warm up, getting legs and lungs into a rhythm, a long line of cyclists, tail lights flashing in the morning gloom. A welcome downhill followed, leading to a turn off at Dale Bottom, where a deteriorating road was followed to a gravel track which took a turn skyward, catching most riders by surprise, wrong gear, loose surface, slippy rocks, every excuse was trotted out as bikes were dismounted for the walk of shame. The route continued, more amenably through St. John’s In The Vale to rejoin the usual route at Threlkeld.
From Threlkeld the route goes along the front of Blencathra to the hamlet of Scales where it peels away from paralleling the A66, heading along the minor road to Mungrisedale and Mosedale, Bowscale Fell and Carrock Fell to our right, autumnal brown bracken and grey rock contrasting with the grey sky. A left turn and road turns to offroad as we begin the loose ascent onto the Caldbeck Fells, undulating for a few miles before a greasy, grassy descent plunged downward, usually the spot where the mountain bikers have the advantage over the cross bike riders. In a typical Lake District paradox, the sky began to brighten at the same time as a light drizzle began, the drizzle continued all the way to the feed station where it gave up wimping about, hit the gym, took some steroids and turned to proper rain, complete with tree-bending wind to help drive the water through our clothing. The world record for how many hungry cyclists can huddle under a gazebo was probably broken as we tried to keep our biscuits dry.
The infamous Sector Bog Trotters came next and it may be my imagination but it seems to be less muddy every year, although the underlying rock is as slippery as ever. We had almost reached the end of the sector, when The Fireman suddenly halted, his rear mech dangling uselessly from the frame like a mechanical prolapse. Snapped mech hanger. Roughly twenty miles to go, squally rain and a couple of big ascents, the usual option of turning it to a singlespeed was dismissed and we agreed to part company - me to valiantly continue the route solo, The Fireman hiking back to the feed station to see if the in-situ mechanic could help him out. Continuing alone, apart from a few hundred other cyclists, the rain had a few goes at discouragement but we’re made of sterner stuff and it was not long before I was attempting the gruesome climb through Setmurthy Woods and failing for the fourth year running - I was not unique. Another greasy, grassy, downhill and soon I was threading my way through the backstreets of Cockermouth, heading toward the split point a mile or so further on. Being old, wise and possessing a level of indolence which makes the average sloth look hyperactive, naturally the long route was not even a consideration.
Climbing gradually, it was a pleasure to see the sign for Sector Forrest Gump, the sector which was included in the inaugural Monster Miles but not included for the past two years. A brilliant and speedy fire road descent through Wythop Woods comes out at the side of Bassenthwaite; even better than the descent is missing out the grind up Whinlatter Pass. From here it is a relatively flat run back to Keswick, through Thornthwaite, Braithwaite and Portinscale and due to some strange quirk in the space time continuum, summer has arrived, or we’ve gone back to summer, somehow the sun was now blazing through from a cerulean sky, the early morning gloom now a mere memory from a season long ago.
Through the inflatable barrier, timing chip beeped, medal round neck, coffee in hand, it was all over. A party atmosphere in the park, live music playing in the registration tent, the catering vans doing a good trade as hungry bikers poured into the park, mud-splattered, aching, all glad it was over. After an hour or so, The Fireman crossed the line, on his newly repaired bike, luckily the mechanics carry universal mech hangers.
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