My 24th completion of the most wonderful cycle race in history and again a contented, warm, relieved and melancholy Dave is here to get his thoughts down before they blend into the myriad of complex memories of the previous 23. The race that keeps on giving.
There ought to be nothing left to say that I haven’t already written here over the years, but that’s this race for you. Its complexity and nuance know no bounds and these hours and days in the immediate aftermath are seldom anything but a mindwarp of a million thoughts. What went well? Ooooh that bit was good. What about that south easterly wind? How did I hold it together at xxx place? How did yyy person do?
Starting at the beginning
The good news is, after so many times rolling up on that most understated of start lines, I don’t think I have ever been more chilled. Obviously you learn things over the years, but even so, there’s always some micro-chimp that bothers you on the morning of the last Sunday of September. This year, I can honestly say that there was very little bothering me. Sure, I was in good shape and I’d slept pretty well. Sure, I have plenty of experience and knew damn well the pain to follow, but this year – more than others – I was very much glass half-full.
Perhaps my ease was because of missing the race last year. My left shoulder (now responsible for three absences in total) had a trauma in summer 2023 and I was not comfortable starting the race season until what turned out to be late October last year. Instead, I had a wonderful day out with Elsie marshalling on top of Ingleborough, and somehow getting the most from what could have been a bit of a rubbish day. The heart had grown fonder this year, for sure, and I felt like the start line was my happy place. Strange, but an important allie in the war against pain that was to follow.
Add to this my nasty race entering habit – 2024 has seen me on the start line of 45 races so far (you want to see my bank balance ?) and aside from the extra feeling of ‘just another race’ you get, I also had a lot of fitness compared to a few recent editions of the race. So all was good.
A decent day out
I’m never sure who I’m writing these for. I enjoy reading my old accounts of the 3 Peaks and much of the race day shenanigans are as much a reminder for me as they are a thrilling account for my eight or so avid readers. So a bullet style summary of the details as I see them, this time round:
- Roll out was slower this year, Len’s driving was sensible and about right for a neutralised race start (the first 5.5km) but that made it extra sketchy in the 400 rider bunch. I was fairly near to the front and didn’t suffer too much from the slinky effect but I could feel the pain and hear the brake screeches. There aren’t as many people used to road / bunch racing in there and some of the bike handling shows it. As ever, it was actually nice when we got into the race-proper and had those draggy fields prior to Simon Fell to lean up against
- Simon Fell itself is never easy, rarely giving you a chance to look beyond the heels of the competitor in front. Famously cruel gradients and nowhere to hide hardship seem at first to be unrelenting. You have one pace up there – your own – and sticking to it is tough as hell. But it does end. Everything does, of course.
- My rhythm over the flatter part of Ingleborough’s northern whaleback was rubbish. Getting my rear gear cage caught on the fence wire over Rawnsley’s Leap typifies the type of bad-start feeling I had there. It wasn’t happening for me and every time I wanted to pass someone on the width-limited trod, I seemed to falter and end up yielding the place again. In some ways, this is the name of the game. Keeping cool at times like this when your flow is slow coming to you is important. Keep focusing on what you can get right.
- Over Ingleborough summit I started to feel the balance tipping my way. I knew it, and said it, too, to John Elwell, whilst we exchanged gasps on the final pull to the summit. The descent was my territory and I just had to get down there with a combination of luck, craziness, and well picked lines. As usual, it all paid dividends, and my 78th on the summit moved to 55th at the bottom of the descent. That’s almost a third of the field I managed to deal with ? (spoiler: I didn’t finish first because of the two remaining descents)
- The two main road sections are the restaurants of this race. My choice from the self-prepared buffet this year was served by helper Alan Dorrington and had an entree of caffeine gel and a main course of Tim Lawson’s wonderful Stealth Big Endurance Mix. That made for about 130g of carbohydrate in total and all went down so easily. The eateries were even more significant this year because I had a new ‘strategy’ of not taking a bottle cage on my bike. My experience had told me that in many recent years I simply hadn’t had time to drink off-road at all, so the extra weight and annoying digging-in-your-backness of a bottle seemed daft. I’m very glad to say it was an excellent decision.
- Climbing Stoors Common out of Ingleton was my usual ‘keep it calm‘ affair. My climbing is not a thing to behold, and many times in the past I’ve put myself into a bucket up there, so I was trying to keep a lid on things, and Mark Richmond’s “come on Dave, get on my wheel” as he charged up there was a kind offer, but one I’m glad I resisted. I needed my own pace up there. I got into a group of five and we did a few turns and I got a few decent rests too before Chapel le Dale. Going harder on that section isn’t for me as my years advance.
- Whernside was its usual delight. I find this climb so hard. They’re all hard, of course, but by now – about 90 mins into the race – you’re really starting to get the pain kicking into your quads. It’s just a train of heads-down walkers, humping bikes on their backs. The pace always too uncomfortable to break into anything more than a 10 second jog, and passing anyone here seemingly fruitless and trivial. Even so, my ‘Dave’s speed‘ climbing had slowly lost me 12 places since Ingleton and I had to keep my focus for the bits I traditionally do better on.
- Once back on the bike and nearer to the summit, I found a deep payback pleasure kick in as, for the first time, I got to spin my new lowest gear, and was so glad I’d fitted it (more here on the bike). Riding much more of the ridge, I felt in a decent way to take on the descent. It’s a complicated descent with so many ons and offs, so many changes in speed, so much to get right and wrong. The bunch of riders you are around is not necessarily a set of riders at your riding skill level and you can quickly come to grief overestimating the ability of the rider in front of you. That’s exactly what happened this time around as my only real ‘close one’ came with the rider in front slamming on his brakes for what turned out to be a small storm drain, but I rammed straight into the back of him. We were both fine, but a reminder that even if you’re comfortable, you need to keep your wits about you.
- Paul Dixon caught me as we reached the stile at Blea Moor. I was a bit shocked by this. I know I’m not the fastest descender these days, but I have never been caught and passed on a descent, to my knowledge, that glaringly. It turned out that his 19:35 was very fast on the day for that descent – a full 80 seconds faster than me. I was suitably impressed, and we’d go on to ride a bit more together later.
- The cathedral of noise that is Ribblehead was just delightful this year. So many people, cheering your name. Cheering everyone’s name. Cheering. It’s a welcome back to the inhabited world after the solitude of deep concentration on the descent, and it genuinely warms you. Psychologically, glimpsing Katie and Elsie here was so good for me. It suddenly felt like (and indeed was) well over half way now. No mechanical assistance needed, and a quick grab of my second dining experience for the day from Katie meant I could start to enjoy my custom cocktail for the road section to Horton in Ribblesdale. The blend of Caffeine, salt and sugar felt just perfect on the palete (flat Coke, two dessert spoons of sugar and an electrolyte tab all in a 500ml bottle). Sounds horrific, tasted bloody ace. I’ll sleep well eventually.
- The headwind on the next section was a bit worse than forecast, and could have been grim, save for the company of Messers Dixon, Macina and Richmond. Like a bunch of shitty commandos, we wobbled our knackered way along the wall line and cracked little comments. Proper camoraderie. On the short rise at Selside I faltered, and had to let the wheels go, with my ‘Penyghent is coming up‘ fear of cramp, but Paul spotted this and slowed up, somewhat heroically and a very welcome gesture. We rolled into Horton in Ribblesdale as a bunch and in our own cloud of veteran netralised anticipation of what was to come.
- For the climb of Penyghent, again, my gear choice was an absolute life saver for the old legs. I bobbled on or around the lovely bottom gear a number of times up Horton Scar Lane and seemed to ride much more of the out-and-back steep stretch to the finger post than I can ever recall doing. Okay, it was riding at walking pace, but the psychological effect here is huge. Every step after that seemed like a will I / won’t I dice with cramp. I didn’t though, somehow, and my reaching the summit in what turned out to be 56th spot was a lovely final chance to see how many people I could pick off on the descent.
- It never ceases to amaze me when you look back from the finish at Helwith Bridge to the summit of Penyghent and think that it takes you just 20 short minutes to get from there to here. On a bike with 35mm tyres and no suspension. Racing is a truly wonderful thing. I tore down there and according to Strava, recorded my fastest ever time on Horton Scar Lane (I have 13 editions of the race on Strava). It’s a fine balance of braking where only needing and steering to pick the best lines only at the last minute. Body weight and shifting about on the bike is crazy, and, so long as it all goes well, incredibly rewarding.
- The final road section to the finish at Helwith Bridge was almost without worry. I just had to get aero (that bloody headwind again) and bring it home, being in no man’s land between competitors. Or at least I thought I did. I was rapidly being caught in the last 700 or so metres, having taken my foot off the gas a bit too much, and Rob Watson had almost closed to me. Entering the final 200 metres I had to put a spurt on, to get me to the finish just ahead.
So there it is – in 48th postion (361 starters, 341 finishers), 5th (from 100) in my age cat. We also managed to get 2nd place in both the open Team prize and the Veteran Team prize. A nice trip to the podium after quite a few years!
THANK YOU’S
Almost 200 people out there on the hills, and back in Helwith Bridge making this possible. Organisers, marshals, timing team, mountain rescue teams. It’s a huge undertaking and was superbly organised once more – well done Dean and team.
My personal crew of Alan and Katie were unofficially the best crew of the day, and I feel even luckier that all they needed to do was feed the calorie greed. Elsie, you were great moral support, and the wider Haygarth family were so welcoming in the evening, and a lovely stew was enjoyed back at Phil and Anne’s. Well done Phil on completing the race your ankle never thought it would do again – your enthusiasm and stealthy stoicism are a great attribute. Well done Angus on your third completion – so cool.
