All Points North 21

All Points North 21, 1000km exactly in 61 hours and 51 minutes, 11th finisher. A long writeup of a long ride to attempt to piece back together the fragments. One of the most enjoyable and challenging rides I’ve done. The impact of community, camaraderie and generosity on the spirit of this ride was huge, such a lovely bunch of people out on the roads, crisscrossing through the night, and keeping a watchful eye at the HQ. Night riding became fun again. Hallucinations a plenty, ‘sleeping’ rough, a four-year-old’s dream diet, next time I’m taking a mat. 

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Saturday, 19:00 Nerves creeping up as the start time approaches. Attempted to compensate for failed attempts at napping through the afternoon by consuming all the food the absolutely lovely team presented us with. 20:00 Attempting to ignore the guts rumbling ominously, departure, nerves rapidly swapped for excitement, buoyed by the cheers of the Heeley neighbourhood as we set off into the night. 20:26 reset the Garmin for the fourth time, almost out of Sheffield, this doesn’t bode well. How many routes north out of Sheffield are there? I bet between us we tried them all. 22:13 Garmin’s nerves have settled and we’re rolling through the backwaters of Yorkshire. 22:23 Vincent appears out of the void and we ride together, apart, together, apart through the night until the guts assert themselves and I peel off into Maccies for relief; never have I been happier to see this catastrophic 24hr meat dispensary. I find Vincent again, after 25 mins he tells me he’s “going to ride fast now” and that’s the last I see of him for a while.

01:36 Checkpoint one, Leeds Pals Monument, Vincent comes out, I go in. A swarm of riders, all bright lights, hi-vis and no faces, cheering each other on, this was becoming a lot of fun.

04:01, Kettlewell strewn with bivvys and the sound of freewheels, a 24hr WC, grinning comrades, absolute heaven. 04:53, I think, time is getting a bit stretchy and loose, checkpoint two, Malham Tarn, a red light moving up the hill ahead, Vincent again, who else, his guts are showing him who’s boss and he stops for a nap, sweet dreams Vincent. On into the Dales, I’m really enjoying this now, rolling in the void punctuated by flashing red lights, welcoming the focus that each climb brings. Early morning gore-fest slowly becoming visible, rabbits, hedgehogs, squirrels, the night’s losers emptied out, so it goes.

05:45 The reset that day braking brings, suddenly fresh again out to checkpoint three: Dent, 07:12 thankfully the ‘easy’ side up to the station as there are corners to hug. When your thinking is constructed around checkpoints it can lead to foolish assumptions, such as thinking “I’m done with the Dales now” as I descended from Dent; the Dales were not yet done with me and there were still many challenging climbs to get out of that torturous paradise but also the dreamy Barbondale as a parting gift. Early morning isolation, everyone’s strung out along their paths, didn’t see a soul until Silverdale (checkpoint four) where I faffed on the beach. Joe and others arrive and form a curb-side breakfast club. I think I can make Keswick for lunch. 

11:08 I realise now that the lakes are not for riding. Busier, more hectic and dangerous than inner city rush hour, focus on the mountains, put the humans and their machines to one side for now. Suddenly the hills are hard and Honister (checkpoint five) looms large in every sense. Refuel: 2x curb-side pastys, apples and cola, the hardest of the out-and-back checkpoints awaits. I’m in a dip, the self-loathing creeps in for the first time and sugar doesn’t seem to be fixing it. Shit. 13:50 Finally at the foot of Honister and a cluster of comrades pushing, walking, grinding, staring into the voids each caries within them, but their presence it hugely reviving, the cheers begin again. Up Honister, about turn, holy shit that view, a view which fills the void that had slowly opened up inside me over the past couple of hours.

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14:44 I’m grateful to be leaving the lakes behind me as I pootle along the cycle track, over rivers and through the trees, out to Penrith, grateful for once to be among dog walkers, kids and the relaxed pace and recuperation this enforces.

16:34 I need to sleep, I’m paying the price for riding through the night, but first a feast in Morrison’s car park: fruit, ice-cream, samosas and a packed musette for the night to come. I think I’ll head out of town and find a nice quiet place to nap, but leaving Penrith the food revives me so I press on to checkpoint six: Grassholme. 18:36 The joy of a “closed road” to climb up onto the moors, car free golden hours. At the top a flashing light, this puts more of a spring in your step than any gel. I lose the comrade ahead as I descend to the reservoir, only to realise I’ve taken the wrong road, bollocks, back up, down the right way into the midges to be eaten alive. Speedy about turn and back up onto the moors to catch up with John. Joyous company, we head out to the Pennines and the graceful winding climbs and descents of Weardale that await. Revived by a natter I feel energy return but it’s 21:00 and dark in Stanhope and I should sleep, probably not in this playground but it’ll do and THERE IS AN OPEN TOILET, luxury.

01:24 I’ve decided to call this ‘morning’ and a new day of riding begins; time is now just a loose, sinewy, worn out concept to be draped over the landscape as you see fit. Liquorice allsorts and apples for breakfast followed by Crawleyside Bank. The rain starts just as I’m packing the bivvy away, good timing. Up into the moors, the darkness and the rain which thankfully seems to be keeping he sheep at bay on the many descents through Weardale and up into Northumberland. 02:30 The rain gradually gets worse but there’s a bus stop in Hexham that looks inviting so, ignoring the slugs, I indulge in an extra 30 minutes sleep, text mum, and wait for the worst to pass.

03:05 Back on the road, still tired, shouting, singing, talking to myself, trying to drag daybreak out of the darkness and the focus it’ll bring. Signs for Otterburn at last and the Coquetdale checkpoint feels real. 06:15 Absolute carnage at Coquetdale (checkpoint seven), about 15 comrades strewn across the range, everyone looks ruined and the rain has liquified the copious sheep crap so we’re all covered in it, but the cheers begin again and the special energy they bring is so very welcome. Back up the hill from the checkpoint, quick mumbles with Emily about the sadistic nature of some of these checkpoints and then I’m finally heading south, it’s ‘all down hill from here’. 10:07 Mid-morning snack is the last of my food reserves: 2x avocados eaten with a titanium spork by the roadside, proper bougpacking. I take a detour through Newcastle, visit the old house, kick up a million beautiful memories with each turn of the pedals then head into the city for two breakfasts after a long stretch back down through Northumberland that left everything empty.

Getting out to checkpoint eight, Runswick Bay, wasn’t ever going to be picturesque, passing through Gateshead and Middlesbrough, but it was mercifully flat, warm and the light was gorgeous. Despite this, exhaustion was catching up and the self-loathing ramped up again. When this happens, eat lots and sleep. 14:51 I found a beautiful graveyard in Sedgefield, inhaled three samosas and slept among gnarled trees and the dead for 20 minutes. I awoke with the ability to push again and before I knew it found myself descending into Saltburn and the sunshine. 16:37 Chips on the beach and text from Greg saying I was in 10th place. I’d not thought about places, positions, racing, until this point, and this suddenly made things quite exciting, so the plan to get a good sleep that night went out of the window and I decided that I’d sleep when and where I needed to. With a burst of energy triggered by the sun, the brief social exchange and the carbs I rode on to Runswick Bay. A ‘hilarious’ descent down to the beach, noting the steps by the side of the road that I intended to use on the way back up. 18:04 Having made it to the checkpoint I turned around to leave and thought I’d see how far I could get up the hill. Half way up and a family start cheering me on, lovely as this is I now felt obliged to complete the climb, knees complaining but overriden by the ego. There’s an adrenaline boost that comes with a climb like that, which is inevitably short lived and usually extracts a high price afterwards but I felt good as I moved away from the coast and started to climb into the Moors and into a crushingly beautiful sunset.

21:44 Checkpoint nine: Rievaulx after many moors climbs through the woods and the darkness in the company of owls. A tiny and otherwise silent village but for the flashing of lights and whizzing of freewheels. I did feel for the residents as I rode up and down in the dark trying to find the telephone box in order to complete the checkpoint question. After a third back-and-forth up the hill and down to the abbey I actually paid attention to the Garmin and realised the coordinates provided by the organisers lead exactly to the phone box; cursing myself I completed the brevet card and said good bye to the Moors.

22:35 Helmsley, the guts are grumbling ominously and everything’s shut. My mind turns to the as yet unused shovel in my frame pack. A landlady’s locking up her pub, turns and peers directly into my soul: “leave your bike with me, you can pop in and use our bathroom”. I could have kissed her, but for the awkwardness that’d create and the stench at having spent close to 50 hours in the same lycra at this point. Heart felt thanks exchanged and back into the night heading south to the final checkpoint: Beverly.

The ad-hoc sleep I’d committed to earlier in the day was conducted in abandoned bus stops (only discovering the dead pigeon upon leaving) and roadside midge-fests. 01:33 I’d not experienced hallucinations on any rides until this point, but then the maths teacher turned up, just a presence, a firm sense that he was with me on the ride with his beard and yellow knitted sweater. I kept reminding myself that he wasn’t there, that he wasn’t real, but he kept coming back, his spectral presence was nonetheless comforting. It was when I started seeing remote control cars zipping across the road in front of me that I realised I needed a longer sleep. 03:07 Finally arriving in Beverley (checkpoint ten) I made my way into the church gardens, set an alarm and had a good nap on a bench. I called 04:30 morning, had a breakfast of bananas and iced buns, smiled lovingly at the foil blanket that had kept me warm on the bench and held Sheffield in my mind as I headed out of town for the finish.

A pancake ride through the hinterlands. A forecourt second breakfast in the half-light. Pro tip: the water comes out of the garage costa/starbucks machine first so skip this for an espresso if there isn’t a button on the machine, repeat as necessary. I finally find a misty sunrise in the fields around Doncaster. Bathed in the odd golden light around me my mind began to wander, the lack of notable landmarks and the already well eroded temporal perception lead me to think I’d been here before, to recall previous trips out here to these misty nondescript flatlands, despite having never passed this way before. I wondered if the maths teacher was going to show up again, but he was nowhere to be found. Two nods of the head and I lay on the first bench I spotted. Twenty minutes to bring clarity and focus back to the dissolving mind. On through rush hour Rotherham, a grimy route through the outskirts of Sheffield that nonetheless brought tears of joy and cackling laughter at the thought of having made it this close to the finish. 09:50 Finally up the hill to Heeley and the warmest of welcomes awaited: a street corner of riders, organisers and volunteers cheering, 09:51 I melted. Three breakfasts later, having basked in the warmth of the APN team’s care, I crossed the road and slept under a tree, no alarm was set, it finally didn’t matter how long I slept.