HT550 2017 - Flying too close to the sun.
Posted: Fri Jun 02, 2017 9:06 pm
Flying too close to the sun.
It's easy to shout about the times when things go well. When success radiates through you and pride spills out into needing to tell everyone all about it.
But life's not like that. Actually I'd say that if you succeed every time then your aiming too low.
This year I went to race. I never thought I should win. There was too many quality riders for that to happen. But I had a plan of sorts that, if it worked, would see me finish in a quick time. What other people did is always up to them.
It started ok. A measured first day reaching the hydro bothy at 12:30. Only 35 minutes stopped time in the days riding.
But it was a very hot, humid day and a very rainy evening and night that came with a headwind. I struggled mentally with the heat. A sort of sweat running into your eyes temperature that gave way to stormy downpours later on. I thought about scratching a lot through the day. Just before dark an innocuous crash sees my left groin hit the stem, damp skin tears, and maybe a chisel has been hammered in there. Feels like it. Onwards along the trail.
It was a tough days ride. Only Javi was at the bothy, then huw, then...Overnight people kept arriving.
Up and rolling for 4:15 I counted 7 people in there!
Onwards and northwards into the lighter rain and headwind. Stoping for a late breakfast at the OBH. Under new management, not quite so understanding of our needs as Shaun and his team but a welcome relief all the same. Porridge and a cooked breakfast with egg mayo sandwiches to go. In the toilet I have a proper look at the wound. Ragged red edges to a skin tear on the corner of my left groin. I apply some kinesiology tape as it's the best low-friction option I have. The headwind continues up Glen cassley. Over the top and up the single track main road. Still a head wind all the way to the Glen holly turning. It had been in my face for for 130km.
Felt terrible going over to belach horn this time, where last year this had been nearly effortless. Kept thinking about scratching here, but a 200km road ride back to tyndrum doesn't appeal. The view of the west costar on the evening sun boasts me more than I can explain and riding the Lochinver singletrack as the sunsets is incredible.
Past suileag bothy after 11:30pm and it's too early to stop. The ledmore traverse is surely not much slower in the dark? A brief bivy just after ledmore junction sees me set an alarm for an hours sleep but wake up after 45 minutes. I figured from spilt times that ledmore junction is just over halfway time-wise and its 1 day: 19 hours on the clock.
So awake and back on the road. Onwards to Ullapool. And then fisherfield. In the light this time. Walking means my feet hurt, riding means my groin hurts.
Philip catches me just after the river crossing. Gets ahead but later we ride the postie path together. He knows ALL the lines. Together until the rocky rooty final section where I ride away. Through kinlochewe I decide to not stop for food at the pub. Onwards, and down that incredible torridon descent right at the end of the day; rain, mist and cold this time. Rock still grippy but I walk much more than last time.
Tired now and heavy rain. Looking for places to stop I press on, hallucinating shapes in the mist that appear then vanish in my peripheral vision. Animals, a big shed, a huge jcb. Dornie is the best option. Arriving there at the open toilets I'm in a bad way. Trench foot, roughed up on both sides of both heels and 'that' injury. I've also got a peddle related hole on my inside right ankle, less than a day old but oozing puss already. Alarm is set, sleep comes easy.
I wake up and feel like I'm done. It's too much. Feet are agony, groin too. I think through my reasons for scratching, seems legit to me. I pushed hard, carrying intolerably painful injures in bad weather, went way quicker than last year. No shame there. Wonder how long I should stay here before they'll be a B+B open I can check into.
I grab my phone to text family and Greg the news. In the end I'm saved. But only saved because there's no signal. Ok think. A deep breath. Another.
Setting some small goals. Wash the grit out my socks and shoes in the sink. Charlie's bum butter smeared over my feet then maybe I could tolerate wearing socks? warm damp socks go on. Then maybe? Bibs? I wonder? Shoes too. Pack up. Can I mount the bike? Ride out the hundred feet from the carpark to the road.
Maybe I can ride to the top of the view point. Let's see. It's grim but I can just about do it. Then it's 'let's see if we can stay awake on the descent'. Followed by can I ride to glenlicht lodge. I'll make myself eat a pork pie at camban bothy. Then another at tommich. The climb up the pylon road. Breaking everything down into tiny steps. Can I just? Just to the next bend? The next tree? Stream crossing? Path junction? A single pedal stroke? All of these were tough targets today. Looking for somewhere to take a 5 minute sleep. I am deliberately picky. But after Glen morriston I find it, in the sun, a grassy spot and take five.
Up on the pylon road I realised the wind has switched. Heading south now and the headwind is back. Stronger than ever.
By Fort Augustus I can't decide if I'm still racing or what else. It doesn't seem real. The real HT550 was last year, I remember because there's the book we made that tells the story. It was glorious, floating round the route in the sun at one with nature and the world. The bad decision making started earlier but is compounded here. At the shop I guzzled a chocolate milk and take two snickers for later and ride on. The headwind on the great Glen is horrible. Strong enough that it's blowing white caps along the canal. I felt slow all day but now am nearly going backwards. Everything hurts.
I spy the place I had the one hour sleep last year. Later the bridge where I met Lee for the first time, now feeling about as sorry for myself as a human can I would give anything for that sense of camaraderie that distracted us both so well that year.
But this time my reality is hurt. Feet yes, but groin is like I have a razor blade tucked into my bibs. Been like that all today and yesterday. 36 hours worth of torture, someone call amnesty international - this is inhumane. I check. There is no razor blade, and no stones in my shoes. It's 'just' tissue damage. Agony all the same.
I should probably get it properly dressed and sorted at A+E but I know what they'll say. In any case I'm done.
In Fort William at 6pm I get dressings, tape, antiseptic cream. And a razor. Pie and chips too. It feels better and the long break revitalises me. In my head I'm not racing anymore but figure I could still ride to the finish and bag a HT-lite sub 4 day ride of sorts. I decide to stash most of my kit to lighten my load. Hmm... It made sense at the time.
Bizarrely I cruise the WHW section to kinlochleven. But by the summit of Devils staircase I'm no longer revitalised. The last three days have well and truly caught up. I have just enough clothes but it's cold and dark now. I don't have the focus to ride a lot of things I usually would so am travelling slowly. Safely down at the road by midnight I contemplate the 40 km road ride. It's tough plenty of 2% climb with that headwind. I've eaten most of my food now. And managed to drop some back there somewhere.
I ride on. At an unbelievably and intolerably slow pace. Stop a lot to check my frame frame bag for food. One time there's some fudge. Nibbling at that I press on. Crazy hallucinations. So many roadside attractions over rannoch moor. All of them dissolving as I turn my head to look. This main road is quiet this late. I hear traffic coming a mile away. I do mean a mile. An actual mile. I'm so tired that pulling off the road for each truck coming from behind is the only thing to do, I don't trust myself to ride in a straight line, although actually they all give me lots of room. At some stage I'm too tired to go on. I was already wearing my quilt over my head as a backwards facing poncho against the cold and headwind.
There's a wide verge there. I lean my bike on the fence and lay down in the grass. 90 minutes later I'm jolted awake by the cold. Ok. Need to move.
The 2% climb and headwind continue. But eventually I'm through bridge of orchy and I know it's not so far.
Never been so glad to see tyndrum.
Five minutes after getting back Philip appears at the camper. He's wearing a space helmet, or maybe a tin foil hat. But he's real. He congratulates me. Not knowing that I'd scratched back there, he'd been chasing me down all day and all night.
I'd set out to race this time. For me that meant pushing right up to my limit. I didn't know where that was. I was keen find out. I think I did.
I fought the urge to quit for most of the race. Acquired and managed an intolerably painful injury for nearly two whole days of riding.
In the whole race I slept 5 hours. Kept my stops short too. Haven't looked at the files yet but I know on day one I only had 35 minutes stopped time.
Since the finish people seemed think it was a shame. Sympathised. Are you OK? Thanks but yes! I'm fine with the result. I quit. But that's ok. I could have had a good recovery in fort William then ridden to the finish later. Still recorded a fairly good time. But that's not what I went for. Compared to last year - a ride I was not sure I could finish - this year I rode three staggeringly long days. In distance and duration. (Very nearly) Coped with very little sleep. Found out what I need to do to look after myself when things get ragged. Learnt how to manage the idiot I become when sleep deprived; which thoughts to listen to and which to ignore.
Ultimately I flew just a little too close to the sun and got burned. But that's ok. If plans work out every time then you're setting your sights too low.
It's easy to shout about the times when things go well. When success radiates through you and pride spills out into needing to tell everyone all about it.
But life's not like that. Actually I'd say that if you succeed every time then your aiming too low.
This year I went to race. I never thought I should win. There was too many quality riders for that to happen. But I had a plan of sorts that, if it worked, would see me finish in a quick time. What other people did is always up to them.
It started ok. A measured first day reaching the hydro bothy at 12:30. Only 35 minutes stopped time in the days riding.
But it was a very hot, humid day and a very rainy evening and night that came with a headwind. I struggled mentally with the heat. A sort of sweat running into your eyes temperature that gave way to stormy downpours later on. I thought about scratching a lot through the day. Just before dark an innocuous crash sees my left groin hit the stem, damp skin tears, and maybe a chisel has been hammered in there. Feels like it. Onwards along the trail.
It was a tough days ride. Only Javi was at the bothy, then huw, then...Overnight people kept arriving.
Up and rolling for 4:15 I counted 7 people in there!
Onwards and northwards into the lighter rain and headwind. Stoping for a late breakfast at the OBH. Under new management, not quite so understanding of our needs as Shaun and his team but a welcome relief all the same. Porridge and a cooked breakfast with egg mayo sandwiches to go. In the toilet I have a proper look at the wound. Ragged red edges to a skin tear on the corner of my left groin. I apply some kinesiology tape as it's the best low-friction option I have. The headwind continues up Glen cassley. Over the top and up the single track main road. Still a head wind all the way to the Glen holly turning. It had been in my face for for 130km.
Felt terrible going over to belach horn this time, where last year this had been nearly effortless. Kept thinking about scratching here, but a 200km road ride back to tyndrum doesn't appeal. The view of the west costar on the evening sun boasts me more than I can explain and riding the Lochinver singletrack as the sunsets is incredible.
Past suileag bothy after 11:30pm and it's too early to stop. The ledmore traverse is surely not much slower in the dark? A brief bivy just after ledmore junction sees me set an alarm for an hours sleep but wake up after 45 minutes. I figured from spilt times that ledmore junction is just over halfway time-wise and its 1 day: 19 hours on the clock.
So awake and back on the road. Onwards to Ullapool. And then fisherfield. In the light this time. Walking means my feet hurt, riding means my groin hurts.
Philip catches me just after the river crossing. Gets ahead but later we ride the postie path together. He knows ALL the lines. Together until the rocky rooty final section where I ride away. Through kinlochewe I decide to not stop for food at the pub. Onwards, and down that incredible torridon descent right at the end of the day; rain, mist and cold this time. Rock still grippy but I walk much more than last time.
Tired now and heavy rain. Looking for places to stop I press on, hallucinating shapes in the mist that appear then vanish in my peripheral vision. Animals, a big shed, a huge jcb. Dornie is the best option. Arriving there at the open toilets I'm in a bad way. Trench foot, roughed up on both sides of both heels and 'that' injury. I've also got a peddle related hole on my inside right ankle, less than a day old but oozing puss already. Alarm is set, sleep comes easy.
I wake up and feel like I'm done. It's too much. Feet are agony, groin too. I think through my reasons for scratching, seems legit to me. I pushed hard, carrying intolerably painful injures in bad weather, went way quicker than last year. No shame there. Wonder how long I should stay here before they'll be a B+B open I can check into.
I grab my phone to text family and Greg the news. In the end I'm saved. But only saved because there's no signal. Ok think. A deep breath. Another.
Setting some small goals. Wash the grit out my socks and shoes in the sink. Charlie's bum butter smeared over my feet then maybe I could tolerate wearing socks? warm damp socks go on. Then maybe? Bibs? I wonder? Shoes too. Pack up. Can I mount the bike? Ride out the hundred feet from the carpark to the road.
Maybe I can ride to the top of the view point. Let's see. It's grim but I can just about do it. Then it's 'let's see if we can stay awake on the descent'. Followed by can I ride to glenlicht lodge. I'll make myself eat a pork pie at camban bothy. Then another at tommich. The climb up the pylon road. Breaking everything down into tiny steps. Can I just? Just to the next bend? The next tree? Stream crossing? Path junction? A single pedal stroke? All of these were tough targets today. Looking for somewhere to take a 5 minute sleep. I am deliberately picky. But after Glen morriston I find it, in the sun, a grassy spot and take five.
Up on the pylon road I realised the wind has switched. Heading south now and the headwind is back. Stronger than ever.
By Fort Augustus I can't decide if I'm still racing or what else. It doesn't seem real. The real HT550 was last year, I remember because there's the book we made that tells the story. It was glorious, floating round the route in the sun at one with nature and the world. The bad decision making started earlier but is compounded here. At the shop I guzzled a chocolate milk and take two snickers for later and ride on. The headwind on the great Glen is horrible. Strong enough that it's blowing white caps along the canal. I felt slow all day but now am nearly going backwards. Everything hurts.
I spy the place I had the one hour sleep last year. Later the bridge where I met Lee for the first time, now feeling about as sorry for myself as a human can I would give anything for that sense of camaraderie that distracted us both so well that year.
But this time my reality is hurt. Feet yes, but groin is like I have a razor blade tucked into my bibs. Been like that all today and yesterday. 36 hours worth of torture, someone call amnesty international - this is inhumane. I check. There is no razor blade, and no stones in my shoes. It's 'just' tissue damage. Agony all the same.
I should probably get it properly dressed and sorted at A+E but I know what they'll say. In any case I'm done.
In Fort William at 6pm I get dressings, tape, antiseptic cream. And a razor. Pie and chips too. It feels better and the long break revitalises me. In my head I'm not racing anymore but figure I could still ride to the finish and bag a HT-lite sub 4 day ride of sorts. I decide to stash most of my kit to lighten my load. Hmm... It made sense at the time.
Bizarrely I cruise the WHW section to kinlochleven. But by the summit of Devils staircase I'm no longer revitalised. The last three days have well and truly caught up. I have just enough clothes but it's cold and dark now. I don't have the focus to ride a lot of things I usually would so am travelling slowly. Safely down at the road by midnight I contemplate the 40 km road ride. It's tough plenty of 2% climb with that headwind. I've eaten most of my food now. And managed to drop some back there somewhere.
I ride on. At an unbelievably and intolerably slow pace. Stop a lot to check my frame frame bag for food. One time there's some fudge. Nibbling at that I press on. Crazy hallucinations. So many roadside attractions over rannoch moor. All of them dissolving as I turn my head to look. This main road is quiet this late. I hear traffic coming a mile away. I do mean a mile. An actual mile. I'm so tired that pulling off the road for each truck coming from behind is the only thing to do, I don't trust myself to ride in a straight line, although actually they all give me lots of room. At some stage I'm too tired to go on. I was already wearing my quilt over my head as a backwards facing poncho against the cold and headwind.
There's a wide verge there. I lean my bike on the fence and lay down in the grass. 90 minutes later I'm jolted awake by the cold. Ok. Need to move.
The 2% climb and headwind continue. But eventually I'm through bridge of orchy and I know it's not so far.
Never been so glad to see tyndrum.
Five minutes after getting back Philip appears at the camper. He's wearing a space helmet, or maybe a tin foil hat. But he's real. He congratulates me. Not knowing that I'd scratched back there, he'd been chasing me down all day and all night.
I'd set out to race this time. For me that meant pushing right up to my limit. I didn't know where that was. I was keen find out. I think I did.
I fought the urge to quit for most of the race. Acquired and managed an intolerably painful injury for nearly two whole days of riding.
In the whole race I slept 5 hours. Kept my stops short too. Haven't looked at the files yet but I know on day one I only had 35 minutes stopped time.
Since the finish people seemed think it was a shame. Sympathised. Are you OK? Thanks but yes! I'm fine with the result. I quit. But that's ok. I could have had a good recovery in fort William then ridden to the finish later. Still recorded a fairly good time. But that's not what I went for. Compared to last year - a ride I was not sure I could finish - this year I rode three staggeringly long days. In distance and duration. (Very nearly) Coped with very little sleep. Found out what I need to do to look after myself when things get ragged. Learnt how to manage the idiot I become when sleep deprived; which thoughts to listen to and which to ignore.
Ultimately I flew just a little too close to the sun and got burned. But that's ok. If plans work out every time then you're setting your sights too low.
