That was hard.
Super Randonneur series 2020 completed.
Back in October 2019 at the start of the 19/20 Audax season I’d already had big plans for 2020 including my first 1000km event.
Of course Covid-19 changed everything and the suspension of the season back in March had me focusing on much shorter local riding.
The idea of even completing a Super Randonneur series again seemed increasingly unfeasible.
I’d already ridden several 200km routes before the lockdown, but hadn’t got the 300, 400 and 600km distances I had planned for spring and early summer.
With the resumption of permanent and DIY events at the beginning of August 2020, I was able to focus on building back up some longer rides with a few 200s and a 300km.
I was feeling motivated and in pretty good shape.
The Llanfair 400 was a bit of an off the cuff decision based on a great day of weather. It wasn’t easy but it did bring back some lost confidence in my mental capacity to endure long hours pedalling in the cold and dark. My saddle nearly cut me in half too but I recovered remarkably quickly.
Of course with a 200, 300 and 400 under my belt there was only one distance remaining for a Super Randonneur series…
Fate plays it’s hand sometimes and I was able to take advantage. This time it was a lift up to Fort William with my friend and colleague Yogi. Meeting up for lunch in Moffat with one of his friends from Peebles on the journey north was also a bit of a lucky break but more about that later.
Having been joined by Dave in his bright red T4, we arrived in Glencoe on Wednesday evening. After a good meal in The Clachaig Inn I settled in for the night in the ‘guest bedroom’ in Yogi’s massive van. He slept soundly based on the snoring in the back section while I endured a rapidly deflating air bed on the other side of the bulkhead. I did get some sleep and stayed nice and warm in my sleeping bag and thermal long johns despite the sub zero temperature outside. Not very comfortable though with a faulty mattress.
We were up at 6:30am to start some major faffing and to drive up to Fort William for breakfast.
It was a clear and bright day. Yogi and Dave prepared to climb Ben Nevis while I layered up for what was going to be a long cold ride back south.
I set off just before 10am and made good progress along the A82 coast road back towards Glencoe.
It was a beautiful morning and I quickly warmed up and shed a layer to tackle the long climb up Glencoe and over Rannoch Moor.
I’d ridden this road once before back in 2005. My memory had naturally edited it down to a series of snapshots so it felt much longer this time around. But so very beautiful. Clear, bright but with a cool and noticeable ESE wind. In other words I was mostly riding into a headwind.
Stopping off for some food at the Green Welly Stop in Tyndrum I felt good and was making progress.
The next section was mostly east over to Callander. It rained heavily and then my route took me on the western shore of Loch Lubnaig. If it was dry and I was on my mountain bike it would have been an awesome excursion. It was too late to turn around before I realised that I should have stayed on the main road running parallel on the eastern shore.
I was losing time on the forest single-track and my bike was getting filthy so I emerged from the forest trail and stopped for a motivational coffee at the first opportunity.
I pressed on through intermittent rain showers leaving the Highlands behind me and threading a flatter path between Glasgow and Edinburgh. I passed through Stirling and paused briefly to admire the Falkirk Wheel, before a cruel series of fairly steep climbs and descents.
By this point I was very hungry. The headwind and climbs had drained me and my race against the clock was uncovering a fundamental error. I wasn’t eating enough.
I found a Chinese takeaway in a village which probably had a name but I was only interested in fried rice.
I was so hungry that I could only manage a few mouthfuls without feeling sick. So I carried that foil tray of claggy crap in my mussette for the rest of the night, stopping periodically for a few more mouthfuls over the next few hours.
Along with energy gels it was just enough to keep me going as the night got darker and colder reaching zero degrees at times.
My aim was to reach Peebles before 10pm so I could get a bit of rest. I’d passed on an overnight box containing a sleeping bag, thermarest and some spare clothes to Yogi’s friend Doctor Fiona when we met up in Moffat for lunch on Wednesday. She had very generously agreed to let me sleep in her garage in Peebles at some point on Thursday evening. I just had to get there.
It was nearly midnight when Peebles lit up in front of my weary eyes, and after a bit of Google map searching I found my overnight accommodation.
I don’t normally sleep in the garages of relative strangers but this was more than welcome.
There was just enough floor space to inflate my 3/4 length thermarest and roll out my sleeping bag. I enjoyed the luxury of a flask of boiling water and two bananas left for me by my host as I changed into dry base layers, finished off my fried rice and settled in for a couple of hours of sleep.
I woke up ten minutes before my 3am alarm and got ready to go as quickly as possible. I made the wise decision to take the thermal jacket from my overnight supply with me.
Leaving Peebles shortly before 4am I had the aim of reaching Moffat by 6am. It was mostly uphill for 50km over the Devil’s Beeftub. Moffat celebrates it’s status as a dark sky town and despite a light shower it was mostly clear as dawn started to break. I wish that I had time to stop and stargaze for a while but I had to make do with a few glances up at the constellations.
The descent down to Moffat was fantastic if a bit cold and I passed through at first light and set my mind for my next target.
The road flattened off and dragged alongside the M74 until I eventually got to Annandale services for an overdue breakfast. It was a plentiful meal and I stocked up on water before resuming my journey south fully layered up in my thermal jacket to try and warm up.
My body gradually digested it’s fuel and went through a morning reboot to start to functioning properly again. Aided by a tailwind I soon warmed up and sped up across the border at Gretna Green.
With a 40 hour time limit to complete the full 600km I was painfully aware that I’d fallen behind schedule.
A strengthening tailwind and aero bars helped me gain back some time lost during the first half of the ride and I made good time through Carlisle and onwards on quiet roads to the traffic jam of Penrith town centre.
A quick stop for more food and I prepared myself for the last major climb over Shap fell. This one was familiar from the Blackpool-Glasgow-Blackpool 600 last summer only this time I didn’t have to tackle it in the midst of a thunder storm.
I was wind assisted and nearly hit 50mph on the drop into Kendal.
By now I was getting back on schedule but still had a long way to go. I really enjoyed the rural lanes south of Kendal and picked up the familiar A6 route through Carnforth into Lancaster.
The Covid-19 bike lanes in the city centre were a welcome addition and helped me navigate the rush hour traffic through to Conder Green and then on to Garstang for another much more palatable portion of fried rice at tea time.
I was now all set for the dusk raid on Preston. Another dubious route choice had me searching after nightfall for a better alternative to a busy dual carriageway. Then it started to rain, light rain at first and then persistent heavy stuff. At least my bike got a wash.
The rain abated through Eccleston, Wigan and Culcheth and had stopped by the time I reached the Warburton toll bridge around 10pm.
To be honest, time seemed irrelevant by then and I was getting very sleepy.
The climb up to Warburton was unexpectedly tough and I was happy to roll on to reach Knutsford.
I was very much on the home stretch but struggling with fatigue and really crawling along for the last 35km.
My planned route took me through Siddington to ensure it was fully compliant with the 600km minimum distance requirements.
There are easier ways back to Macclesfield than the climb up from Redesmere. I even considered getting off and pushing up the tiny climb of Pepper Street in Henbury but resisted and persisted.
The now slightly wobbly roll into Macclesfield required full concentration and eventually reaching my front door was a mixture of emotion, elation and sheer relief.
It was half past midnight and I’d made it in about 38.5 hours.
