This is what I blog about when I blog about running

I have become the proud new owner of a pair of La Sportiva Crosslites, these are my first off road shoes. After a few years of running around on tarmac, I’ve taken the plunge so I can leg it around woods and up and down hills. Fell running shoes might not seem like an necessity if you live in Nottingham, but I did a good enough job of convincing myself that I needed a pair and life would be meaningless without them. Reading Born to Run by Christopher Macdonald and more recently Feet in the Clouds by Richard Askwith really whet my appetite for disappearing off the road and onto the trails. Furthermore, on a superficial level, trail running shoes do look a lot nicer than road running shoes.

With a few hours to spare on a Sunday morning I took my spangly new shoes for a 12 mile loop around Oxton, a pretty little village near Southwell 15 minutes drive from Nottingham. The area has a decent network of footpaths and bridleways amongst some old woodlands and open fields with a few climbs and descents to boot. There were many signs of Winter slinging its hook for another year, with snowdrops outweighing actual snow and a frost that had completely melted away by mid morning. I forgot my camera so here’s some duff shots I took on my phone.

When I read the book Born to Run by Chris Macdonald, it describes how endurance athletes will often experience visual hallucinations during ultra marathons, it turns out that this is a real Trig Point though, and I thought you only got them on the tops of big hills in national parks. The things you learn.

Okay so it wasn’t the Lakeland 100 but everyone’s got to start somewhere and whilst Nottingham might be a little way down the list when it comes to prospective National Parks, there’s an abundance of woodland and rural idyll to keep me busy whilst I train up for something a bit more ambitious.

Sleeping White Elephants

Day 1

The school run resulted in a slightly delayed start to the day but by 10:00am I was leaving an overcast Nottingham with crossed fingers that it would not be so grim up North as I headed over to Sedbergh for a three day backpack around the Howgill Fells. By 10:15am I’d eaten my lunch and was wondering what essential items had been left behind. This was a Tobyless trip so I was in charge of music (Pixies – NOFX – Sense Field and the new Cloud Nothings). I haven’t had a proper break from work for over 5 months so it felt great to be running off into the hills and reminding myself that there are big empty spaces waiting to be explored only a few hours drive away. After passing through my home town of Leeds, the wintry landscapes of the Yorkshire Dales soon came into view. Several patches of blue had appeared in the sky around Skipton with some snow capped hills creeping up on the horizon. Pen Y Ghent and the surrounding hills looked like they’d been white topped for a while. I got to Sedbergh by 1pm. When you spend most of your time in a city like Nottingham you forget that quiet ornate little villages such as Sedbergh exist, it looks a bit like where Postman Pat lives.

I ditched the car and said goodbye to civilisation for a few days. Taking the first footpath off Howgill Lane I passed through Lockbank farm where an old couple gave a cheery wave from their farmhouse porch. After a steady climb up Winder, a snow capped Arant Haw came into view setting the scene for the days to come.

The walk turned to a trudge, a blanket of thick crunchy snow covered the fells beyond the point of Arant Haw. It felt like a real treat to be out in such clear bright conditions. Several layers and a new down jacket I treated myself to (thanks me) kept the chill off and I was content to take it all in, knowing I had a full three days to come. I passed a few walkers who had come down off The Calf, one man said that it was so cold his nose had nearly dropped off. I’ve got quite a big nose so I felt quietly confident that I’d be okay. The ridge above Hobdale Scar offered some stunning views, though the downside of taking lots of photos was losing all feeling in my fingertips every time I stopped.

The original idea had been to head over The Calf and find a place to camp North of Cautley Spout in Bowderdale, but the late start and the slow pace caused by the snow meant a change in plan. After a knackering windswept climb up Calders it was getting on and the sun was low. I’m not the world’s greatest navigator and the prospect of disappearing light, icy winds and any change in visibility didn’t appeal. I opted for the path down off Bram Rigg Top and made a plan to set up camp in one of the valleys below. It was steep and slippy on the way down, and I’m sad to say that my wee green flask fell out my pack and tumbled gracefully down a snowy hillside. It’s on the south side of Calf Beck and it’s yours if you can be arsed to get it. A frozen twix helped me through the grieving process.

Calf Beck looked like a promising place to set up for the night, leaving the snow behind for the day I found a perfect flat patch of grass right next to the beck. Within 10 minutes I had a new place to call home for the night and warmed up with a few cups of tea and some biccies as the sun disappeared out of view. This spot seemed fairly inconspicuous to me, my tent is in the bottom left of the first photo (if you missed it) and the second was the view down the valley with Brown Moor and Castley Knotts fighting for centre stage.

One of the challenges of winter camping is filling the long hours between sunset and sunrise. To stop myself losing the plot I bought along a load of podcasts and the new George Pelecanos book (which is ace). A meagre portion of hotpot in a silver pouch was for tea and I stayed zipped up in my sleeping bag as much as possible to stave off the chilly January night.

Day 2

I was up by 08:00, the temperature had definitley dropped into the minuses in the night as my water was frozen and my tent was covered in frost. I’d stayed warm enough in the night and only woke up a few times. It was one of the beter nights sleep I’ve had outdoors and I woke feeling fresh with no major aches or pains and my nose was still attached. I tried one of those disposable coffee brewers this morning, you pour boiling water into a bag and leave it for 5 and you get half a litre of fresh ground coffee. Damn fine coffee, but quite a lot of faffy packaging to then cart round for a few days.

The OS map showed a hut marked further down Calf Beck which I wandered off to try and find thinking it might be a nice place to have a bit of brekkie in. The hut was nowhere to be seen so I wandered back to my tent to find a farmer on a quad feeding the sheep up on Bram Rigg. He was looking down at my tent and I wasn’t sure if I was in for a bit of a bollocking, I thought I’d try the friendly wave approach and hope for the best, he waved back. Friendly farmers, good stuff.

About half a kilo of porridge later I headed back up to Bram Rigg Top where fresh snow had fallen in the night. My tracks from the previous day were all but gone and there were some deep drifts too.

Low cloud made for poor visibility and provided a distinct grey change in atmosphere from the brightness of the previous day. The wind was relentlessly strong and icy. A hat, two hoods and two pairs of gloves kept it at bay. I got to the rounded summit of The Calf at about 11:00, it was looking very white.

As I fed my ‘five a day’ Twix habit a fell runner appeared from the mist having zipped up from Sedbergh, she stopped for a wee chat and disappeared again. Within a few minutes a nice couple and their frosty faced dog made their way to the Trig Point, we managed a conversation in spite of the howling wind, they were also from Sedbergh and showed me some photos of where we were stood in less wintry conditions. I think this is the most social I’ve been all year.

I wandered off in the direction of Hazelgill Knott, the snow had made the tracks pretty vague and I soon realised I’d gone off course towards Grains. Backtracking, I stopped for a spot of dinner, it was bitterly cold and my toes never stopped being numb on this day. Though looking out over Langdale and Bowderdale I couldn’t have been happier.

I took the track North from Hazelgill Knott towards West Fell, the temperature remained around freezing all afternoon. The views were incredible, particularly when the sun broke through around Bowderdale and Simons Seat.

I left West Fell and dropped down to Langdale Beck via Langdale Knott with a view of coming back round to Churngill Beck and setting up camp again. I couldn’t find a decent place to cross and ended up following the beck North all the way to an ancient looking arch bridge. I was still keeping my eyes peeled for Postman Pat, I’m sure he drives over this in the opening credits?

Wandering up Churngill Beck gave little promise of any half decent camping spots, the valley sides were steep and deep and any point where the terrain levelled out proved to be very marshy and/or tussocky. The further I ventured, the higher up I got and once again the sun was dipping out of sight for another day. I sized up a few so-so spots which would have done, but there’s nothing more frustrating than settling on an okay camping spot for the night and then finding something idyllic round the corner the next day. Perserverance paid off and I chanced upon a flattish spot under a pinkish Docker Knott. You can just pick out my tent in the dwindling light in the second shot.

A quick run up Hand Lake gave me enough phone reception to text the other half to let her know I was still alive. Four wild horses were also calling the valley their home for the night. Tonight was definitely much colder than the night before and the dregs of my tea had turned to ice in less than 2o minutes. I made sure I was bagged up in my tent and fully clothed by 6pm. Other than the varying levels of brittleness in my Twixes I didn’t have any way of knowing the exact temperature, Sedbergh was supposed to be -3 or -4 so I’d guess a bit lower than that. Either way, when your tea turns to ice you know it’s chilly.

Day 3

All things considered I slept well, I woke up feeling warm and well rested. My boots and laces were frozen solid and a thin layer of frost covered the outer of my tent. Either someone had told me or I’d heard that gas stoves are really inefficient in freezing weather, thinking ahead I kept my gas canisters in my sleeping bag all night and they fired up fine in the morning. It was another clear blue sky day, the sun coming over Middleton adding a little warmth to the morning. In the second shot you might be able to make out the lone white horse stood on the hill above my tent. This was the most Twin Peaks moment I had all weekend (except for the damn fine coffee).

After another massive bowl of porridge it was up onto Hand Lake, past the wild horses and up on to Docker Knott. Today was by far the coldest day, a really icy wind was adding to the chill and I can’t say I ever really got properly warm today. No fresh snow had fallen but it seemed that the drop in temperature had frozen the existing snow harder. Passing over Wind Scarth and onto Breaks Head nearly blew me over the edge, the trekking pole cam in handy for steadying myself. Regular breaks were taken behind snowy mounds to recover from the complete battering I was getting from the wind.

It was a slow return to The Calf, the few figures I had seen in the distance were gone by the time I arrived, I saw no more than four people on the hills today. The idea of a hot bath and some decent home cooked grub was suddenly sounding very enticing. Though I must say at the end of any backpacking trip those last few miles when you’re leaving the hills and returning to where you came from always leave me feeling a bit glum. A literal comedown? I console myself by saying I’ll keep coming back until I feel like I’ve had enough. For such a compact group of hills that are only a stones throw from the M6 the Howgills felt like a real wilderness in these conditions. It will be good to return in the Spring to see them in perhaps a more benign greener state with longer days to explore them

From Hobdale Scar I dropped onto Sickers Fell where the snow was much more sparse and the ice had more or less melted to slush. A narrow track round Soolbank ended at Settlebeck Gill where the waterfalls, the nibbled short green grass and hot sunshine made me almost forget the Winter wonderland I’d been in for the last three days. As I arrived at the hotel I’d booked I realised I was still wearing about a dozen layers and hadn’t had a change of clothes for over 72 hours. I started to run a hot bath.

One frozen Yorkshire Pudding

I’ll be heading up north in the morning for a three day backpack around the Howgill Fells right up in the Northwest corner of the Yorkshire Dales. The forecast for the nearest town of Sedbergh has changed at least a dozen times over the last few days. Last week snow and heavy rain were promised but now it’s looking bright and clear and frosty. Whatever the weather does, it’s guaranteed to be dark for about 15 hours through the night and the temperature should drop to about -5 up on the hills.  I’ll be packing my thermals!

The plan is to be walking for three full days with two nights spent under the stars, I’ve decided to treat myself to a B&B in Sedbergh for Wednesday night, I’ll be looking forward to stumbling off the hills into a cosy pub with home cooked food and a proper bed. Might get fish and chips as a starter.

I’ve had the joyous task of packing today, I’ll admit it’s not an art I’ve refined over the years and I have a great habit of screwing up that balance of bringing far too much or far too little. On this trip I’d rather it be the former.

Either way my spare room went from this…….

to this….

I decided not to bring the banjo and the taxidermy crow.  They’re more for those long hot summer nights, more on that later this year perhaps.

Wish me luck!

Up Mam Tor with Dad

A childcare mix up meant that I had no other option but to take the day off work to look after Toby last week. Thanks Toby! The timing couldn’t have been better, I’ve done virtually no hill walking for the last two months due to running out of annual leave and having various festive and non-festive bits and bobs to do at home. It’s not all been slovenly sofa dwelling though, I’ve been keeping myself chipper by getting back into running and heading out for 8 mile jaunts about twice a week around Nottingham and have been flung about in my white pyjamas as much as possible at aikido (got my 5th kyu in November!). As much as running and aikido stop me going completely mental in the chilly months and have been doing a good job of keeping me busy (and a bit bruised) I’ve been missing a good stomp on the hills, I guess the views of Nottingham at night don’t really stand up too well in the grand scheme of things. For example, here’s a shot of Woodthorpe Park I took on new years eve during one of my thrilling jogging adventures.

Running at night is great, it keeps you warm and well, but the views are rubbish.

The weather had been wild over the first week of 2012, there were reports of 90-100mph winds in parts of Scotland and it was pretty blowy everywhere else. The standard news footage of uprooted trees, swollen rivers and wheelie bins flying down suburban streets put a bit of doubt in my mind about whether it would wise to head up and out with young Tobias.

Deciding I could do without another housebound day of Wii and dvds I decided to take Tobes up Mam Tor, taking a gentle path up from Castleton and over the summit. We set off later than planned as the weather remained pretty dubious with regular heavy showers and strong winds. The forecast of sunshine and showers proved accurate with the skies shifting from bright blue to gloomy grey about every five minutes. Taking his place in the front seat Toby took on his now regular role as DJ Ford Focus (he chose Nick Drake; Pink Moon and The Pixies: Doolittle) and the resident photographer trying to catch the odd rainbow as we left Chesterfield. He managed to accurately capture the shifts in the weather as it went from this……..

to this….

We rewarded ourselves with a quick stop at the Outside shop in Hathersage where I tortured myself by looking at lots of shiny new gear I can’t justify buying (i was eyeing up fell running shoes and down jackets). Some pricey cheese toasties and a hot chocolate later and we set off for Castleton. The weather seemed to have settled, it was still blowing a gale but was now fairly bright and seemed set to stay that way.

We parked up at the end of the defunct A625 at the end of Castleton and wrapped up warm. A couple of cyclists were setting out at the same time, they looked absolutely freezing with the icy wind whipping their legs and seemed to be struggling to manage to move through even the paved sections of road. A gently inclined path took us round the back of Mam Farm, the muddy track made it necessary to get out that most serious piece of alpine winter kit, the spiderman wellies.

Patience is the name of the game when out with a young un, tiny legs only go so fast and the need for regular stops means that progress can be on the slow side.

Several mini picnics were consumed on the way up, bringing as much comfort food as possible works wonders with kids. The mysterious magic of the Lidl chocolate and hazelnut bars soon restored the spring in our steps. Someone recently told me that the concept of a ‘sugar rush’ was a myth and the effect of sugar on behaviour was pure placebo? Maybe I can enjoy guilt free dairy milk at breakfast from now.

We were quite well sheltered from the wind at this stage, though the clouds above looked like they were being speeded up with a time lapse effect and the accompanying howls gave an indication of what was up on the ridge. In the meantime we were treated with some golden light from up above.

Before long we reached the site of Hollins Cross giving views of the Vale of Edale, Kinder and the stones that sit on the edge of Bleaklow. Visibility was good but the wind made short work of sight-seeing, as soon as we were on the ridge we were hit with full force. Toby gave a quick and precarious pose on the monument and we stomped off towards the summit.

The only other people we saw on the hill that day were a group of seven or so men flying some massive radio controlled planes. It looked like they’d been standing up there for a good few hours and were prepared to remain for a few hours more, it didn’t look warm, or much fun. Then again being blasted in the face with icy wind and being deafened by the sound of your jacket being whipped by the wind probably doesn’t register as fun to most people.

On a calmer day this route would probably be very manageable with a young child, it’s not very long, there’s decent paths and the climbing is fairly easy going. Still not sure what the wind speed was up top but at a guess it may have topped 50mph as we got to the summit. For about 10 minutes there were such epic blasts from the North that I was struggling to stand up. We decided to push on by crouching and shuffling and holding hands very tight to the Trig Point. The lack of photo of this point hopefully demonstrates that it was too windy to stop and take a shot.

It was a relief to drop down a few feet and get away from the deafening gales, we could finally hear each other. We agreed that we had had enough wind for today and carried on with our wet blustery descent. The promise of more chocolate once we got to the car keeping both of our moods buoyant.

Our path home crossed with the visitor centre for Blue John Cavern, it bore a very close resemblance to the local shop from Royston Vasey and we stopped off for a look inside. I didn’t feel like parting with £13 to look around the cave today, but I happily went for a pair of Chupa Chups for 20p, he had orange, I went for strawberry.

It was now just a case of heading down the ghostly and now abandoned A625 road. There’s a post apocalyptic feel to this place, it almost looks like a disused set for a fim about an earthquake, parts of the road had just dropped off and crumbled down the hillside, elsewhere there giant deep cracks tearing through it. Toby was more apprehensive about navigating this creepy section of road than he was at any other point today. There’s a few pics of it here if you’re into looking at mashed up bits of road?

Within 5 minutes we were heading back home and planning our now routine stop off at Nottingham’s Captain Cod for fish and chips. Toby in charge of the music once more, we had a bit of Black Sabbath to nod to as we exchanged our ideas for our next epic adventure. It was great to get out, even just for a few hours in wild windy weather. At the end of January I’m plannig on spending a few days and nights in the Howgill Fells, whatever the weather does I’ll be looking forward to a few nights out and getting some decent miles under my feet.

Dark peak with a 5 and half year old

For a long time I’ve been umming and ahhing about taking Toby into the hills. Aside from a few small festivals when he was a baby and toddler and being strapped onto a back carrier for a few short hikes round exmoor, Toby hasn’t really had much of an introduction to the great outdoors. Topping the list headed “arguments against” is the fact that our 10 minute walk to school has on occasion broken down into an unprecendented display of stubborness and rebellion (not from me I might add). Do I really want to be dealing with stressful tantrums and strops in my fortress of solitude!!??  In spite of these fears, it was half term and I asked Toby if he fancied a ‘picnic up a mountain’ which he took me up on straight away. I felt an inbuilt resistance to take the kids to the usual, flat low level and ice cream van laden “family friendly” walks, heading off the beaten tracks held more appeal. It’s been a few years since I had headed up Kinder and a fine looking day forecast for the end of the week got me thinking that the combination of heather, peat, autumn leaves and blue skies might be just the ticket to show young Tobes the virtues of time spent outdoors trudging about.

We set out from Nottingham just before 10:00 with Toby in the front seat in charge of music and sausage roll distribution. After leaving Chesterfield we found an unexpected carpet of mist covering the Derbyshire Dales, the point of this escapade had been about stunning views to make the lad’s jaw drop, not a dim wall of chilly grey fog. A quick stop off was taken in Hathersage to treat the young man to a proper pair of comfy walking socks and a toasted teacake in the cafe (where said socks had water spilt on them). By the time we left, the mist was lifting and unveiling a perfect autumnal coloured dark peak. Within 20 minutes we had parked up at Edale paid for four hours parking and began heading up towards the head of the village.

we may be some time

The plan was to take the footpath towards Grindsbrook Clough and to veer off to climb up to The Nab and Ringing Roger. Depending on how Toby managed that first climb would dictate whether it was to be a swift return back the way we came or for us to continue along West to the edge of the plateau and descending one of the cloughs back to Edale. Apart from the occasional request to be carried, Toby trotted along with a spring in his step.

 One of the best things about walking with a young child is their fascination with details, wanting to stop to look at a spider, asking why and how running water makes a sound, picking up leaves and conkers and making me carry them.

 

Toby didn’t seem too bothered about storming up the hill and was refreshingly easy going about where we went and how quick we got there (and I genuinely don’t know about the running water question). So far so good.

Keeping things sweet with regular stops, snacks and stories seemed to keep Toby in pretty good spirits and before long we were sat amongst the cluster of weathered eerie stones that guard the edge of Kinder. We tucked into our sausage rolls, crisps, nanas and malt loaf and took in the views. If this was all we were to manage today then I felt the trip had been successful.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so quick to assume the day was over, being around these rocks Toby became possessed by the spirit of a mountain goat around the rocks and was scrambling up and down with a big smile on his face. After a spot of lunch, we decided that we definitely weren’t ready to go back home yet and after much more scrambling we headed west along the ridge.

After a few more frequent rest stops we were racking up some proper mileage under our boots, we took the time to jump around on a few more rocks and made each other giggle with some weird and wonderful punishments for kicking rocks on the path ”if you kick that rock your bum will fall off”, “if you kick that rock your head will explode” etc etc. Every cairn we passed had to be further adorned with more stones and rocks, we talked about why heather gets burnt on the moors and whys its not a bad thing to stomp through puddles.

By late afternoon the wind had slghtly picked up and the bright sunshine was no longer reaching us, I coudl see that Toby was getting tired and not in the mood to go much further. In retrospect it would have been more sensible to have turned around at some point and found an alternative route back, but I am a fool with a bad memory and had convinced myself that pushing onto Grindsbrook for a descent was perfectly realistic option for a 5 year old who had already been walking for three hours. I’ve been up and down Grindsbook a few times, though apparently not enough to remember that it can get quite tricky and scrambly even for adult limbs. When we got to the point where the clough meets the ridge I realised this was not going to happen and was far too riskly and reckless to attempt with a young un. Feeling foolish and a bit guilty I told Tobes we had to double back the way we had just come, he wasn’t having any of it, his little legs had walked all they could walk for one day.

It was only just shy of 4pm but is felt like the light was beginning to dwindle and the wind was carrying a bite that made me think it was time to get out of Dodge. I wanted him to fall in love with these hills not feel scared of them. It was decided that Toby could have the luxury of being hoisted upon my shoulders and I legged it back towards the path of our ascent. I asked him if he was okay/warm enough/hungry/thirsty every five seconds, feeling guilty for any minor level of discomfort he was experiencing. Giving someone a piggyback and moving at a pace is hard work but it keeps you very toasty.

Within the hour we were on the familiar track down to Edale, chatting about the highlights of the mini-adventure and making firm plans to get fish and chips at the next available opportunity. My spirits were further lifted by the absence of a parking charge, despite being over an hour late. Result.

Surprisingly Toby stayed awake for the whole journey home where we discussed future plans for walking camping and climbing. Toby told me that when he grows up he wants to be an ‘army man’, though this then shifted to a doctor, then to a fireman and finally a treeman. We were back in the ‘ham by 6 and headed straight to the chippy and home where Elvis the cat gave us (and our food) a warm welcome.

I never would have guessed that walking with Toby on what was in hindsight a challenging route would have been so much fun. We made each other laugh out loud by beng silly and telling stories whilst we walked. He didn’t moan or complain at any point like I’d expected, and it was fascinating to get a five year olds perspective on a landscape more wild than they had been exposed to before. We’ve both agreed to a few more day walks in the winter and a wild camp next spring.

The last ride of the summer and the first post on the blog

October 1st 2011

First post for the new blog, enjoy and excuse the grainy iphone pics

After earning some serious brownie points the previous week by allowing my other half to go out partying all weekend whilst I took care of the boys I was keen to get some riding and bivvying in. If I had the time and the resources I’d be out on the hills every week, but with a young family at home this is more of a quarterly event. Hopping on the bike with a nice light pack means I can get out and ride for as long as I want without the nagging thought of having to get back home the same day. I’ve had a couple of successes with biking and bivvying earlier in the summer but I was keen to get a few more miles under my tyres.

I’d planned on heading East out of Nottingham and through the Vale of Belvoir and beyond. The plan was to bivvy out in some secluded idyllic rural spot and to return back via a different route bright and early the following morning. So go east, sleep, go west, nice and simple…..

I pedalled off at 2.30pm on Saturday with a pack that felt a little too large and heavy for a road bike, but isn’t one of the great pleasures of any outdoor pursuit constantly refining one’s kitlist? I stopped off in the city centre and stocked up on a few pricey energy bars from the fine folks at Freewheel. A few drunken folks in Hockley made leaving the city behind me an even more pleasurable process. Within ten minutes or so I was rolling through Tollerton towards Cotgrave, the unseasonable heat making any climbs a little more challenging than usual.

The drop down into Owthorpe found me on a quiet narrow country lane void of cars and full of late blackberries which I stopped and snaffled for a few minutes, hard to know when to stop eating sometimes.

The next hour was spent drifting from one village to another across the Vale of Belvoir. The area is mostly flat and made up of small and pretty villages that you pass through in a minute or less. The roads were mostly deserted, most folks probably heading for the bigger busier A roads rather  than opting for the twisty tarmac of the vale. A plentiful petrol station/cafe gave me the chance to refuel of fruit, cake and somebody’s discarded copy of The Sun, which was crap.

A steep climb took me past the landmark of Belvoir Castle and into lands unknown (aka Leicestershire). The fine weather looked set to continue and I pedalled on passing through Harston, Denton, Harlaxton and Hungerton. Felt tempted to nick a few apples off some of the trees where the branches hung over the road, but they were just out of reach and some old people were giving me funny looks.

At Great Ponton I came across the mighty A1, and decided it wasn’t bike friendly and continued east to Boothby Pagnell, Ingoldsby and Lenton.

I made the mistake of forgetting that the summery weather wouldn’t mean any more daylight than usual and as I rolled into a larger village called Folkingham the sun was nearly set at what felt like a premature time of 7:00pm. I stocked up on some fancy looking pies from the local shop where some friendly locals informed me that the coast was another 30 odd miles away. I felt like I had a lot more miles in my legs but after 10 minutes pedalling in the dwindling light and having a few cars whizzing past I made the decision to quit. Even if you’re lit up like a christmas tree, country lanes aren’t bike friendly in the dark.

I headed north to a village called Walcott and took a footpath off past some woods and across a field and decided that was to be my bed for the night. Pheasants rushing through the woods and owls hooting away made for some spooky sound effects and made me wonder what I was doing out here in the middle of nowhere in the cold dark night by some woods.  Things went from bad to worse as the temperature dropped to under 5 degrees. I’d bivvied out in a similar setting the month before and it had been very muggy and close making a sleeping bag unnecessary, plus I’d been flicking through Roland Turnbull’s Book of the Bivvy where sleeping bags seemed to be seldom used. So not bringing my sleeping bag and saving weight had seemed like a great idea back in Nottingham but less so now. I don’t think I slept at all and found myself hunched up and shivering all through the small hours.  Not clever and not something I’ll repeat.

At 04:30 I could stand no more, I jogged on the spot to warm up (didn’t work) packed up and trudged off into the dark to return home. The hour or two I had in the dark heading back West were, in spite of the sleeplessness, quite an experience. The conditions felt wintry and the soft glowing lights of the occasional farmhouse were evocative of a December morning. From time to time I rode through what felt warm pockets of air, a strange experience, a bit like passing through thermals.

I got to Belvoir Castle at 08:00, the sky had gone from blue black, to red, pink orange and finally blue. It had a been a stressful and at times unpleasant night but the morning ride was beautiful and I felt a sense of peace and fulfilment as I passed through the quiet sun filled lanes around the castle.

Lots of flashy looking Mountain Bikes stapped to cars were passing me, all heading to what I later learnt to be the Viking Challenge off road race. Looked fun.

Another hour passed and I passed Cotgrave where the locals were up and about to get the Sunday papers. I was physically and mentally drained, the last few miles of a long ride are always hard work.

I passed a neighbour as I turned into the street who told me I was ‘looking very fit’, I didn’t have the energy to say anything and managed a smile.

It’s not for everyone, and when I tell people that if I ever get the chance I’ll hop on my bike and head out as far as I can, sleep and head back the next day I do get some odd looks. It’s rare to have a perfect experience when it comes to these types of pursuit and there can even be some of those “Why do I bother ” moments of exasperation when things don’t go to plan, though there are equally extreme highs where you can answer that question easily. The final high came with a massive sausage sandwich and a cup of tea.

On this trip I learnt that I don’t ever need to pack food when road biking, I don’t need a bike lock and I should never leave my sleeping bag at home.