Finish Start [image courtesy Andy Armstrong]
It started in Kielder. Again
Kielder.
Spring, 1996.
A Dawes tandem hurtles through the start/finish area of the Polaris Challenge past ace mountain photographer Steve Behr. Steve is there because the tandem captain is Chipps Chippendale, writing about the tenth running of the event for MTB World.
We’re not stopping, somewhere in the forest there’s a checkpoint with our name on it, and there’s two hours left to bag it.
That night night we huddle round a fire that, I swear, is floating on a raft. Technically that would make it a pyre. There is then a small award ceremony for those who have done all ten Polaris Challenge events so far. Their achievementinspired me to finish the first ten Mountain Mayhem races. Which, in 2007, I achieved.
Since then I’ve been looking for a new goal.
In the years since I last rode at Kielder Scotchland has developed into a world famous mountain bike destination, especially the Seven Stanes. Their cousins across the border in Kielder looked at the Scots and thought “we fancy a bit o’ that”, and have been developing and promoting mountain biking in Kielder forest, especially the red and black routes at Deadwater.
How to publicise your efforts and attract more people to your new trails?
Both our problems were about to be solved.
Enter the Kielder 100.
Literally.
One Lap.
One Rider.
One Adventure.
100 miles.
To say I was underprepared would be talking up my efforts. A 70 mile singlespeed ride – on the road – and some new shoes to replace my almost toeless ones. Frankly the shoes are writing cheques my talent has no way of cashing, still, I figured it would go.
In preparation I retrieved the original Polaris 1:50,000 map to review the terrain. I marvel at what we must have been thinking that day as we hurtled through the start/finish desparate to bag another checkpoint – there isn’t one round for bloody miles.
Free-Range Mountain Bikers
Following the lead of othes we quickly booked into Kielder campsite in the two-man/one-dog tent. If only I’d known about the acorn-esque ‘pods’. They’re like overgrown chicken huts with free-range mountain bikers scrabbling around in the dirt outside. Still, a tarp under the tent will see us right and save us from sinking into the morass. Parking conditions are “challenging”. I wouldn’t want to be driving a two wheel drive car.
Rider sign-on and briefing is a chance to meet up with old friends and acquaintances. The familiar faces are most welcome and there is confidence to be gained knowing that everyone else has the same trepidation about the distance.
iPod Memoire
Probably come to die in this town
Big Black, Kerosene
Just before 6 and a pair of disembodied white shoes trit-trots around a darkened campsite like some bad art-school mime, heading off to breakfast for porridge accompanied by audio inspiration and much needed wake-up from Big Black.
6.45am
I’m going out for a while
Feeder, High
The start line is full of more familiar faces. There are people I haven’t seen for ‘ahem’ years, also looking for the next challenge after Polaris and 24 hour races. Others look like they’re out for a day at a trailcentre, just for rather longer. There are 29er rigid singlespeeds, stripped to the bone XC race bikes, and freeride machines with fat tyres and lots of travel. I don’t envy any of them 100 miles.
In contrast to dR j0n and his meticulous preparation mine own has simply been to steal my wifes Turner Flux (a Horst link model Turner nerds), and put my preferred tyres on it. Once again the tyres I buy for myself end up on her bikes – not as cast-offs, but before I get a chance to use them myself! I can be found still setting up the fork and shock pressures on the start line. 1psi for each pound of rider weight was bang on. I pack the pump away just before the folk at the head of the field start the roll out.
As the pack rides slowly, but slightly too quickly for comfort at this early hour, along a neutralised start section behind the pace car the sun creeps over the Cheviots. I insert headphones into ears, and set the iPod to “stun”. This should help counter the monotony of the inevitable fire-road climbs. As much as anything I need it right now to drown out the sound of the dragging disc brakes of the guy just behind me. At first I keep wondering if it’s my own brakes dragging, but when I see him on a climb, visibly slowing at the end of each power stroke I predict him as first man out. I offer him a spanner to bleed his brakes, but he assures me that it’s just new thicker pads and he’ll be okay. I leave him on the first climb and never see him again.
Having oh so confidently predicted first man out I’m surprised as we reach the end of the first descent, still behind the neutral pace-car, that the dubious honour of first non-finisher in the first UK 100 mile MTB race looks like it will be Marty Savalas, of Velo Club Moulin. Poor Marty is stood by the side of the road, head resting in his hands on his saddle with an obvious mechanical, breathing deeply, and, is that a midge in each eye? I almost stop, but surely the Tail End Charlies just behind me will sort him out?
7.05am
Fall on your face in those bad shoes
The Pixies,Tame
30 minutes into the race I hit the first section of ‘singletrack’, a 6″ ribbon of landrover rut entered at full tilt straight from a big ring fireroad descent. Touch the rut walls carrying this much speed and you’re tank-slapping like mad to recover…
7.22am
It’s a time we love to hate, I can give you
New Order, Hurt
The meat of the day; some granny ring climbing. Already my middle-ring is almost unused as the sawtooth race profile has me alternately winching uphill in granny, or flying downhill in the big ring. I’m running out of gears at either end of the range. On the climbs I keep being distracted by the incredible whiteness of my feet, startling myself.
7.41am
I hear you laugh and I hear you scream
Tackhead feat. Gary Clail, Reality
The middle ring is finally getting some use, perfect for sections of whoopy man made singletrack. This one features a perfect roll in to a jump. My bike choice is being vindicated on every one of these sections – the suspension allows me to attack the whoops with more speed. Heck I nearly cleared a set of doubles back there. I may be left behind on the climbs but I’m reclaiming it on these sections. Sadly there aren’t enough of them to stop me being so far back.
8.19am
That split into fractions in front of your eyes
Curve, Split Into Fractions
Remember that Dawes tandem from 1996? Well, guess which couple didn’t take any chain lube to that first Polaris.
The chain was ‘a bit dry’ after day one, and we briefly, very briefly, considered using some of the pesto we’d carried for tea as a lube. Instead we ate it all. Needs must and all that. Climbing out from Wainhope there was a spang and the chain snapped. I recognise the spot as I descend towards the marshall point.
8.27am
Blood on the streets, blood on the rocks, blood in the gutter, every last drop
AC/DC, If You Want Blood (You Got It)
The man in front of me has just cleared a climb and sat up to relieve an obviously aching back. I don’t hold out much hope for him finishing.
8.41am
Now I’m kinda lethal on the dance floor, Check it, tight pants!
Eagles of Death Metal, (I Used To Couldn’t Dance) Tight Pants
Two hours in and my tennis elbow is starting to play up. I’m under doctors order to suppress it with ibuprofen. Quick stop just before the current climb finishes to grab some. I always figure that if you have to stop you lose less time making your stop on a climb as you’re not losing well-earned momentum. I take the opportunity to grab some jelly babies out the Camelbak. As I clip back in the iPod decides now is a good time to rock out and, singing along to EODM I test the limits of the tyres on the corners. It’s downhill again!
9.31am
I’ve lived my life in the valleys, I’ve lived my life on the hills
New Order, Thieves Like Us
Dave from Joolze Dymond photography snaps me climbing a corner. I’m sucking on my Camelbak, so hardly going to be photogenic, but I could care less.
For my iPod has died.
The long, lonely fireroad climbs are going to be no fun now, riding alone. The slight differences in speed are being slowly exaggerated by time and distance now, no riders in sight either in front of or behind me.
The Loneliness of The Long Distance Rider
11.20am
Don’t you dare scratch my bike!
Kirsty, Marshall Point 12
I’ve been sighting the bloke in front of me up the climbs on Deadwater, and I finally catch him as we exit a great section of new singletrack. What he must think as the marshall shouts strange instructions at the rider behind him I don’t know. I don’t suppose he’s noticed the pink brakes and flowery discs. But then he does have pink cables on his Bionicon – men are comfortable with pastels these days.
I’m informed that the leaders came through here almost two hours ago. I’m 1/3 of the way in and already it’s looking like I’ll not reach the cut off at 2pm and 54 miles. I’m updated on Marty and it turns out his freehub exploded. Still, better two miles out than 80.
I top up my carb/ribose mix with full-fat Coke, clip in, and rejoin, for the ascent of Deadwater, from where we have been promised 360 degree views. Not in this cloud there won’t be.
11.50am
Don’t go through the puddle!
Unkown Rider, Deadwater climb
My left shoe is back to nice shiny whiteness as it keeps getting powerwashed by the long deep puddles. For some reason my right foot seems to be escaping the washing, so I’m now only ever distracted by my left foot. Approaching yet another small lake the rider in front, stood at the far side, yells a frantic warning at me. My kidneys are hurting like hell now and I realise I must not have been drinking enough.
12.30pm
Rider 202 retiring.
Me, Marshall Point 14
Mental arithmetic.
Ride 15 miles to the cut-off in 1 and a half hours, then be eliminated and ride 15 miles back. Even if I am not forced to retire at this rate I will not finish until 9.30pm
Or, ride 1 mile downhill to the campsite.
Go straight back to the start. Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200. Do. Not. Finish.
Face it, I would have taken so long to get to Feed Station 4 that the sandwiches waiting for me would have passed their sell by date.
Aftermath
Kirsty will be marshalling the finish line this afternoon from 2pm, so I might as well make myself useful. So I clean the bike, at least the Kielder mud washes off easily, and grab a hot shower at Kielder campsite before the masses return, and head off to lend a hand.
2:58pm
Where were you between Led Zeppelin and War Of The Worlds
overheard at the finish
I never reached War Of The Worlds
Pressed into remote-flash duties for Joolze Dymond. Neal Crampton crosses the finish line to be met by a small crowd and a dog.
I spend a couple of hours fetching coffee and tiffin for the marshalls before taking over from stopwatch duties. Then out come the midges. These are not just any midges. This is definitely a cross-border raiding party of Scottish midges, recognisable by the tiny tartan and ferocious wee bite. We beg, borrow and steal Avon Skin-So-Soft yet still the only respite is to actually walk around. My hand holding the timing clipboard is literally black with dead midges. I think I lose just less than an armful.
Just after 8.30pm
Congratulations, youve finished.
Kirsty, Finish Line
Illuminated by the lights of a trail bike riding Tail End Charlie Mike crosses the line in DFL.
That’s it. Our part in the day is done.
42 miles.
6 hours riding.
18 hours marshalling between us (not counting the dog).
1 new goal…
It Isn’t Over Yet
Organisation wise this was one of the best organised events I’ve ever done.
You could tell that Paul and Sara at SIP Events have previous as organisers, racers, and marshalls. To convinve sponsors to come on board with a predicted 80-100 field is amazing. To then get 200 is fantastic. The support from the loacls in Newcastleton and Kielder was much appreciated too.
Despite an attrition rate approaching 50% the feedback on the Singletrackworld forum says lots about the organisation of this event. It is overwhelmingly positive.
So, that new goal then. Kielder 100, 2010. Make the distance. Bring on the training miles.
Race prep consisted of checking the weather forecast a couple of days before the race and noting the distinct possibility of rain, hence mud, for the majority of the race. Rather than ride my Hunter (34:18) in the dry and Spot (32:16) in the wet I decided a tyre swap was in order. Besides, I’d finally get my mud tyres back from my wife.
