Mega Challenge

The day of the Dave Lloyd Mega Challenge started at the the ridiculously early time of 3.30am. With Cacophony sadly absent, El Cid drove Chills and myself down to Ruthin to arrive just after 6am with light drizzle falling - marking the end of my long run of perfect weather on events. There we met up with Knacker and Spectre, and also The Condor. The climbing started pretty much right way, the route going straight up Bwlch Pen Barras from Ruthin. This actually suited me better than a fast roll-out on the flat and I felt good on this first climb, having difficulty holding the reins, so to speak. At the summit of the pass we seemed to have lost El Cid and my guess (knowing his canny judgement of pace) was that he was just determined to take a steady start and conserve his energy for later. I felt that I should probably be opting for the same strategy but I was enjoying myself too much and felt that we had a good group together already. In the absence of El Cid at the front of the pelaton, The Condor was co-opted, in an unspoken kind of way, as surrogate team leader. The only problem with that was that he's a class apart from the rest of us, but what the hell. I decided to go with the flow!

Even in the intermittent drizzle the scenery was stunning. I've only visited this part of the country sporadically, and after each trip I pledge to visit more often because it is just so beautiful ... before somehow forgetting. I've now made the pledge again. Another long, more gradual climb out of Ruthin (again) and then the Horseshoe Pass towards Llangollen. I was feeling comfortable on the start of this climb but as my group picked up another group the pace seemed to increase just a notch and I decided to be conservative and hold back. I was thinking of El Cid, with his masterplan, ready to come steaming over the Bwlch-y-Groes with the rest of us twiddling away on dead legs. I felt like buying into that plan!

It was good to have some space and be able to look around at the incredible landscape rather than the back of someone's wheel. It was just so pretty. A small part of me wanted to stop and take it all in, but I already had sight of the road descending on the other side of the valley and a much bigger part of me was driven on by the prospect of those long sweeping bends. So, a very rapid and exhilarating descent into the Vale of Llangollen before taking the road out to World's End. This section was really lovely, a little back lane of a road, snaking its way up a hidden valley underneath the ancient Offa's Dyke. It somehow seemed out of time and World's End a remarkably appropriate name. I had been steadily overtaking small groups of riders and once the climb kicked in I felt myself going well, again having difficulty holding in the reins. Up on the top there was a great high moorland section with a following wind before a steep descent to the first feed station, where I met up with my group again.

Knowing the next section was a little intricate and without any big climbs, I got in and out quickly and rejoined the gang. This part of the course is a bit of blur in retrospect, pretty enough but without any significant landmarks. All I do remember is that it started raining at the top of the climb out of Rhosemor and that it was definitely rain rather than drizzle, and whereas before there were breaks in the cloud to suggest a shower, now the sky was uniformly grey. There was a sense that this might now be the order of the day. And, space-head that I am, I had forgotten my waterproof! Once again, I backed off the pace a bit and took the Moel Arthur climb on my own before soon rejoining the group at the second feed station. Although it was raining and everyone was wet, spirits were very high, possibly down to the wonderful fare on offer here. The pasta was a revelation, so combined with several cheese sandwiches and a slice of malt loaf, I had quite a feast. This kind of 'normal' food is just so much better than energy bars. And somehow I think the body knows what it needs.

Just before we left, El Cid arrived, claiming that he wasn't just taking it steadily, but that he couldn't keep up with us. I still wasn't sure. He was only 5 mins adrift after 60 miles and we'd had the advantage of riding together a lot of the way! Anyway, off into the rain, with a lot of water now on the road and loads of spray. Not that I actually found it particularly unpleasant, except perhaps for my hands going numb. It was a shame that the landscape was now hidden in mist, but I was still thoroughly enjoying this amazing sense of journey, joining together places, some that I've driven through on odd occasions, others, like Denbigh, that have only previously existed as names on a map. We were soon on the infamously billed "Road to Hell", over the moors to Cerrigydrudion, in the rain and into the wind. It should have been hell really, but it actually passed without too much pain. A lot of that might well be due to the good company I was keeping, The Condor, Chills and Spectre all doing more than their fair share at the front, along with a few other strong lads who had joined us. Feeling guilty, I did try to get to the front on one occasion, but I didn't last long before I got swept up. As the elder statesman of the party, perhaps it is my privilege to get towed around! But the pace must have been quite good because I think we dropped Knacker at this point, and he had been riding strongly up to here.

The section from Cerrigydrudion to Bala passed very quickly and in better weather. The clouds were breaking and the stunning landscape re-emerged from hiding, offering us a glimpse of the big mountains of Snowdonia to the west. We were soon at the third feedstation, the 90 mile point, and the time seemed to have passed very quickly. If this was a regular event we would be close to finishing, and I have to say that the legs felt better than they usually do at that stage. And it certainly didn't feel like I'd been conserving much energy. Just after leaving we met El Cid just coming in, so he was still just a matter of a few cheese sandwiches behind us on the road. Was he still being canny? Would we soon see him come flying past on one of the big descents?

Just after Bala, The Condor and his clubmate got a little impatient with the pace and upped the ante a bit more than I was prepared to go along with. I knew what was coming and was determined that I wasn't going to suffer any more than I had to. Not long after leaving behind the beautiful Bala Lake and beginning to climb again it was possible to glimpse the top of the Bwlch-y-Groes through the trees. I was tempted to point it out to the guys I was with, but thought better of it. I've found out before that not everyone shares my same sense of anticipation and enthusiasm for these big climbs! I found my groove, which was a little bit slower than that of those I'd been riding with, but I can honestly say that I enjoyed the climb, which gets more and more spectacular the higher you get. The view down south to Dinas Mawddwy was stunning, and seeing the road drop away so steeply that side I've really got to come back here to climb it the other way. I wasn't too sorry, though, to be turning left today, and back towards home. This next stretch provided the highlight of the day's riding for me: 3 miles or so of high moorland road, twisting and undulating with great visibility so that you didn't have to use the brakes and lose any speed. Being on my own here, I could take the natural racing line and it was amazing how quickly I caught back up with the group that left me on the climb. A steep final descent to the deeply wooded shores of Lake Vyrnwy, a short few moments of respite on the flat, and then back into climbing groove.

Once again, I found myself falling behind the rest of the group, which now only included Spectre from our original party. I wasn't really suffering, certainly not like I had the previous Saturday climbing up from Bradley; it was just that I had no power in the legs. I was feeling the fatigue and had no choice but to go at my own pace. In retrospect I always wonder if I could have gone quicker, pushed myself harder, because I seemed to be more comfortable, in terms of breathing at least, than those around me, but I think I was simply short on power. The muscles couldn't deliver any more. It was simple fatigue - but, again, not to the degree where I wasn't able to enjoy the climb. Another wonderful descent followed down Cwm Hirnant, and then to the final feed station, just before which Chills cruised past me leading a small group. He'd punctured in Bala and had clearly got fired up in an effort to rejoin Spectre and myself.

Aware of the weariness in the legs and with an eye to a Gold standard time, I didn't linger at the last feed and headed out before the other two. I got up the first of the 'Stingers' before they caught me up, and tried to hang on to their wheel for a while before deciding to return to my own natural pace. By now the cloud had broken up considerably, offering long spells of sunshine and spectacularly clear views. Having ridden the whole way in a short-sleeve summer shirt under a long-sleeve top, which had now dried off completely, I was tempted to remove a layer, but somehow I just didn't want to break the rhythm. I was looking at the computer and the watch, and began to think that a sub-10 hour time might be on, especially with a bit of a tailwind helping out. Up and over a particularly nasty sting in the tail of this ride and I could sense that I was catching up with a few of the group I had loosely been with since Bala. The top of this climb offered a great view to the hills ahead, which I suddenly recognised as the ridge that we had climbed over first thing in the morning. Even allowing for the amazing visibility, it looked a lot closer than the 10 miles away that it should have been according to the computer, which had only just ticked over 130 miles. And then there was this amazing sign on the road saying "5 miles to go and all downhill". I experienced a rather strange set of emotions when catching sight of that, which I can't really separate in time. I think they were felt simultaneously by two very different parts of me. One part felt cheated of 5 miles of riding and the adrenaline rush of chasing down the clock to sneak in under 10 hours. It was obvious now that I was going to do that quite comfortably. The other part of me felt a sense of relief and elation that the hard work was over and that I was going to get that Gold standard.

It was interesting to see standard times for this event adjusted for the age categories, but I have to admit that I didn't take them very seriously. My Gold target was actually 10.15, but it wouldn't have felt deserved if I hadn't broken 10 hours. Perhaps I just don't want to admit to getting older, but I want to be measured alongside my mates. It was a great feeling to descend into Ruthin at speed and ride the last mile with good form and not having felt a single twinge of cramp along the way. As something of a journey into the unknown I felt a very great sense of achievement in getting around in good style (in a time of 9:34:47) and with a smile on my face for most of the way. It was an awesome route, but it hadn't seemed anything like as hard as I was anticipating. I think that's simply down to conditioning. I've done the right training and a couple of long events now, so I had prepared well. That's what I really like about the cycling over the running. You put the work in and you get rewarded in direct proportion. It's a simple equation. Unfortunately, it doesn't quite work like that when you run, where it's a much more complex equation to solve, with seemingly odd, imaginary variables to contend with!

I was pleased to find that I had lost only a couple of minutes to Chills and Spectre over the last section. The Condor had been in a while, but he had only taken 20 minutes out of me from Bala, much less than he usually does in the latter stages of an event. I had a strong suspicion that El Cid would sneak in just before the 10 hour mark so we went across to the finish line to see if he'd make it. With my watch indicating the final minute a rider appeared. It was Knacker. We told him to sprint for the line and I knew it would be tight ... which it was. He missed Gold by just 16 seconds! It would have been comfortable but for missing the feedstation at Bala and having to double back. Knacker told us that El Cid was ahead of him on the road so we thought that we must have missed him arrive, which would have been very poor form. As it turned out, he came in 5 minutes later, having ridden in and then out of Ruthin, missing the finish and doing an extra 4 miles ... possibly wanting to get in the full advertised 140 miles as opposed to the 136 miles that I clocked! It was a shame that we didn't all get our Gold standard times officially, but they'll know that they earned that mark, and that's all that counts really.

Finally, I must record my thanks to the legions of helpers and marshalls that gave up their time to make this event happen. Everyone was cheerful and wonderfully supportive and helped make this one of the very best days I've ever had on a bike. It's certainly one that I will never forget. Thanks also to those in my group for helping me get around in such a good time, plus all those anonymous riders whose wheel I pinched for a while here and there. I was the cheerful one on the Scott with straight bars. Cheers!