There are worse ways to spend your Wednesday morning. Sitting outside the Mermaid chip shop, drinking in the morning sun, eating a banana, waiting for the already late stAn and I could think of a few involving the terminal at my work desk. All loaded up we set off in the Mud Bus heading for the far away hills of Ingleborough. There’s a fine Bad Brains tradition involving reaching the summit of the said hill in an alloted time to see the sun rise over the north Yorkshire horizon. Historically I’ve never been even remotely fit enough to have a crack at this but with the additional miles in my legs and slight increase in my speed noticed we decided to see if I could climb the near 1952 feet in the 80 minutes the other guys manage.
Quality tunes accompanied the journey and the usual shite that mountain bikers talk about made the couple of hours drive breeze along. Arriving at Ingleton, clouds covered the summit despite our positive thinking trying to will the skies clear. Coppering up to pay for the parking meter stAn shouted across with a smirk if four hours would be enough, I muttered something not for the faint hearted under my breath the promptly laughed with him that I hoped it would be.
Putting the steeds back together from the cavernous rear of stAn’s Mud Bus, he muttered something else not for the faint hearted as the realisation dawned he’d left his camelbak in the kitchen. So, it was time for a kit check for the Fat Lad. After stAn had deemed my sack to be full of goodness (sorry couldn’t resist such an obviously childish joke), he stuffed his jersey pockets with Isotonic drinks and we were away…
Out of the visitor centre car park and it was straight in at the deep end, following the steep tarmac upwards. stAn exchanged pleasantries with the red socks setting off at the same time while I plodded on just about managing a polite smile to them. Very quickly we were off road and it was clear from this early stage that the terrain and environment was going to be very demanding, insisting on my full attention. The exceptionally steep loose path soon gave way to a more gradual affair and I was happy to be in a pedalling zone I was comfortable with.
The track ambled upwards between dry stone walls as the elusive British summertime heaped warmth and sunshine down onto us. In a brief moment of respite the track turned downhill for a short distance, but it was soon back on the saddle to gain the required vertical feet. In time the track went from wide soft hill grass to the moor land rocks beginning a cycle of pushing/riding that would last all the way to the summit. Desperately trying to keep my lungs inside, I was starting to take more and more breathers. With my legs burning the red socks we’d chatted to at the start yomped on past, voicing words of encouragement as they passed.
Summoning the required energy I set off and soon leapfrogged the red socks again aiming towards the eventual goal. At the boundary of the “last humanly possible bit to ride” and “push from here on out” section I got talking to the red socks once more about my interesting choice (my carbon soled Nike XC shoes) of footwear for such challenging hills. After discussing the merits and disadvantages of clipless pedals with the assembled walkers I pushed on once more to try and catch up as the sight of a fluorescent yellow jacketed stAn disappeared even further into the horizon.
Getting to the higher reaches of the hill it was starting to get cold forcing me to dip into the camelbak for my jacket. I continued on pushing further trying to steer my mind to another place, where I could forget about the burning pain in my calve muscles. The terrain continued to get harder and harder and after only a few hundred yards I’d hoisted the Kona’s top tube over the top of my camelbak across my back. With chainstay in one hand and the handle bars in the other there was nothing to do but crack on and try and catch up.
By now the terrain had got seriously difficult and the weather was matching my mood perfectly as I struggled on through the cold fog, trying to find good footing while balancing my steed on my back. The trail turned into steps and through the fog and mist I could just about see the luridly yellow form of stAn waving me on. After what seemed an eternity I reached the summit! Well, that is
a summit. Onwards some more then.
With more steep steps and the bike getting uncomfortable now, I plodded on reaching another false summit. To add to my aching limbs and my not too great mood I was now getting hungry. Wishing I’d had more for my breakfast, the remnants of my toasted banana and chocolate spread sandwich had long since been absorbed into my blood stream. With the desire to kill the club’s venerable and respected leader clouding my judgement I pushed on as the final ascent was within grasping distance.
The final push for the summit was more akin to rock climbing than walking. The wind was now howling round me turning the bike on my back into an aluminium sail buffeting me around. Shouldering the bike at first then using it as an anchor to pull myself up I struggled on with the end so very close in sight. With a few tired steps I climbed the remaining boulders and made it to the flat grassland at the top. Literally leaping on the saddle I fired over to stAn with the biggest fecking grin you have ever seen on my fat little face. Pootling over to the cairn I was tired beyond belief but I was incredibly happy to have made it.
Getting to the top had taken longer than the 80 minutes target that had been set by quite a way but sheltering at the cairn it was the furthest thing from my mind. Chatting with the assembled walkers at the top stAn swapped routes and tails while I pulled on my base layer from my kit in preparation for the descent. I split my butties with stAn and after a brief rest and chat we were back down again. On a clear day you can see all the way out to the coast but with the cloud cover so low it wasn't to be. Interestingly Ingleborough is the only hill fort the Romans couldn’t conquer. I know why.
We headed back down and the carrying down was just as interesting as getting up but a lot less tiring. A hell of a lot quicker than getting up, we were past the carrying sections and onto the rideable. Coming up the hill with full kit/backpacks I rolled past a group of teenagers and one of them gave a passing “I wish I was doing that” with a solemn face. The height gained at such a cost passed quickly beneath the knobblies, rolling quickly down the hill side.Next thing I know I’m on the ground with the Kona, skin missing from my left knee. Making my way back to upright I started cramping up in my right calve, back up I tore off the last scrap of skin throwing it onto the grass. I think what happened is that the chain came unseated onto the frame and like a total fuckwit I looked down to see what was what, then, ground. You live, you learn. Getting back I resolved to be careful but not be shaken. The most embarrassing thing is I wasn’t that far from the walkers…
I caught up with stAn who had just turned his bike back round to come looking for me, I told him the tale and we were rolling again. Descending this monster of a hill the terrain was testing me and the bike to our limits. Legs still wobbly from the crash we pushed on. Hitting a rock section it was clear it was about time to clean the rotors and pads of my disc brakes once more as I bounced from rock to rock trying desperately to stay in control. I popped the front wheel rolling off the few steps without problem and from there out it was fast track to the road and then the payback buzz of knobblies on tarmac back to the car.
Back at the Mud Bus I quickly changed and we headed into Ingleton for a pint. After finding a cash point we entered the world’s most grim watering hole and made short work of our ale telling tall tales of the ride simultaneously. To satisfy a long running joke between Mrs Fat Lad and I purchased her a pencil from the visitor centre and we were soon back on the road.
Earlier in the day stAn had informed me of a pie shop on the way home and I asserted my will on him demanding we drive there with haste! Pulling up in Gargrave we entered the butcher/pie shop and it was like teleporting into Royston Vasey as Briss served me up a pork pie! :
For the League of Gentlemen fans out there, yes, I was dying to ask for his special meat. (Transatlantic readers, get a copy of League of Gentleman from somewhere it is the most warped yet very funny thing you will see for a long time…)
The desire for fatty pastry and pork related products sated we hit the roads once more for another helping of talking shite and good tunes.
This ride was by far the hardest thing I have ever had to do on the bike yet also the most rewarding. These milestones keep coming and keep being defeated but I've still got a long way to go. I'll just keep turning those cranks and see where I end up.
Fat Lad
