This year I had some experience behind me, had trained better, and had more appropriate gearing and more suitable brakes on the bike.  So, I was hoping to take 20 minutes off my previous time of 4:40, and to get to a position where a sub-4 hour time was realistic.  These plans were scuppered by the weather, and the fact that I had been away with work each of the previous four weeks.  The reality is that I peaked on the August Bank Holiday weekend and didn’t quite have my full 3 Peaks mojo come 25th September.

Riding in the Peaks pack at the start is great, even if it is wet cold and you can’t see the hills due to the low cloud.  You’re led out by a car supposedly taking it easy while the bike computers get close to 30 mph, and riders spread across both lanes dodge the oncoming traffic.  I started with two riders who I had ridden with once before a few weeks previously, and had a grand plan for a 4 hour finish glued to their top tubes (Alan Dorrington and Greg May).  If I could stay with them at least for Ingleborough I could maybe still reach my target.  The sensation of turning off the road to start the Ingleborough climb is one of excitement; this is what the past few months of training have been for.  Even my summer trip to the Alps was, in my mind, preparation for the Peaks.  By the time we were ascending into the cloud up the insanely steep bank of the several hundred meters of the infamous Simon Fell that seemingly go on for ever, we had already been ankle deep in mud and walking usually rideable sections.  

At the summit checkpoint I dibbed my tag with the GPS reading 1:00 - I was on target.  I had lost Alan and Greg, and I expect that their timing plans had been soaked off their bikes by now.  Through the fog I heard the familiar voice of Darrell Bradbury behind me and knowing that he had completed the Peaks 28 times before (yes, 28) decided to follow his wheel for the descent.  Unlike last time, this guide meant that I arrived at the bottom without a crash, and there were the support crew ready to swap my camelbak before I sped off on the road section towards the second peak.

Eventual winner Nick Craig emerging at the summit of Ingleborough (Photo Andy Holden)

Climbing Whernside was an uneventful slog, carrying the bike up the rocky climb, passing the injured Rob Jebb (2010 winner) en route.  Checking in at the summit with GPS time of 2:15 it all seemed to be going well despite the conditions; who needs a grand plan glued to the top tube?  The traverse across the top is high speed - as we encountered a long section of peat bog I felt the bike initially plane across the top but then start to cut into the soft soil.  Speed only reduced gradually but handling plummeted to zero and I was thrown off spectacularly.  It was a big crash and I was at first pleased to realise that apart from a sore head, I was basically OK... then slightly disappointed as I realised that the hardest part of the race was still to come, and I had left a lot of my remaining 3 Peaks mojo buried in the peat.  At least one other rider behind me ended his race there with a busted collarbone and a lot followed the trend of high speed crashes at the same spot.  I have heard that there are some sneaky alternative lines that avoid the thousand slabs of granite that form a large part of the descent.  These rocks would be no problem but for their unpredictability and I simply rode them poorly.  I must investigate those sneaky lines for next time.  

After another camelbak swap from the support team it was on to the final Peak, Pen-y-Ghent.  Compared to 2010 the climb up the lane was excellent.  By this point if you don’t feel physically exhausted you are either not human or not racing, and so wasn’t too worried about the pain.  I had geared the bike specifically for this few miles of rocky lane and was able to make it to the turn up the second part of the climb with no problem.  It has been said that this Peak plays tricks on the mind.  I put this down to the fact that you descend the same way as you climb, and so you are constantly being passed by riders a long way ahead of you; how you wish you were already on the way home to Helwith Bridge.  I saw a lot of familiar faces come past while I was desperately trudging over the rocks, carrying the bike - Dave Haygarth looking strange, Isla Rowntree (riding one of her own Islabikes to a podium finish - chapeau), Renee Saxton (last year’s women’s winner), Alan and Greg.  The top of Pen-y-Ghent is the final on-course checkpoint and a place where the body has already given up screaming in pain and is now just whimpering realising that in the next 30 minutes every last fragment of energy will be used trying to keep control of the bike on the descent.  As I passed the place where Dave Haygarth had just broken his collarbone (yet still completed in 4:10!), I noticed that my GPS was reading 4 hours, and so a decent descent would mean reaching the 4:20 target.  The descent went well until only 200m before the end of the lane where I could feel some tunnel vision coming on.  I was well aware that I had hit my head on Whernside and I have blacked-out before... no, it couldn’t happen, not now.  I had to stop, and realised that I was staring like a waxwork into the faces of some bemused spectators, while I took deep breaths and waited for the vision to return... and then I rode off.  Thanks for the words of support - I don’t know what you said. 

Descent off Pen-y-Ghent, with the summit in the background

The final few miles on road comprise pushing against the cramp, time trialling, and overtaking the odd car.  I turned into the finish, heard the commentator call my name and club and crossed the line.  The GPS said 4:20; I couldn’t believe I had hit target in these conditions...  A few seconds later I had the print out of my official timings and the bottom line read 04:46:32.  My elation disappeared as I realised that the GPS timer had been stopping during the steepest climbs where it could not gain satellite reception.  The conditions had been slow, everyone was slow, and I would have been a lot happier if I hadn’t allowed myself to fantasise that 4:20 was a possibility.  

In the finish area I caught up with the stories of broken bodies and bikes.  The person from the hostel who had stuck his eyebrow back on with gaffer tape, the broken ankle, broken leg, the dislocated collarbone and Dave Haygarth’s already infamous 4:10 with a broken collarbone.  

What I love about the Three Peaks Cyclocross is that it pushes you to the absolute limit with your athletic capability, bike handling, psychology, ability to overcome pain, as well as skill as a mechanic in bike preparation.  However, luck is no respecter of ability and there are broken bikes and bodies both for elites and the slowest.  

As I finish this piece off I just realised that I subliminally inserted the phrase ‘next time’ earlier on.  I am fully aware that, like a Class A drug, this race is so bad for your mental and physical health, and requires substantial financial commitment (for the specific bike components) but I think I’m becoming addicted.  Alan Dorrington’s online persona ‘Crossjunkie’ has just become far more pertinent.  I’m not sure that I want to cold turkey, just yet.  One more try, maybe...