About 2 weeks have passed since I finished the inaugural Trans Alba Race, freewheeling down through Holyrood Park to stop outside the Scottish Parliament after around 1700 kms and 20,000m of climbing. I completed the course in 6 days, 12 hours and 58 mins - around a day more than I had (ridiculously overambitiously) planned for, but a top ten result nonetheless and one I was delighted with.
I had originally taken this challenge on for three real purposes - one, to raise money for two fantastic charities in the ELCRG and BSLM (you can still donate here - please do!); two, to push myself both physically and mentally more than I ever have; and three, to experience the challenge of taking on a multi-day ultra-endurance race in order to satisfy professional curiosity. There isn't much research on the fuelling challenges faced by these athletes when restricted to buying their food from 24hr shops and service stations and I wanted to be able to give more qualified advice to my athletes when in these situations (this is a theme I will be expanding on in more depth in blog posts to follow).
I'm still feeling those physical effects, with very sore knees, achilles tendons and, shall we say a sensitive saddle area...
It's going to take a wee while to recover fully, and the bike is presently resolutely hung on the wall, not to be taken down for a wee while (though I'm sure that won't last).
Anyway, I thought I'd take some time to note down a few thoughts about the week, and also thank all the people who helped me complete this crazy challenge.
Trans Alba Race Day 1 - Edinburgh to Tomintoul
After a more-or-less non-existent sleep the night before, it was time to pack the bike into the back of the car and head off to Cramond beach for the race start. I don't think I've ever been quite so nervous before a bike race, and almost suffered a disaster as my propped up bike was blown over by the blustery wind I would come to know so well (and hate). Thankfully there was no damage and I rolled out along with the rest of the riders - all of whom seemed equally quiet and thoughtful to be honest. The reality of what we'd let ourselves in for was obviously beginning to dawn.
The early part of the day was very much about finding my own rhythm, something made all the harder initially as for some reason I felt that I was having to work incredibly hard just to stay with riders I knew (through the magic of Strava) I should be able to keep pace with. A sudden panic as to just how heavy I'd made my bike took hold of me, until I realised that my front brake was locked on and I was effectively riding against extra resistance! As a quick fix (which turned into a race-long fix) I disengaged the front brake and suddenly felt so much freer and faster. Thankfully I could still brake effectively and so there were no safety concerns. The culprit was the slightly different mounting of the handlebar bag (due to the positioning of the newly installed aero bars), which meant it was now pressing into the brake cable. Lesson learned for the future - no last minute major changes!
After crossing both the Forth Bridge and the Tay Bridge and the relatively comfortable and pretty terrain of East Fife, the real climbing of the day began. A stop in the wee village of Alyth for a sandwich and general refuel meant that I was passed by a number of riders and my natural over-competitiveness kicked in. I wolfed down the food and set off in pursuit.
This was a tough start, with back-loaded climbs in the Cairngorms which included both Glenshee and the Lecht. I knew the 20+% gradients of the Lecht were going to be a struggle after 260ish kms, but found them almost impossible with a fully loaded bike. I was glad to be riding up there at 10.30pm with the road to myself - I don't think I've ever zig-zagged quite so much. Spotting lone bike lights dotted around the mountains was bizarrely reassuring however, just knowing there were others out there suffering to the same degree was a comfort.
It was such a relief to crest the final rise and start the steep descent to Tomintoul that I initially didn't notice the rain starting to fall. That didn't last long though as it soon started hammering down, mixing with hail and stinging my face as I tore down the hill in the dark, searching for the lights of the village. Thankfully they soon came into view and I cruised into the yard of the Smuggler's Hostel, thankful for a warm shower and a quick feed before bed.
Trans Alba Race Day 2 - Tomintoul to Durness
This day started as many of the following days would, with rain, wind and tired legs struggling to push the pedals. Thankfully the weather brightened as the day went on and I gradually felt better and better. The scenery of Sutherland (a part of Scotland I hadn't really explored before) certainly helped. It has to be one of the most beautiful spots in the UK, and one which is relatively undiscovered in terms of tourism. The roads were quiet and as the sun began to set, the rock walls of the surrounding mountains turned from orange to pink. A stunning sight that will stay with me.
As I freewheeled into Tongue, after a long and much lonelier day (everyone had split up quite dramatically already) I spotted a group of figures standing in the road in the fading light. Getting closer, I realised they were waving! It was Rob Lawson (the convener of the ELCRG and a trustee of the BSLM - the two charities I was raising money for with this ride) and his daughter Martha, who had been staying close by that week. It was a great boost to see some familiar faces, grab a handful of peanuts and hear some encouraging words.
I eventually rolled into Durness at half past midnight, expecting to be the annoying bunkhouse customer clattering about and waking everyone up. Luckily, the place was still buzzing with friendly travellers, including a group of Indian students who offered me their leftover curry and rice! The kindness of strangers.
Trans Alba Race Day 3 - Durness to Gairloch
I was up and out at 7.30am and soaked to the skin by 8am. It was proper highland rain that morning! After the first climb and descent out of Durness I had to cower in the public toilet in Rhiconich to warm up and mentally prepare myself to hit the road again. The seemingly rotating headwind was also more than a little demoralising.
I feel I had a wee advantage over a lot of the other riders in knowing just how hard the road between Kylesku and Lochinver is. I knew how brutal the ramps there are, having ridden them a few years ago with friends, whereas many I spoke to were caught out - that section looks pretty innocuous on a route profile.
Regardless, it hit me hard and I had to stop short of my target for the day. Even the smiling faces of Chris and Jack (the race directors) in Ullapool failed to raise my spirits much. A cafe that refused to serve food, and yet another pair of Spar sandwiches didn't help matters.
Further down the road, Geordie Dave (cap 35) and I found ourselves both looking for a place to stay. After being turned away from every hotel and B&B in Poolewe (there aren't many!), we limped on to Gairloch and found the last room, in the last pub in the village. What a relief, and how good did those pints of Guinness taste!
Trans Alba Race Day 4 - Gairloch to Lochcarron
The most miserable, hardest day I have ever spent on a bike.
Everything hurt. My knees were screaming at me. The rain was teeming down from the off and my morale was in my shoes. Dave, as a much more experienced ultra rider, was up and out quicker than me. I managed to catch up with him in Kinlochewe, but had to let him go again as I desperately needed coffee and food. Anything to get me going.
Glen Torridon from the west was one of my favourite sections of the North Coast 500 route I had tackled with a group of friends a few years ago. The scenery is stunning and it's generally all slightly downhill. From the east, on this day, it was unrelentingly grim. The glen acted like a wind tunnel, the cloud was maybe only 50 ft from the ground and the rain was constant. It was a battle. One which I felt I was losing.
Another stop at Sheildaig (it was one of those days), some delicious Cullen Skink, cake and coffee and back out I went.
The rotating headwind followed me all the way round the Applecross Peninsula and, thoroughly broken, I pedalled into the pretty little village at the base of the looming Bealach Na Ba feeling weak and dejected.
It's amazing what encouraging texts from home and comments on my social media posts can do though. I sat in the warmth of a cafe in Applecross trawling through them and drawing strength from the support everyone was giving me. Thank you, if you were one of those. Finally I swung my leg over the saddle and set off up the beast.
I've climbed the Bealach a number of times, and it's always the last kilometre or so that gets you. It's just so steep. This time however, it was the descent. Now normally i love a descent - it's the reward for all your hard work. This however, was a nightmare. The rain was biblical, the visibility was Mr Magoo standard. Waterfalls were crashing directly onto the road, turning it into a river. Thankfully there were hardly any cars, but I spent the whole time clutching the brakes regardless.
By the time I finally reached the bottom, I was soaked through and so, so cold. My mind's focus became singular - find refuge. I buried myself to get to Lochcarron and stumbled into the local hotel, past the bemused patrons, praying they had a room. They did.
I was well short of where I wanted to be. A day to forget.
Trans Alba Race Day 5 - Lochcarron to Craignure
A new day.
The shorter distance of the previous day's riding, a properly relaxed evening and first decent sleep of the week meant I woke feeling more positive and motivated than I had since Monday. A quick check of the tracker over breakfast soon gave me the requisite kick up the bum to get out there - I had been overtaken by a number of riders while holed up in the Lochcarron Hotel and had now fallen away from the top ten quite dramatically.
The weather was no brighter really, the same murk and wind as I had been ploughing through in the last couple of days was still there, but I had targets to aim for and I was feeling good.
The first part of the day to Kyle of Lochalsh was a pleasure. Winding, forested, traffic-free single lane roads past Plockton set me on my way and by the time I crested the Skye Bridge I knew I would make the midday ferry to Mallaig. Indeed, it was while time-trialling along the main road to Armadale that I came across one of the riders who had passed me overnight - Asbjorn had started the race as a pair, but his partner had had to drop out through injury, and he was now on his own. Being behind his planned schedule, he had set off at 2am (!!!) that morning from Kinlochewe, in order to climb the Bealach Na Ba and make the same ferry I was heading for. We decided to ride together for the company and it was great to have a friendly face to chat to and alleviate the feeling of lonesomeness.
On arriving at the ferry terminal I was amazed that the staff in the ticket office already knew who I was and where I was in the pecking order - they had been following the race on the tracker and were hooked! What a bizarre feeling. Still, a rest in the warmth of the ferry and quick refuel did us good and we immediately set off to Kilchoan in order to catch the ferry to Mull.
This was a section I had been looking forward to for a while, having never visited the Ardnamurchan Peninsula but having heard how beautiful and peaceful it was. However, the weather conspired to scotch that once again as visibility was very poor and we were enveloped by mist and drizzle for the duration. Typical West Coast stuff I guess!
Asbjorn and I seemed to make a good team in terms of keeping each other going, and we cracked on at a good pace. Such a good pace, that we caught the other two pairs of riders who had overtaken me overnight! Things were definitely looking up and although I was wet and cold, the difference in my mood from previous days was dramatic. This was added to when we made the decision to phone ahead while on the Tobermory ferry to the pub next to our bunkhouse in Craignure. We had realised that the kitchen in the pub would be closed when we arrived, but were desperate for some cooked food as a final incentive for the last 30km. We ordered 3 large pizzas for the 2 of us and asked for them to be kept behind the bar - that, a first real tailwind and my holidaying neighbours doing their best Tour De France fan impressions on the side of the road spurred us on superbly. Thanks Daniel and Caroline!
Trans Alba Race Day 6 - Craignure to Callander
An early start, in order to catch the first ferry to Oban meant that Asbjorn and I breakfasted on the ferry and then set off onto the beautiful back road to Taynuilt. The sun was shining, we had full bellies and.... I couldn't pedal for some reason. My knees and achilles were agony. During the last climb of the previous day's riding I had felt great, until a very odd sensation gripped my right achilles. It was almost like being bitten by something with very sharp teeth, or like someone was poking my ankle with a very sharp hot poker. I ignored it as I was wont to do with many of the myriad aches and pains which suddenly seemed like normal life, but now it was more insistent.
I was aware that I was holding Asbjorn up and so made an excuse about needing coffee and let him head up the road himself. I hoped I would catch him up again, but at that point seriously doubted it. Also, I find that when I'm really, really suffering I do better alone. Battling with your own pain and not also worrying about holding people back is somehow more manageable for me.
I struggled on around Loch Awe, keeping half an eye on the tracker and realising Asbjorn was on a great day and gradually (or not so gradually!) pulling further and further away. By the time I freewheeled down into Inveraray and stopped to pick up food I was seriously worried about my achilles. It felt like it was on the verge of seizing or snapping.
I pushed my bike to the lochside, hobbled past smiling and laughing families in the sunshine and plonked myself down to eat. I was properly miserable. Being surrounded by kids having fun served to remind me how much I missed my own family. What the fuck (sorry mum) was I doing being so far away from them in the first week of the school holidays, on my own, hurting myself? At that moment, if there had been a train station in Inveraray I have a feeling I would have scratched from the race. I couldn't feel any lower.
Instead, I phoned my wife. I wanted to hear some words of sympathy and for her to allow me to quit. Instead, to her great credit, she told me to stop being such a wuss and pull myself together! She gave me advice on how to strap my ankle and reassured me it wouldn't snap (she's a sports physiotherapist). The fact she was in the middle of hosting a physio reunion for her university friends meant that I soon had a roomful of physios yelling down the line for me to keep going and not worry about my achilles. It was just what I needed.
On I went, and after I had gone up and over the Rest and Be Thankful (what a nightmare that is on a bike) I suddenly felt fantastic. That amazing tailwind returned, my achilles seemed fine and I was flowing along the road to Glasgow at a satisfyingly quick pace. This positivity increased as the day went on, aided by the beautiful scenery as I entered the Trossachs. I even enjoyed the climb out of Aberfoyle over the Duke's Pass- its alpine switchbacks in the evening twilight were a joy, only matched by the descent off the back into Callander.
I couldn't believe it, I had made it and was only (hopefully) a day from home.
Trans Alba Race Day 7 - Callander to Edinburgh (and the finish!)
On this morning, I was very much the annoying hostel guest who wakes everyone up at stupid o'clock, but to be honest I didn't care. The desire to be on the road as early as possible and start this final, massive day of riding was overpowering. I could see the finish line, a long way away granted, but it was there.
Pain was a constant background noise now. I knew I would feel crap until at least lunch time, but I also knew that every day for the last 3 days I had felt great as the afternoon and evening wore on. It seemed to take that long for my body to accept that I wasn't going to listen to it protest.
The Crow Road was my first challenge of the day - a major climb normally, but at that point it was just another climb. Work away at it and I'll be over before I know it. That became the psychology of the Trans Alba - what's another climb?
Working my way through urban central Scotland was not fun however. It's a pretty grim part of the country to be honest and the roads were busy and confusing. I had my only real scare of the trip at this point. I had taken a wrong turn and stupidly buried my head in my GPS to work out where to go, while riding. On looking up I realised I was on the wrong side of the road, riding headfirst towards a moving car. We both slammed on the brakes and thankfully stopped inches short of each other. After apologising profusely, I realised that the combination of tiredness and on-the-bike map checking was not particularly great.
The Borders couldn't come soon enough and as soon as I hit Tweedsmuir, I knew home was within reach. Even the brutal Talla Wall climb couldn't dent my spirits (even though it beat me - I had to push the last little bit) and by the time I hit Selkirk I was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I was flowing again and soon passed Magnus and Jane - a pair who I had targeted as my main competitors for the day. I was now in 11th!
Knowing the Duns to Gifford road was coming up, along with three of my least favourite climbs (they're all horrible individually, but as a triplet they're a real bugger) I took it easy in the run up. This meant I suddenly started contemplating what I had done, and the fact I would see my family soon. Waves of emotion started hitting me, something I've never felt before.
Cresting Redstone Rigg in the evening sun and looking down over beautiful East Lothian was the last straw. I stopped to take in the view and wept. I was almost home. I could see home.
Suddenly that was all I wanted, to finish and be home. I drove on, faster than I think I rode on the first day. My uncle and aunt were on the road outside Gifford - seeing them was another fillip. I cracked on. On entering Musselburgh I was peeped at by a driver in a 4x4 - I was about to berate him, when I realised it was Rob Lawson again, on his way to meet me at the finish! This was then added to by one of my former clients Vera - who leapt from her car and told me I had just overtaken someone. I didn't know what she meant as the only other person in front of me had been Geordie Dave, and he had seemed miles away. Regardless, I could smell the finish line and I tore through Portobello with the lights of Edinburgh beckoning.
The final downhill through Holyrood Park was the trigger for such great feelings. I was exultant as I turned round the roundabout and saw my mum and brother, as well as Rob at the finish line outside the Scottish Parliament. Jack and Chris, the race directors were there to snap a few pictures and offer their congratulations and for once, I actually enjoyed a swig of whisky from my finishers' hip flask. I had finished 10th, so much better than I thought I'd do. And now I could go home.
An amazing experience and one that will stay with me for a lifetime.
Would I do it again? Lets see...
Thanks again to all those who sent messages over the course of the week, whether by text or commenting on my social posts - those messages kept me going when I was at my lowest. Also, thank you to those of you who very generously donated to each of my chosen charities. At the time of writing, the overall total including offline donations is around the £2500 mark. Awesome.
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