ON THE ROAD
Ever the one to hunt out climbs, Simon Warren stitches together a colossal ride that scales the peaks of three north England counties...
100 Climbs author Simon Warren often comes to us with mad-cap ideas of hilly rides and earlier this winter he proposed riding the three highest passes of three English counties - Yorkshire, County Durham and Cumbria - strung together over 131 miles. Guess what we said…
What defines a Cycling Plus ‘Big Ride’? Big mileage? Big terrain? Big history? If you play your cards right, maybe all three at once? If so, boy, did I have a Big Ride.
I live in Sheffield, so it made sense to plant a pin in Fleet Moss, Yorkshire’s summit, straight away and plan the route from there. To the north of Yorkshire lies County Durham, home to the highest pass in England, Chapel Fell, so that was a definite goer.
From there, and to keep this already huge ride manageable, the final option had to be Cumbria. The highest pass contained within the county boundaries is Kirkstone at 454m, but that was just too far away, so the more realistic alternative was Killhope Cross. Linking Cumbria with County Durham, it stands at 627m, a full 173m higher than Kirkstone. All that was left to do was join the dots and the intricate puzzle was complete. All in all, the parcours would cover 212km and 4700 metres of elevation. Throw in one gloomy mid-October day. Might Cycling Plus fully capitalise ‘BIG’?
Instinct versus power
Such a brute of a Big Ride needed an appropriate companion to share the pace. James Ward, 21 years my junior and who consumes rides like this for breakfast, fitted the bill.
We arrived in Buckden, in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales, shortly after day break. The forecast was for dry weather but, as we built our bikes beneath dark skies, such optimistic predictions would prove wide of the mark.
With our photographer, Russell Ellis, in tow we rolled out, heading first west through Langstrothdale. Before I knew it, I was chewing my stem. As much as I was reluctant to show weakness to my young apprentice the pace simply wasn’t sustainable. “Ease up James! We’ve still got a double century to go!”
“Apologies Simon, I’m riding to power and sitting on 220 Watts.”
“Riding to what? This isn’t a science experiment.
Now turn the machines off, young man, you need to listen to your instincts like me, and they’re saying slow down.”
Just 9km had passed before we hit our first landmark peak of the ride, the 589m Fleet Moss. Sure, it was the ‘easy’ side of the climb, but to keep this already big ride from exploding at the seams I had to make some sacrifices somewhere, and this was one of them. Even so, it’s a frightful road, with a couple of testing 20 per cent ramps along its two-mile length, which leads you kicking and screaming to the top of the Dales. It was there that those threatening clouds finally burst and, while I’ve seen far worse, we knew this was going to be a hard day. To be honest, bad weather is part of the Fleet Moss experience.
We rocketed down into Hawes, buffeted by the crosswinds on the vicious north face of the pass, and then headed for Kirkby Stephen.
This next stretch was, honestly, a bit of a chore, the heavy road surface mixing with endless undulations for a toxic brew. Still, being so early in the ride, we were able to make light work of it. We bypassed the first rest stop at Appleby, 40 miles in, given our jacket pockets were still stuffed.
We crossed the A66, and onto the only flat section of the entire route, skirting the imposing flank of the towering Pennine Fells of Murton, Dufton, Cross, Melmerby and the daddy of them all, Great Dun. The latter is the highest paved road in England (848m) but it’s an outand-back so doesn’t qualify today.
We rocketed down into Hawes, buffeted by the crosswinds on the vicious north face of the pass
Stunning stepping stone
With that giant bullet dodged we set our sights on the wonderful Hartside Pass. On a normal day, this gorgeous swirl of tarmac, reaching out for four miles across the fells, is a highlight. Today, it was merely a beautiful stepping stone en route to bigger challenges. An Alpine hairpin marks the summit, then comes the burnt-out remains of the muchmissed Hartside Café, ravaged by fire in early 2018.
Wind assisted, we plummeted down the fun-filled descent into Alston. It was the halfway point and we could be very satisfied with our day thus far, but there was still so much more to come down the road.
A diversion in Alston meant yet another climb on our route, the aptly-named Loathing Lane. On any other day I’d have been thrilled to find a new climb. But not today. Kicking two men while they were down, we soon arrived at the foot of Killhope Cross, the second of today’s three gargantuan peaks. Despite favourable wind it was a slog from beginning to end.
There are some nasty 16 per cent ramps at the bottom to soften you up, then three big ones at the top to finish the job. Each comes with a false summit to fool the uninitiated into thinking they have made it, only to snuff out all hope. 627m up made for a predictably wild summit, and with the south-westerly wind raging we didn’t dwell, snatching a few photos before racing down into the protection of Weardale.
Hurtling into the valley, making the most of what we knew would be the last of the tail wind, we rode into St John’s Chapel to face my nemesis, the dreaded, the despicable Chapel Fell.
James wondered why I despised this climb so much. For starters, it’s long and tough. But that can be said for loads of climbs. How about, there’s always, always, a headwind?
The truth is it comes down to a bit of formative personal history. It was 1992 and Chapel Fell was to host the national hill climb championship. After making the trek up from Nottinghamshire, we awoke the morning of the event to find a foot of snow had fallen. The race was cancelled and rearranged for two weeks later, but I didn’t go back.
Then, like today, the wind was blowing so hard it could strip
This next stretch was, honestly, a bit of a chore, the heavy road surface mixing with endless undulations for a toxic brew
paint. It would be another 17 long years before I plucked up the courage to return.
The Chuckle Brothers
Leaving the village a couple of builders gave us a ‘good luck’. Their chuckles were barely disguised. Up and over the initial undulations, with a glance to your left you see your foe in all its glory. Cutting across the barren hillside it’s enough to make you want to turn and flee, so I recommend keeping heads down and focusing on the tarmac directly in front.
James’ youth and superior powerto-weight (did I mention he was 7kg lighter than me?!) were really starting to show. He gapped me as the steeper slopes kicked in and I was powerless to stop it, concentrating instead on survival. Trying my best to overcome the ‘wind + gravity = standstill’ equation I plodded upwards, into an onslaught of drizzle, closer and closer to the top. Such toil does have its upsides, and the highest pass in England combined with the characteristically crap northern weather really makes you feel alive.
At the top I discovered James huddled behind our photographer’s car, his low body-fat percentage not working quite as well for him as it did a short while previous. Wisely, we didn’t hang around, pausing only for photographs before hotfooting off this wretched road as fast as possible.
With Chapel Fell in the rear view we’d completed our three peaks challenge. Right? Wrong. Technically we were still over 50 miles from home with 1500m of elevation nestled in-between, which on other days would have met the Big Ride brief on its own. The climbs were done, but this ride, through the Pennines, still had plenty of teeth to bare.
It was time for our second café stop of the day, but we were soaked so again bypassed it, popping into Barnard Castle, which required another diversion and another unscheduled climb. There we skidded around a Co-op in our cleats, grabbing treats while Russ ‘treated’ himself to a trip to Greggs. We were soon back on the road.
For the first time we both admitted to being a little frayed
Cutting across the barren hillside it’s enough to make you want to turn and flee, so I recommend keeping your head down The climbs were done, but this ride, through the Pennines, still had plenty of teeth to bare
around the edges, and it was just at the wrong time, as the mighty Stang climb awaited. So taxing is the Stang that it hosted the 2013 national hill climb championships. That was the ominous south side. Like Fleet Moss earlier in the day, we were using the ‘easy’ side of the famous road – good news, given my climbing speed had been set to ‘crawl’ mode rather than ‘performance’ for a while now.
Thankfully the upper reaches of the pass are shrouded by trees, which did their best to protect us from the onslaught of the wind but, once free of shelter, out on the exposed summit we were again faced with the full force of the elements. I say we, but in truth James cut through both the gale and the 20 per cent slope like a particularly hot knife through room-temperature butter.
After finally stuffing the Stang into our pockets, we were onto Above right Greets Moss has seen more lively displays of cycling in recent years Greets Moss, which famously played host to the Tour de France back in 2014 (and will take centre stage again later in 2019 at the World Championships). These routes, however, take the left fork after the cattle grid, otherwise known as the soft route over. We went the other way. “Do we have to go this way,” grumbled James? Maybe he was feeling the strain after all.
We had 185km in our legs, so I had a pretty good idea how this climb, which opens with a 20 per cent ramp, was going to play out. Throw in that infernal wind and it was painfully slow progress over the stark, empty moor. Thoughts of whether we’d make it home before dark began to prey on our minds and we had to keep moving.
Cunning climb
The final obstacle, Kidstone, was a new one on me. I’d never paid it much attention and always dismissed it as the easy path in or out of the Dales for those who can’t face Park Rash or Fleet Moss. With ‘just’ 130m of elevation gain and a one-mile stretch, this would be a cinch. In fact I was so confident of crossing it with ease that I stuck it in the big ring and wound the pace up, forcing young James to dig deep to hold my wheel.
When that gradient really kicked up to the sky, though, I came to a grinding halt and James shot off into the distance like a plane catapulted from the deck of an aircraft carrier. But slowly ticking off those final few metres of elevation, what started as a spark of an idea a few months earlier was about to be realised. And what a ride it had been. A day where we filled our senses to the point of saturation and pushed our legs to the brink of collapse. That’s a great day in my book.