Ride 1000 miles in a day and change your life
Learn more about yourself and your bike in less than 24 hours
‘You’ll never really be the same again’
Riding 1000 miles starts with a motive. The history of human endeavour is littered with tales of men and women who challenged adversity simply because it was there, not because success lead to enlightenment or glory. And so it is with riding 1000 miles in one hit; there’s no medal, no winner’s trophy, no cash prize and no memorial, just pride at exceeding an arbitrary distance within an arbitrary time frame, and the incredible rush it delivers. Humans are a weird bunch.
A thousand miles is long way; further than the distance for the quickest road route north to south on the UK mainland; 837 miles in 14-and-a-half hours from John O’ Groats to Land’s End. To make the run nearer 1000 miles, tick Google Maps’ ‘Avoid Motorways’ box; it becomes 966 miles. You can top it up to four figures by lapping every roundabout en route twice.
But the trouble is, doing that will take over 20 hours because it’s on A and B roads and 20 hours is the cut-off for riding to be safe, no matter how many breaks you take. Everyone is different, but everyone has a limit and the single most important part of riding 1000 miles in one go is knowing exactly where yours is, when you’re approaching it, and what to do about it. Therefore to achieve our 1000mile target only a substantial chunk of motorway, holding a consistent 70 to
80mph, is quick enough. Which means, unless you want to ride from
John O’ Groats to
Land’s End then back to Bristol, cracking the tenton mile-mark usually means going abroad, where there’s room to do it.
And, as it happens, being abroad and a long way from home is often the best catalyst. The motivation of getting back as soon as humanly possible can prove an irresistible, magnetic force.
But why ride 1000 miles in one go in the first place? Imagine the primal, concentrated rush of adrenaline you’d get in, say, a six-lap race. Imagine the hollow fear and nail-biting nerves on the start line, the powerful intensity of concentration as the lights change and the screaming release as you bundle headlong into the first corner melee, then the panicked rush of chasing and being chased, and the unbridled, exploding euphoria of crossing the finish line in one piece.
Now imagine taking all those raw emotions and animal instincts, the potent hormones and neurotransmitters mainlining into your bloodstream, supercharging your system in a natural, drugcrazed surge; and instead of cramming them into a short-lived 12-minute burst they’re spun out over a whole 20 hours straight. That’s nearly a day off your face on motorcycling cloud nine. That’s what riding 1000 miles in one go feels like. It’s the days of planning and packing, then the thrill of anticipation and deepbreath mental preparation, steeling yourself for the coming test. It’s the early doors start at some ungodly hour; the steady first few miles ticking under your wheels as you settle into a rhythm. It’s building momentum skimming silently across the landscape, feeding into the journey, pacing concentration
effort, metering out endurance, negotiating strategies for staying focussed and dividing up the distance into packets. How long and far till the next fuel stop, the next drink, the next junction? And it’s the meat of the ride; the pounding out of pace, the stubborn, relentless commitment to continual movement. The trip becomes a sub-routine; an automatic action without conscious thought, as easy and natural as breathing. Your brain is swamped in an exotic cocktail of adrenaline and cortisol, swimming in dopamine and serotonin, and it feels like flying. It’s an out-ofbody experience as you hover over the bike, watching it drive on, endlessly, in a dream.
Then comes the battle against fatigue, to stay concentrated, and safe. Discipline, mental fortitude and conditioning kick in, fighting the temptation to drift and decline. But, always, like a big red warning light, is having the self-awareness to snap out of your romantic fantasy and stop, and rest. No drug is worth paying the ultimate price. And then there’s the final stretch, when the miles become familiar and the end is within your grasp; you hit the road to your front door in autopilot. The overall sensation, as you collapse in a heap on the sofa at home, is both exhausting and transcendent, like the culmination of one long, magnificent biking orgasm of distance and speed. But within the whole are a multitude of smaller sensations and experiences; a gamut of flavours spilling across one another, soaking your mind and soul in the narrative of a remarkable ride. It’s no wonder it can take days to recover and get back to a sense of normality.
But you’ll never really be the same again.