Reaching your limits - Dylan's Ride Blog

Ever had "one of those" rides where you just wished you did an indoor sport, or lived in a better climate? I did this weekend.

I did what I thought was a short ride on Saturday. For various reasons I didn't actually hit the start of the trail until 4:30 in the afternoon. No problem I thought, as I had my oh-so-bright-HID lights on the bike, and I was on my winter single speed hack bike armed with some mud tyres. I might be out a little past sunset, but nothing I can't handle. I had also forgotten that I had only the lightest of lunches.

The ride was in the Wolds, which by this time of the year, are pretty muddy. Worse still, the summer's undergrowth had still not died back, so riding conditions were a combination of long grass (which slows you down a lot more than you think) and mud. To add further difficulty, the ploughing season has started.

The first part of the ride went fine. Muddy fields and long draggy climbs were dispatched against the backdrop of long shadows over the rolling hills of the wolds, and the sort of dramatic cloudscape that you only really notice in the country. As the sun started to set, things started to go pear shaped. A nice grassy bridleway turned into a ploughed field, with no grass margin to ride along. A few hundred yards of field took minutes rather than seconds to cross. Then, what would have been a hard but rideable climb, turned into a long bike push, as I just couldn't muster enough grunt to keep the pedals turning. By this time it was dark enough to see the stars and the lights of the villages and farms below. I got to a gravel track that headed downhill, and turned on the lights. Suddenly, my view of the world turned from a fairly shadowy panorama, to a bright bubble of light in front of me and utter blackness all around. One thing that makes night riding so different, is that the perception of speed is different. Heading down a well surfaced gravel track by day would have been pleasant, but nothing special, compared to a 'proper' technical trail. In my travelling bubble of light, 20 mph felt like rushing down a tunnel at twice that speed. As I stopped for a rest I could hear owls hooting in the woods, which sounded a little spooky. Thoughts of mad axe-men hunting for unwary fools did cross my mind.

After getting pretty wet in a lurking puddle (judging the depth of water is even harder in the dark), I arrived at a road, with soaking wet legs. Suddenly I started to feel cold and tired, despite only having been 16 miles.  At this point I decided that it was better to deviate from the planned route, and stay on the road and go around a hill, rather than over it on the bridleway. I then had a long draggy road climb to bring me back to the orginal route. This soon had me very warm, but no less tired. I stopped for a look at the map, at a junction which was the last chance to commit to either a section of offroad, or to bail out. Fortunately I had remembered to bring a head torch with me, which made map reading a lot easier. And I became totally confused as to what to do next. I couldn't decide if I should carry on, or bail out and return to the car by the fastest means. I just couldn't decide what to do. I started heading to the start of the bridleway, and stopped again after a few yards, and started to looked at the map again, in the hope that somehow the realities of the situation had changed, and then started out for the briddleway again. During all of this messing around time was ebbing away, and it was now gone 7 pm. There was plenty more juice in the lights, although I wasn't so sure about me. I started out down the bridleway and sped along for quarter of a mile, before the bridleway ended in a ploughed field. By day I could probably had seen enough to work out if this was just a small obstacle or an omen for the next 3 miles. At this point I finally got a grip of myself and decided "to hell with this, let's cut and run". And so I trogged back along the bridleway. I imagined what somebody in the farm I passed would have thought of the bright but appearently indescisively wandering lights were.

Back on the road, I remembered I had been sensible enough to bring an extra layer with me. Putting my gortex jacket on brought a welcome bit of warmth back, but I soon started to feel hot and clammy inside the jacket, as what seemed like a flattish road was proving hard work against a strong headwind. After what felt like a long time, but was probably only minutes the road started to head downhill, and the remaining 3 miles vanished in a blur of trees flashing pass. The sound of very knobbly trail raker tyres was oddly hypnotic, and I rode down that hill in a sort of trance, which was only broken by the familar and welcome sight of my car sitting at the side of the road in Weaverthorpe. I had done 20 miles in 3.5 hours, which is probably fair enough for the conditions.

After struggling with a mud and slippery bike, which seemed not to be able to fit in the back of the car, I was on the road, and back. The roads round there are tricky, winding things which dart around hedges and turn 90 degrees for reasons long forgotten. And I have to say my driving by this point was pretty poor, as I was fading fast, and fighting cramp in my left leg. I made it back I one piece. I had abandoned the route I wanted to ride, but had made it

So, what lessons can be learned from this? In theory I was a reasonably well prepared, experienced and fit rider, yet I made some big mistakes.

Food. My biggest mistake by far. A decent meal before starting out, and something to help me along the way would have kept my from hitting the lows I did. I had foolishly not replaced the emergency energy bar stash in my pack that I had scoffed on the last ride. Looking back it was obvious that my ability to keep control of the situation was clouded, and lack of food played some part in that.

Riding conditions. Even with lights, and suitable tyres, riding around muddy fields in the dark takes a heavy toll on you physically and mentally. I should have adjusted my expections for how far I could ride to allow for the fact it's not summer any more.

Inflexible planning. I should have set off earlier, or done a shorter ride.

Pride. Being stubborn and not giving up is good sometimes. And sometimes it's not. I should have admitted defeat sooner and cut the ride short, long before "indecision junction".

Mistakes multiply. Although I had no mechanical problems or punctures, other small mistakes pile up on each other, and suddenly you are sliding out of control, towards disaster. And had I not belately 'got a grip' on the situation I could have been in real danger.

Tiredness. When you are tired and lacking food (funnily I didn't feel hungry at the time) your brains fills with fog, and you become unable to act decisively, and make poor choices. My messing around at the junction was a good example of this.

The bike. Single speeds are great in winter. Cheaper to maintain, less to go wrong, and less to clog up when riding. However, all but the but the most die hard one-cog jihadis have to admit that they take more effort to get up hills, and are slower than a geared bike.

Safety in numbers. "Groupthink" has it's own perils, but, one person can be just as stupid without somebody else telling them "are you sure that's a good idea?".

I could go on. The main thing to remember is eat more before and during the ride, and don't be afraid to bail out.