Plean, West Districts & Thorneyford

‘How did last weeks West District Cross Country champs go ?’ I hear you ask. Well, you’re jumping the gun a wee bit. As Mrs Mac is without a Scottish Club, she couldn’t run the cross country. So as a wee treat, we identified a parkrun for her on the route between Dunkeld, the base for last weeks training camp, and Kilmarnock, the venue for the cross country. It turned out to the Plean parkrun. It is not a village I was familiar with. The parkrun advertised itself as a ‘Trail’ affair with a modest weekly turnout and some patronage from nearby Dunblane. We arrived with 15 minutes to spare and there were about 30 or so at the start. She set off with purpose. Mrs Mac said she thought she might win after leading the women for 100 yards, but was soon dissuaded after being passed by a handful of women who had other ideas. I was simply getting some early miles in and plodded around the scenic forest paths and patches of colliery spoil on an 8:30 pace. It was short and sweet and we hurried back to the car and burnt the rubber to Killie, travelling via Newton Mearns to pick up Speedy Joe and Ant. Parking 40 minutes later at the retail park, we used the facilities in Asda and then walked up to the Leisure Centre. I fancied a cuppa, but the outside catering caravan was trying to charge £2.50 for tea and I recoiled with repugnance in a lazy, slow motion speech drawling manner like you see in the movies. ‘Reeep oooaaff priii sess’.

Speedy Joe was off first. One of the favourites set off at a suicidal pace, and it took Speedy a mile to reel her in, before then spending the next 3 miles going toe to toe with her and eventually dropping her 500 yards before the end. Perfect tactics for the win and a strong performance. Needless to say, Ant and I were buoyed up by this and we both started our race with lusty determination. I had Gerry Scullion and McParland for company in the first mile and it all took a while to settle down. However, I felt light and started hopping from vet to vet, pulling in a couple of Bellahouston Harriers and a Garscube. In the process I dropped my 2 clubmates and I finished strongly reaping the benefits of the good air, expensive beer, light diet and quiet nights at the Dunkeld training camp.  I would have been 4^th M60, so there’s still work to do for next year and my anticipated entry into Supervet territory.

Not satisfied with 2 races on the Saturday, I had entered the cyclo cross on the Sunday at Thorneyford near Ponteland. It was cold and it had been raining all morning and I knew it was going to be a wet one. It was grim. We were off sharpish and right enough after a lap or two my bike was fully clagged up. The pedalling became more laboured and I struggled latterly to move the gears as they became mudbound. I stopped for 10 or 20 seconds to get my feet sorted out, the cleats on my shoe soles also becoming ineffective in the clag. I finished toward the rear of the field and was truly envious of those who had pitmen and 2^nd bikes – yes, it’s a thing – you can change your bike every lap if you have someone to spray down the bike you discard – its clearly an unfair advantage and I found myself being a little contemptuous of the whole affair toward the end. No matter. Forty minutes of cycling and another 40 minutes of washing the bike afterwards in a big puddle beside the car. How Glam! Once I got home, I had to wash it again with clean soapy water…another 20 minutes. So this weekend, after looking at the forecast, I’ve decided to abstain from the world of 2 wheels. S’pose there’s always next week.  

They're out there...

It was the Dunkeld autumn training camp this week. To kick it off I took myself and mrs mac to Bo’ness, the centre of Scottish UFO sightings, if reports are to be believed, but which they never are.

Why Bo’ness I hear you ask? Had I been drawn there by a secret force? Have I been mysteriously stressed and been found modelling a small mountain of mashed potato on our kitchen table in the wee small hours? No; instead it was another of those very terrestrial cyclo-cross events. 

We got parked up some way down the hill at Kinneil House, quite a grand setting for the event. I picked my number up and nodded to a few riders I’ve begun to recognise over the course of the season. At 10.30am we got on the course for a warm up and it seemed flattish, with no stretches where running would be required. Worse luck. The course tape wound its way around a section of woodland which was interesting. Elsewhere, the surface was very divetted (if that’s a word). With my mild improvement continuing at these events, I have begun to pick up league points, but not enough seemingly to feature in the gridding at the front, so its left to us losers to battle our way from the ‘very back’ to ‘nearly the very back’ of the peleton. 

It was a moderately muddy 40 minutes of intense cardio and I was well pleased to have remained upright throughout the whole affair. Mrs mac provided some solid support and took any number of photos in the low morning light. After loading a clagged up bike into the back of the car and chatting to a guy from Prestwick, we sat and discussed the aerial light show we had witnessed and the odd oval eyed  and almond skulled locals who were gathered around the street corners. Later, we repaired to a café in Kinross for a steak sandwich and pot of tea before heading north. Among other highlights so far this week, we’ve jogged 15 miles to Pitlochry along part of the Atholl Path and clocked up 10 miles around Tentsmuir; that is before ruining all the good work with ingesting a huge tray of chips from the Salt and Pine crepe hut. Its 2 steps forward and 2 steps back. With the cross country at Kilmarnock on Saturday and then more cyclo-cross on Sunday back home, It’ll be a busy weekend. In the meantime, I'll have a go at trying to extricate the strange metal probe I've found inserted into my privates.     

Scottish CX Champs, Camperdown

 

I found myself in Pathhead on Saturday with both the Condor road bike and Moda cross bike in the back of the car and the sun beginning to wane. It was evident that by the time I would get to my accommodation in Perth that the sun would be too far below the horizon to spare me ninety minutes on the bike. So an executive decision was made to ditch the car in Dalkeith and take a lap round Musselburgh and surrounding countryside. 

It took my a few minutes to dig the bike out and get my shoes on, but I was soon off and heading north. The traffic was very heavy and making my way toward the coast, my ride was hampered by traffic lights and people in cars living their retail lives. After Musselburgh High Street, I worked my way round to Wallyford and back to Dalkeith and then ended going up towards Lasswade. By the time I returned I had 20 miles on the clock and my daily thirst for mileage was sated. 

It was a quiet Saturday night in the Perth Travelodge and I was up at the crack on Sunday for a 2 mile jog around Huntingtower. The mist was down and it was atmospheric and damp as I jogged around this fortified house with only a few crows for company. After a shower, it was porridge in a plastic tub and a yogurt for breakies. Donning my distinctive zebra-zigzag arm warmers, my monogrammed cycling gear and diamond cufflinks I was soon ready and it was off to Dundee for the 2022 Scottish Cyclo Cross Champs. When I was asked last week why I do cyclo-cross but not road racing on the bike, I answered that its because there are age related fields. With eighty or so 50's and 60's, there is no chance of coming up against some of the young guns and finding yourself out the back and isolated after 2 minutes. Instead, you get an experience that lasts long enough to enjoy and maintain the illusion  that youre still a  'player'. 

There was no commissionaire at the sign on tent to interrogate me as to why there is no photo on my licence card. No dramas. I collected my number after parking on the grass. Camperdown was chocca. It was cool and grey, but sheltering in the trees with the grey squirrels looking on perplexed by the whole affair, the course appeared straightforward with a couple of sandpits but no obvious bits for running. 

After the kids, we were on, mid morning. I was gridded near the back and were soon off and belting down the finishing straight. There were a couple of other guys from the club riding, and one nipped in front of me shortly after the start. The sheer temerity of the move made me smile as did the white rimmed googles he was hiding behind. However, I was soon back in front and chasing Jim Foulis (Dundee Wheelers) whom I'd met at Irvine the previous week. I nearly stayed in touch with him, and even managed to pass a Falkirk rider just before the finish. It was a most enjoyable 40 minutes of off-roading and I'm sure my confidence at attacking off-camber bends and slippy bits is rising with every race. I still managed to derail myself in one of the sandpits, but I'm learning. If I trained I might improve, but reports of my impending retirement were premature -  I'm still ploughing that dull furrow during the week. 

Finishing toward the back again, the bike wasn't too mucky and I retired to the Tartan coffee shop on Perth Road for a haggis and mango pannini (yes, really) and a pot of steaming tea. Top trip. Its Bo'ness next weekend after the Cross Country at Durham.

XC then CX - Kirkcaldy & Irvine.

 

The week fairly flies these days. The Scottish Short Course Cross Country Championships at Kirkcaldy last Saturday seems like a distant memory.  Three of us arrived just as the rain departed and assisted with the tent before having a jog around the short 4k course. Speedy Joe was on first in the womens race and struggled in the 2nd lap to finish around 35th, no doubt feeling the Alpine training in her legs. There was a surfeit of University Student runners in the race and the short course although heavy going was nonetheless little more than a sprint. The men's and vets race was not significant other than withdrawal of Anton after the first lap. I chased two Bella team mates and overhauled both before being caught in the last 500m by one. I knocked around a minute off last years time, but still ended up around 300th out of 500 or so. Maybe it was a bigger field or a faster day. I enjoyed the race though and gave it full beans. 

We took off shortly afterwards to Irvine and got there around 5.30 to the guest house by the harbour. It was fifty quid for the night, the bedroom was tottie, but it was clean and nicely laid out and even came with a caramel wafer. We repaired to the nearby Niche eatery and sat outside in the terrace. We then went to the Carrick Hotel past the Riverside for a pint and via Vanilla Joes for an ice cream cone. 

I was up and out the next morning for 4 miles, running along the coast toward Troon. After a Greggs sannie and tea, breakfast of would-be champions, I took the car the 300 yards to the car park for the Irvine Cyclo Cross. Boasting a record entry of 100 M50's/M60's, I rode a lap of the coarse and took my place at the start. The sun was out but low and it was a cool breeze blowing across the dunes. I am glad to report that all the new kit held together well and I finished an awesome 63rd out of about 80 or so starters. Came down once trying to be smart. It was a quality 40 minutes. Speedy and Anton provided some great support and took some cool snaps. I am looking forward to Dundee this Sunday and the Scottish CX champs. The course there looks pretty heavy, so the bike won't be coming back quite as clean as it was after Irvine.      

New Boot & Panties

Sat in the mid-morning sunshine armed with a mug of hot tea, I am feeling righteous. The bike wheels have been trued and came back yesterday, so I have spent the entire morning (so far) stripping the rear cassette (the wee group of cogs that sit on the rear back wheel), cleaning them, then re-assembling them. I’ve also mounted new tyres on both wheels. Tidy. The tyres are knobbly Continentals.  Shelling out fifty quid for the 2 tyres, I reasoned that they will provide me with better traction than the old ones at the forthcoming cyclocross in Irvine in bonny Ayrshire. Truth be told, if I had reduced the pressure from 40psi to about 20psi last time around at Herrington, I might not have had to be so tentative at the tricky bits during the race and probably wouldn’t have needed to splash the cash. Let's not talk about the new mountain bike shoes, but you’ll agree that they will give me a further edge across the sandy beach course. I think I counted a field of 100 over 50’s when last I looked at the British Cycling entry list, so I won’t be alone, one way or another. There could be some horrible congestion, though.

I used to spend hours riding and cleaning my bike when I was an eager young chap back in the eighties when the world was full of possibilities, and, as Scott Fitzgerald once wrote ‘don’t go out unless you’re doing at least 20 miles’. This was later confirmed when Duncan McHardy (RIP), erstwhile part time coach in Dundee said ‘less than 2 hours on the bike is a waste of time’. Times were hard. Standards were high. I used to think that I could ride with the best of them (well, at least in training). Might just be selective amnesia. My VO2 max has slumped like Bitcoin since then and my heart rate can only daydream about what it used to do, but I’m grateful that I can still go out and enjoy a good beasting, whether it be a run or a ride. 

Getting new tyres on wheel rims is a right faff. They’re too tight and it takes technique not to nip the rubber tube. It is a technique that I do not possess. It’s no wonder that the kids send their bikes to the local shop for any little thing. I paid twenty quid for the wheels to be straightened and most probably I could have done it myself, if I’d watched a youtube clip or three. My mother used to get exasperated when she’d find my polishing my spokes in the hall with silvo or bathing my nuts and washers in turps on the kitchen floor. Nutbath city limits. I am slowly rediscovering my old love of the bike and just need to complete negotiations with Mrs Mac as to where in the house they can reside. There is something atavistic about men and their ‘little collections’. I am not very patient when it comes to hoarders, but I concede that I have a blind spot for my own transgressions. There's been more than one visitor to the house who was agog at the bikes all over the place. I should add that they’re not all mine. The garage is too damp for the lovies, and who wants to over-winter with the mice or leggy spiders and listen to that tumble dryer doing its best to destroy the planet. I would really like them (the bikes, not the mice) in a room downstairs. A shed might be an idea, but the garden’s not that big and we might lose the onions Mrs mac has recently planted. So, for the time being, they are a persistent fixture at chez al.  

Moving on to running, I managed to improve my placing at last Saturdays Lambton Cross Country and nearly managed to breach the top 100. As I flogged my way with 450 other runners around 3 laps of a country park near Washington, I mused that this time of year is (without fear of contradiction), my nearly favourite time of the year to run. The autumnal colours are stunning. Running in the snow cannot be beaten though. My mileage is already up to 32m this week so I better reign it in. Its Kirkcaldy tomorrow for the 4k. Wish me luck. I’ll have the cleanest sprockets on the course! 

Postscript: 'I now read that selective amnesia may be a sign of impending memory loss. Ironically this research was published by University College, Irvine, but not the Ayrshire Irvine!' Who said that?   

Herrington Park, Cyclo Cross (16th Oct)

Its been a busy few weeks back here in allymac towers. Speedy Joe has gone over to the dark side and got married and so folk have been a bit pre-occupied with all the arrangements and what not. As Anton the groom pointed out, the criteria for being selected as a bridesmaid was a sub 20min 5k! What with her new surname, I imagine that she'll have to re-invent herself! In the meantime, I have clocked up 40 running miles last week and also managed to shoe-horn in another full-on cardio session cyclo-cross a fortnight ago.  I inadvertently described the cardio workout at Herrington near Sunderland to my running companion earlier this week as a 'cardiac' session, and that's probably nearer the truth. There's two leagues in the north east here for cyclo-cross and this time it was the larger, moderately more expensive CXNE league event  that I signed up for.  

The start was seeded, and if you haven't paid the extra forty quid for a full licence, you don't get points and so are always destined to start at the back of the pack. Pathetic in a small minded way, really. There were around 50 over-50 men in the field, with the women setting off about a minute behind us. I had come down in the warm up and it took a good few laps before I began to become more confident with the various twists, turns and adverse cambers. I managed to stay upright throughout finishing around 38th or thereabouts. One of my shoes plates had got stuck in the pedals with a screw working loose, so I was pleased I hadn't crashed otherwise I would have struggled to get back up without taking off the shoe. Mrs Mac took a pile of photos so that was something. I have now stuck my name down for the Scottish Champs in Dundee in mid November. Its really just an excuse to get back up to Tayside to see the geese and enjoy the banter.  Its the local cross country this weekend and I wouldn't mind improving on my previous performance. I haven't done Lambton before, so it should be a good workout. 

Druridge Cross Country 2022: All Aboard..

 I managed to remain dry and relatively unsullied during Sundays Cross Country race. There was a big field at Druridge Bay Country Park near Amble, hosting the second of the NE harrier league xc events. It was 2015 the last time I did this, and I recall I had a hacky cough even back then, before coughs were invented and inflation was a thing of the past and a lingering spectre of the future. The women were off first in this handicapped affair and I jogged around some of the course with the Nikon looking for a few good locations to take a few pictures, snapping as some of our lot came past. Soon it was the men and I snuck into a pack of around 450 who together made up the slow pack (the 100 others joining the medium and fast packs). I didn't bring the camera! The ground was firm with just a little yield and it was a fairly straightforward, if breezy, 3 laps. Starting near the back, I worked my way through plenty of folk before my progress stuttered a little in the 3rd lap, where I still pulled a few in, but more bodies from the medium and fast packs came blustering by. I was happy to avoid the ditch as the marshall helpfully stood and shouted exhaustively about the one main feature of the race. 'Watch the ditch'....Finished 218th out of 550 and at the line I managed to remain upright and walked with feign composure to the tent. This must have translated into a steady run, so I need to coax a little more of the old competitive spirit out of the carcass on the next one if I'm going to get near Hemy, Merrison and the likes.

I nearly drove to Manor Water for the hill race the day before, but I read only 30-odd ran; I think the rest were all doing the Skyline on Sunday, a true leg-bender. My next foray north might be the Scottish short course cross country in November. This year its in Kirkcaldy, and I hope I'm in better shape than I was at Lanark last year when I was nursing a hip injury and slacked my way round (http://runnerwanderings.blogspot.com/2021/11/lanark-short-course-xc.html ). I'm back at the weights, but only squatting with 20kg, which is the weight of the bar alone. No weights. Reminds me of how truly puny I am (as if I needed reminding). 

After my self-styled 'awesome' performance at the 3 peaks, I've entered a cyclo-cross at Sunderland on Sunday. I'll try not to be last, but there may be some perverse glory in it If I do finish with da wooden spoon. I also tried to enter a national league event at South Shields, but apparently you need a 'proper' licence, which begs the question 'what have I paid British Cycling fifty quid for'? and should  a question mark go before an apostrophe or afterwards? and does anyone care about grammar anymore. On the reading front I picked up Ali Smiths 'Autumn' yesterday after finishing George Martin's early novella 'Nightflyers', but soon realised that I'd read it earlier this year, and a good, evocative read it was too.  On the same theme, I read 'Midshipman Bolitho' earlier, my first tentative step into the maritime historical fiction genre of Alexander Kent. It was light and enjoyable, slightly more easily digestible than Falkners 'Moonfleet'.   Bought two more of his efforts at the charity book fair last week. What am I like!   Still working on which  next epic event I should grace with my presence....    

A Guid Dookin' at the Yetholm Shepherds Race

 

I’m a week behind the times. Looking around at most of the blog sites written by my peers, I find that very few have had the stamina to continue to keep their blogs up to date. I’m not sure what that says about me. Saddo. Anyway, I digress. Me and Speedy Joe travelled up to the Yetholm Show last weekend for the Shepherds Show Race. It's just over an hour's drive and just over the border. It was a Scottish Championship race this year, so we expected the field for the hill race to be swollen, a little like the burn crossing that had filled with the previous days rain. Around 80 turned out including Wild, Douglas, Marwick, Marshall, Mudge as well as the local Norham, Gala, Wooler and Teviotdales that frequent the annual races held in the Cheviots. We paid our 10 quid for entry and returned briefly to the car to change. After a good heavy shower, it began to dry, and the temperature rose. I was happy that we were going to stay dry and discarded my t-shirt, going for the vest-only look. I had dug out my old Canon sureshot which is light enough to run with and still had a good lense. I had decided that I wasn’t going to flog myself mercilessly up 'yon big hills', but, instead, take the arty photos during the race that no other photographer could possibly manage. As the course leaves the show ground it takes you up one hill to a turn, returning the way you came, back through the show ground, across the burn, then up Staerhough with a wee loop at the top before returning. If I played my cards right, I could photograph the whole field, or at least most of them, at some point.  A woman arrived with two dogs just before we were about to go and she hurriedly pinned her number on her pink t-shirt. I wondered who she was. But soon we were off with me click, clicking to my left and right, then running on. 

The first hill was short and not too steep, and I got a few decent shots, as Wild and Douglas hoofed past me on their first return leg. I put the camera away on the way down, but on reaching the stream crossing, I stopped and dug it out again and let a couple of lads go past so that I could get the ‘shot’ of them splashing across. After the second guy crossed I thought I’d better get on with it, and began to cross, while at the same time stowing away the camera. However, I was not concentrating and tripped, falling headlong into the gushing rapids. There was a hoot of glee from the onlookers, one or two who had their camera phones out. I got up, got to the opposite side and shook the camera. It never stood a chance. I battled on and passed a couple as I ascended Staerhough. It was super windy at the top, but we were not there long enough to get cold, and an Edinburgh Uni girl passed me, before I re-passed her on the way down. At the second crossing of the stream I took it canny and Edinburgh Uni waded past me with confidence and at the finish line she had taken a couple of seconds out of me. Les, the organiser said he would have liked to have witnessed my dooking, and I guessed I was going to be able, at some point, to see the photo taken by one of the on-lookers. What if one had video footage…would my fall from grace go viral. No matter: dispensing with the warm down I got back to the car and changed and poured myself a hot coffee. What a plonker. It was fifty something placing and forty something minutes for the race. 

Surf n' Turf

Speedy was second to the pink shirted runner from down south who goes by the name of Emily Cowper Cowles…look her up. Holds the solo record for the ascent of the UK 3 peaks, including cycling in between them. Crackers.

Getting home, at least the memory card hadn’t been ruined and I stuck the photos on google.

 (link  https://photos.app.goo.gl/p2eSa8GSewasDzp9A )

 The photo of my 'baptism' was found on the Norham facebook site.  The next morning I was off early to Dundee to ride with the Thistle. It was a fine day out for the 7 intrepid riders as we contrived a 55 mile ride that included 3 climbs around Kinnaird and Abernyte. It was the Taybridge and Speedwell bars and a house special chow mein in the evening and an earlyish night before a 25 miler to Errol in the morning gloom. Not a bad weekend all told.

 

3 Peaks Cyclo Cross 2022 - A big day out..

I started the day with porridge at 5.30 in the morning. Soon after, me and my two support team were hoofing it down the road to the Yorkshire Dales for the 3 peaks cyclo-cross race. In a nutshell, it involves getting up Ingleborough, Whernside and Pennygent with your bike and getting back across the finish line in one piece. It involves something like 10 miles of hilly road, 20 miles of track and another 8 miles or so of unrideable terrain, or thereabouts. Now, I've never visited any of the above peaks and if you've been reading this for a while, you'll know I’ve been doing not a lot of this sort of thing, so I was winging it to say the least having paid my eighty quid after pre-qualifying.  

We were sent 7 pages of rules and regulations. The mandatory gear was a whistle, a survival bag and a waterproof. The kit check was minimal once we had parked in the field. Self-reliance is big in the 3 Peaks. I had anticipated finishing in a time of four and a half hours. I diligently completed the back of my number with several emergency contacts - I've never really bothered too much about this before, but today for some reason, I was wondering if I'd bitten off more than I could chew. I joined the queue for the portaloos and caught sight of Chris Young behind me. He won this back in the 80's and I remember him riding away from the bunch in a road race i was taking part in, in Scarborough. In the portaloo, I had to strip 3 layers off and was desperate not to touch anything - these things are awful. A ditch in the open air would be more welcome. Around 350 lined up on the road outside the pub and we were off with our numbers pinned to the left shoulder and a dibber for checkpoints on your wrist. I had screwed an old aluminium bottle cage on the bike and had decided to go with a ron hill backpack to carry bits n bobs, gels, my phone and some nutrition bars. There was 5 miles of neutralised road before we headed up the track to Ingleborough. 

The heart rate was up as the ascent began and I found myself working past quite a few bikies as the impossible gradient meant that many resorted to pulling themselves up the fence wire beside the wall with the bike slung over their shoulder. At the top I realised that today's biggest challenge was going to be how to limit the time loss on the descents. I was not overly happy with the bike brakes and painfully short of experience in down hilling, I was passed by quite a few. It was back onto the road for a ride up to Whernside, where I think I passed Sharon Taylor, the fell=runner out with the kids. There was a drinks station at the toe of the hill and I stopped for salt, a gel and 2 cups of water. Again, I passed around 10 going up Whernside. The clag was still down and the wind felt like it was getting up. At the top I was already 2hrs.39min into the race and feeling some twinges of cramp.  My descent of Whernside was stuttering and was not helped by Mountain Rescue attending a crash victim as the ambulance made its way slowly up the track a mile later. My bottle cage snapped shortly afterwards. I stuck it and the bottle under my jumper. At Horton where the big viaduct was, the cramp appeared again and as I seriously considered jacking. I passed my bottle cage and bottle to a marshal. I had a strong word with myself. I rode on. I was 3hrs.14 minutes in and cheered myself up with a nutty syrup bar and the thought that I only had Pennygent left. 

I had spent minutes taking my gloves off, then putting them back on and after 5 miles on the road, I turned left onto the track leading up to the last peak. There was quite a crowd here and plenty of walkers, not to mention the riders in front who had already ascended and were descending, tearing down the gravel track in a suicidal manner. As I fought my way up the lower slopes I thought I might get flattened. Thankfully, it was not to be. As I ascended, the wind got stronger and there was beginning to get a hefty wind-chill-thing near the top. I was tired and the bike was catching the gusts, pulling my slight frame off the path as I cut a shaky looking figure, exhausted, cold and slowing to a shuffle. I was just ahead of a girl who looked to be a strong cyclist, but not so fast off the bike. 

At the top of Pennygent the clock said 4hrs.24min and I just wanted to get down and finished. My lightweight bike was blowing around like a rag in the wind. The descent was tricky and there was another casualty and another ambulance on its way up. But the track got easier toward the bottom where I saw my support team and, with 3 miles to go, I began cramping again and I let a further 2 get past me. I finished in 5hrs and 50 seconds. I was mightily pleased and after gathering my breath, I looked for the riders refreshments. However, it appeared you had to pay for drinks and food and shaking my head, I wandered back to the car where I was happy that I'd packed a flask, coffee and biscuits. I was pretty hungry and as I sat on the edge of the car boot, I looked at the results print out. 295th. I reflected this was the longest sporting day in my life. I had felt a bit teary once or twice on the ride and realised this is simply exhaustion. It was a big day out. They need to get the free refreshments sorted out, though. The bike took a hammering and performed like a tireless servant. The shoes worked well. Thanks to cat and marg for the support and photos.

Cyclo Cross Bedlington

my 'best' side

 I entered the local cyclo cross race, the first of the season. There are 2 leagues up here in the Tyneside area which makes for a busy winter if you do both sets of races - around 20 in all. This one was local at
Gallagher Park on an old wooded pit heap. Its very twisty-turny and technical. I've done it before in the distant past. This time around there were about 25 on the start line, a modest field.  I was wearing my new Dundee Thistle club top and was riding the Moda bike which I bought at a garage in Durham off a bloke I didn't know. Money changed hands, but I reckon I got a bargain, or at least I thought I did. 

The bike is top end and  I was keen to see if it was all I hoped it would be or if it would simply melt early in the race. It had been raining earlier and the grass, where exposed, was greasy. I started strongly on a steep incline and was in front of a group of 4 at the top largely because I weigh not a lot compared to the average cyclist (conversely I am a bloater in the world of athletics). I had a great first lap and was full of the positive intentions to 'do something'. Then I went and did it, and the bike came down as I pushed too hard on the adverse camber on the reedy grass. The beauty is that generally if you come down its quite a soft landing as long as you avoid going full-on into a tree.  The four behind me came past as I picked myself up and I remounted the bike. They were probably going to get past at some point, anyway. The incident resulted in me dropping from a heady 14th to a lowly but acceptable 18th, and thereafter things were quiet and controlled with only one other minor spill to report. All in all a pretty good aerobic 50 minutes of exercise. The bike took an age to clean afterwards. 

On the following Saturday (just gone) I cycled up to Thropton on the edge of the Cheviots to watch the Thropton show race. I had a mind to run the new 6.8 mile course, but arrived late and after the start due to a brisk headwind. I meant to take a pile of photos, but I got involved in a medical thing with one of the runners who retired and then his condition deteriorated. Hopefully, he's ok. 

Next weekends 3 peaks challenge is a bit daunting, but my new cheap cyclo-cross fell shoes are adequate and the bike seems happy enough; we just need to ensure that the riders properly fuelled and doesn't overdo it. Either way, I will be back into the gym today after a fortnight off with a hacky chest and will start to build the running and cycling miles up again.  

Scottish Mid Trail Champs (Falkland 2022)

 With the 3 peaks cyclo-cross looming late this month, I have been back in the gym for 6 weeks and have been increasingly on the bike. The trips have been modest, 20 miles or so each time. However, on Saturday I joined up with Steve and we took off toward Alnmouth for a 40 miler. A little way out of town we were pottering around 17 mph and chatting on. Having not seen him for a good while, I was doing all the talking. At the top of the hill at Hebron, along the peleton, much to my delight. A group of 10 EMC riders (EMC stands for 'early morning club'; yes, honest). I asked if it was alright to tag on the back and we joined the rear, clipping along for the next 10 miles or so at 23mph. They were heading to Craster but turned in a little toward Alnwick. We dropped off near Guyzance and rode in the light drizzle to Alnmouth. Armed with a fiver, I was mugged by one of the women at the village hall selling her baking wares and we negotiated two drinks and small slabs of banana cake for the rather soggy note. We caught up on the gossip and were soon back on the saddle, returning via Warkworth. It was 55 miles and most enjoyable. 

On the Sunday, we were packed up in the car at 9am and horsed it up to Falkland in Fife for the Scottish Mid Trail Championships. The traffic was well behaved and we arrived with sufficient time in hand for me to wander to Campbells for a coffee. There were around 140 signed up for this 6 mile affair. Speedy joe was 4th last time around and was looking to improve. I was looking forward to a good leg stretch and Mrs Mac was hoping not to get lost or be last. After a warm up we set off up a lane on the Falkland Estate and then disappeared up the side of a hill . It was humid and the heavy rain that had generated a 'yellow alert' from the Metoffice failed to materialise.  I was passed by three or four as we climbed then descended. I caught an Ayr runner, Maclean, on the third wee climb, and the 4th mile was through the woods and in the damp heat with a carpet of pine needles underfoot, very atmospheric, or it would have been if I had not been wide eyed and legless puffing like a broken down old git. On the final flat stretch of path I gave way to an Edinburgh AC girl Nikki Gibson as she cruised past me in the last kilometre. The Ayr chap was still close behind, but at the finish there was not enough road left for him to catch me and I dug deep with an unnecessary full on sprint that proved I had been simply malingering during the race. Speedy was 3rd and only missed 2nd by one second, but that's life. The Edinburgh Uni. girl in front of her was certainly trying her hardest at the end (photo).

It was an improvement on time and placing for her so all good.  I was 72nd in 44.44 (10th v50) and comfortably beaten by Tony Martin (Fife v70)...I want some of what he's having. I probably should have been a couple of minutes quicker, but its difficult to find the mojo recently,  when you find yourself not so much racing, but rather just running hard. The garmin heart rate monitor is just a wall of red when I race these days - maybe it was always the way? The cycling is much easier, so maybe that's the direction my sporting life will to take. Or maybe chess. Or watching the masked singer.....

Mrs Mac did indeed finish and was 2nd last, so no shame there. There was time for another hot beverage and scone at the Lomond tea room before a return to base.   

 (photo by Ant)

Newcastle Quayside 5k 2022

 

I had no immediate plans to race in August, but got a chance of a transferred number for the Newcastle Quayside 5k. After a little chin scratching, I gratefully accepted and signed up. I've ran this course many times. It goes from the Pitcher and Piano on the quayside past 2 or 3 of the bridges along the banks of the tyne and after a dead turn near to where the Environment Agency offices are (or were) you return on the concrete, slabs and tarmac back to the start and nip across the winking eye bridge finishing at the Baltic on the Gateshead side. It usually gets a decent crowd. There's also a natty t-shirt that goes to each finisher.  Most of the clan had previously entered so it would be a family affair. On the night it was predictably scorchio and I had to sit out of the sun taking on water. I felt a sub-20 would be nice, but either way, I wasn't beating myself up about a slower time. Dave Nicholson was running and having done an early 19 a week or two before, I thought he would be good to follow. The dark destroyer and chef Linds also hover around the 19-20 mark, so I could also use them as pacers. 

We cracked on from the start. In a flat 5k there's no time to fanny about; In space, no one can hear you sweat. You've got to get into your pace as soon as possible. Once my pulse had settled down and my heart had realised 'it was another one of those events' , around a kilometre, I pulled ahead of Nicholson and at 3k just after the turn I passed the dark one. She sets off fast, so I knew if I could maintain the speed, I could do a 19. Focusing on ensuring I didn't slip or batter into the street furniture or Joe public, I stuck to my task and came across the final bridge to land in 19:26 and pretty fooked I was too, having a good old retch, translated as the lungs saying 'wtf'.  My vest was wringing. It sure was a hot one. We waited for the B race for Mrs Mac to arrive, finishing in a comfortable sub 30 and after a change of clothes we took off to a quayside hostelry, later wandering up to the Bridge to see if Johnny Depp was back. Nope, but in my haste I managed to spill my half. No drama, it was quickly replaced and we were on the train by 10pm.     

Ericstane & Skiddaw Recce

 It was a late Friday evening hike up to Moffat for the first of our two recce's. Speedy loves that hilly countryside. We had booked a hostel in Moffat and as we were running a little late, we decided to check in first to get our room and door key before we ran up Ericstane or Hartfell or wherever we were running. I saw the sign saying Hostel on Well Road and turned into the drive. The place was empty and not looking its best. Cat googled our booking as I wandered around the building stroking my chin and shaking my head. No-one around. She reckoned our hostel was 6 doors up and it was with some relief that we found our place with fairy lights and plush burgundy carpets. We got our key and took off for the run. Parking at the village hall which was nowhere near anywhere, we had a brief chat with two folk who were with their dog and mobile camper van and intended to spend the night there. We got our gear on and took off up the farm track and eventually found our way onto the hill. The grass was luxurious and no doubt tick-infested so we kept stopping to check our bearings and give our legs a good wipe down. 

We got to the top in just under an hour and with twilight in full swing, we took a couple of photos and horsed it back down the grassy track. The route veers right and takes you down into a wee glen and we found the beaten up old bridge which saved us getting our feet wet.  The run was spoiled for me after getting a fly in my eye which I hate and, of course, like a loon I rubbed it in so spent the rest of the evening with a sore eye.  We got back in time to Moffat for a visit to the Coop for some eyewash and a visit to the chip shop, well, for chips and whatnot.  Moffat looks like a canny wee place. It reminded me of Peebles.

We were back on the M74 the next morning to Keswick and were on Skiddaw in the murk before 9.30am. Speedy was soon out of sight as I ground out a jog-walk-jog toward the top. The weather deteriorated quickly as we ascended and getting near the top to the crag called the little man, I had had enough of the wind, the cold and the driving rain and made an executive decision to descend. The climb up this peak is all runnable but very steep and with it being the 4th highest hill in England, its a long trog.  We picked our way down through the wet grey slate on the way down and were soon drying ourselves in the car on the layby. 

In a very busy town, temperatures were very much better than up on the hill and after a visit for breakfast to Jaspers we wandered around the humid and heaving High Street making a quick trip to the New Balance outlet shop. I bought 3 pairs of socks for a tenner off the market sock stall where we engaged with the vendor who was entertaining and had a story for every pair. We made time on the way back east to drop into Sally's cafe in Warwick Bridge for takeaway cuppa's and top huge scones all for six quid. Lush.   

Beetham Fair Race, Milnthorpe

 
We had a free weekend for a change and there were 2 races which looked interesting. Turnslack, located somewhere down Rochdale way and Beetham Fair Day located near Milnthorpe not far from Kendal. Turnslack was pre-entry. Looking at the reviews it looked to have a bit of everything in, including thick heathland, moor and boggy marsh. As we've been casting around for runnable fell races, this didn't quite fit the bill. We opted, instead, for Beetham and drove the 2 hours west, then south to arrive in good time at the village. With most of the obvious parking places taken, we parked in a lay-by just on the edge of the town. It was Speedy Joe and me. We were wearing our Morpeth vests and paid our £2.50 entry fee to get into the fair, then another £3.50 odd for the race at the tent.  There were around 100 at the start. The vicar approached me and after inquiring if we had come from Morpeth, he said 'welcome', but stopped short of blessing us. There were plenty runners from Buckden, Nidd Valley and Clayton and a smattering of others, but we felt like the out-of-towners on this one. We had a quick jog some way up the course to the first hill to see how things looked. It was a B category race, so not too steep anywhere and more of a trail race. As we gathered at 3.30, a women came up and asked if we were from Morpeth, then advised us her sister lived there. We knew her. The race started to the applause of the crowd and we galloped down the playing field and out through the village. 

Photo taken by Linda Dean

The runners soon became a little strung out and I lost sight of Speedy. However, 'the Rev' was beside me; well at least that's what it had on the back of his vest - presumably another vicar. There was about 2 or 3 runners who came and went as we jockeyed for positions. The cream limestone underfoot was slippy in places but not a problem and with a course that went in and came out of the woods a few times, the route was interesting and made for an interesting run. On the final wee hill, I nearly went wrong after having passed Nolan from Buckden. However, he let me go a bit and I realised I was wrong just as he shouted left, by which time he had nipped ahead. I made sure I caught him again, but by then we were on the descent and he stuck to me like a limpet as we passed a Helm Hill runner.  As we came out of the wood and onto the grass the long legged Buckden runner made off and at the finish I had capitulated to give him 12 seconds.  Finished in around 47 minutes. Speedy won her race in 42 minutes and picked up £15 first prize. The prize giving took forever to start and we were happy to get away back east. In retrospect, a very enjoyable race which I would recommend, perhaps combined with a trip to nearby Kendal or, if you are of limited imagination, one of the M6 services.   Milnthorpe was announced as the venue for the 2023 British cyclo-cross champs recently. Having pre-qualified for the 3 peaks cyclo-cross in September I am aiming to have a decent cyclo-cross season this year, so could find myself returning in January. I reckon I will be aiming to win the wooden spoon and thats if I even get in.  I think the masters champs are in Sussex or somewhere; Bit of a hike, but who knows.

Monkey Business at the Snowdon International Race 2022

It was back to Snowdonia for the Snowdon International two days ago. I was on taxi duties. I was also on camera and water mule duties for the race which Speedy Joe was in, but you can't do both and water and cameras don't mix well. We got down on the Friday afternoon and jogged around Llanberis. This was followed up by a bit of retail therapy in one of the four outdoor shops and then a visit to the chippie. It was a half an hour wander up toward the slate quarry before a cooked breakfast on Saturday morning. I then ran-jog-walked my way up most of Elidir Fawr, the southern face of which mostly has been carved up  those old slate workers. There were many abandoned buildings. The place was stunning and bathed in a heat-haze in the early morning light. 

There were some climbers on one face and walkers dotted here and there, but after 3 miles of ascent I thought it best to descend and grab a cuppa before the next ascent halfway up Snowdon. The village was bedecked with green and red bunting, the main road had been coned off, the banners and flags were up and there was an air of excitement as 400 runners gathered for a 2pm start. We had left an hour before and Ant and Missus Mac stopped around halfway while I went a little higher. There were, as usual, throngs of Joe Public on the hill and we passed a woman who had tripped and fallen and was waiting for the Mountain Rescue.  Many we heard to mutter 'whats occurring?'...

I got to the steps just before the 2nd Tunnel in good time and positioned myself beside the drone cameraman. The cameras were there and you can apparently see the race on BBC Wales iplayer in a weeks time. Tidy. The runners were soon streaming up the hill like ants and I offered a drink to a few. Some drank, some poured it over their heads and others declined. I filled up the bottle twice from the tottie wee burn that I had found last week and I could tell some of the runners were super hot. 

 Speedy was well up, but also toiling and after she passed I jogged down to the halfway mark to wait her return. It wasn't long before they were careering downhill at breakfast speed (or was it breakneck) and one lad went absolutely flying in front of me as he caught his toe on a rock.  Speedy passed in good time and took a gub of water as I ran beside her like something out of the TDF. I got down half an hour later, my hips beginning to grumble and we enjoyed an ice cream and a dip before the hour long presentation which bizarrely was in reverse and not at all respectful to the Elite runners, some of whom had come from Italy, Ireland and the north of Scotland. Some had even come from Wales.  

The ice cream man tried to charge me 50p a shot for the red monkey blood when I bought 3 cones. What a brassneck.  I told him he was having a laugh and as he reluctantly gave me my change, he said 'I hope you sleep well tonight'. He was raking it in, so I don't know what he was on about.  We had a curry at the hotel on the night and a few beers and after a short jog on the Sunday assisted by a mushroom and fried egg fuelled breakfast we were back on our way north. It was truly boiling at Lancaster Services, and I was glad that the race had not been on the Sunday.           

Snowdon

 As we drove past the turn-off for Runcorn, we were driving into unknown territory. I'd been to south Wales, and even to Mid Wales in the past, but North Wales was a mystery. 

The A55 was forgiving, and having spent 2 hours on the M6, we arrived on Friday Evening at Colwyn Bay Travelodge. The town was deserted. It should have been jumping. I always remember a cheesy BBC programme on Saturday night called 'Seaside Special'. It had 5 or 6 acts on it and was presented from various resorts, of which Colwyn Bay was one. Les Dennis, Ken Dodd and all those tattyfellarious dancers from the dancing troops that were the staple of that decade. I read now that Colwyn is one of the most deprived areas in Wales. Certainly, the large supermarkets have sucked the living daylights out of the heart of the place. Anyway, I digress. We, being me and speedy joe, had an expensive pint in the Station and then were tucked up by eleven. I heard a few shouts from the late night revellers in my sleep, but we were up and out by 8am the next morning and arrived at Llanberris half an hour later as the sun was creeping up and the sky promising a clear blue day. We parked up beside the lake and were plodding up the high street 10 minutes later armed with bum bags and Speedcross shoes. The track up from Llanberis to Snowdon was heaving. Several charity groups were walking it and after the initial stage on tarmac which is super steep, we began threading our way up the Mountain. It levelled out a bit and the path reminded me a little of Ben Lomond. 

There sure were alot of folk trudging up to reach the giddy heights at the top. We got up to the top in around 1:15. The views were terrific. There was an orderly queue of around 30 waiting to get their photo taken at the trig point. I guess for some, this might be the highspot of their walking careers. We took a couple of staged snaps at the edge, but standing around waiting for a trig point foto was not an attractive option and we were soon horsing it down the hill, weaving in and out and around the masses. This included a lad in a wheelchair who was out of his chair and attempting to crawl up the Mountain. Respect. Halfway down I stopped, cupping my hands-solo to take a drink of the water from a trickle of water which was all that was on offer from this behemoth during this dry summer.  Ah, Welsh Water! 

We were up and backdown in under 2 hours, which was tidy and left us time for a dip in the nearby lake and then, after drying off, a slow cheese on toast and some potato and chorizo hash affair at the local cafe (30 minute wait). We then picked up a slow coffee takeaway at another cafe (12 minute wait) while the girl served everyone else. Was it something I said, was it something I was wearing? Is it because I'm Scottish? I shouldn't sound ungrateful.

All in all not a bad wee jaunt and we elected not to drive back via Shipley for the Baildon carnival fell race which I'd considered picking up on the way back. Speedy was up for it, but not moi. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Driving back past Colwyn Bay, the huge sandy beach was empty. I wondered 'just where are all the people?' 'Probably walking up Snowdon' I mused. 

Lairig Ghru 2022

 The Lairig Ghru was my big target for the year and it didn’t disappoint. With 250 or so entered, there were eventually 200 finishers for this mountain marathon. I can’t recall why I wanted to do this originally, but its remained a goal over the last year or three. We found the hostel in Braemar after a little confusion and I paid the bloke an extra twenty quid for the 6 bed room rather than the 3 bedder we had booked a fortnight earlier. We were in the attic and the room very basic. We were glad to get to bed around ten after a cuppa. Sunday morning arrived. After rescuing Mrs Mac from the shower cubicle which she had somehow managed to lock herself within, it was breakies. I had porridge and a croissant and listened to the other 3 guests in the dining room speculate about the impending race in the light of their past race experience. I wandered into the village to get my kit checked and got my number and warmed up along a back road. I elected to go with a long sleeve top and tights in the light of the forecast which wasn’t very encouraging. However, after 2 or 3 miles along the road, I was cooking as the sun came out and the mercury rose. 

There was a good mix of folk and I recognised Davis and Duncan but not many others.  I latched onto a small group as we made our way west then north. Thankfully, as the wind rose, it was behind us, which was a big bonus. 

The camera-phone was out, then in, then out and I dropped a few places here and there fannying about trying to capture the remote, ancient beauty of the setting. As we headed north it clouded over and by the time we got to the river crossing it was cool and cloudy. One of the two girls I was with at the time lost her footing on the rocks and went for a dip; not quire fully immersed but near enough. She dropped back a bit shortly afterwards. 

With it being so dry there was a lack of burns with fresh water crossing the route and I stopped to top up my water supply on several occasions. I had one bottle of 330ml and a spare. Predictably, being over-dressed and the heavy showers turning out to be no more than a drizzle, I sweated like an overdressed runner and the supply of salt tablets disappeared. 

The route became increasingly cobbly and boulder strewn and it took an effort to concentrate to avoid tripping. At around 18 miles we reached the highest point and the 2nd checkpoint but my earlier hopes of being able to hammer down the remaining 8 miles of descent through Rothiemurcus forest were dashed as I was completely puggled and my lateral knee ligament was giving me grief. I thought ‘there’s my meal ticket’ when a new runner came past, me thinking that if I stuck with them, they will lead me to the finish, but I let every one of them go and as we hit the better paths through the forest I was so tired that I nearly went flying on more than one occasion. First rock-kicker, then root-kicker.

I slowed and slowed and was walking by the end. I  scrounged some salt tablets from a wee group that passed with a couple of miles to go. The last mile went on forever and as the rain began again I was happy to see my wee support group and the finish line. After, I was treated to a pint and as I coiffed the foaming ale, there was, outside the window, a continual stream of exhausted individuals finishing after me . An epic day out and a very memorable one. Finished around 4:48 and enjoyed a slap up feed in the posh hotel that I had booked in Dundee. It was luxury and still cheaper than the hostel.  

Yetholm & Windy Gyle 2022

 

The full-on running season that is 2022 continues. After watching Speedy at the Mountain Trials at Alva late in May, it was suddenly June. The Yetholm Hill Race was on last weekend and using the extra bank holiday we had for lizzies jubilee, me and Speedy Joe continued our goodwork and race prep. by doing a recce before the race. Armed with the OS map, we were largely alone as we clambered our way up the various incisors of this toothy no-nonsense hill course. The Curr was blidy hard work. It’s a beast and with the grass thick and reedy we got round in about 3 hours. In the past I have basically turned up at races and got my head down. Most of the time, I have had no idea where I was or where I was going. I would be only mildly impressed with folk who were able to name the hills; what difference could it possibly make? Well, I can tell you that it makes a 'shoite load' of difference as my old auntie flossie used to say. Not only can you gauge your effort, you can also prepare yourself mentally for the expected.  On the following Sunday, the turnout was a little disappointing with only 35 runners. I guess most were at the Skye race. But the weather was good. Speedy was off and running at the start and I managed to get to the top of Staerhaugh Hill without any dramas. Tim McColl of Norham caught me after a mile or so, and then another grey haired Norham went past. I was catching an Edinburgh Uni girl after 2 miles and by the Curr, her head was down and I think I heard her swear as she was faced with  yet another ascent. 'Had she not done the recce?' I mused  I grimbled along the Pennine Way to the end and reflected about past glories for me at this race. No matter, it was on and upwards this weekend at the Windy Gyle near Alwinton. Sixty five runners appeared including me, Speedy, Missus Mac and her support for the day, Linds. It was cool in the valley. After strong arming Missus Mac into paying my £7, I changed from a short sleeve top to a long sleeve. 

I popped a salt tablet before the start and off we went. Having run this perhaps 4 or 5 times previously, I have a good idea where the course goes and what topography to expect. I found myself in between Kath Davis of North Shields and course record holder Karen Robertson. McCall was also running and while I let Keith Murray of Teviotdale go ahead (largely because her was running faster than me), there was no sign of McCall catching me. With me pushing Kath on the uphills but her holding her own on the descents, I eventually broke free of my running partner with 3km to go and I was pleased to re-discover some of my old mojo which re-lit my down hilling as I grafted after a NFR runner ahead. The road ran out but I would have had him, given another 100m. maybe. 

No matter, the sun had appeared and we had a good natter with a nice crowd, some of whom I hadn't seen for a good wee while.  Speedy Joe was 6^th overall and broke the women's course record. Perhaps the best hill run in the Cheviots. This coming Sunday is the Cairngorm extravaganza they call the Lairig Ghru, so wish me well. 28 miles. Its gonna be a blast.  

As a result of all this running, the reading list has taken a back seat. 'The Passenger' was not dissimilar to Hans Fallada’s 'Alone in Berlin', but not quite as gripping and I think it lost its way toward the end. I moved onto 'Golden Hill' by Frances Spufford, a tale of a stranger with a secret in 18^th Century New York. Not bad. I’m currently well into the Neuromancer by William Gibson. A rare adventure into SciFi.