The fourth edition of the Cumberland Challenge has come round far too quickly. Surely it's not a year since we huffed and puffed our way over Hartside, crawled up Bewcastle's steep moorland haul and struggled with the ups and downs of the roads through Kershope. The memories are still too fresh, the pain all too vivid. And yet, here we are again, our entry confirmed by email and no turning back. Suppose we'd better get on with it then...
Preparations for this year's challenge have felt more relaxed, my fears are that I have been treating this too lightly. After all, I have completed the ride successfully for the last 3 years, managing along the way to improve my times year on year. Surely this year would be no different.
And yet, 2009 could offer another ending. For a start I haven't, as yet, completed a century ride this year. Whilst I have clocked up some pretty hard days in the saddle, notably the Ventoux and days on the Alpine Raid, long rides have been pretty few and far between. Clearly a strategy was required. A number of fellow club run riders were scheming an 8.30 start with a large group, the aim being to carry the peloton round the course and work on the safety in numbers principal, sharing the work and making a good time. Sounds great on paper but for someone who will go backwards the moment we hit Hartside not very practical. Reluctantly I felt I need a plan B.
Paul is also down to ride, and at the moment his distance training has been even less convincing than mine. As a veteran of the Ventoux epic, and with an Etape under his belt he knows the meaning of suffering, and we are generally well matched over long rides, so as last year the plan was to do as much of the ride together as possible. My good mate Pete has some unfinished business with the Challenge and, for the third time of asking, is attempting to complete the course. His pace will be slower, though, so he is planning an early start so he can finish before it gets dark!
A few like minded souls agree with the plan B principle and we eventually homed in on an 8am start, with maybe 8 or 10 riders sharing the work, at least to Hartside. Then, all being well, we can hang in there, either together or alone, until well into the second half before being swept up by the "A" Team and cruising to the finish. Sounds good, so let's go.
Sunday dawned overcast and mizzly, but the forecast is promising. Rain may arrive later and the wind will be fresh, but it is not cold and there is the possibility of getting through the day without having to don full winter gear. A real bonus, then. We rolled up at Brampton at about 7.20 and set about getting Pete sorted and away. Although entries are down on last year, there are still over 500 riders entered and riders were already milling about at the start line. Jovial greetings abound as we meet up with old friends, share a joke about the weather and generally overcome those pre-event nerves. At 7.40 Pete got dibbed and was away. Good luck, mate, see you later.
8 o'clock soon came round and our small group gathered near the start, ready to embark. It looks promising, maybe a dozen or so. Enough to make it work. Then the dibbers were among us and before we know it Mike G has blown the whistle and we are off. Here goes, then. Good luck guys....
These days I find it takes me about an hour to get properly warmed up. Unfortunately the first hour of the Challenge is unforgiving terrain which undulates along the Pennine foothills toward Hartside. It always seems so hard. Before long we are down to about 8 or so riders and, although at times I struggle with the pace, the group is going pretty well. This may yet work.
The first obstacle is Combs, or Armathwaite hillclimb. This is a brute, but is mercifully short. The damage here was not great and we more or less survived intact and soon regrouped to carry on. Next came Kirkoswald where the road takes a sharp left and hits a steep wall through the village. Again the damage was limited, but it was thinning. And Hartside followed shortly after and here the sheer length of the climb couldn't help but break up the unity of the group. Paul was soon pulling away, Ian was dropping back and I was isolated. Ahead I could see Pete manfully struggling up above Renwick, making steady progress. I threw a few words of encouragement in his direction and he was gone. By now I was riding with a familiar face, but couldn't put my finger on just who he was. We yo-yoed past each other and struck up conversation. Local lad, not ridden the Challenge before. But did the Fred in May. Must be useful. Once we got onto the main road on Hartside and the gradient eased I pulled away from him, trying hard to keep Paul within touching distance. He was going well. Hopefully I would not lose too much ground and could catch him on the descent. There was a good crowd on the summit, a few offered encouragement, and then it was down to Alston.
The descent is fast and easy. No sign of Paul though, he must have got into a group and I was on my own. This may be harder than planned. Eventually I reached Alston and prepared for the next climb, up Alston's cobbled high street. As I turned the corner and began the uncomfortable drag there was Paul, stood on the roadside, his rear mech in his hand looking decidedly less than happy with the world. His day was finished, his bike in bits. He explained later his chain had snapped and the mech had been sheered off as the broken chain jammed, taking wheel spokes and drop out with it. Terminal. Plan B was now in tatters. Not good. A hundred yards further on there was Emma, camera in hand, snapping away.
The road out to Garrigill is a steady haul and always seems hard work. The steady trickle of riders strung out along the moorland road seemed to go on for miles. I reeled a few in, some passed me, and all the while we climbed. I met up with Chris B, on his new Cervelo. He was going well and we exchanged craic for a few minutes before I pressed on. The road plunges down into the village of Garrigill where the dibbers were out in force. This was the first timing checkpoint, a chance to take stock and gird your loins for the nasty climb that follows. I still have nightmares from the first year of the Challenge when this hill nearly broke me. I am stronger now, and also have a compact!
Back at Alston Paul was waiting at the crossroads, imploring me to arrange for the car keys to be with someone for when he got back to Brampton. No worries, I'd sort it. And on I went. The next 18 miles is tough. Invariably into a headwind, the road undulates up and down. On your own this is hard. Clearly finding help had to be good. After a while I looked back to see a familiar face. It was the local lad on Hartside, Steve. Turns out we DO know each other, in fact used to play squash many years ago. Small world. We teamed up and soon gathered a few other riders and we had a group going. Riding echelons against the wind, we made good progress although one or tow made bizarre decisions to try and go it alone. Mad fools, they would pay for it later I'm sure.
As the group grew, Paul G joined us and the last few miles into Brampton flew by. All the while I was concerned (or paranoid) about the state of my tyres and at Brampton I quickly hunted down Mike from Palace and asked him to check them over and put my mind at rest. Having left the keys with someone for Paul, and grabbed a couple of bananas I noticed Ian S had come in and suggested we ride out together. An ally is always good, but Paul G was already gone, while I had been sorting the bike and Paul. Ian and I soon got going and exchanged stories of the first half after we got separated on Hartside. This ride is so unforgiving. Sadly we got separated again soon enough as we hit the sharp climb up to Banks from Lanercost. And there, cheerfully snapping away, capturing yet more pain and suffering, was Emma. Once over Banks, the next few miles are relatively easy, fast almost, especially since we had a bit of a tailwind.
This all changed at Birdoswald as we did a 180 turn and now headed back into the wind. It was shortly after this that I caught a flagging Paul G, who was feeling the distance by now having had little preparation for the ride. A few words, then I rode on. Riders were thinly spread now, so teaming up with anyone was difficult. As the terrain started to rise and fall, so the legs got more and more tired. This is the part of the ride where the psychology as well as physiology comes into it. It's a question of grinding through it, knowing that, eventually, the suffering will end. The borders roads are seemingly endless, the undulations sharp enough to tear at the legs, all the while sapping the energy and the will. As we neared the Scottish border I heard a call from behind, it was the BCW train, headed by Calum. They caught and passed me and my legs failed to respond. The plan was in tatters. But they didn't just ride away from me - maybe I could stay with them. One almighty effort got me back on and I was, finally, able to sit in for a while. This was better. I knew it would be shortlived, any hill might dislodge me at any time, but for now...
The next few miles rolled by and I survived. The group was working well together, coherent and well paced. Sadly, the end did come, one hill too many and my cramping legs were unable to respond, the elastic snapped and they were away. No matter, the feed was just a couple of miles away now, and I could rejoin them there. I passed Steve yet again, he was visibly tiring by now too. At Nicholforest feed I stopped at the timing check and then immediately rolled on, trying to get as much advantage on the team before they swept me up again. It lasted maybe a mile, then it was all about trying to hang in there. By now my legs were screaming, and the next climb did for me. Normally a little rise, now it seemed Alpine in proportions. Gradually they rode off into the sunset leaving me to try and get home alone.
Just 12 miles or so to go, and ahead was a lone rider, if I could make the junction we could work together. Slowly, oh so slowly I made ground on him until, with 10 to go we were together and started to help each other. For the next 4 miles or so this worked well, we made good progress with the miles to go signs counting down. Then, at about 5 miles to go my ally turned, he came through and sped away. Not sure why, but now it was back to survival mode. My calculations meant that a time of around 6 hours 45 was certainly on the cards now. Ironically enough, we came to a set of traffic lights, over the river just before Brampton, and I caught and, indeed, passed my erstwhile ally. But with the last mile comes the final sting in the tail, a cruel drag up to the HQ and finish line. One last push, a sprint (well, almost) and I was there. I was dibbed one last time and finally I could fall off my bike and let the swell of relief envelop me. Knackered? You bet. But after 6 hours, 43 minutes and 46 seconds I could feel pretty pleased with myself.
What followed was inquest and banter, anecdote and conjecture. Chips and a brew helped wash it all down and refill the energy banks. Paul was there with his tale of woe, at least by now he was cheerful again. Calum and the rest of the gang 
who had arrived some minutes before me rubbed salt in the wound by emphasising just how well the plan had worked. They had stolen half an hour or so on me, ridden well and probably used far less energy. And, after an hour or so we went out to the finish to wait for Pete to come in. He made it, finally, a tad over 9 hours, well pleased at having finally laid the Cumberland Challenge to rest. His longest toughest ride was over. Well done, mate.
A great day then - well, maybe not for Paul. The weather held, and I can go home with a PB under my belt. Calum and the boys maybe got it right, starting as a group, but I can't complain. Maybe next year... One final footnote: Calum has already posted his intention to win the Picardy Twat of the Week award, and he's not even going next weekend. He only went and left his electronic timing dibber in the car so, having coaxed the boys round, didn't even get a time. Nice one Cal!
A roll call of riders who have helped me today is necessarily incomplete. But I will say thanks to Paul K Jnr, Pete B, Ian S, Paul G, Steve, Calum, Mike, Paul K, George and many others who rode with me at times. Thanks also to Emma who took some great photos (again) and who always provides a smile and a word of encouragement as she captures that moment of suffering, normally on an impossibly steep hill. Also to Mark who helped Paul out when he got back to Brampton. But perhaps above all, thanks to everyone who helped to make it another great day in the Cumbrian hills on a bike - organisers, helpers, stewards, marshalls and general hangers-on. THANK YOU EVERYONE.