Fat Lad Doesn’t Ride The Castelton Corker, He Rides the Abridged Ladybower Loop instead. Read On.
Autumnally warm for a nice change.
Distance: 11.25 Miles
Total Distance: 114.75 Miles
Riders: Fat Lad Y Phil.
Food scoffed: One bacon and sausage bap and one cup of hot Bovril.
Quote of the Ride: “Fuck me, I’m Fucked.” – Fat Lad
Current Mood: Elated. But Tired. So Very Tired.
I started this madness with an epic. Hell I might as well finish it with one too. Big Rich, generous of character and riding ability was leading a renowned ride from Castleton. Tucked away in the Peaks it is a fair old drive to get there. With this at the front of my mind I set to organising my kit, all that would be needed was to get up, eat and go.
I pulled together some clean riding clothes and laid them out. I filled the camelbak bladder putting in plenty knowing I’d need the hydration. In my holdall were Post Ride Pub clothes along with my lid, buff and gloves. The GPS was wiped and charged, tea bag in my travel mug waiting only for hot water and milk. I swapped over my cassette to a spare wheel and then loaded it all into the car the boot backed up all the way against the garage to stop ant thieve from having a go.
So of course, as morning creeps up, I sleep through the alarm. Idiot.
I text Phil to let the crowd know and he replied with a playful yet derogatory remark. Ten minutes later I’m sat in the living room contemplating where I’m going to ride when Phil rings me to let me know he’s not doing the Castleton ride either as he’s managed to get monumentally lost. Hastily we agreed to meet at Ladybower instead and raced round getting my kit on and wolfed a bagel down.
Once again firing down the M1 burning petrol at an alarming rate I arrived to Phil ready and waiting to go. I was going nowhere until I had finished my tea. Caffeined up we headed out for the reservoir side and the hills ahead.
Soon off the beaten track and every little climb waqs killing me. I had finally run out of steam and had enough. The first two climbs I managed but then that was it. With a sad heart and tired legs my fuel tank needle hit the red with a soul weary thump. Coming down of the tops to the cafe I was forced into riding a section I’d normally walk for fear of losing face to another group of riders. I caught up with Phil and I freewheeled all the way to some food and a rest. Even after food and rest I could do no more. We headed back to the cars via the reservoir side. I dare not climb into the hills for fear of losing the very last bits of energy I was saving for the drive home. I had to dig in with every ounce of willpower I possess to make it up the steep tarmac climb to the car park. Back at the car I collapsed into the boot knackered but overjoyed.
Seven days, seven fucking amazing rides. I’d actually done it.
It was time for some rest
Day Seven Route
Fat Lad
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