Another 24-hour Race

Why?! 

One of my aims at my 24-hour race in June was to beat my Personal Best of 130km. That race turned out to be ridiculously hot, so I moderated my plans and whilst I won the race I didn’t increase my PB.

I had said before, and during, that race that I wasn’t going to do a 24-hour race next year, but with my objective unmet, I resigned myself to having another stab. Then it occurred to me that it would be easier to maintain my fitness and endurance, than to rebuild it next year, which is what saw me enter this event taking place just 3 months later.

Weather

The weather forecast two weeks out was for wall-to-wall sunshine and 18 degrees. By two days out it was wall-to-wall rain. Two hours before the start, we were down to just two hours of rain and one of showers in the afternoon, with a middling probability of a couple of hours of showers overnight.

Given that forecast, we were unlucky with what we actually got. Somehow, with no suggestion of any remarkable windspeeds in the lead up, mid-afternoon the Met Office suddenly issued a severe weather warning for high winds, effective immediately until the early hours of the morning. It was as if someone had said “You do know that it’s jolly windy out there, don’t you?” and the Met Person said “Blimey, best get on and warn people about what’s currently happening!”.

As much as I like hot weather, I have to concede that the wet and windy conditions were more comfortable than 30+ degrees. But, oh, the mud! There were sections of the course that became pure comedy mud-baths, through which slow teetering was the only option. It was going through one of these in the pissing rain in the middle of the night that I suggested to the person slip-sliding next to me that we had made an odd choice of a fun way to spend a Saturday night out!

How it went

I know it sounds silly to say that I ‘only’ managed 120km, but that wasn’t my goal and it feels like I put in an awful lot of effort, and endured some pretty grim weather, only to fail in my objective. Relatively, I did reasonably well, coming 2^nd out of 89 in my age category and 11^th out of 297 solo women, but a good placing also wasn’t my objective.

It would be easy to blame being poorly in the week leading up to the event for my failure, but as I felt fine (if I overlook the persistent indigestion) for the first 10 laps, I really don’t think that was the problem.

It would also be easy to blame the weather – and certainly the solo winners’ distances were down on previous years – but as I was still on target when the sky cleared and the sun came up, I can’t blame that either. 

I think the reality is that I didn’t eat enough, I lost focus on what I was trying to achieve and somehow convinced myself, with 5 hours to go, that I couldn’t fit 3 more laps in when, in reality, I clearly had time (this event works on the basis of ‘if you’ve started you can finish’ on any lap started before the noon cut-off).

It was in Lap 11 that the wheels fell off. I felt awful and really tired. Thank goodness for a woman called Jayne who distracted me nicely, and undoubtedly sped me up, for the second half of the lap.

Somehow between Lap 11 and Lap 12, I spent 2 hours and 14 minutes in camp. How? What was I doing? I know I ate a bowl of porridge and a can of soup, but I cannot now account for the other two hours. And, yes, I felt pretty rough, but that’s hardly surprising in the circumstances, and it wasn’t a good reason not to carry on.

I did eventually drag myself back out, and felt pretty good for the first 4km of Lap 12, but then off came the wheels again. I felt so bad, seemingly unable to maintain a straight line, that I gave serious consideration to declaring myself unfit to continue at the second Marshal Point. I’d heard someone at the water station mention that they had water and sugar and thinking that a bit of pure sugar might sort me out, I continued on, and at the water station I asked if I’d heard correctly. They pointed me to some cups, where I expected to find a few teaspoons of sugar, but instead found four fizzy cola bottles.

I put the first one in my mouth, it tasted absolutely fantastic and before I’d even swallowed it, I felt so very much better, thus demonstrating that the ‘I can’t do this’ was entirely in my head. I stormed down the next hill (the steep one) passing people inching down sideways, and managed a power-march back up the other side (okay, that was more to do with the photographer at the top). The pep in my step lasted for most of the rest of the lap.  

Finishing Lap 12 with an hour still available to get back out for a final lap, I could undoubtedly have managed to equal my PB of 130km, but I couldn’t see the point. I was going to make my right shin worse, and having already had the experience of covering 70k on a painful shin back in June I wasn’t in the market for doing the same again when it wasn’t going to net me even a PB.

So, with time to spare, I called it a day.

In hindsight, it was a sensible decision to stop … it might have even been the right one!

That’s it, I’m done with 24-hour races…

It’s amusing to now read the messages I sent to a friend about 3 hours after the race, in which I was still sure that I wasn’t going to be doing another 24-hour race any time soon.

Three hours later Ali & I were plotting to return next year.

I’ve since decided that I need the opportunity to have two stabs next year (as I’m still convinced that I have 140km in me) so I may well be doing both June and September again. 

Photos:

Lap 1:

Lap 2:

Lap 3:

Above: Lap 4 (Blogger won't let me insert anything above it); Below: Lap 5

Laps 6, 7 and 8 (yep, Blogger won't let me insert text between the next 3 either):

Lap 9:

 I got so very cold on Lap 8 and shivered my way around. 

Lap 10: 

On this lap I set out in a long-sleeved base layer, fleece, two waterproof jackets, hat, gloves and buff. I must have gone 7 or 8k before took off the hat and gloves and opened some zips.  

Lap 11:
 

Final lap, about 2km from the finish, after the weather had belatedly come good

20 to 29 August - Scotland

(This is a long post, covering a week and a half in one go. I didn't have time to do a daily blog, as all the time that I wasn't out walking, I was writing recce reports for the TGOC-East Coordinators. I'm afraid I've not taken the trouble to add photos.) 

I'll start with a little catch-up:

It was 22 June that Erica broke. She took a brief diagnostic trip to the garage in early July, but they weren’t able to book her in for repair until 4 August. In the meantime, Bertie’s windscreen wipers broke, and we needed Bertie to be serviceable in order to go and get Erica’s high-pressure steering hose repaired once it had been removed, so instead of taking Erica to the garage on 4 August, we took Bertie.

They quickly established that the problem was with Bertie’s wiper motor (not his controller or a wiring fault), but couldn’t source a new motor. Two days later they’d still not had any joy, so we went and retrieved Bertie and delivered Erica.

I got on the case with Bertie and confirmed that his wiper motor is discontinued. I found a replacement part number (Bertie has a separate wiper control unit and wiper motor; the new part is combined), but couldn’t find a source for that either. However, I also read that there’s a common problem with the internal electrical contacts being fouled by a migration of grease, so I whipped the motor off, opened it up and the contacts were indeed covered in grease. Twenty minutes later we had perfectly functioning windscreen wipers again!

News wasn’t so good about Erica. We knew that the owner of the garage was off on holiday the day after we dropped Erica off, and that no-one would answer the phone in his absence. So, after a few days we drove over there. They hadn’t started on Erica. On 19^th August, with the owner back off holiday, we phoned to find they still hadn’t started – a combination of staff holidays and sickness. They assured us she would be on the ramp the following Monday (25^th August).

This was becoming rather inconvenient! Two months without a car, and two weeks of sitting at home in anticipation of a phone call to go and pick up the duff part to get it repaired.

“What if we asked them to delay starting on Erica until 1 September?” I said to Mick, “Then we could go up to Scotland for 10 days.”

Mick is working on a new sister event to the TGO Challenge, and we had intended to go and spend a month in Scotland recceing routes. As we no longer had a month spare, it was ten days now or nothing, so we grabbed the chance. The garage was very happy to postpone for another week (allowing all staff to return from holiday – it’s a little family business with just three mechanics), and by the end of the day we had Bertie packed. We were off first thing last Wednesday morning.

Wednesday 20 August - Travel

Where was Bertie? He spent the night in a little parking area in Glen Esk.

We seldom drive all the way to Scotland in one go, but wanting to make the most of our time up there, we did on this occasion. Goodness, it’s a long journey! Even more so when part of the M6 that you need to use is closed.

By the time we arrived evening was upon us, but we had positioned ourselves so we were all set for our first outing on Thursday morning.

Thursday 21 August – Glen Esk & North Water Bridge

Where was Bertie? He spent the night at Dovecot Caravan Park at North Water Bridge at a cost of £30 including electricity and good wifi.

Jumping out of bed after a gloriously quiet night, after breakfast we both set out in the direction of Hill of Turret. At the turn for Stobie Hillock, I peeled off to take a foray into upper Glen Dye, whilst Mick went to have a look at something a little further up the track. By the time I hauled myself back out of Glen Dye and onto the Hill of Turret track, Mick was already back at Bertie. Technically, I had now done what I needed to do in this area, but I’d decided it would be remiss to be so close to Mount Battock, an unbagged Marilyn, and not visit its summit.

There was a bit of moisture in the air on the final ascent and it was quite cool in the wind. I had my jacket on and would have donned gloves if I’d had any with me.

I’d plotted myself a circular route to get back to Bertie, but I also wanted to do at least one more recce that afternoon, so went for the quickest option: retracing my steps (albeit without the foray into Glen Dye).

Back at Bertie and after lunch, down the glen we went, with me keeping my fingers crossed that we could find somewhere to park Bertie somewhere near the bridge just N of the Rocks of Solitude, as otherwise I was going to have to cycle up to the road end on the other side of the river from Gannochy. Happily we found a pull-in barely big enough for Bertie, and off I trotted, across the bridge and up tracks to the Mooran Burn. A trog along the burn, a bash through bracken, an bit of cow herding and a few more tracks took me back to Bertie within an hour and a half.

I had wondered whether I would have the energy and enthusiasm for one last 4km outing in the day, and I certainly could have summoned the energy. However, given the choice between that or sitting and watching cricket for the rest of the day, that’s what we chose.

It was quiet at the campsite at North Water Bridge, with just us and one caravan. It’s a good campsite with all facilities, and even though Scottish school holidays were over, it was surprising there weren’t more people there. Perhaps they should actually advertise their existence?

Friday 22 August – Edzell, Brechin & Kinnaird Park

Where was Bertie? He spent the night in a track entrance in Montreathmont Forest.

Mick had a scheduled phone call on Friday morning, so rather than us recceing one bank of the River North Esk each, from Gannochy to Edzell, Mick dropped me just N of Edzell Woods (not to be confused with Edzell Wood, on the other side of the river) before driving around to Edzell, and I set out on foot to meet him there.

I was rather glad about the change of plan, as if we’d stuck with Plan A I would have only walked the east bank, and it turned out that the west bank is far nicer and more interesting.

I arrived in Edzell to find Mick sitting on a bench in the park, having been unable to find enough of a phone signal in Bertie. Due to that lack of signal, and with logistical plans needing to be made (this trip being so last minute, we had limited time to plan before leaving), we relocated to a car park in Brechin for lunch.

Dropping me at the west lodge entrance to Kinnaird Park in the afternoon, Mick retreated back to that car park, whilst I took a lovely (although partially thwarted, due to a ‘biosecurity hazard’) outing through the park. If only I’d known about the riverside track back in May when I passed this way!

Picking me up from the north entrance it was back to the Brechin car park again, to watch the women’s cricket.

Our relocation to Montreathmont Forest didn’t go to plan when we found an HGV completely filling the track end I’d scoped out (on StreetView) for our overnight stop. It looked like he was just taking a break there, but whilst waiting for him to vacate, we needed somewhere else to park. As it turned out, we opted to stay in the alternative that I found, and we had a perfectly quiet night there, with almost no passing traffic.

Saturday 23 August – Montreathmont, Brechin & the Caterthuns

Where was Bertie? He spent the night at the parking area between the two Caterthuns.

We had a number of paths in Montreathmont Forest to check out, so we took a route each, mine 12km, Mick’s 7km (but he also needed to drop me off and pick me up from different sides of the forest). It was an ‘interesting’ morning, proving that whilst the intention behind the Core Paths network was good, the paths themselves are not always particularly feasible.

I had realised on Friday night that it had been careless to have spent so much time the previous day in Brechin and yet not go shopping, as Bertie’s fridge was starting to get depleted in some departments. Thus with our Montreathmont outings behind us, back to Brechin (barely out of our way) we went. With Bertie’s fridge looking a bit healthier, back to the previous day’s car park we went, for two reasons: 1) we knew we had a phone signal there to watch the cricket; and 2) we didn’t want to arrive at the Caterthuns until the day visitors had left.

After four visits in two days, this was Bertie’s final stay in that car park.

A perfectly quiet night was had in the elevated position of the Caterthuns car park, which we had to ourselves from about 7pm.

Sunday & Monday, 23-24 August - Fern

Where was Bertie? He spent two nights at a little campsite in Fern at a cost of £20 per night including electricity.

The plan: I would set out from the Caterthuns for a route over Mowat’s Seat and an out-and-back to Mount Sned, before heading down via Afflochie to the campsite in Fern, where Mick would meet me. On Monday I would head out on the bike and recce the Afflochie ‘Old Road’ route.

It was a superb weather day and I was having an excellent time having these hills all to myself (30k, 5.5hrs, and not a single other person seen). It was as I was between Mt Sned and Afflochie that it occurred to me that, as I would be passing the end of the Afflochie Old Road (which is only a road at its ends, in between there is some track and a section where even the track no longer exists), it would be far more efficient to add a few km to my outing than to get the bike out and cycling out from the campsite on Monday. Unfortunately, I conveyed this news to Mick a few minutes after he’d phoned the campsite to ask if it was okay if he arrived at 1pm, rather than 3pm, based on me being ahead of schedule – and I now wanted him to pick me up on his way to the campsite.

The Afflochie Old Road took me about an hour longer than anticipated. None of the terrain was hard going, but some of it was mightily steep and I was feeling the tiredness of the last few days’ efforts.

Having completed Monday’s recce on Sunday, and having already booked into the campsite for two nights, that gave me a whole day off on the Monday. We could have driven out to look at something else on the list, but I felt due a rest day. The biggest activity of the day was a fifteen minute stroll around the campsite’s woodland, before scurrying back to Bertie to watch yet more cricket.

I’d like to say that perfectly quiet nights were had, but the campsite has peafowl and they operate as effective early morning alarm clocks!

Tuesday 26 August – Glen Clova

Where was Bertie? He spent the night in the car park of the Glen Clova Hotel.

We had a few things to look at in Glen Clova, so Mick dropped me off where the B road splits, before he continued on to the car park opposite the Glen Clova hotel. From there he did a route up to the Glen Doll visitor centre and back.

Meanwhile, I yomped my way up to Sneck of Corinch to make my way along the ridge and pick up the Ministers’ Path. I tried, and failed, to save a sheep on my way (I managed to haul it back to its feet, but it must have been stuck on its back and struggling for too long and it just fell back over; I left it in a position such that, if it regained some strength, it should have been able to get back up, but I suspect that it wasn’t long for this world by then). The Ministers’ Path has, as expected, suffered from storm damage, as a result of which I spent quite a bit of time in and around the forest finding the easiest way through (and, incidentally, brushing ticks off my clothes every few paces).

Further down the hill I met a group of four old geezers, who had been trying and failing to find the very path I had just walked. Having told them where to find it, and what I’d found there, I left them looking at their map, deciding what to do. A short distance further on were the remaining three members of their group, who also stopped me. I repeated the news of the state of the path (certainly a few of these chaps didn’t look like they would be well suited to clambering over and limboing under fallen trees), and we had a good old chat.

“Do you think our best bet is to go back to the Glen Clova Hotel and spend the afternoon drinking G&T?” one of them asked. How could I give an answer that would disappoint in the face of such a leading question?

I arrived back at Bertie just a few minutes before Ali & Adrian pulled into the car park and joined us for lunch. They were just about to head off for their own afternoon walk as rain started coming down. After a delay, signs of brightness were seen and off they went. We headed into the shower, to make ourselves presentable for dinner at the hotel.

As Ali & Adrian were staying in the hotel, they’d asked if we could overnight in the car park, but the request was denied (as it was ten years ago, when Mick stayed there and I happened to be in the glen on the same night). However, somehow, between courses, Adrian managed to sweet talk the night manager and he agreed that he would fail to notice us if we stayed put. That was most convenient for us.

Wednesday 27 August – Glen Clova

Where was Bertie? He spent the night in a parking area at Cullow.

We vacated the Glen Clova Hotel car park before breakfast, moving back across the road to the council car park (which has an unlawful ‘no overnight stays; no tents’ sign). We discovered on the way that, once again, Bertie no longer had windscreen wipers. Darn it!

Putting that issue to one side (and after checking the weather forecast to ensure we could leave the glen in the dry in a few hours’ time), I headed out for a foray up to the bealach east of Cairn Inks. It wasn’t an ideal day for that outing, as it involved me needing to look down into the next glen, which turned out not to be possible due to low cloud. I ended up being much longer than anticipated as rather than just looking down, I dropped down a distance, so at the time I had expected to be back at Bertie, I hadn’t even turned back towards him.

Once back, down to Cullow we drove, and with the weather still dry I wasted no time in removing Bertie’s wiper motor again. It was only once I had it on the worksurface in Bertie that I discovered that I didn’t have a PZ2 screwdriver with me. There were six screws that I needed to remove, and five I was able to release with a PH2, but the last one wouldn’t budge and I didn’t want to rip its head.

With there being no window of clear weather to drive without wipers for the next week, and needing to be home by Sunday, we needed a solution. So, I called a garage in Forfar who agreed that we could pop by on Thursday afternoon and they’d take a look at whether they could get that screw out.

With all the faffing, it was 3pm by the time I headed out for my next recce and having established that the Doulin Haugh bridge was all present and correct, as well as the paths leading to it (just about; a landslip hadn’t taken out the whole width of the path), my steps were retraced back to Bertie.

Another good night, disturbed only by the occasional bit of rain, although nowhere near as much as forecast.  

Thursday 28 August – Forfar & Auchlishie

Where was Bertie? He spent the night at a small (maybe pop-up) campsite at Auchlishie, N of Kirriemuir, at a cost of £15. We declined electricity which was available for £5, and the use of the shower which was also £5 (we think for both of us, but didn’t ask).

After the night’s rain, I was soon wet-footed as I set out from our night stop to look at a couple of things (including the existence of another bridge). I swear that every grass seedhead had a whole litre of water clinging to it, that transferred itself onto my socks, shoes and leggings as I brushed past.

I was more successful today in my sheep rescuing efforts. A sheep scrape had been created below some tree roots, and a ewe had managed to get marooned, with back legs in one hole through the roots and front legs through another. Sheep are surprisingly heavy animals, but I managed to lift her back legs out, whereupon she promptly sat down rather than running off. Not another ‘just too late, too exhausted’ rescue attempt? Happily not, as on my way back, as I approached, she got up and ran away, without so much as a limp.

So wet were my legs and feet, that I didn’t trouble myself to detour to the bridge on the way back, opting instead to wade the river. I then found myself unenthused to reascend the second hillside to descend back to Bertie, so instead headed straight along the road to Dykehead, from where I summoned my chariot.

Said chariot then continued onwards to the garage in Forfar, where they easily released the stuck screw on Bertie’s wiper motor, but there was no obvious problem inside. They sent us down the road (fortunately not far, as it was now raining) to an auto-electrician. After about an hour in the Tesco car park next door, they summoned us back with the news that they’d achieve wiper motor success. Their diagnosis was a corroded earth connection on the back, which would make sense with the symptoms and the temporary resurrection when I cleaned it out. Equally, it could still be a dry solder joint*. For the time being, we were just happy, given the weather forecast, that both garages had been so amenable and that we had windscreen wipers again. Another stint was had in Tesco’s car park whilst I worked out where we could spend the night (back to Cullow would have been the answer, had Prosen Bridge not been closed, leading to a significant diversion between Cullow and Kirriemuir). We settled on a campsite that was within easy reach of Friday’s outing, booked it online and headed on over – on the way passing place after place where we could have parked for free.

We arrived at the campsite to find the most ridiculously sloping field, and not all on one plane – it was a small area covered in a sea of undulations. We could identify just one level spot and it was underneath a large family tent. Settling for the next most level spot we could see, it was a surprise when Bertie’s ramps proved to be big enough to level us out. The next vehicle to arrive was a French car with a rooftop tent, and we could almost see the despair on their faces as they tried spot after spot before settling on the least bad option. The biggest annoyance was that there was a hard-standing area nearby that was perfectly level enough. With all that said, given that we did get level, the facilities were worth the money.

(*Talking of: Bertie also has a dry solder joint or break in a wire on the micro switch on his kitchen tap. It works fine in warm weather or if Bertie is parked nose down, but it’s hit and miss if it’s cold or he’s parked nose up).

Friday 29 August – Backwater Reservoir & Perth

Where was Bertie? He spent the night at Broxden Park & Ride in Perth

It was 6km from the campsite to the track from where I was to set out on my final recce of the trip, and I could have walked or cycled it… or I could prevail on Mick to drive me to my start point. The problem was that I’d not been able to find anywhere nearby suitable for Bertie to park whilst waiting for me. After a bit more thought, I came upon the answer: I would do a linear route, including a bonus Marilyn with Mick meeting me at Backwater Reservoir.

Overall it was a fine outing, and it turned out to be the final one of the trip, as I decided the hill I had pencilled in for the afternoon couldn’t sensibly be approached from the Backwater side. With other recces on the list being too great a drive away given that we only had another half a day available, after a late lunch we drove the first leg of our journey home, to Perth Park & Ride.

We’ve never seen so many motorhomes there, although it didn’t take us long to realise that the six French vans were travelling together. They went off early in two groups of three on Saturday morning, and we weren’t far behind them.

We hadn’t intended to go the whole way home, as I had a long run due on Sunday, so I’d found a campsite from which I could run from Bertie’s door. However, as the day went on I decided that I would benefit from a rest day, so home is where we went.

(Monday update: Erica was dismantled over the weekend. As I type, her high pressure hose is with a repairer.)

Sunday & Monday 27-28 July - Kendal

Where was Bertie? He spent Sunday night at Spittal Caravans on the edge of Kendal at a price of £23, including electricity. He spent the daytime on Monday in the Cricket Club car park (honesty box)

Weather: Sunday showery; Monday largely dry.

I probably should have said right at the beginning of this set of posts that our original intention had been to do this trip in Erica. Erica is, however, still out of service, hence we found ourselves in Bertie. Had we been in Erica we would have based ourselves in Coniston. However, we didn't really want to be driving around the Lake District's roads, in the summer holidays, any more than strictly necessary in a vehicle of Bertie's size*. Had Ali still been in the race then we would have driven down to Ambleside during the night, seen Ali through, then continued on to Coniston before dawn. As it was, we opted not to go to Coniston. We would have liked to have gone to Ambleside, but having read reports about how chocka both its roads and car parks had been on Saturday, the risk of arriving and finding there was no room for us at the Rugby Club (currently the only overnight motorhome parking nearby) was too great, and left us nowhere as a fall back. 

So, to Kendal we went, but with a stop just S of Shap on the way so that I could go and run a circuit of Wet Sleddale Reservoir. 

It started raining just after we left the campsite in Clifton, and it was at this point that we discovered that, without any warning, Bertie no longer had functioning windscreen wipers (as in they were completely dead; when Erica's failed earlier this year they gave us plenty of advance warning signs, and only completely failed when she was on her way to the garage to have them fixed). My run was postponed whilst I checked the obvious causes (fuse; disconnected connector), then off I trotted.

For the last 25 years, if I've had a fit of histrionics, Mick has exclaimed 'Don't be such a melodrome!', making this an absolutely perfect photo opportunity.

Back from my outing, down to Kendal we went, encountering just one more shower on the way (it had stayed dry whilst I'd been out; it seemed like the rain was saving itself for when we were driving, like it knew of our wiper predicament). The campsite there turned out to be another good one. Very tidy, with hard-standing pitches, each with tap and electricity (not optional here), and it was only a mile out of the town centre, so an easy walk. That said, we didn't walk it, because Ali & Adrian came to pick us up to take us into town for tea and a race debrief from Ali. 

By the end of the day, based on the weather forecast and our need to drive home in dry conditions, we'd decided we would stay on the site in Kendal until Wednesday. By good fortune, someone had already booked the pitch we were on for Monday night - which was fortuitous, because if they hadn't, I would have extended our booking on Sunday night. As it was, I was just walking around the site on Monday morning, deciding which of the empty pitches to move to, when it occurred to me that I should check the latest weather forecast before paying for the extra night. A change in the forecast said that travelling at 5pm on Monday gave the lowest chance of rain, which in turn meant we needed to move off the site by 10am (as we were meeting Conrad in town at 11). 

So, to the Cricket Club we went. Unsure of whether we needed to pay the £10 motorhome rate (which includes an overnight stay) or whether we qualified as a car (as we were only staying for a few hours and only taking up a car-sized spot), we deferred the question until we got back (hoping there would be someone there to ask by then - there was - they said to pay the lower rate of £2).

A very pleasant few hours were spent with Conrad in Booth's cafe where we didn't receive a single disgruntled look for our long stay (we did pepper it with food and drink), only leaving when we realised that Conrad needed to move his car.

Back at Bertie another check of the weather forecast suggested we were safe to leave immediately, and so we did, arriving home with not a drop of rain hitting the windscreen. In fact, the only rain we'd had all day started the moment we left the campsite and ended a couple of minutes after we arrived at the Cricket Club. Really!

We now have both Bertie and Erica booked in at the garage next week. Erica's stay may be of some duration, given that a) her failed part is no longer in production, so we need to have the failed one repaired or a new one custom made; and b) she has to be significantly dismantled in order to access said failed part.  

(*Bertie isn't actually that big (6m x 2.1m; many motorhomes are 2.35m wide) and fits nicely down all of the roads we would have needed to use, but we've observed that the number of people we meet who think that their small car is 8-feet wide and who stray onto our side of the road at busy times of year is too high for a pleasant journey on wiggly roads. Erica isn't massively slimmer than Bertie at 1.9m, but those 20cm give more flexibility to dodge out of the way of errant oncoming cars - plus we don't care about her bodywork as much as we do Bertie's, so scraping along hedgerows isn't such an issue (I would say "but don't tell her that!", if it wasn't for the fact that the multitude of hedge-rash witness marks along her nearside may have already given her the message)).  

Saturday 26 July - Clifton (again), via Pooley Bridge

Where was Bertie? After spending the entire day in the bridge car park at Pooley Bridge (£9), he unexpectedly returned to Crossfells Campsite for the night.

Weather: Mainly overcast, but with some sunny intervals. 

We were away from the campsite at 7am for the 15 minute drive to Pooley Bridge. The Lakeland 100 (L100) had started in Coniston at 6pm on Friday, and the front runners had already come through Pooley Bridge (61 miles in), but we'd only missed about 10 or 12 of them, so Mick was almost immediately outside cheering everyone who came through, whilst I quickly sorted myself out with breakfast (although I did nip out to see a couple of runners who I follow on Instagram, who coincidentally came though within a couple of minutes of each other).

At 9am I abandoned Mick to his cheering, and trotted off against the flow of runners (which at this point was really more of a trickle than a flow) to get myself up to Dalemain for the start of the Lakeland 50 (L50). There I met Ali and Adrian, and as Ali went over to the start pen, I headed a hundred metres or so up the course. One of the many nice things about the L50 is that whilst outside support (other than spectating/cheering, which is only allowed in certain places) is not permitted, they do allow friends and family to join competitors on the first 4 miles of the event, which is the 'Dalemain Loop'. So, as Ali came along, I trotted down the hill to join her.

A stampede of L50 runners

Technically, I had to drop out as we finished the loop, but given that I was parked in Pooley Bridge and had to get back there, I continued with Ali until the first gate on the river side of the road, where I held the gate for a whole stream of people, before continuing on alongside another L50 competitor, who I'd first met on the Loop. Appointing myself as official gate opener, I then dashed along to the next gate to hold it for the same batch of people as the previous one, then dashed to the next gate to do the same again, pointing out to one particularly smiley L100 runner that I wouldn't be able to continue offering the same service along the entire course! 

That said, I was meant to be doing 25km myself on Saturday, and arriving back at Bertie I'd only covered 11.5k, so after a brief pause and a snack, I decided that with all the L50s having cleared the area, it wouldn't be unreasonable to head up the next climb behind them (holding the one gate for a couple of L100s), before veering off in a different direction at the top. The plan was a good one, but it came a cropper when it transpired that there had been a fraud incident with my credit card. After a couple of failed phone calls with the fraud line, and with the signal drifting in and out, I decided I should probably head back down and sort it out sooner rather than later. Turns out someone had managed to pay a parking fine with my card, but a £900 transaction at Carphone Warehouse had been blocked (and the £100 parking fine is, of course, being refunded to me). The biggest inconvenience of all this is the need to memorise a whole new set of credit card details, after having had the same ones for years, and my memory no longer learns strings of numbers as easily as it once did.

The next place we would be able to see Ali on the course was Ambleside at, we estimated, somewhere between 3-4am, so there was no value in us moving from where we were. Hence we spent the whole of the rest of the day in the Pooley Bridge car park, which was incredibly busy the whole day through, with large numbers of people playing in the water and the terrace of the pub across the river heaving. And, of course, there was the whole of the rest of the field of L100 runners, with the final ones coming through at just before 5pm.

Just after we'd had tea, by which time the car park was finally starting to calm down a bit, Adrian, who had been out touristing for the day, swung by to say hello. His plan was to go back to their accommodation for a bit of a kip, and our plan was to try to find a layby between Pooley Bridge and Ambleside for the same purpose. First though, we wanted to see Ali go through the race checkpoint at Mardale Head - a task in which we weren't assisted by the tracker blackspot around Haweswater.

We ended up watching the checkpoint live video feed (which has a good picture, but no sound) for an hour and a half. Alas, as we saw her approach, some thirty minutes after we had expected her, based on the time and her speed when her tracker had stopped moving, we saw that she was limping quite badly. We learned later that she'd had to step aside repeatedly along the narrow, bracken-hemmed path for L100 runners to pass, and on one of those occasions she'd slipped as she stepped off, and tweaked her hamstring. 

There then ensued an extended period of us trying to guess how badly she was injured and whether she was able to go on, based on the little we could see on the live feed (at most of the checkpoints, you get a good view of the whole checkpoint from the camera; at this one you could only see the entrance and the drinks table). It was only when the check point cut-off time came and went, and she briefly appeared on the camera with her fleece on, that we deduced that she was stopping. 

There was no longer any value in us going to Ambleside, which meant we needed somewhere to spend the night. Returning to the previous night's campsite seemed like the best bet, so that's what we did, arriving just before 9pm. 

 

Thursday & Friday 24 & 25 July - Clifton (S of Penrith)

Thursday 24th  

Where was Bertie? He spent Thursday night in the staff car park at the George and Dragon at Clifton

Weather: Dry with sunny intervals, to the best of my recollection. 

Our night at Langsett hadn't been entirely undisturbed. At around 1am I'd heard car doors slamming and an engine running. At 6am there was more car door slamming. At 7am I stepped outside and found that there was no sign of the family who had been camped in front of us. I deduce they didn't have the most comfortable of nights, had warmed up in the car in the middle of the night and had started packing away soon after first light. 

The weather had dried up overnight, so as I set out for a jaunt on Midhope Moor...

...it was overcast but not in a threatening way. The moorland circuit I did was most pleasing, at least until about 1km from the end, when I just needed to cross the dam to get to the lane back to the campsite, whereupon I came upon this sign:

I'd already spied highways vehicles with flashing lights blocking the dam and had thought it didn't look promising, and this sign just confirmed it. My heart sank, as I really wasn't in the market for an extra 5km to go back around the water. After a slightly melodramatic text to Mick, I looked at the map and realised that heading downstream to the next bridge would only add on 1km, albeit at the expense of having to negotiate the verge of the main road for about 800m. 

Back at the campsite, I test out the shower in the toilet/shower trailer (perfectly adequate), then we were off to Halifax for me to mow the lawns at Ma-in-Law's house. 

Then off to Clifton we went, where we were sitting in the bar with a crossword when Ali & Adrian arrived. Not only did they treat us to a very nice tea...

Only snapped the starters. The souffle was deceptively filling.

 ...but they'd also gained permission for us to stay on the staff car park, around the back, overnight. It was so hot in the restaurant, that we escaped to Bertie for post-dinner tea/coffee, but it wasn't a late night. 

Friday 25th 

Where was Bertie? He spent the night at Crossfells Campsite in Clifton at a cost of £17 for a hard-standing pitch. Electricity was available for an extra £6.

By mid-morning we felt like we should probably vacate the staff car park, so headed up to Penrith, as I had a parcel I needed to take to a post office. It turns out that Penrith is not motorhome friendly, and it took a bit of driving around before we found suitable parking - on the road outside of the cricket club, a ten minute walk from town. 

We'd been so full after last night's meal that neither of us had eaten at breakfast time, but by the time we arrived in Penrith we weren't averse to the thought of something to eat, so a very late breakfast was had before we located the post office. 

The traffic getting out of Penrith was dire, with roadworks disrupting any flow, but we weren't in any rush and eventually we popped out the other side of the holdups, from where it was plain sailing to our campsite. 

When Ali had said that they were staying at the George and Dragon (and without even thinking about the possibility of staying in their car park) I'd checked out nearby campsites and found this one, with a public footpath leading across the field between campsite and pub. We'd ended up not needing it on Thursday night, but thought we may as well stay there on Friday, with it being a convenient drive from Pooley Bridge, where we wanted to arrive early on Saturday morning. 

The campsite turned out to be a little gem. The owner (who we didn't meet, but I talked to someone who knows him) has a motorhome and wanted to create a campsite that he'd like to stay on. I assume he also decided to price it at a level that he would like to pay, as it offered good value. The hard-standing pitches were level, each has an optional hook up point, its own water tap and a patch of grass with a picnic bench (yep, one for every single pitch). On top of that the toilets were the smartest I've ever seen in the category of 'toilets housed in a garden shed', and were clean too. 

We did nothing for the rest of the day, although we did have some evening entertainment, when the campers near to us went to go out and realised the key to their motorbike was missing. The search was extensive and went on for over two hours (and having previously lost a key in grass, we had every sympathy; I vetoed going to assist the search on the basis that with the current states of our backs, we weren't in a fit state to be crawling around in the grass. It was only later, when we were in bed, that it occurred to me that they were probably trying to go out for food, and we could have assisted by offering to cook them something). We were tucked up in bed by the time we finally heard their bike start up, although we didn't know whether they'd ever found their key, or whether someone had brought them a spare. I also heard them return at 3am.

 

23 July - Langsett

Another week, another trip whose start depended on the arrival of a delivery. In January of this year, just before we set out for Spain, one of Bertie's LED lights (in a set of four around the main skylight in the middle of his ceiling) started flickering. I contacted some Spanish motorhome/caravan shops and enquired about a replacement, but none could help. In fact, the only places I could find that sold the unit we wanted was Brownhill Motorhomes in the English Midlands, or a supplier in Germany. So, we got through that trip without using that set of lights.

It was a few days before we set out for Scotland in April that I next thought about that light, and with time not on our side, I went for the expensive option: I bought an identical replacement from Brownhills (£24, with a £2.30 discount applied!!). I duly fitted it the day that we travelled, and that very night one of the other identical lights started flickering. Harrumph. 

I then promptly forgot about the issue until we came to use Bertie again last week, whereupon I spent an inordinate amount of time searching for an appropriate spec of LED disc, so that I could replace just the bit of the unit that had failed, rather than needing to replace the whole thing. I eventually bought two different ones from China (£1 each, delivered to the UK), but also sent an enquiry off to a company called Aten Lighting. They confirmed that they still offered a (not mentioned on their website) repair service and could supply and fit new LED discs for £4 each. I bit their hand off (although only figuratively, as soldering in a new disc with one hand could be tricky). I sent them (two failed units plus two good ones that would likely fail soon) off in the post on Friday, and got a Royal Mail tracking message that they would be back with me by Wednesday. Excellent service by Aten Lighting. 

Our Postie quite reliably arrives between noon and 2pm, so we had everything packed into Bertie and ready to go by noon. Then we sat and stared out the window willing Postie to appear. This is like watching a kettle. By quarter to three I was convinced we just weren't getting a delivery, when suddenly he appeared. Five minutes later all replacement lights were fitted and off we went.

Where was Bertie? He spent the night at small campsite just above Langsett Reservoir in S Yorkshire, at a cost of £25 for a grass pitch without electricity.

Weather: Showery later on.

Mick had been on some strong painkillers for his back for a few days by now, so I was still in charge of driving. Given that this was less than a week ago, and that I did the driving, I have no recollection as to how the journey went, which probably indicates that it went smoothly. 

I do remember that as we drove up the steep lane to the campsite and got our first glimpse of it, my first statement was 'that looks a bit slopey'. 

So, we paid £25 for a grass pitch on a field so slopey that even our ramps couldn't get us level, without electricity, and with a very rustic unisex toilet trailer. I have no problem at all with basic campsites, as long as they're at the right price and, based on others we have stayed on lately, this one was very much not charging appropriately.

Camped in front of us was a family (mum, dad, teenage daughter) whose kit looked rather basic and inadequate. We hoped the weather was going to prove to be benign overnight, as their tents didn't look like they could stand up to even mild wind or rain, and they didn't look to have any sort of insulation to sleep on.

By the time we went to bed, rain was pattering down...