Another 24-Hour Race

When I entered this race I was open about my objectives: to achieve a podium position*, and to increase my 24-hour Personal Best, which stood at 130km. As the weather forecast started trending upwards in the days before the event (the highest I saw was 32 degrees with an overnight low of 18), I moderated my expectations and decided that 100km would be a more reasonable objective.

Not only was the weather not ideal, but my state of rest wasn’t either. Friday night had been hot (29 degrees in our ill-insulated bedroom at 11pm) so it was an uncomfortable night. I woke up fully at 3.30am, got up at 5.30, and by 7 we had loaded the final few things into Erica and were off.

Emergency purchase last week – a fridge/freezer for Erica. I didn’t think the usual coolbox would cope adequately in the heat.

The camping/campervan set-up at the event has changed and whereas last year we were in a nice shady spot within paces of the start/finish area, this year we were further away and in full sunlight. We wasted no time in getting blinds onto all of Erica’s windows, then sat around for a few hours.

I’d like to say that at noon the 3-2-1-Go came, that being the start time of the race, but at noon we were called to enter the starting pen, which wasn’t a quick process with someone writing down each person’s bib number as they entered. Then, once we were all gathered there was a briefing that no-one could hear as the loudhailer broke after the first sentence. We started 15 minutes late. 

(*the day before the race I discovered that the podium at this event only comprises 2 places, making this objective a little harder to meet.) 

Lap 1 (10.55km)

Happily, there was full cloud cover at this point, so even though it was 30 degrees, we weren’t also being baked by the sun. I started near the back and after walking the first 5 minutes I proceeded at a 2:5 run:walk (as against the 3:1 I’d originally intended). That seemed manageable even in the heat, but it was early days.

To save losing time in walking to and from Erica between laps, Mick carried a chair over to the start/finish and met me with a bag full of stuff I might need. I did my first turn around in 2 minutes last year; it took 4 this year and the only extra things I did was to soak my hat and shove a bottle of frozen water down my bra for a minute (my times this year are taken from my recorded gpx track, which, with the software I’m using, only gives me a hh:mm time, so all 'in camp' times are plus or minus 59 seconds).

 

During Lap 1, still settling in and not yet questioning my life choices 

Lap 2 (21.1km)

Things started feeling hard during Lap 2 and as much as I felt like I should at least try to run some of it, I also knew that I didn’t need to run at all at this stage. It was more important to make it to the cooler hours in a fit state to go on than to get laps under my belt. In reality, Lap 2 was only 2 minutes slower than Lap 1, but I finished it feeling like I’d already done 12 laps, which really didn’t bode well for later.

Lap 3 (31.65km)

It rained! Never have so many people been so happy to have rain during a race**! It was light and intermittent, but it brought some relief from the heat.

I returned to Erica at the end of this lap to change socks and shoes. After my feet dissolved into blisters during my race in March, I bought new shoes with a massively wide toe box and I had been optimistic that they would work so well that I’d be able to wear them all race. By the end of Lap 3 I had three blisters: inside of left foot; outside of right foot (pressure against the footbed – looks like a need a wider heel for hot weather as well as a wide toe box); and outside of left big toe. As I’d walked across Scotland in warm weather without incurring a single hot spot, never mind a blister, Mick suggested maybe I should switch to those shoes, and even though they are uncushioned trail shoes, it seemed like a good suggestion. They felt comfy, so that’s what I went with.

(**This probably isn’t true, but you get the idea.) 

Lap 4 (42.2km)

By the end of Lap 3 I could see, with a sinking heart, patches of blue sky approaching and soon into Lap 4 the sky cleared. Thirty degrees now felt so much warmer, and of course it was even more humid after the rain.

I started chatting to people during this lap, and spent the second half with a woman called Katy. We distracted each other nicely and I would have happily continued with her, but she was taking a pause after that lap (her 3^rd).

Another quick start/finish line turn around, where I downed a can of ice-cold ginger beer, whilst sitting with a bottle of ice shoved down my bra, after which Mick surprised me with a Calipo ice-lolly to take on the next lap with me.

Lap 5 (52.75km)

Lap 5 was miserable. It was too hot. I was too tired. I only had a few fleeting conversations, and the second half of the lap went on for weeks. I just desperately wanted to lie down where I was for a kip and could not see any way that I could possibly even get myself to 8 laps, for a double marathon, never mind to achieve my new target of 10 laps.

The only slight ray of light was when I thought “I’ve never felt this bad at this stage of a race before”, only then to remember the hideous 10 hours of indigestion during Lakeland 50, allowing me the positive thought of: “Well, it’s not the very worst I’ve ever felt at this point in a race!”.

Messages between me and a friend during Lap 5

To add injury to insult, in the last kilometre, I developed a pain up my left shin.

I went back to Erica at the end of the lap completely dejected and Mick had to put up with even more whinging. That doubled when I accidentally tried ripping off my already bruised big toe nail (existing injury, not from this race). That pain was quite something!

Amidst my whinging (to which Mick did quite reasonably point out that I’d chosen to do this), I asked, if I wasn’t going to achieve any of my objectives - not even my reduced hot-weather one - what was the point of exhausting myself and incurring a long recovery period? Why not just go home right then and be immediately fit to go out and do other things that are on the wish list?

What I actually did was, with hindsight, exactly right: I went for a shower, tended my feet, had a big bowl of pasta, a cup of tea and a couple of salt chews, then I lay down and told Mick to wake me in an hour. About ten minutes later I got up and said we may as well get on with it (‘we’ because it was now dark and Mick was going to join me for my first night lap – after midnight I was happy to be out by myself, but not between 10pm and midnight). Despite the tiredness, I didn’t feel like I was going to manage to sleep and if I was going to get to 8 laps then the sooner I did it the better (not only from the point of view of the cooler night temperatures, but the fact that lots of people would be targeting 8 laps, and the faster I got there, the higher up the leader board I would be). 

How Lap 5 felt

Lap 6 (63.3km)

I’d like to say that Mick got to see the course that I’ve been around so many times, but it was, of course, dark – that was the whole point of Mick being with me.

We chatted our way around and saw a dozen other people – a mix of those we overtook as they were walking but slower than us, and members of the relay teams who would speed past as we called ‘well done!’ in their wake. By the end of the lap I was no longer miserable and I had a glimmer of hope that I could get to 8 laps.

Mick, of course, couldn’t be on the course with me and also preparing whatever I wanted at the end of the lap (during every other lap I called him from half way round and with <1km to go to relay what I wanted), so I grabbed water from the water station, then whilst I nipped to the loo, Mick fetched my mug, so I could make a cup of tea in the competitors’ tea tent. I then set out on Lap 7 as Mick went off to bed.

Lap 7 (73.85km)

I enjoyed Lap 7! This was the first night time lap on my own, but I was only about 500m in when I saw head torches ahead. It took me 3km to catch up with them, then I spent the next couple of km or so with company. Perhaps not the best tactical approach, but I’m generally happy to slow down to chat at the expense of faster progress, but keeping an eye on my objectives, when this pair slowed, I bade them farewell and trotted on. I’ve no idea if I saw them again, as not wanting to blind either of them with my headtorch, I didn’t see what they looked like.

I passed a few others on this lap too, and the universal topic of conversation was questioning how it could be so hot at that time of morning (1-2am).  

The only downer in this lap was the pain in my left shin.

Lap 8 (84.4km)

This one was truly solo. Three relay runners shot past me, at different points in the lap, but otherwise I saw not a soul, unless you count looking across the lake as I was finishing the lap to see a relative stream of people just coming out of camp. They’d timed themselves nicely to see sunrise across the lake; I’d missed that this year.

Whether to continue for a 9th lap? I asked the chap manning the timing mats whether there were live standings available, and he said not, but that there was a print out on a board in the main marquee. It had been published at 10pm, and the next iteration was due to go up ‘soon’. On the one hand disappointing to not know exactly where I stood, but I also couldn’t decide whether I really wanted to know.

I visited the marquee, just in case they’d already put the morning standings up, but only learnt (via a most user-unfriendly set of data) that at 10pm the leading lady had completed 6 laps, with me and one other on 5. What I didn’t know was whether: a) the leader had completed a lap a few minutes before 10pm and thus was only just ahead of me; b) they'd slept overnight; or c) they'd been out on laps at the same time as me. 

A quick trip to Erica, disturbing a slumbering Mick, I grabbed what I needed and headed back out again. 

Lap 9 (94.95km)

Absolutely nothing about this lap sticks in my mind! At the end of it, I went back to Erica, got Mick out of bed so I could access the cupboards, and made porridge and tea, tending my feet again whilst I ate. I also had a text conversation with Ali (friend and very knowledgeable retired GP) about how things were going. The general view on the shin problem was that whether it was shin splints, a stress fracture or tendinitis, I probably wouldn’t significantly affect the recovery time by doing one more lap on it.

But did I want to go back out? Given that everyone else would also have been affected by the temperature, would 9 laps be enough for second place this year? Possibly, but without seeing those standings, I couldn’t form any sort of informed view. Mick repeatedly went over to the marquee, to no avail.

Deferring the decision a little longer, I lay down and vaguely dozed for twenty minutes, then I got back up and declared that I had another lap in me.

Mick walked me to the start line, via the marquee, where the standings were just being pinned up. “There’s only one woman on the leader board, and that’s Aggie with 9 laps” I was told. “But I’ve also done 9 laps!” I said. I looked at the leader board, and sure enough, there I was, two places behind (thus she had completed her 9 faster than I had). I then scanned the full participant standings as fast as I could and confirmed that, as far as I could see, there was no other woman on 9 laps.

Lap 10 (105.5km)

The news that I was definitely in second place gave me a boost of adrenaline. My blisters stopped hurting, and I ran more of this lap than I had any since Lap 1. In fact, I finished Lap 10 only 2 minutes slower than Lap 1. Conversations were minimal – if there was another woman who could squeeze in extra laps, I wanted to get to ten before they could, to maintain second position.

Towards the end of the lap, my mind naturally turned to the potential for an eleventh lap. I’d felt so good and energised in Lap 10, that even acknowledging that I could crash and feel awful within minutes, I couldn’t see any good reason not to go for an 11th.

Foreseeing this scenario, Mick had already checked with the organisers that I had until 1215 to finish (due to the late start; last year they started 3 minutes late but finished on time), and was unsurprised when I ran over the finish line and declared my intentions. To save time, I grabbed some water and a flapjack from the adjacent water station and darted (relatively!) back out. 

 

I took advantage of every little bit of downhill on Lap 10 to get a bit of easy speed  

Lap 11 (116km)

My shin was really not happy on this lap, but my feet were still fine and whilst energy was dipping, I was still moving fine (when the now near-gale wind wasn’t in my face!).

The final 400m of the course comprises a gently downward slope, a tiny up, then flat to the finish, and I didn’t half put a sprint on during that section, for no good reason other than I could. Seeing two women ahead of me, I called “Is that Katy?”, she turned and confirmed it was, but I didn’t stop for another chat, just explaining “11!!!” over my shoulder as I passed.

Having crossed the finish line (at 11.37, so the late start didn’t come into the equation in the end), I waited for Katy to finish, to congratulate her properly and thank her again for her company way back on Lap 4. The timer chap then came over to congratulate me on what he saw as an excellent performance in the conditions. 

Overshooting the finish line

The Medal and Prize-Giving

Once you’ve finished all the laps you intend to do, you go over to the marquee, give your name and the number of laps you’ve done and they give you a medal and the appropriate pins (half marathon, marathon, ultra & double marathon) for your distance (this honesty system for pin-giving worries my sister, but the official results aren’t affected even if someone did lie to get more pins than they are due).

I discerned some excitement in the volunteers voice as she asked me for my number of laps, and when I told her, she declared “You’ve won!”.

“Really?!” I questioned. I was so sure that Aggie would have been matching me lap for lap, that I hadn’t really contemplated the possibility of having passed her, but it turned out she’d stopped at 10.

Having finished with time to spare, I had time for a quick shower before returning for prize giving.

Receiving my trophy and a bottle of bubbly that I designated as Mick’s, not just because I don’t drink, but because he deserved an award for the excellent support he’d provided

With hindsight…

It was such a good decision not to stop after 5, 8 or 10 laps!

I ended up enjoying more laps than not.

I feel like I did all the right things in terms of food, drink and rest, as well as taking time for a shower when I was wilting after Lap 5 and over all don’t think I could have done much better.

The Aftermath

An even greater surprise than winning was that I woke up on Monday morning feeling perfectly well. No post-race dehydration hangover and mental fuzziness. My body wasn’t too sore either – except for the shin, which is very sore indeed. 

 

Even though there wasn't an awful lot of running involved, there's clear evidence that had I been able to keep moving forwards at the times when I took long breaks, I could have easily fitted another two laps in. 

Incidentally, it took me over 4 hours longer to reach 81k than it did during my race in March, entirely due to the temperature. 

Let’s talk about the weather

In the lead-up to an event, I find it fun to screenshot the weather forecast each day. In my opinion, you may as well draw weather icons out of a hat as look at the BBC’s forecast 14 days out.

This is how it played out preceding my most recent event: 

Now let's look at actual recorded official Weather Station data to see how the day really planned out:

In terms of max temperature reached, Saturday was the joint hottest day of the year, tying with the previous Thursday, with both days hitting 31 degrees:

However, Saturday was the real hottest day, having more hours of high heat, as shown in this chart showing official weather station temperature data:

As these charts show, the temperature was slow to fall too, and of course, those temperatures are in the shade; in the sun it felt like a humid furnace:

24 degrees at 1.30am! That’s a nice summer’s day, yet it was the middle of the night.

It also got a bit breezy on Sunday (quite pleasant, for most of the morning), building to ‘Near Gale’ by 11am, but I was nearly done by then, so it didn’t affect me much.

All of this is to say that of all the weekends this year, Saturday at noon was not the ideal time to be setting out on a 24-hour race, coinciding exactly with the hottest 24-hour period of the year. One comforting factor was that this wasn’t the first hot weather of the year, so there had been some opportunity to acclimatise at least to the mid-twenties. I could also draw on the knowledge that I’ve coped well with hot temperatures in the past (41 degrees in the Mojave desert on the PCT; 34 degrees in the Pyrenees). And, of course, everyone else was going to be dealing with the same weather, so I could only hope that I was able to cope with the temperature better than my competition!

 

Catch-up - April to May 2025

 Just a holding post so that I don't have to remember how to slot a post in out of date order when I come to write this one.

Wednesday & Thursday 9-10 April - Llyn Celyn(ish)

Where was Erica? She spent the night in a parking area on the minor road that runs to the S of Llyn Celyn (W of Bala)

Weather: Daytime: Wall-to-wall sunshine, warm and (thankfully) the biting wind of last weekend had gone away. Night: A bit nippy. 0 degrees at 7am.

How do you get around the need to unpack at the end of a trip? You fail to pack for it in the first place!

Our failure to pack for this trip was definitely in the category of ‘pure comedy’.

In my defence: a) we’ve had a lot going on the last few weeks; and b) the main purpose of the trip was an overnight backpack for me, and had I gone by train, I wouldn’t have considered that I’d underpacked at all. With the benefit of hindsight, we should have delayed by another day, even though we’d already delayed by six, which would have given time to prepare properly.

As it was, such were the time pressures (admittedly some caused by my choice of what to do with the time I had available*), that it was gone 7pm on Tuesday before I even started packing my backpack. I figured everything else (including a couple of urgent unrelated admin tasks) could be sorted in the morning.

I woke yesterday morning and, 2.5 hours before our intended departure time, I impulsively decided not to proceed with the intended well-planned and researched trip to the W side of the Black Mountains, but instead to hastily plan something completely different. The revised plan took me about ten minutes, was entirely unresearched and was to take us to mid-Wales, W of Bala.

With admin tasks all done, I chucked a few things into a crate, failed to even glance at the Erica/Bertie packing checklist, and we were about ready to leave the house when I asked Mick if he was packing anything, suggesting that maybe he might want a pair of PJs and a pair of pants. That is literally what he picked up. This may sound scant, even for an overnight trip, but (if you ignore my backpack) it’s more than I thought about. On reflection, a change of clothes for the journey home would have been nice. As would have been a pair of PJs, as things worked out. Putting some water in Erica’s tank would have been good too. And a pillow: that would have added comfort for Mick.

A five minute detour to a Tesco to buy diesel turned into twenty-five, due to roadworks (we later passed a cheaper fuel station directly on our route). It was 1330 by the time we arrived in the layby from which I was going to be setting out.

After a spot of lunch, it was 1355 by the time I struck out up my first hill. Mick had, quite rightly, pointed out that I could do this one as an out-and-back without my pack, swinging back past Erica to pick it up before heading on to my second hill. Given the tinder-dry ground conditions, it was a comfort that in the next 1.5km I passed two streams that were running. It was false comfort, I didn’t pass another in the next 3.5 hours.

Water, water, definitely not everywhere.

On my way to my final hill of the day, I’d seen where there was water further down the valley, so having bagged that final hill, I made my way down to the river.

Getting there involved crossing some really rough ground, a barbed wire fence then some ridiculously rough ground. I finally reached the water to see that it was barely moving and looked plain nasty. Worse, there was clearly not going to be anywhere remotely campable, even by my ‘chuck the tent up wherever’ standards. Worse still, I was now faced with trying to retrace my steps, or taking a more direct line back to the track … and on the direct line route stood two rows of commercial pine plantation, each only about 10-20m deep, but still as impenetrable as these things always are. I headed to the nearest side stream, hoping there would be a way through the trees there. I suppose there was, but it was a bash and a crawl and certainly not a responsible or sensible route. 

Spot the water/pitch-seeking detour. Because I'd seen the water at that point and from afar it looked like I might find a pitch there, I hadn't even noticed that without any detour I would cross the same water further down just a few hundred metres later, although due to the farmhouse at Amnodd-bwll I wouldn't have expected a discreet pitch near there.

Predictably, within two minutes of rejoining my intended route, after the nugatory 500m/20 minute detour, I found a side stream that was trickling. I could also see what appeared to be some abandoned mine buildings further up the hill that I thought might net a pitch out of sight of the farm house just 200m away. First, though, water. Oh, the joys of a brand new water filter! Our ten year old ones were well overdue replacement!**

As I completed my water faff, I contemplated the sense of backtracking uphill in the hope of finding a pitch, and checked the map for likely spots on my onwards route. It was at this point that I noticed I was only a 7.5km walk from where Erica was parked. It was now 7pm. Being all good track, it would take me a maximum of 1.5hours to cover that distance, which would see me there in the last dregs of daylight. I could faff around looking for a good pitch or I could have a nice comfortable night with Mick. Obviously, I opted for the latter.

It turned out the farm house I’d been concerned about was derelict (but with a new roof, hence fooling me). It also turned out that there was plenty of campable ground beyond it. However, it was lowland sheep-grazing land, in lambing season, and thus a shepherd was sure to make rounds both late and early. I never want to be found pitched where I shouldn’t be … and Erica was calling.

On the walk out to the road (still on my intended route), I got enough of a phone signal to convey to Mick where I was and to expect company for the night, but not enough signal to receive news as to whether he was going to hold tight or would drive along the road to meet me.

At a fork, had I taken the lower vehicle track I would have been on the road when Mick drove by. As it was, I was on an old grassy track, up above and paralleling the road – but at least I saw him, even if he didn’t see me. I scrambled down the bank and over the fence, and thus was standing in his path when he came back.

It was a late tea, and early to bed, and a superbly quiet*** and comfortable night.

We were away from our overnight spot early, and I was on my way up my first hill, just a few miles along the road, by 7am. Down from my second hill by 1130 (carrying water off the hill with me, so we could make drinks for the journey: see earlier mention of failing to even pack enough water for this 24-hour trip), it wasn’t long before we were on our way to Montford Bridge Café (by Shrewsbury) for lunch. We’d stopped in there last July and found it to be a gem, with excellent and plentiful food for a ridiculously low price. The prices have now gone up and the quality of the food (or at least, the quality of the cooking of it) has plummeted. Disappointing!

We were home by mid-afternoon.   

(There will be more detail about the hills themselves at gayleybird.blogspot.com)

(*On the day before departure I cooked and dehydrated six meals. I hadn’t been able to find the bag of dehydrated lentils that I thought was left over from last autumn, and if I was going to have the dehydrator running, then it made sense to cook two different meals and put them all in at the same time, thus getting a head start on preparing food for the TGO Challenge next month. I then found the missing bag of dried lentils, so didn't need any of those meals after all.

**The cheapest Sawyer Mini that I’ve seen on sale in the UK are £25 each, and from a source that I would trust not to be fake goods, they’re £35 each. I imported a pack of four from the USA for £54 delivered.

***Quiet except for the incident where I woke up to the sound of voices. No idea why my phone had decided to randomly start playing an audiobook, and my earphones were right next to me.)

 

A Running Event: Part 2

Race Day

As the Race Director counted down the “3-2-1-Go” on the strike of 10am, the competitors scattered. However, there are only so many routes out of a small village and I wasn’t the only person heading north. Half way across the first field, I looked back to see how many people were behind me. None was the answer. I was already firmly bringing up the rear. Even so, I stuck to my intended pace, feeling sure that I would later pass (in distance, even if not on the same route) some of the whippets rapidly pulling away ahead of me.

Actual routes, captured after the event had finished. The green circle marks the finish line.

My confidence that my pace was right lasted until the second field, when I suddenly realised what I’d not considered. On the map snippet below, on the left, in red, is my original route from the original start point; on the right, in blue, is my actual route from the revised start point:

I knew I could cover 80km in 12 hours and my original route had been pretty straight. What I'd not considered was that all of the westerly sections at the start of my new route would allow the expanding circle to gain on me, and I hadn’t calculated whether that would require me to start faster. Would the half-hour head start be enough, or would my wiggly start see me out of the race embarrassingly early?

My heart rate had been fine until that panic set in. It then rocketed and stayed disconcertingly high for a disconcertingly long time.

As it went, I didn’t get caught by the expanding circle. I can’t remember how close it got to me, but for much of the time it was between 4 and 6km behind, and once my route straightened out and I was happy that I was safe from being caught (barring disaster!), I had a nice relaxed day.

Mick, on the other hand, had a relatively stressful day. He was meeting me on average every 7.5 kilometres, which was pleasantly often for me (most times I just grabbed food and drink and was gone again) but meant that Mick didn’t have much time to spare between getting stuff out, putting it back away, and driving to the next location.

My route proved to be a good sight-seeing tour too. The Thames Path and Oxford were particular highlights.

Disappointingly, my feet started disintegrating from about 15km in. This is mind-boggling. I cover a lot of miles on foot*, my feet are pretty tough, and except for my left little toe, I wouldn’t say that I’m prone to blisters. My longest training run (before structured training went out the window when we unexpectedly moved to Halifax a month ago) was 36km, I wore my race shoes, and didn’t get a single blister. I’d worn the same shoes in Spain in temperatures pretty similar to race day. I was wearing the same socks as usual too. So, I’ve no idea what caused not just a couple of blisters but TEN of them! (*I did 19 outings of 15k or more in training, without my feet disintegrating.)

More disappointing than the blisters was the pain that developed on the outside of my right knee from 27km in. I could walk pain-free, but as I ran the cramp-like discomfort would get progressively worse until I had to walk again. When I say ‘progressively’ it got to the point that I could manage 30 paces before it got too much. Fortunately, walking reset it, so I could walk a while then run 30 paces, and repeat. I later twigged that if I entered the Ministry of Silly Walks after 30 paces, I could up the running to 50 paces. Later still, with the assistance of paracetamol I even managed 100 paces. But, at least I could keep up a brisk walk.

This format isn’t a sociable one. I caught up with one pair and one solo in the entirety of my route (none of whom reached the finish line), which amounted to around three minutes of conversation. It turned out not to bother me in the slightest and I was perfectly happy being in a physical yet virtual real-time race.

Remember me mentioning all that time spent researching and honing my route to make it as efficient as possible? Nugatory effort! When I left the dreadful excuse for a tow path on the Oxford Canal and saw the speed of cars on the B-road I was then meant to be taking, I quickly decided to revert to the canal route, even though it was going to add a couple of kilometres. Time was then lost replanning the next support point.

By the time I got to that next support point, it had been raining for a while. The weather forecast had been for showers throughout the day, but the reality was that it was dry and warm until quarter to seven, after which it rained continuously and, for much of the final three hours, heavily. Once it was fully dark, it was irrelevant which brightness I used on the headtorch – all I could see was the light bouncing back off the rain.

Fortunately, I’d changed my shoes when Mick met me for the penultimate time before the finish line, because the rain very quickly turned the nice firm not-rained-on-for-weeks towpath into a mass of puddles with sections of slippery mud, and road shoes had gone from perfectly fine to performing like ice-skates.

Constant lightning over to the west was a cause for mild concern, but it didn’t get any nearer to me.

I took to the road for my final 4km to the finish. Turns out that my chosen finish point sits atop a tiny hill. My plotted 76km route (which became 78km with my route switch to the canal) had a mere 350m of ascent and 50m of it was in the final 3.5km.

By the time I reached the finish line I was pretty wet, with the water resistant zip on my jacket having been overwhelmed. I was also cooling down. My feet were a mass of blisters. My knee was poorly. Surely the sensible thing was to stop and not go for ‘last woman standing’. I knew I might regret stopping; I knew (due to the feet and knee) that I might regret continuing, so it wasn't an easy decision.

As I climbed into Erica and checked that my dot on the map had turned green (confirming that I had crossed the virtual finish line), I knew that I needed to make a quick decision, before I got too cold.

I dithered. I dithered some more - for twenty minutes in the end, with the expanding circle ever creeping up on me. Finally, I declared that Carole (the only other woman still going) could have it, and I was done. I typed my resignation text message to the Race Director, got my tracker out and had my finger on the power off button. Then it occurred to me that I was tied with the only other woman who had reached the finish line (all other solo women had DNFd). If I just continued a little further, I would leapfrog her. So, I told Mick to give me a ten minute head start, then come and pick me up.

Peeling off my wet waterproof, I put on two dry ones (no more rain getting through a front zip for me tonight!) and shivered off up the road. Five minutes later Mick phoned me: “Carole has stopped and turned off her tracker”.

“Oh ****! I’m going to have to continue now, aren’t I?” I said.

I wasn’t far off her crow-flies distance when I came upon a road closure (not the sort that I could ignore and nip through anyway, but major HS2 works). My phone was not enjoying the heavy rain on its screen, but between me and Mick (who was now parked just beyond the road closure) we came up with a plan. The best option we could see was to start heading ENE, which isn’t ideal when only northerly movement counts.

Stopping with only 100m more on the score board than Carole, I felt a little guilty at not making the effort to beat her more resoundingly, but equally there was no value in continuing when I knew that all other women had stopped and that I had achieved 'last woman standing'. I happily climbed into Erica, turned off my tracker and finally sent that resignation text message I'd typed a few kilometres earlier.

My final stats were 67.5km as the crow flies, and 81.5km actually covered.

The overall winner covered 107km as the crow flies and 119km real distance – outstanding route efficiency (but no way would you ever catch me on the roads he used).

(I feel that I should declare the fact that there was a disappointingly small field in the solo women category. However, I can only compete against those who turn up, so I'll happily take the win regardless!)

A Running Event: Part 1

At the end of November last year, I entered a running event. The concept:

Everyone gathers at a start point. Everyone is issued with a tracker. At 10am the Race Director counts down “3-2-1-Go” and everyone runs off in whatever direction they chose, on whatever route they’ve designed. After a half-hour head start, a circle (centred on the start point) starts expanding on the tracking map. All competitors need to stay ahead of that circle. If it overtakes them, they are out of the race. To be classed as a finisher, you have to reach 40 miles as the crow flies within 12 hours. There is then a decision: stop and be happy with just being a finisher, or carry on, still staying ahead of the ever-expanding circle, to compete for ‘last (wo)man standing’.

When I entered I had my eye on the last woman standing as my objective.

I didn’t even enter until I’d spent a couple of days plotting a route, researching it in minute detail, replanning, and honing it to make it as efficient as I could (because when being chased by an expanding circle, you want to be going in as close to a straight line as possible).

I then sat down to write myself a training plan and realised that March wasn’t as far distant as I’d thought. I set to training with gusto and even went out on New Year’s Eve to recce the canal section of my route (which in turn caused more replanning, because the Oxford canal has the worst excuse for a tow path that I’ve ever seen).

Two and a half weeks before the event, news came through that the start point had been moved. After much replanning, I concluded that there wasn’t a route from the new start point that I was happy with – I wasn’t prepared to go on busy pavementless roads, and I didn’t want to do too many field paths for fear of mud season and being slowed by navigation. Clearly, by then I didn’t have the opportunity recce any revised route. My disgruntledness was then overtaken by events and it became clear that I wouldn’t be taking part anyway.

Then Ma-in-Law died more suddenly than expected, and then there was no reason not to go along. The last month had been far from ideal from training, sleep and food points of view, but I followed my own advice: if you don’t start then it’s definite that you won’t finish, thus you may as well start. And given that I’d resigned myself to not taking part at all, my competitive ambitions had gone out the window, and thus my sub-optimal revised route didn’t seem such an issue.

Another two afternoons were lost to planning, with the end result of the first section of my route going from 13.5km to 15km. However, with some more efficiencies gained elsewhere my total distance to the notional finish line (at 64.4km as the crow flies) was still 76km (other people had far more efficient routes, but I wasn’t willing to dice with death on busy roads).

I then spent another evening producing support notes for Mick:

There were five pages like this. Did I mention that my reputation for meticulous planning is sometimes justified?

That brought us to the eve of race day. We’d only just got home from Halifax, I’d hastily thrown kit into bags, bought a bit of food and we had a Travelodge booked two-thirds of the way between home and the race start.

That reputation for organisation and planning? It’s not always justified, as evidenced by our departure from home.

As Mick released Erica’s handbrake at the start of the journey, I thought I’d best just look through the suggested kit list to check that I had everything. I was sure that I would, but no harm in checking. But by then I’d lost wifi, and there’s no mobile signal, so it was a mile and half later that I finally opened the kit list … and realised that I’d forgotten some quite important items. Erica was turned around and back home we went.

After something of a comedy of kit gathering (the first item I’d grabbed was missing by the time I closed the front door again and it took me a frustrating amount of time to relocate it), we were off again.

Except for the false start*, the journey was smooth and our Travelodge worked out fine for the night – a huge room and surprisingly quiet for the location – and I slept well.

(*In the interests of full disclosure of quite how badly organised I was for this event, I also realised half way down the motorway that the notes I’d painstakingly written to describe my route through housing estates, so I wouldn’t find myself searching around for alleyways, were still at home. I also realised on race day that I’d printed Mick’s support instructions, but failed to email it to myself, so Mick had the only copy.)

 

Sunday 23 February - to Halifax

Sunday 23 February

It was an early alarm and early on the road. A necessity with an 0706 Chunnel crossing. Our exit from the Aire wasn't entirely smooth as it turned out that the QR code reader wasn't working. Fortunately, they have a fall-back of being able to enter your code manually, and that got us out in a timely manner. Phew!

The early morning Chunnel crossings were the only ones that weren't sold out until late night, and whilst it wasn't anywhere near as quiet as we've previously experienced at that time on a Sunday morning, it also wasn't the busiest we've seen it. 

We departed and arrived in the UK on time, before 7am.

The plan had been to nip via home to pick up the car (but not to drop off Bertie), but after surveying the stats for the journey both with and without that detour, and considering that the roads were quiet now, but would be busier later, and further considering the urgency of arriving in Halifax, we went straight there. I did, however, book myself a train ticket a few days hence to nip home (£6.50 for the leg I needed to prebook to get a good price - so no great loss if I ended up not using it; the ticket for the other leg I could buy on the day for £5.50). 

We arrived in Halifax just after noon - 3.5 days after leaving the E coast of Spain.

Monday 24 February

Both of Mick's brothers were present on Monday, so I was able to clear off for my slightly delayed long run. Given the lumpiness around Halifax (and the flatness of what I'm training for), I opted to go for a set time rather than a set distance. 'Run' is also a generous description of what I did. It went well. Not only was the weather superb...

...but I was only 7 minutes slower over the distance than my target. Considering: a) the hills; b) that I'd got a load of washing out of the machine on one of my pitstops; c) that I'd made two visits to Morrisons for platters of sushi that I'd then eaten outside the store; and d) I had to do all my own admin in between laps, I was pretty pleased with that. 

Wednesday 25 February

A day of public transport and running. 

Run - train - run - Wetherspoons for a cup of tea - run - train - run - bus - run - home - car  

It all went remarkably smoothly, I was back in Halifax at just gone 6pm, and I hadn't been rained on once. Considering the weather when we first got up, this was surprising. 

Update - 24 March:

We stayed in Halifax, providing full-time care for Ma-in-Law, until she died on 11 March, less than a month shy of her 100th birthday. She'd been quite clear for a very long time that she didn't want to spend time in hospital, didn't want to go into a home, didn't want external carers (yes, she lived independently to 99.9 years old) and didn't want to make it to 100. She achieved all of her wishes and we were glad to be in a position to facilitate the first three. 

Saturday 22 February - to Wissant

DELAYED POSTING - A QUICK NIP BACK TO 22 FEB:

Where was Bertie? He spent another night, to add to his many, at the Aire at Wissant (€11).

Weather: mainly overcast, some periods of rain, then dry but foggy towards the end. High of 10 degrees.

Having made such good progress north, I would have moved our Channel crossing forward to Saturday evening except, being the end of half term holidays in the UK, every single crossing was sold out. So, we stuck with the plan, got on the road just a few minutes after 8 heading to our usual stop at Wissant. 

 

A stop for LPG at Rouen morphed into a quick run into Lidl and a stop for LPG, and it was only as we were completed the detour necessary to get back northbound on the dual carriageway that we realised that buying diesel would have been a good call too. We'd been trying to avoid needing to divert into Boulogne, but that's exactly what we found ourselves doing, and a bigger diversion than intended when the first fuel station was found to be closed. 

 

It was still only 1330 when we arrived in Wissant, at the almost empty Aire, and I would have been straight out the door for a run, but I needed some lunch. I was then struck by a severe case of procrastination, and it was over an hour later when I finally stepped out into the murk. 

 

Not a day for views

 

The clay of the coast path was awfully slippery. Not the most fun I've ever had on this bit of coast!

 

Clearing a bit (I passed the chap ahead of me in this snap, then on the next set of wooden steps, inset into the clay, a foot shot out from under me. Somehow I managed to land on my feet. I passed another chap a little further on, and again a foot slid out from under me. I gently hit the ground, smothering myself in clay mud. I must have looked a bit of a sight as I passed lots of promenading families on the prom further on). 

 

I had been unsure as to whether I would go along the beach, or simply turn around and retrace my steps after 8km. I opted to continue onwards, and it was a good call, as the beach was firm. It was also relatively heaving with people out walking (probably a similar circuit to the one I was doing). I can't think that there would be many places in the UK where there would be so many people on a cliff path and a beach in such cool, dank weather. The prom was also busy, although the next beach was less so - probably because there's no onward route (I did a 1km out-and-back on it, just to make up my total distance to 16km).

 

The only other point of note for the day was our slight concern that motorhomes leaving the Aire were having trouble getting the barrier to open. As we needed to leave early in the morning, and wouldn't have time to be delayed, fingers were crossed that we wouldn't have the same problem. 

 

There were only a handful of motorhomes at Wissant. On such a busy weekend for the Chunnel (and likely the ferries too), before they imposed charges, the place would have been much busier. We concluded that if it hadn't been for the fact that I already knew a good running route at Wissant, we likely would have opted to go to the Aire at Calais ourselves - a couple of euro more expensive, but with electricity and nearer to the Eurotunnel terminal.    

 

 

 

 

Thursday & Friday 20-21 February - Castets & Bonneval

Where was Bertie? He spent the night at a Camping Car Park Aire in the village of Castets, at a cost of €13.72, including electricity and wifi.

Weather: Overcast on departure, lots of fog through the middle of Spain, eventually reaching sunshine and, surprisingly, 23 degrees towards the end of the day.

Leaving the campsite at just before 0830, I convinced Mick to use the road he'd rejected on the way in. I'd been along the length of that road on foot and thought Bertie could manage it - which he did, although he could have done without the truck coming the other way on a road barely big enough for one of us!

The morning involved cloud, sunshine then a couple of hours of fog which stayed with us (or us with it) until we stopped in Tudela for fuel (132.9/litre at a full service station) and supplies. When I say 'supplies' I mainly mean wine and alcohol-free beer, although naturally, a whole host of other things fell into the trolley too. In the interests of efficiency, Mick prepared lunch whilst I shopped.

Finally the sun came out and we could enjoy our surroundings as we drove through some magnificently mountainous areas beyond Pamplona and into the Basque country.

The intention was to simply reverse our outbound itinerary, staying at Capbreton tonight. However, the road into the town is still closed, necessitating a detour on some slow roads. So, I had a little look for another Aire nearby, and came up with one immediately adjacent to the motorway 40km further north. The journey time was the same, so it was a no-brainer.

I've long resisted joining the Camping Car Park scheme (more and more Aires in France have started coming under the Camping Car Park banner), but this was the shove needed to bite the bullet. It didn't take many minutes at the machine at the entrance to set up an account, obtain a CCP card, and pre-load it with enough funds to pay for our one-night stay.

With that all done, Bertie was all settled onto a pitch and plugged into the mains by 1645, and by 1700 I was changed into running gear and on my way out the door. Conveniently, the Aire isn't just right next to the motorway, but a Voie Verte also runs straight past it, so promising Mick I would be back within the hour, I tootled off into the forest. I didn't quite judge my turn around point right (as is often the case with me and Voie Verte type tracks, I was convinced the outward leg was all downhill, so I turned a couple of minutes early to allow for a slower return leg, only then to find it was all downhill on the way back), but I did judge right the extra little repeat I needed to add in, and I stepped back through Bertie's door at 17:59:20.

Before we drove into the fog. Must visit this striking town some time.

Not the most illustrative snap, but stunning scenery in Basque country.

Voie Verte - not a patch on the Spanish hills, but always good to have such a convenient traffic-free route available.

Friday

Where was Bertie? At a free Aire in Bonneval. We'd been there before, but Bertie hadn't.

Weather: Sunny and warm until late afternoon when it started clouding over. Rain by bedtime.

I woke up at 5am, but managed to lie quietly until the alarm went off at 7, whereupon I leapt out of bed, chopped an onion and some garlic and put the stove on. I'd just started frying some chicken when Mick finally asked what I was doing. "Cooking tea", I said.

Organisation is key on these long driving days. We set out each morning with two flasks of hot water, so we can make drinks throughout the day without having to wait for the kettle to boil, then for the stove to cool down (so we can lower its glass cover before travelling again). I also try to have some snacks to hand, and it's a bonus if tea is already prepared, or semi-prepared when we arrive at our destination. Stops during the day can then be kept to one or two micro-pauses to swap drivers, a fuel stop and half an hour for a lunch break (we managed to combine the three of those today, stopping at a SuperU in Vivonne, about a 200m detour from the motorway, for cheap fuel before availing ourselves of the car park for a lunch break, and swapping to Mick driving before we went on). It was nearly an unsuccessful stop for fuel when both of us had our preferred spending cards declined - a little concerning until the third card worked, and we subsequently realised that neither of us had enough funds in our 'foreign spending' accounts (this petrol station wanted a hold of €150 before we could fill up; most only want €100 or €120, both of which would have been fine).

The initial intention had been to end the day in Villedômer, but having driven further yesterday I figured we may as well push on further today. Marboué was our chosen destination, but when we got there Google Maps tried to instruct us to make an illegal turn, and the TomTom gave us an instruction that didn't make sense. I knew that Bonneval wasn't much further up the road, so the snap decision was made to go there instead. I remembered having stayed at Bonneval before, but I was surprised to find that it was 9 years ago.

With Bertie settled into a spot, I took myself off for a brisk march around the streets (nowt to write home about), whilst Mick went on a mission to find a patisserie. His mission was not a success. Who has ever heard of a French town without a patisserie?!

There is, of course, such an establishment. We found it the following morning as we left town.

By the time the rain started, we were all tucked up for the night.

The attractive feature of Bonneval

Monday 17th to Wednesday 19th - Cervera del Maestre

Where was Bertie? He spent 3 nights at Camping Ciudad del Ciclismo ('cycling city') just outside of the hilltop village of Cervera del Maestre, at a cost of €19 per night.

Weather: Sunny on Monday then mainly overcast but with some sun on Tuesday and Wednesday. Mid-teens.

Monday

We escaped the campsite vortex! Only 16 nights later than intended when we booked in for 7 nights.

Slightly inland from Peñíscola I'd seen that there were six or seven free Aires. On the plus side, almost all of them offer electricity (either for free, but you have to go and get a token from a local business) or for reasonable rates (again, via token). On the downside, they offer electricity. Our observations over the years have told us that free Aires with free or cheap electricity tend to attract people who stay for longer than is permitted. Given the token system, and without lots of negative reviews saying it was hard to get a spot (plus our experience inland in the Sierra Morena last year where we got a spot at every with-free-electric Aire we tried), I was optimistic. 

My optimism was misplaced! Bertie toiled up the hills to Cervera del Maestre to find all 5 places taken. I didn't have an immediate plan B and after contemplating the map I was concerned that we could spend the whole day driving Aire to Aire, not find a spot, and end the day further S than we wanted to be (having started with the northernmost of the options).

It was Mick who finally asked the obvious question: 'Is there a campsite nearby?'

It turned out there was, and less than 2km away, albeit we drove the best part of 8km when Mick declined to attempt the road involved in the short route. 

I don't think I've mentioned thus far that we have barely seen any other British vans since arriving in Spain. We may have seen one every couple or three days when out and about (amongst a sea of vans of other nationalities), but there had only been one other on the campsite and we never did see anyone home, so we've not spoken to another Brit since leaving the UK. So how funny that as we left the main road to approach the campsite (which probably only sees three or four arrivals a day), we found ourselves in a convoy of three vans, all British. 

From the campsite entrance looking across almond trees in blossom (lots of those in these parts at the moment) to the castle-topped village

Looking the other way down to the massive dry river bed (in the first snap you can see the causeway we'd driven across to reach the campsite)

From the castle 

I'm not sure you get the depth on the photo but there were six layers of hills visible.

Village street

We took a stroll up to the castle in the afternoon, where an information sign told us it had been 'purposely built to stop the unstoppable advance of the Christian troops'. I assume there has been a retrospective view applied to that information!

Tuesday

Having reached the peak weeks of training, I had a big week of running on the agenda this week, starting with 16k on Tuesday. Being in such a hilly area 'running' is a very loose description of what I did, but I had a whale of a time in the local hills. So much more runnable than the Sierra d'Irta, with lots of dirt tracks, housing a whole network of biking & walking routes. I did opt for one 1.4km section of technical single track, but being steeply uphill, I was never going to be running that bit anyway. 

Into the hills 

Lots of routes

A trig point, and with a path to it!

View on the way back down

Getting back to Bertie I opined that I could happily spend a few weeks in this area, exploring lots of local paths. 

As for the campsite, it makes the one in Peñíscola look like outstanding value (€13 there vs €19 here). The facilities in Peñíscola were always clean, tidy and well maintained (with a constantly tinkering Maintenance chap) - and there were two facilities blocks, so nobody had to walk more than a minute to the nearest. In Cervera the toilets/showers, which are slightly grubby and wanting of maintenance, are in the restaurant building, which is about 250m from the camping area. Not the end of the world, but you certainly don't want to get there and find you've forgotten your towel! The plus sides of Cervera are water taps on each pitch, WiFi that works all day long (probably because at the moment occupancy is really low, with only around 20 or so vans each night), and hot water at the washing up sinks (at the last place everyone just went into the toilets to fill up their washing up bowls).

We had initially booked in for 2 nights, but before I embarked on cooking tea this evening, I strolled up to Reception to extend our stay for another 2 nights, telling them that in reality we would probably stay through the weekend. 

 

As for tea, it was chicken and chorizo tonight - a Spanish inspired dish with plentiful garlic and served with crispy cubes of fried potato. Finishing my plateful, I observed that it just wasn't as tasty as it usually is, but I had no idea why not. The moment Mick said "I know why", it struck me too. I'd forgotten the chorizo bit of the chicken & chorizo! (I've also been known to serve Chick Pea Stewy Thing without any chick peas, so I have form in missing out the headline ingredient). 

 

Wednesday

As I ran down the hill yesterday, amounting to around 400m of almost continuous descent, I knew it was probably ill-advised. It's been a while since I ran such a continuous and steep downhill. I woke this morning with sore quads, glutes and hamstrings. Fortunately for my current purposes a fast march is as useful to me as a run, and I only had 5km to cover today so a late afternoon 5k march it was to be. 

First though, I was going to loosen up my body by taking Mick for breakfast at Mati's - one of three eateries in the village and the one with the best reviews. 

We could hear the hubbub as we approached and inside was full. There was, however an outside table, so we went in to place an order, whereupon a table immediately became free inside. 

Elevenses, with obligatory table of old geezers beyond. Unusually, there was also a table of women in this place. 

We timed our visit well - just as everyone else was finishing up their sandwiches/toast/glasses of spirits, so we got the atmosphere of the rush, followed by the peace after everyone else left.

I never did get my afternoon walk. I got tied up doing some work, then our plans underwent a swift change. 

Mick's mum was taken poorly last week and on Wednesday afternoon we decided it was time to head home. I did offer to chuck Mick on a plane then drive Bertie back myself, but the decision was to drive, so an itinerary was planned, our Chunnel booking moved*, and our bill at the campsite paid so we could make an early exit on the morrow.

(*insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but we are now crossing the Channel on the Sunday at the end of half term which is eyewateringly expensive when booking at this proximity at almost £400 (vs £145 if we'd had the leisure to wait until Monday). We will count our blessings at securing a crossing as most of the day was sold out.)

Peniscola - Monday 10th to Sunday 16th

Monday 10th

Neither of us was running; neither of us was working – we had a whole day free to do stuff together!

“Let’s go to the castle” Mick said. Once my first reaction (“It’s Monday, so it won’t be open.”) was disproved, off we went down the hill.

It’s hungry and thirsty work walking to a castle that’s 3km away. We had to stop for coffee and toast on the way. Then we came upon the weekly market, so we took a wander around that (unsuccessful in terms of finding the item I was after). By the time we’d done that we’d decided it was a bit too cool to enjoy a walk around a castle, and even though the forecast said it was only going to be overcast, not wet, it was looking ominously like rain. So, we fell into another bar for more coffee/tea. By then it was lunchtime, and a ten minute walk took us to our favoured eatery.

A single course plus drinks came in at only €10 less than three courses, including drinks and bread, followed by coffee.

Tuesday

Having now sampled so many of the paths through the Sierra d'Irta, I’d convinced myself that the first route I did, a couple of weeks ago, wasn’t as overgrown and scratchy on the legs as I remembered, so was worthy of repetition. I also decided it was more runnable than I remembered. Turns out I was wrong on both counts. My legs were smarting by the time I got back to Bertie!

With the weather having returned to sunshine, I noted that my legs are getting their usual ‘shorts and ankle socks’ tan. Such a good look…

Wednesday

There was a birthday to be celebrated and we’d thought we’d do a repeat of Monday, but this time (in the absence of the market) we would be successful in our mission to see the castle, in between morning coffee and a big lunch.

We woke up to rain. When rain is very much the exception, we felt no inclination to walk around in it.

So, we pottered until lunchtime, before walking down to town for lunch.

Failed to take a photo of the starter, failed to ask for birthday candles in the pudding, so here’s the main course.

By then the day was brightening up and it turned out to be much warmer (and more humid) than I’d expected. So sunny was it over lunch that we probably would have gone to the castle this afternoon, had we not been so stuffed full of food.

Thursday

I managed to find a couple of nearby paths in the Sierra d’Irta hills, on the N side of the range, that I’d not yet trodden, so I went off to tread them. Absolutely lovely it was – nice paths (not too scratchy, except through a few sections of stunted holly bushes) under a clear sky.

Gorgeous! You can see my onwards path over the next lump.

The only fly in the ointment was the realisation that I had in fact been on the path involved in the return leg of the loop, and it was the steep/slow/plates of ball bearings path that I used last weekend. Realising that before I made the turn allowed a quick replan on the hoof – the longer distance of my revised route was certainly much quicker than the steep/slow/ball-bearings path would have been.

Friday

Valentines day, and being the romantic couple we are, we decided to celebrate by going out for coffee, tostada & a crossword … exactly as we do most weeks of the year. This time we beelined for the same bar as we’d found on Monday – it’s our usual sort of a tostada location, being full of old men and workmen (we must have spent 2.5 hours in there this week and the only other women present have been the serving staff).

Our elevenses, but also a surreptitious snap (actually taken on Monday) of old geezers, having spirits with their breakfasts and putting the world to rights

A small indication of how busy it was on Friday

The bar was full to the gunwales when we arrived. By the time we left they were sweeping up around us – by then the only customers - in the lull between breakfasts and lunch, which we took as our cue to leave.

Saturday

We’ve had more than our fair share of cloud this week, and today was another overcast one, although reasonably warm.

Leaving the campsite together at around 9am, I soon left Mick behind as he set out for a 5k run and I set out for a differently-paced 20k. Out of Peniscola, into Benicarlo and out the other side before I ran out of coastal pavement and turned back.

Murky weather with poor air quality

As I sit and type this on Saturday afternoon, it’s raining. I might have to put in a complaint about this weather!

Current plan: we are leaving the campsite tomorrow. We’ve had that plan quite a few times before. Let’s see if we can extract ourselves from the vortex this time!

Sunday

As I failed to post this in a timely manner, I may as well retrospectively add a note about Sunday. Goodness, once you get sucked into the vortex of a campsite in Peniscola, the pull is strong! That is to say, that once again we failed to leave as planned.

I had a need to use the campsite wifi to do a particular task before it ground to a halt (which generally happened at around 8am, as too many other people came online), so we got up at 0630. I used the wifi for as long as possible, then continued offline until lunchtime. With more computer work to do in the afternoon, it didn’t make sense to leave, but we resolved that we absolutely, definitely, without any doubt, were going to leave on Monday...