Not All Points North

Not All Points North

Caroline, who works in our Hathersage store, tells us about her experience of riding All Points North - a self-supported, ultra distance, endurance cycling event. This series of posts was originally published on Caroline's blog.

All Points North is an unsupported bicycle journey around the north of England. Participants have to plan and ride their own route between 10 given control locations, which can be visited in any order. I was fortunate enough to gain a place in the race, which was due to take place at the end of May, but unfortunately this was cancelled due to Covid. However, the organisers kindly gave us the opportunity to ride our planned routes in September instead, with no mass start, tracking or post-race party (gutted!) – hence the name “Not” All Points North. Although I’ve done some cycle touring and some long day rides before, this was my first real foray into multi-day ultra-distance racing. I’ve decided to write about my experience, partly so I have a permanent record of it, and partly to encourage others who might be thinking about doing something similar. I hope you enjoy it.

You can find a link to my Komoot route here and Instagram checkpoint updates here.

Day 1 Start: Sheaf Square, Sheffield train station, 9:37am.

I’d arrived home from a very tiring work trip to Devon on the Friday night, so rather than setting off from Sheffield at the crack of dawn on Saturday, I planned to have a decent night’s sleep and a fairly leisurely start. I didn’t sleep amazingly well and woke up early full of excitement and nervous anticipation. I faffed about for ages having breakfast, finishing packing, doing several “final wees” – leaving the house is definitely the hardest part! I finally rolled from home in Walkley down to the train station, snapped a few quick pictures of my bike, and then I was on my way.

I based my initial route north on a ride that Dad and I had done up to Wetherby on Easter Saturday 2019. You may remember that Easter 2019 was a gloriously sunny weekend, and Dad and I had spontaneously smashed out the ride with a southerly tailwind the whole way, so my aim was to channel those good vibes. Alas this time there was a stiff breeze from the north west (right in my face) and the sky was looking distinctly ominous. Indeed, the rain started somewhere between Castleford and Pontefract, so I stopped in a bus shelter to put my jacket on and got talking to an old lady waiting for a bus. She asked where I was going and for some reason I said “Wetherby”, which I suppose was true, but a far cry from the whole truth. “On your own? You’re very brave!” If only she’d known what I was actually doing! Her bus arrived and we waved at each other as it pulled off. As I pedalled off shortly afterwards I inwardly kicked myself for being too embarrassed and doubtful of myself to tell her the whole truth and vowed to channel some more self-belief. Just before Wetherby I passed Dicky, an old school friend, and Mark, a cycling friend, riding in the opposite direction. Neither knew what I was up to but I was very happy to see some faces I recognised, so both were greeted with some enthusiastic heckling. It felt good to be rolling on some familiar roads and I even got down on the tri bars on the A168 up to Boroughbridge. In fact, this was the first road I’d ever used tri bars on (testing them out the night before Wetherby Triathlon in May 2018, nothing like a bit of last minute race prep!) and I smiled to myself at the memory. From Boroughbridge it was west to Studley Royal, the first checkpoint.

Whilst I was taking the obligatory checkpoint photo I met Colin, the first other NotAPN participant I’d seen. I mentioned how sapping I’d found the headwind but he’d set off from Silloth so flown down through the Lakes and Dales with a tailwind! I couldn’t believe how many checkpoints he’d already ticked off when I’d been finding it so hard and I felt quite disheartened. Little did I know that our paths would cross again later in the trip when the tailwind would be mine and the headwind his! Rationally, I knew that I needed to ride my own ride and not worry about how fast other people were going, but that’s definitely a mindset that takes practice to get into, and one that’s harder to achieve when you’re tired and damp and moving more slowly than you’d like. Studley was busy with people enjoying their Saturday afternoons but I’d promised myself a coffee so I had a quick stop, used the loo and filled my water bottles from the fountain in the courtyard.

After Studley the hills came thick and fast. Living in Sheffield and working in Hathersage, I am quite accustomed to hills, but my last-minute decision to ride meant that I hadn’t spent much time training on a loaded bike and I felt very sluggish. Greenhow Hill out of Pateley Bridge was particularly evil (although the section of B6265 between Greenhow Hill and Grassington is definitely one to revisit, absolutely stunning!). The showers were also coming thick and fast at that point and I stopped a couple of times to shelter from the worst of them, once in a bus shelter and then under the verandah of a cricket pavilion. I felt frustrated that I was losing a lot of time to jacket hokey-cokey and cursed at having to take my jacket AND jersey off every time I needed a wee. Men have it so much easier! At least this sign in the cricket club toilets made me laugh:

I tried to minimise stopping time by eating every time I stopped. I’d cooked a pizza at home so along with a couple of Lidl croissants and bananas this did nicely for a late lunch.

I reached CP2 Arncliffe just after 7:30pm and bumped into Jim and Rachel who were doing the whole thing on gravel bikes. We exchanged a bit of complaining about the weather which made me feel better! I rolled on through Upper Wharfedale but was feeling quite worn out by the wind and rain so decided to stop for some hot food in the form of a pub tea. When I arrived, the pub (The Buck Inn, Buckden) had technically stopped serving food but the staff could not have been more helpful finding me a table and an incredible steak pie and gravy and filling my water bottles. It was quite a classy establishment and I felt rather conspicuous sitting there in wet lycra pressed up against the radiator while, around me, some very well-dressed diners were enjoying their Saturday evening. Pie demolished, it was time to head back out into the darkness and over Kidstones Pass (incidentally, this was the first categorised climb featured in stage 1 of the 2014 TDF when it came through Yorkshire). I quite enjoy riding in the dark and the climb was fine but unfortunately somewhere on the descent the aforementioned steak pie decided to make a reappearance and rapidly exited my stomach along with everything else I had eaten that day. not a roadside experience I would recommend. I carried on but after wading through an ankle-deep flood my enthusiasm was waning and I decided it was probably time to call it a night and start looking for somewhere to sleep. I settled on the disabled public toilet in Bainbridge, undoubtedly the grimiest place I have ever slept but hear me out because it actually had several features that I would describe as “luxury” for a bivvy spot: rain-proof, lockable space for me and Hermione (yes, my bike is named after a Harry Potter character), a sink, soap, hot hand dryer and (obviously) a toilet, which, given the gut issues, gave me some peace of mind should another digestive episode occur during the night. I felt a small stab of guilt about potentially blocking a disabled person’s toilet access but quickly quelled it by deciding that if anyone with a disability in this tiny village needed a wee between midnight and 5am they could knock on and I would gladly let them in.

Day 2 Start: Bainbridge public toilets, 5:51am.

After a few hours of broken sleep it was time for a quick croissant and banana before hitting the road. After Hawes my route went up and over Buttertubs and into Swaledale to CP3, Keld. I’d love to go back and ride this bit on a sunny day! After Buttertubs there’s another big hill which takes you down in to Kirkby Stephen. I’d ridden some of these roads with my husband Andy and our friends Sam and Amanda a few weeks beforehand, so that gave me a bit of familiarity and something nice to think about. I wasn’t in a great place physically or mentally at this point as I still felt depleted after the previous night’s gippy tummy, fed up with the rain and disheartened by how slowly I was moving. Looking back, the day started with a phenomenal amount of climbing, so no wonder I was moving slowly. But of course I couldn’t see that at the time. I tried to lure myself along with the promise of a coffee in Sedbergh. Alas (the worst timing!) just 4 miles from my promised coffee stop I had my first, and thankfully sole, puncture of the trip. If you know me personally you are likely to know that any kind of emotion, be it happy or sad, tends to escape via my eyes and a few tears of hangry frustration leaked out as my cold wet hands struggled first to open the valve on the new tube and then to get the last bit of the tyre back on the rim. My puncture-fixing efficiency won’t be winning me any prizes but I got there eventually! I finally got my coffee in Sedbergh and afterwards when I went to unlock my bike this was on the wall next to my bike:

A sign! Spurred on by the rock, I continued along some tiny back roads to Kendal. I’d probably have been more efficient on the main road as although there was very little car traffic, it was quite up and down and I kept having to squeeze into hedges for passing tractors! I did get to ride over this lovely bridge though:

Kendal itself was unremarkable. I stopped for lunch at Morrisons and spent a long time sitting on the tarmac by the bike racks willing my body to digest it properly. Just as I was about to leave I had a message from my friends Patrick and Alex saying they might try and meet me at Kirkstone Pass Inn (CP4) as they were on their way to a family holiday in Ambleside. I shared my location with them as I set off into yet another torrential downpour but tried not to get my hopes up and dwell on it too much in case the timings didn’t work out. I had a quick diversion to Wheelbase in Staveley to pick up another inner tube after the earlier puncture – possibly overkill as I still had one good one, but I wanted to set my mind at ease as I knew the later stretch from Silloth to Berwick was very empty. Just outside Windermere the sun finally came out and I stopped in a layby for a bit of pre-climb layer faff and who should roll up but Pat and Alex! I can’t describe how good it was to see some human faces that I recognised. Amazingly I didn’t cry! They offered me all kinds of food (I politely declined the cold soup.) but the best bit was when Pat got his bike out of the car to ride up the climb with me. This was totally unexpected and I thought I might actually explode with happiness.

I was really nervous about Kirkstone Pass, both the climb and the descent. When I was about 12 or 13, Dad did Helvellyn Triathlon and we drove round the bike course the day before the race (it goes up to KP Inn via the Struggle – not the route I was taking – and then drops down into Glenridding – the way I’d be going down). I vividly remember the descent being really steep and twisty and utterly terrifying. Obviously the mind of my non-cycling teenage self, from the flat Vale of York, had built it up into something way scarier than it was. Nonetheless I was so glad to have Pat with me on the climb. I rode in front to avoid any drafting gains and we stopped a couple of times to take in the views and for me to say “I don’t think I can do this Pat” and for him to say “You’re smashing it Caroline” which was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration but definitely appreciated – top marks for encouragement Pat! Finally the pub came into sight and we were joined at the top by Alex, Pat’s younger brother Will and Mary and Nathan (also from Sheffield). It was so surreal seeing so many people I knew after 2 days of solitude. We chatted for a bit but I knew it would be easy to waste loads of time chilling in the sun with my pals so I rolled off down the scary descent (which really wasn’t that bad!). It had actually been Helvellyn Triathlon that morning and it was a shame I hadn’t got to KP a bit earlier as they had a pro race this year which would have made quite good spectating. As luck would have it, there were still lots of haggard-looking non-pros hobbling around Glenridding so I stopped for an ice cream (English Lakes thunder and lightning – the best ice cream in the north west) and enjoyed a bit of people-watching whilst planning my next move.

Looking back, I can pinpoint that moment as the point when I started to feel more positive and believe that completing the whole ride might be achievable. I decided to try and get Silloth (CP5) ticked off by the end of the day. I knew there was one more big climb after Glenridding (Park Brow?) but after that it was fairly rolling and ultimately downhill to the sea. For the next few hours I just tried to keep moving and keep snacking and gradually the miles ticked by. Riding in the sun was a real boost and once I crossed the A66 at Troutbeck it was a relief to be on some slightly flatter terrain. I paused briefly in Caldbeck to text Andy with a progress update (signal was terrible in the Lakes) but apart from that, just kept moving. I could see the sun dropping lower in the sky and set myself the arbitrary goal of reaching Silloth by sunset. A big bank of cloud robbed me of a proper sunset but it was still lovely looking over the Solway Firth to Dumfries and Galloway with a bit of pink in the sky.

Silloth - but where's the lighthouse?

I wouldn’t rush back to Silloth. I’m sure it’s got a certain charm on a busy sunny day but this was a Sunday night and it was a bit grim. It was also seriously lacking in tarmac, a fact I became more and more aware of as I rode up and down the front several times looking for the lighthouse, then the Co-Op, then the public toilets. flipping cobbles!

I had hoped to find a drinking water tap at the public toilets but unfortunately they were locked, so I looked out for a pub en route instead. Pubs make great bikepacking stopping places: for the price of a drink you can fill up your water bottles and use the loo, service is quick and efficient, there’s one in nearly every village, and they’re open late into the evening when shops are closed. Outside The Wheatsheaf in Abbeytown I spotted James, who was instantly recognisable as another NotAPN participant. I stopped for a chat and a Coke and discovered he was actually taking part in a challenge called “All PINTS North” – a pint at every checkpoint and several in between as well – a braver man than I!

Water acquired, I rode on for a couple more hours, heading north-east through Drumburgh and then on a very straight, flat road over the tidal Burgh Marsh. The moonrise was stunning but the tidal flood warning signs were a little disconcerting in the dark and I felt like my eyes were starting to play tricks on me, so thoughts turned to finding somewhere to grab a few hours’ sleep. After a quick scout on Google Maps I planned to try the next church, in Burgh by Sands, and see if it was unlocked and available for a weary traveller to take shelter. Unfortunately (probably due to Covid) it was locked, but by that point I was very ready to stop so unpacked my bivvy kit and bedded down against the southern face of the church, tucked nicely out of the wind. Interesting fact: I’ve since discovered that King Edward I of England (Longshanks) died on Burgh Marsh in 1307 whilst planning a battle against the Scots, and his body lay in the very church in whose graveyard I slept until it was moved to Westminster Abbey for burial! Thankfully no royal ghosts came to haunt me and I slept, on and off, for around 4 hours.

Day 3 Start: St Michael’s church, Burgh by Sands, 4:59am.

My alarm went off at 4:30am, just as some big drops of rain started landing on my bivvy bag. I quickly packed up and set off towards Carlisle. Before long the rain turned torrential, to the point where rivers were running down the roads. I paused briefly in a bus shelter to finish off a big pot of yoghurt for breakfast but otherwise just tried to keep moving. I had sussed out a café in Newcastleton that opened at 7:30 so my aim was to have a decent stop and refuel there. I must have paced this section to perfection because I arrived at 7:29! I managed to stomach a full cooked veggie breakfast featuring a wonderful new form of carbohydrate that confirmed I had arrived in Scotland: the tattie scone, basically a fried potato pancake. Amazing! I also made good use of the hand-drier in the ladies toilet to dry all my gear; unfortunately it only stayed on for about 5 seconds so there was a lot of wafting going on. I’m not sure what the staff thought I was doing in there but I had long since reached the point in the trip where I cared what anyone thought. All in all it was a very welcome stop on an otherwise empty stretch.