“It’s that steep,” said my club-mate, raising his arm in an involuntary pastiche of a Fascist salute, suggesting a hill so vertiginous that a bike might be an unsuitable companion. I dismissed this gesture as the over-exaggeration of someone desperate to impress until the following year, clinging onto a wire fence which disappeared vertically up into the clouds, the words came drifting back to me. Ingleborough really is that steep, maybe even steeper. And just when you think you’ve reached the top, the clouds split allowing you a view of another climb, another grass wall heading up, always up. And after Ingleborough you’ve got Whernside and Pen-y-Ghent to negotiate.
The 3 Peaks Cyclocross Race was talked about as a legendary race, one for the ‘To Do’ list even before these days of the Internet, when any and every event is inflated to classic ‘must do’ status. Fellow racers who had ridden it talked in murmurs about the need to carry a whistle, in case of losing yourself, and survival bag in case of disaster. They talked about multiple punctures and frame breakages, broken wheels and broken people. They also talked fondly of the wiry fellow competitors, the very Northern announcer, and the local hospitality. They talked about unfinished business.
For the uninitiated, the 3 Peaks is roughly 40 miles, over three summits in the Yorkshire Dales. It is about half road, half off-road with a few miles described as unrideable. These sections are the actual climbs which are ‘that steep’, reaching up through the clouds. These climbs, while only being a few miles long will take a substantial bite of the time you are racing. I once worked out that in four and a bit hours of racing, I had my bike on my shoulders heaving it towards a summit for over two hours.
The race is run in late September (this weekend), which suggests Indian summer conditions, but in reality can mean biting winds and torrential rain. I had been there four times before I ever saw any summit through the cloud. And it must be ridden on a ‘cross bike. No mountain bikes allowed. That means that the grassy descent off Ingleborough, which would be such swoopy, jumpy fun on a fully suspended modern bike is actually a cramped torture. The relief coming around a bend and seeing the first service point below is normally dampened by crashing into a bog at that point. Similarly, the rocky descent off Pen-y-Ghent is spent worrying about puncturing or worse. Remember, once you leave that summit you will be within a few miles of the finish and your aim of a first class, sub-four hour finish, so a mechanical at this point might be met with frustration and tears. However this is the descent where riders break legs and heads, where racers going up the same farm track meet others as they plummet back down.
And a mention should be made of the road sections. These should be recovery times, but since you are involved in an actual race you may find yourself chain-ganging into a headwind while trying to remember what foolish impulse made you enter this hellish event. You will find yourself sprinting out of Horton in Ribblesdale, aiming to ride the last few miles anaerobically because you’ve got five minutes to get that coveted first class certificate. And then you’ll sprawl on the ground at the finish line, swearing about being too slow and promising to be back next year, with lighter wheels, better training and a smaller belly.
Unfinished business.
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