If you cast your mind back a few weeks, you may remember that I had the stupid idea of running the Brenda Parker Way (75 Miles of off road trails from Aldershot to Andover). If you do remember, you will also remember that my attempt didn't end particularly well, with my pulling out injured at the 40 mile mark and having to limp home, somewhat defeated.
Now, you may be wondering why I'm back to talking about something that's already happened, and likewise you may have noticed over the last few years that I don't really like failing. There's nothing wrong with the odd fail, in fact, if nothing else, it probably proves that I am operating on the limit of what I can actually achieve. If every idea went to plan and was easily achieved, then it's probably not hard enough. But, that doesn't mean that the odd failure doesn't bug me, or sit there in the back of my mind saying "why did you let that beat you" To that end, I've been looking for an opportunity to have another go. I know that it's achievable, it's just finding the right opportunity in my busy schedule to fit it in, and that opportunity, whilst not ideal, presented itself this week. Whilst I say it's not an ideal opportunity, what I really mean is, "to make this work requires an even more stupid idea than last time". In fact, the only way that I could actually fit it in was by having a day off on Monday and running overnight on Sunday, ready to be back in work on Tuesday. See, I told you it was a stupid idea. However, before I could even consider Brenda Parker and her Way, there was the small matter of Saturdays Audax fun to take care of. That's Audax fun in the shape of the Kennet Valley Run, 200Km of fast, flat, country roads, starting just outside Reading, before an out and back ride down through the picturesque Kennet Valley towards Westbury and back. Possibly not the best idea the day before attempting a 75 mile run, but then again, I told you this was a stupid idea didn't I.
With a sensible 07:00 start time and the start being just up the road, I had an unusual Friday night at home, (that's unusual as in, I was at home on a Friday, and not a strange Friday night) before a leisurely drive up on Saturday morning. I did consider riding to the start and back, but maybe that's just one step too far!
Whilst the sky showed the promise of a beautiful day to come, it was still cold and frosty as we gathered at the start, fingers already numb despite being wrapped in multiple layers, hat's, gloves, long leggings and winter jackets still very much in evidence and definitely the order of the day, as we stood, waiting patiently for the clock to tick down to 7 and the nice man to say "Off you go then". And without further ado, the clock did it's thing and we were off, rising sun on our backs, frost covering the fields all around, icy puddles littering the roadside, but most importantly, the promise of a great day ahead. Now, as I mentioned above it's a fast ride this, the routes easy to follow, and considering the distance to be covered, remarkably flat, so it was no surprise when the front group took off like scalded cat's, heading rapidly into the distance leaving us mere mortals in their wake! Quickly settling into a pace that I was happy with (I wasn't exactly hanging around myself), the familiar landmarks and place names passed by in a blur of peddle strokes. Mortimer, Aldermaston, Burghclere, Kintbury, all familiar from hundreds of day rides from home (and previous editions of this ride) quickly came and went, and I was at the first checkpoint in Hungerford long before most sensible people were even out of bed, . A quick ATM receipt as proof of passage and onwards, heading west along yet more familiar roads. Flat, fast, progress alongside the Kennet and Avon Canal to pass through the Bedwyns' and beside the Crofton Beam Engines, silent now that their mighty power is no longer required to pump water up for the canal, replaced long ago by modern electric power, but still preserved and operated by a group of volunteers, helping keep our industrial heritage alive. Through Pewsey, where I often turn Left on a summers evening to Bivvy high above on Salisbury Plain, and onward towards Urchfont, only mentioned here because it sounds funny and often seems to appear on direction signs despite it's small size. Things get a little more lumpy after Eastcot, but not enough to noticeably slow proceedings and with legs still feeling strong I push though the lumps and bumps, arriving at the half way point only slightly behind the fast riders and well ahead of the main bunch. Leaving plenty of time for a brew and hand sized lump of bread pudding in the café, before turning to retrace my steps on the run back to Hungerford. Steps retraced, I'm back in Hungerford by early afternoon, after which the route diverts from the morning track, to take us up into the hills around Welford and Bradfield, where Info Controls ensure no one misses the climbs. The climbing, coupled with the afternoon sun, does a good job of warming things up and despite a cold easterly wind, it's soon time to start shedding a few layers. In fact, by the time I start descending for the final time to pick up the flatter roads on the South side of the A4, my hands are decidedly uncomfortable in my winter gloves, and my jacket is wide open and flapping annoyingly in the breeze. I should stop really and take both off, but can't be bothered, it's only another 5 or 6 miles and I'll be finished. Sweaty handed, I finally roll into the start just under 9 hours after leaving, and having peeled off my sticky and damp gloves, proceed to get my Brevet card stamped, signifying my safe return. A hot brew, a slice of toast with Jam and a chat with the guy that I'd ridden the last few miles with, nicely wrapped up another great day out. Sunshine, cake, good company and fast roads, what a great way to spend Saturday and maybe the perfect warm up ahead of Sundays adventures?
So, weekend warm up done, I suppose we had better talk about the main event and taking what I'd learned from my recent failed attempt at The Brenda Parker Way, I had a new plan of attack.
Firstly, Kit stowage: My back had been battered and bruised by my running vest by mile 40 last time. And with my limited storage space having previously been crammed full of kit, leaving little space for any provisions, I'd acquired a slightly larger bag, giving a bit more space and with it the opportunity to take sufficient kit and provisions to see me through a long night section. Secondly, the route logistics: A slight reroute of the end section would allow me to park the van safely at Odiham, catch a late train to Andover and run the route in reverse. Having the Van at the end gave me somewhere to finish, with a change of clothes and a brew, instead of a deserted car park and not much else. By catching the last train and getting the night out of the way first, I'd be running into the dawn too, which I figured must be a bit of a morale booster! With "The Emma" away at a car show I spent Sunday pottering around at home, sorted out my kit, moved the Van to the finish and cycled back home again, pottered around on the allotment and generally did anything except what I should probably have been doing, which was rest. Oh well, what's the worst that will happen? I'm allergic to sitting around any way!
By the time "The Emma" got in I was hopping around, full of nervous energy, just waiting for the time to tick away and in the end I decided that there wasn't much to gain from just sitting at home waiting for the last train, so we headed to the station in time for the 20:30 train, which was handily delayed until 21:30. (I'm not sure if that was annoying or a blessing in disguise).
Either way, by 22:00, on a still, warm and clear night, I was at my start point. Jacket and over trousers off, head torch on, shoe laces tightened, route set, timers reset and off into the darkness. And dark it was too. With just the light of my head torch to show the way, navigation becomes a bit more difficult (and I'm not very good at it in the first place), each turn and junction requires a slow down or stop to ensure your going the right way, each fork in the trail a check of the map and each signpost a double check. That's no bad thing though. Not only did it ensure my pace stayed slow and steady, instead of racing away, but also ensured I took the time to actually check the map and stay on course. It still didn't stop me getting off course a couple of times through the night, but did ensure I realised pretty quickly before any real damage was done. In fact the only real navigation issue I had through the hours of darkness was a path which just disappeared into the middle of a ploughed field. I'm not sure if I missed a turn or the path had been ploughed up and not re-established, but a bit of heading directly across the field, solved the problem and didn't seem to add any distance. The other small issue with trail running in the dark is the way your headlight seems to rob you of depth perception and make the ground look flatter than it actually is, meaning an increased need to watch your footing and look out for roots, stumps, muddy puddles, ankle breaking ruts and divots and the plethora of other obstacles which are laying in wait for the unwary. That's not to say I wasn't having fun though. The dark was all encompassing, with just the glow from house windows, and the light pollution from Andover ,still visible in the distance, providing any clue to the people tucked up safely at home getting ready for bed, unaware of my silent passing, as they hid away behind closed curtains and locked doors, another day done for them, whilst my main event was just beginning.
By 23:00, with 13 miles in the bag, I descended into, and made my way slowly through, the now quiet and still St Mary Bourne. Pausing to get a biscuit from my bag, I found my first (and only major problem). Somehow, my water bottle which I had filled that afternoon was empty. Certain that I hadn't drunk 2 litres in the preceding miles, it took me a moment to work that one out. Think Perratt, think, where has the water gone?
And then it dawned on me, the wet patch by the back door when I picked up my bag on the way out. It wasn't the cat's doing at all, it was my precious water. My bag must have rested on top of the drinking tube allowing the water to siphon out onto the kitchen floor. Now what? No chance of any shops. The nearest accessible tap that I know of is at least 20 miles away, and I can't get that far without water. Wait a minute, there's a fast flowing stream in another 1/2 mile, lets go and have a look at that. Is it drinkable? I've no idea, but I guess I'm going to have to find out! By the light of my head torch the water looked cold, clear, and refreshing as it flowed its way South to join the river Test further down stream. I knew from passing this way during daylight, that it normally looked clean too. Oh well, in for a penny in for a pound. Balance precariously on a few stones to get away from the bank and dip my bottle in. The water that came out looked clean and clear and a little sip seemed to taste Ok. Sod it, lets fill my bottles, get re-hydrated and push on. The worst that going to happen is I'll be ill. But that's probably still better than no water at all. Now I'm not recommending it, but I'm still alive, so I guess it can't have been that bad for me, and it did get me out of a right muddle, but please don't go drinking out of random streams, its not a good idea.
Public safety announcement over, water replenished and back in the game, it was time to push on. The leg from St Mary Bourne to the A34 crossing is probably the most remote of the whole route and is mostly uphill! That's Ok though, my legs are still reasonably fresh, and as soon as it starts to get steep I take the opportunity to slow to a fast walk, saving my legs and energy for the runnable bits and taking the opportunity of the slower pace to eat and do the other little admin tasks that need doing whilst I can.
Eventually though I near the top of the climb, to be greeted with a icy head wind. Sweating from the effort of the climb, I'm instantly cold and have to stop to put on another layer, before cresting the hill and starting the long awaited downhill section. Just after 03:00 I get to the A34 and Marathon distance. 5:00 for the first 26 miles, is slightly ahead of the pace I was aiming for and I reward myself with a choccy bar whilst I decide if I'm going to divert up to the 24 hour services on the A34 or push on for Kingsclere. I spend the time replacing my head torch batteries whilst I think about it. It's an extra couple of miles to go to the services, I've still got water, I'm feeling good and Kingsclere is only another 10 miles along flatter terrain. Decision made, I push on. Making steady progress I'm in Kingsclere before 05:00. Unsurprisingly the streets are deserted and the shops still shut, as I make my way silently through town and pick the trail back up on the other side, next stop Tadley, another 10 miles away. This is the section where it all went wrong last time, and whilst I'm still feeling surprisingly good, considering that I've now been up all night, I'm aware that I've now got over 35 miles in my legs and I can feel my pace dropping off. Soon though I start to notice the sky getting a little brighter in front of me, and the bird song increasing, heralding the much awaited imminent dawn and the start of a new day.
As the sun comes up, so my mood lifts, and as the gloom of night is replaced by the light of day, along comes new things to look at and occupy my mind. Trees, Birds, Deer, houses and people starting a new day, all now visible on the trail side, replacing the blackness and the odd set of eye's caught looking back in my head torch beam, which had been my only company for the previous hours.
Tadley arrives at around 08:00, just as the early morning runners and dog walkers are starting their day. My pace has really dropped off now, and whilst I'm still slowly running some of the easier bits, with 45 miles done, the walking breaks are getting longer and longer. The miles are starting to tell as I head out of Tadley, bound for Bramley and the promise of a Cornish Pasty from the bakery. It's light though, the day has dawned clear and chilly, there's no wind to speak off, and despite being tired I'm still feeling good and moving forward. 09:00 and I'm at Bramley, with approximately 52 miles covered during the previous 11 hours, most of which was in darkness. My feet are feeling a bit tender and I grab some food from the bakery, a bottle of pop and some water, and for the first time since getting off the train last night, sit down for a few minutes whilst I stuff warm, greasy, pastry down my throat. Boy oh boy, that tastes good! Whilst I'm there I plug my watch in to charge, and text "The Emma" to let her know I'm still alive, before pushing on again. My text to "The Emma" gives a good insight into my pace at that point and I'll happily admit that from this point on there wasn't much running, but I was maintaining a good, fast walking pace. I predicted another 8 hours from Bramley to the end, and as we'll see later, that was pretty accurate, so I guess I had a pretty good idea of what I was still capable of and how I was feeling even by that point.
Moving on though, I was still chipping away at it, one foot in front of the other, always moving forward. The sun was shining brightly and the world was still a beautiful place, despite my feet feeling increasingly sore and a slowly strengthening cold East wind starting to pick up and doing it's best to ensure I kept my jacket on.
Setting myself shorter targets made things easier and took my mind of the distance still to cover. Another mile and I'll have a sweet. Reach the main road crossing and I'll stop for a few seconds. Reach the main road and keep going. "I thought we were stopping say my legs", "Fooled you comes the reply from my brain". Just keep moving, don't stop! The miles keep ticking along, and then just before Hartley Wintney, where I've been promising myself an ice cream, I'm met with the steps of doom. I'd forgotten about these from my "Recce runs". A long flight of uneven steps down and then the same back up straight away, to get under the M3. Not what my legs needed at all!
Some time after 13:30 I'm in Hartley Wintney and get that ice cream I've been promising myself for so long. Sat on a bench, in the sun, watching the world go by, it's hard to believe that last night I was in Andover and now I'm here, just a few short miles from the end. I'm pretty quickly reminded of those miles though, when I get up again and my feet scream in protest!
Hobble on, this is the last section of map and the last few miles left to cover. My feet feel sore, but I'm still moving and in good spirits. I know that no matter how much longer it may take, I'm going to make it and that's a real morale booster. Most of this final section is on road, and that's not doing my feet any favours, in fact I have to stop a couple of times just to take the weight off, further slowing my progress and extending the time I'm going to be out here. Eventually though, as the clock reaches 16:30, so I reach the van. Just under 19 and a half hours after setting off and with exactly 71 miles recorded on my GPS I've reached my destination, and that my friends calls for a brew!
Postscript
When I got back to the van on Monday afternoon, I really thought I was spent, I felt like everything I had to give had been given and that was me done for! But, you know what, by the time I'd had a brew, taken my shoes off and let my feet air for a bit and got some proper food on board, I felt a lot better and I could probably have gone on. Don't get me wrong, I didn't particularly want too, but I could have if I needed too. I felt pretty good on Tuesday too. Nowhere near as stiff or broken as I expected too. I had a couple of small blisters on my left foot, but that was about it. In fact, whilst I drove into work on Tuesday I was back on the bike Wednesday and felt Ok. But most importantly, I've learned a lot from this little adventure. Not only have I learned that I'm quite capable of going through the night with no sleep and keeping going the next day, but I'm still capable of making rational decisions with it. My little water issue early on proved that I'm capable of dealing with those problems as they arise and coming safely out the other side, and in the main, my kit decisions seemed sensible, correct and adequate for the distance and terrain that I was going to cover. I've also learned that taping the balls of my feet before I set off would probably have avoided the blister problem which I did encounter (I know this so I don't know why I didn't do it before I left). And I've learned that you can't overestimate how much of a morale booster a clean and dry pair of socks is. Stopping, taking off your shoes and changing your socks when your on your last legs is like getting a new pair of legs fitted. Magical. So I suppose that whilst this was my stupidest idea to date, it was also successful and did exactly what it was intended to do. It took me out of my comfort zone, made me push myself both physically and mentally beyond what should be possible and bought with it great reward and knowledge. I suppose I'd best put that new found knowledge to good use now though. "Next"!
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Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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