Let's have a frank talk about bonking - the non-pleasurable kind that is. It was 1989 and I'd just bought a shiny new red Specialized Sirrus racer. At first, I felt so self-conscious riding it that I used to peek out from behind the curtains to check that there was nobody about before setting off. I found the traffic very intimidating, although it was nowhere near as bad as it gets these days. I slowly got used to it and felt more confident riding on the lovely hills round where I live, which is in Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire.
It took me several rides before I could even get up as far as Pecket Well without stopping. Eventually my weight started to drop, and a little fitness had developed. My range had increased to, oh, seven or eight miles INCLUDING the Col de Keighley Road. I could ride Keighley Road, Pecket Well, Old Town, Heights Rd, Midgely and back WITHOUT STOPPING! Clearly I was now ready for greater things...
I bought the Outdoor Leisure 21 map and looked for a nice circular route. Hmm, I could go over to Oxenhope and head off left round towards Laneshaw Bridge, Trawden... Widdop, Slack and back to Hebden Bridge. My diary entry on the Saturday evening read - Have found a nice looking circuit which I will ride tomorrow - 'The Trawden Loop'. I didn't know much about fitness, nor commonsense apparently! I had come to the entirely erroneous conclusion that if I could climb a few hundred feet and ride eight miles then I was ready to climb a few thousand feet and ride 29 miles.
Sunday morning arrived. I had spent the previous evening carbo-loading. Well, strictly speaking, I'd had a quick fish 'n chip supper before dashing out to spend a night at the pub with some mates. I'd wandered home at about midnight and slumped into bed. So there I was, bleary-eyed and hungover. I had a couple of strong cups of tea and tried to face up to some breakfast, but couldn't bring myself to eat. Ugh! At least the sun was shining; It was going to be a fine day out on the bike. I thought about taking something to eat or drink, but that would only weigh me down. I could always buy something from the shops in Trawden...
So off I set, unhindered by heavy bottles or food. The climb of the Keighley road went well - I got to the weather station in about 45 minutes. Gosh, it was warm. Perhaps I should have brought a drink with me after all? Good freewheelin' downhill to Oxenhope. Round to the left I went. A nice little country lane led me round to... Penistone Hill. Bloody hell, that looked tough! I had not yet learned to check the contour lines when planning a new route. Hopefully that would be the worst of the climbing over though. I zigzagged my way up the hill as far as the crossroads half-way up, before performing an emergency dismount. I soldiered on on foot, which was a bit tricky because I had those old-fashioned slotted plates on the bottom of my shoes...
I crested the hill, remounted, and plunged recklessly down towards the reservoir below. My bike-handling skills, or lack thereof, led to an interesting 'close-encounter-of-the-drystone-kind' at the bottom. Sugar; take it easy man, or you'll not survive this ride! On I plodded. Stanbury. Ponden reservoir. This was one lumpy ride. I was getting tired. And hungry. And very, very thirsty. I was looking forward to getting a nice cold drink in Trawden...
Onwards. I arrived at the foot of Scar Top. Or should I say I arrived ON foot at Scar Top. Come on man, you cannot be serious. I was not going to attempt that on the bike. Another slithery stroll with the bike. My feet were going all over the place. Mental note - bring trainers in future for the walking bits. Farm on left, furniture for sale on right. I wearily checked the bike computer. Oh God, I'd only done about 1/3 of the distance. I thought about going back the way I'd come, but couldn't contemplate having to climb those monster hills I'd just plunged down...
Somehow, I slogged on past Watersheddies Reservoir and eventually The Herders. The sun was high in the sky and I was slowly cooking. This was not looking at all good. I had been riding for nearly two hours and was not yet halfway round. I had to ride down past Wycoller with great care because my concentration was shot to pieces. I was starting to fantasise about Ice Cold Coca Cola and Choccie Bars and several times ventured too close to the edge of the road. Left towards Trawden just before the main road at Laneshaw Bridge. MORE climbing and descending before Trawden. I was completely spent. Thump. Thump. Trawden approached. Thump. Thump. Painstaking descent into the village. Thump. Thump. What was that noise? Where were the shops? Thump. Thump. Where were the shops? What was that noise? I was overtaken (undertaken?) by an elderly woman pedestrian on my left. She looked anxious. Thump. Thump. There were the shops. They were shut. Sunday afternoon. THEY WERE SHUT!!! SUNDAY AFTERNOON!!! It had not occurred to me for one single instant that there would not be a shop open. Nor did it occur to me to knock on someone's door to beg for a drink. I was a cyclist, and I did not beg. Although I should have done...
I was mentally destroyed. I had to do what I had already done all over again, without food or drink. THUMP. THUMP. What was that bloody noise? It was my heartbeat. I was hardly moving as I turned up ANOTHER hill by the church, but my heart was trying to burst out of my chest. My vision started to fail. Black speckles appeared suspended across my field of view. I was at long last offering my first greeting to 'The Man With The Hammer'. So this is what they meant by 'bonking'!
To my left appeared a bench seat. I needed to sit on a bench seat. I dropped my bike at the side of the road and fell on to the bench seat. There was an object that looked like a little old bearded man sitting next to me. Suddenly, I was startled by the object starting to talk to me. It WAS a little old bearded man! I sat with him for a few minutes having a surreal conversation, the detail of which is now completely lost to me. It became necessary to move. Or die. I chose life. What followed forever redefined my concept of 'tired'. There was no question of riding the bike up the hill; even walking was agonising. I had to do it a single pace at a time. I rested a few seconds after each step. I don't think that there was a single gram of glycogen left in my body, and I sure wasn't burning my ample stores of fat very quickly. It was deeply, deeply unpleasant. I was no longer out for a Sunday ride. I was toiling in the Gulag, or the wartime jungles of Burma. I was in survival mode, with just one primitively-focussed set of objectives - Get Home, Drink, Eat, Sleep.
The nightmare continued. Staggered up the hills. Remounted and grovelled along the flat bits. Freewheeled downhill slowly enough not to crash. Somehow, after an eternity of suffering, I'd got over The Killer Hill, past Widdop, past The Packhorse, and down into Blake Dean. I just could not handle even walking the bike up from the bridge. I collapsed at the side of the road, breathing heavily. Presently, there was a gentle whirring sound. The whirring got louder. A fit young guy on a fine-looking racing bike suddenly shot past me with a cheery "hello". I mumbled a reply and turned expecting him to falter as he hit the impossibly steep climb by the scout hostel. He stood and big-ringed it. HE STOOD AND BIG-RINGED IT! I could not believe it. One day, I wanted to be that fit. But for now, Colin just needed to get back in one piece...
Trudge. Slog. Slack. SLACK! Thank you. THANK YOU! There was a little village shop. It was open. I'm usually very polite and wait my turn patiently in queues, but this time I couldn't. My blood sugar was dangerously low and my body knew what it needed even if my mind didn't. I grabbed an armful of chocolate bars and fizzy drinks, lunged past the other shoppers, and dumped my booty on the counter. I rushed outside and consumed the lot in about two minutes flat. I got an instant sugar rush, leapt back on my bike and flew back down through Lee Wood. I took a Kamikaze shortcut down the 20+% gradient of Moss Lane, and I was home. I weighed myself and discovered that I was 4 kg lighter than when I'd set off... I drank a couple of litres of water, then collapsed into bed. I was asleep within 30 seconds and slept for 13 hours. I had to take the Monday off work to recover.
Monday evening, diary out, ride renamed 'The Trauma of Trawden'... I had taken nearly 6 hours to get round the loop. I can do it comfortably now in just over 2 hours. Of course it DOES help to actually eat or drink something when doing these tough rides. It took me a couple of years before I could face that ride again.
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