With the summer being a complete wash out, we felt that come 1st September, there would be simply no rain left in the clouds, and we would be in for a fantastic week of hot sunny days and BBQ’s. Oh how wrong could we have been! Here are a few extracts and pictures from the week.
Sunday 31st August
Andy gets up early and locks in a cheeky 6 mile run. Gaunt is tentative about joining him but decides that going back to bed is a much better option.
Once everyone is up and ready to go, the first team outing of the trip gets underway with a swim in Grasmere. Matt is a little apprehensive about the whole adventure, mostly due to not having a wetsuit, but still is willing to give it a go. Once at the lake, Steve takes to the water first, proclaims that it is not too cold, so Martin and Andy follow shortly after. Meanwhile on the shore is Matt, who is more aptly dressed for swimming in the south of France, deciding whether or not to get in.
Having checked that the anti-freeze levels are sufficient, Machine confirms that there is no risk of the engine failure, and takes the plunge.
With a year of open water swimming experience behind us, Andy's 2007 declaration that a lap of island is too dangerous is deemed out-of-date. Steve and Andy soon circle the island, and swiftly return to shore. We return to the house, pleased with our efforts, and get ready for the afternoon's activity.
A walk to the top of Helvellyn should have been fairly routine however, in line with most other MMX outings, this was not the case. After the initial moans about any unnecessary downhill, the weather and blisters, we were soon up on Striding Edge. Martin was in his element, surrounded by a corrie lake, arête, hummocky moraine….a geographer's heaven.
After a short climb, we were sat at the cross shelter on the top of England's third highest mountain. Well, all but one, since Steve had gone missing. After a little while, concerns grew and a search and rescue mission launched. Machine took guard of the summit, and Gaunt and Leaf retraced their steps. There had been no other sightings by the other walkers on the hill, and loud shouting proved fruitless. That was until 150m below the summit, we could see Steve jumping around getting our attention. As he got back on to the path along Swirral Edge, the remaining three walkers ticked off the summit and went down to meet him.
When Steve found out that what he thought was the summit of Helvelyn, was in fact some other smaller peak, and that he had actually missed the summit, a small tantrum ensued. Toys were not quite thrown out the pram, but ultimately it was very frustrating for Steve to have got so close but so far.
Monday 1st September
The day dawned bright, or at least it did for Andy, who was off around Grasmere on an early morning canter. For the rest of the Ironman team, considerable hours of sleep were locked in prior to the day's main challenge: a cycle to Grange-over-Sands and back.
There was the inevitable faff, with Machine an unusual suspect but, as later became apparent, not nearly enough faff. Within minutes of departure the heavens opened, and the usual order of MMX trips was restored: we were soaked. A later departure would have meant we had missed this, for it didn't last. As we skirted Coniston, the sun made a rare foray into Cumbria and, by the time we reached the coast, we were rapidly shedding layers as the temperature rose.
After a splendid spot of lunch and a quick survey of the coastal vista, we headed up and out of. At this point the day still looked as though it may be reasonably strenuous. However, as we crossed Newby Bridge and laid eyes on the most perfect watering hole north of The Happy Return, Leon inevitably insisted on a swift pint.
The cycle degenerated from there. Perhaps another 10 miles down the road in Hawkshead (stage victory Leon over an absent Leaf), we stopped again, this time for tea. Whether or not our apparent progression from multiple mechanical stops to numerous refreshment stops represents progress, but they're certainly more fun. Back in Ambleside after 54 miles and the group splintered: Machine and Baptiste cycling the Kirkstone Pass, Gaunt and Leaf a pacy Rydal 6 mile run, Woonton forming a dent in the sofa.
Tuesday 2nd September
What was billed to be a jam-packed day starting with the tallest mountain in England was soon downgraded, first to the 2nd tallest, and then to a small hump called Catbells. We set off in the Woonton-mobile, stopping at Keswick for some outdoor shopping, and we then began the drive to the base of Catbells. Leaf was navigator but decided that reading a 1920’s newspaper article was a more important task and Leon took over the helm, map-less. Before we knew it we were on the side of the completely wrong mountain. The wasp snapped out of his docile state and declared the news to us all, instructing that the Woonton-mobile took a 180 degree turn down a steep valley, the act of the turn promptly forced the car to momentarily balance on the underside of the car, cartoon style. After recovering our error, and passing through the gated road we finally reached the base of Catbells.
The climb began and, though the distance was not great and the mountain was shadowed by others, the steep ascent in the blazing sun was beginning to make Steve question his purchase of full body waterproofs that created a mini sauna inside. We reached the top satisfied with our day’s rambling and settled into lunch, observing the beautiful view over Derwent Water to our left. As sandwich two was being consumed, it dawned on us that to the right was a rather dark mist and that its progress was heading straight for us. There was some relief, firstly by the majority of the group as it silenced Leaf desires to bound up another 6 mountains before the day was out, but also by Steve who wanted to get his moneys worth out of his new kit. The descent began as the rain fell, some impressive skids were performed on the brisk amble down, capped by Gaunt who managed to slide on just one foot for almost a metre and still keep off his backside. Leon attempted to take a shortcut but ended up consumed by ferns and about 20 metres behind the rest of us, but before long, the bottom was finally reached and it was off to the spa for some relaxation pre-Gosforth 10K.
Machine, Gasman, 2 Jeans and the Waspman took to the roads in the Micra 0.9 on the path to Gosforth. As we took to one of the most treacherous inclines and declines in the country we quickly discovered that 4 blokes in a 34bhp Micra was going to be a challenge to the little engine. The rather erratic driving of the Leaf through every puddle en-route heightened the awareness of the passengers and we dragged ourselves up both peaks on the Hardknott Pass and Rhinos Pass rarely getting out of first gear. The burning smell of the clutch began to cause concern but regardless of this, the experience was definitely worth it as the views across both passes were stunning. We pushed on and made it to Gosforth half an hour before the race began.
The rain was lashing it down but just minutes before the race start it completely stopped, not to return again until well after the race. The race was dominated from the outset by 2 NUAC vests with Gaunt hanging onto Leaf for just half a mile before the Wasp buzzed out of sight.
The course had one humongous puddle but other than that the course was fairly pleasant with hills but nothing horrendous. All MMX entries were pleased with their efforts. Leaf finishing 1st in 32.44, Gaunt 2nd in 34.17, Kilpin 7th in 36.19 and Woonton propping up the middle of the field in 46.49.
Friday 5th September
Martin arose early to run to Windermere station in order to obtain the ‘Lakes Day Rangers’ for himself, Leon and Steve. The waiting bus at the station proved too tempting and the return run was abandoned, thus getting some very early value from the £9.90 bargain ticket, (Y-P permitting, 2 jeans no longer a Y-P).
Meanwhile, Leaf prepared for his epic ‘walk’ from Ambleside to Keswick, via god knows how many peaks. Machine geared up to tow along, possibly literally. Given the weather forecast, this didn’t look easy. But off they went.
The three explorers meanwhile headed down to the bus stop.
In a change from the normal weather, it was raining. This means the waterproofs got another outing. Foolishly, given that lash-day had finally arrived, Gaunt put his lash shoes on. Come the evening he had to go to plan B, white plimsolls. Luckily Kendal’s nightspots turned out to be better than Winchester when it comes to obscure footwear.
Anyway the 555 to Keswick arrived; sadly it wasn’t an open-top for that outdoor feeling. A queue of bus pass bearing pensioners formed.
Behind, the 555 to Lancaster arrived. For some reason, a couple decided that they would change direction completely and board the newly arrived bus. Of course, we could have done the same, but we had plans…big plans.
On passing through Grasmere, Steve pointed out that some kind of ball bearing was stuck in the roof of the bus and kept rolling up and down. Leon and Martin hadn’t noticed, but this became a constant irritation for the next half hour.
Being fully equipped with all sorts of timetables enabled us to schedule a quick 4 minute dash into Booths Keswick before the X4 ‘express’ to the glamour town of Workington arrived. This almost went pear shaped but luckily the queue at the checkout was matched by the one for the bus.
The bus had a tropical atmosphere, which did wonders for Martin’s shoes as he lapsed into another of his ‘snoozes’. This meant he missed the arrival of the local comedy troupe that got on at Cockermouth. This comprised 2 ladies and a gentleman of generous proportion and of over 50, who boarded and went to the back of the bus. The man tried to sit down, but failed. This only became apparent when we heard shouts of ‘I’ve got a spike up me arse’ several times, and then when he had found a seat without this apparent ‘spike’ proceeded to tell his two friends on multiple occasions ‘I had a spike stuck up me arse’. More amusing for Leon was watching Steve stifle his giggles. Fully adroit with chav culture, the man then played some kind of Americano rap crap very loud for the rest of the journey.
As we say Gaunt missed this, but awoke in time for the procession into Workington, where the sight of a bus was greeted with the mayor in full regalia and a dance troupe. Seriously though, the centre of Workington was reasonable, there was both an M&S and a Costa coffee.
Being northern, Leon wasn’t too concerned. Martin and Steve though, had other ideas. After a glance at the rail times it was decided a swift escape to the upmarket resort of Whitehaven was needed. This just left time to visit Workington’s 2 most prominent attractions. Firstly the public toilets, located in Britain’s most secure multi-storey car park (this may be because no-one has a car??) Not only was there a lovely display of fish at the entrance, but mosaics inside told you exactly where you were, but in a not-exactly straightforward manner. ‘You are not in Ipswich’ and ’98 million miles from the sun’ were 2 genuine examples.
On to the interactive clock. Words cannot do this justice. If only every town had one. Basically a giant sphere, which has the hours marked on the top, with the current one highlighted by a circle. Then an arm protrudes out from the top of the sphere about 10 foot up. This represents the minutes, which are carved into paving stones on the ground. This left us with a puzzle as to what the ‘interactive’ part was. Steve stumbled across the answer when looking into one of the holes on the sphere. The arm contained a camera looking down to the numbers on the ground. This meant when Leon & Steve stood under the arm, Martin could see us looking into the sphere! Exciting stuff.
The trip to the station took us past several working men’s clubs. There was shock and awe when the train arrived and was only one carriage, the southern softies of commuter land unaware that patronage on the Cumbrian coast may not demand a 12-car set. But we arrived in Whitehaven 20 minutes later safe and sound, with designs on fresh fish and chips.
And fish and chips it was! Except for Leon who had a pie, with the obligatory peas on the side. Martin had his usual tap water; I’d get the man a camel myself.
Leon crossed off another pub, while Martin and Steve had a stroll along the harbour wall. Turns out Whitehaven wasn’t paved with gold after all.
Back on the train, and through a long tunnel, where the guard thought it would be funny to turn out the lights. Then we stopped at St.Bees station…
…and were still stopped a few minute later. The tannoy cracked into life but it took the guard to appear himself for us to decipher that ‘there’s been a landslide up ahead’. Worrying. No matter, Gasman had John Simpson for company, while Steve set Leon on finding an alternative route home. Except there wasn’t really one to be had. It was Barrow or Bust. The man then came and recorded our destinations, in view of ordering taxis for the passengers.
Luckily then came news that we could continue towards the landslide!
And so we did, though the landslide was a bit worrying, seeing as they hadn’t fixed it, and there was just a sheer drop to the sea below the train, OK, the train went verrrry slowllly, but obviously compensation culture hasn’t reached Cumbria yet, in the south they wouldn’t have taken the risk!
On to Barrow, via Sellafield where a lot of glowing green men got on, an alien invasion if you will. We were engrossed in another game of Hearts by this point, I’m sure you can guess who lost. By Barrow, thankfully, the alternative plan had been hatched, Lancaster was cancelled, and it was off at Ulverston for the bus to Bowness and the boat to Ambleside.
At Ulverston, Martin and Leon left Steve in charge of finding the bus stop. In incessant rain (what else?) this proved a mistake, as it was nowhere as close as 2 Jeans claimed, and so the cosy shelter of the station was left in error. Luckily, Gaunt found his 17th tourist information / library (delete as appropriate) to dry off in, where we read of Paul Heaton’s Baptiste-esque collective disorder.
To the bus stop itself, which was a monumental piece of architecture, and where Leon declined to relieve himself in the ornamental gardens. A tiny bus arrived, much like the tiny train, though apparently the southerners had actually seen a small bus. A man with a frog umbrella got on, which seemed strange, until we realised it was a woman. No it was a man dressed very badly as a woman. For some reason we weren’t swayed by the filing of nails or the reading of a Woman’s Voluntary Airforce Pamphlet. It may have been the wig.
The boat wasn’t there when we arrived, despite Gaunt’s questioning of the ticket office man, when, as Steve pointed out, all the information was on a chalk board outside. A quick visit to the arcades then, where Armchair Athlete once more excelled, this time on the roulette wheel, where a random bet of 10p on black 26 won the almighty jackpot of £2.50.
Back into the rain, and back onto the boat, which although nice, was a bit of an anti-climax, being inside in the rain. Martin snoozed again. The lash shoes were beyond recovery by this point.
Off to Ambleside, and after the Ulverston navigation, Gaunt led the way into Ambleside. The long way into Ambleside, the scenic route. Or it would have been scenic had it been dry. Which, frankly, was unlikely. Leon and Steve were fit to burst and left Martin to get the beers in, which he did, but then unwittingly passed the two toileteers as they headed back to meet him.
According to Gas man, this meant when the door wasn’t answered and he himself was in need of the loo, he was angrily banging on the door, thinking Leon and Steve were ignoring him, when in fact the returning lazy wasp was oblivious to the banging down below. I suppose that sounds funny, but without any impartial witnesses its hard to tell.
A few quiet beers followed before the bus trip into Kendal, where we had the top deck to ourselves. Possibly the most uneventful MMX night out ever followed, no safari, no accidents, no arguments. The standard game of 21 didn’t even have its usual zip. Not to say it wasn’t a good night out, it was, as we were entertained in bootleggers bar by the Hoodoo and their impressive renditions of famous songs.
The main entertainment came as we had booked the taxi for the suggested haunt of ‘Passion’ as recommended last year, but the waitress in the restaurant suggested she would rather die than go into passion, and she was, as Gaunt politely put it, a ‘bit of a honey’, so we took her word for it. At 12.30 am we could see why. It was like Workington all over again. The £5 entry fee was not forthcoming surprisingly enough, as the cattle market displayed outside confirmed this would not be the most entertaining night.
Also entertaining was watching the taxi meter incessantly rise on the way home. And so concluded an epic Friday. The raindrops still fell as we slept…
Sunday 7th September
Billed to be one of England’s top 10 hardest triathlons, The Helvellyn Triathlon certainly was not going to be a walk in the park. Coupled with the fact that it had been raining solidly for the previous two days, Ullswater was now a foot higher than normal, the summit of Helvellyn remained thick in cloud and the roads were covered in a thin film of water that would make slipping off the bike incredibly easy.
When we turned up at registration, we were greeted with the news that the swim was to be cut short by about 800m and that the run would only go as far as Red Tarn, therefore missing off the summit. Although we were thankful for this information at the time, in retrospect the weather really was not that bad and with the run being our stronger discipline, with the full distance, we could well have finished higher up the field.
We set off on the swim in an ice cold Ullswater and, after some 20 minutes, were back on the shore getting wetsuits off. All three of us posted an impressive first transition of almost 3 minutes (compared to the 45 seconds for the fastest), however by taking on sufficient supplies (the ever present malt loaf of course), it would give enough energy to attack “The Struggle” towards the latter stages of the bike.
Fortunately the rain had stopped by this point, and once we had emerged from the Patterdale Valley, the cloud base rose considerably. The cycle route went from Patterdale, up to Keswick, down to Grasmere and Ambleside, before heading straight up the Kirkstone Pass. As in all previous triathlons, cyclist after cyclist continued to come pass the team MMX athletes, but when we reached the savage 3 mile, 20% ascent of the Kirkstone Pass, our high power to weight ratio advantage meant we were able to claw back a few places. At the summit there were some broken cyclists! The cycle down into Patterdale provided a small recovery, before hitting the trails up towards Red Tarn.
Having dumped the bike, it was not long before we were in the clouds and passing runner after runner. The ‘fell run’ was not so much a ‘run’ on the way up, but a brisk walk, since it was simply too steep to gain any momentum. On the way down however, it was a fantastic feeling, seeing competitors ahead, and really being able to stride out and take them.
In the end, Leaf finished in 18th place in a time of 3:29:19, Martin finished in 3:39:18 putting him in 41st place, while Leon came in 126th with a time of 3:59:32.
A Competitor’s view of the Helvellyn Triathlon 2008
The two obvious obstacles on Helvellyn are the ‘Struggle’ up to Kirkstone Pass after about 30 miles on the bike, and the run up to Helvellyn. The swim is the most straightforward part, like any other lake-swim really, though for 2008 it was really cold! But this could be anything on the day.
Transition is large and laid out on the grass on the lakeside and shouldn’t cause any issues.
The bike course is tough, no doubt about it, but enjoyable. Don’t go off too hard, as whilst the first few miles are flat, there is a drag up to the A66. On the A66 itself you can go very fast, and it is very smooth.
When you turn off, this is where you can really get into the cycle as there are undulations but nothing major. This takes you all the way down to Ambleside. Would estimate about 15 miles from A66 to Ambleside but you could look this up.
Personally, I eased off at Grasmere, 3 miles from the ‘Struggle’ knowing what was coming, but a lot of people shot past me.
The Struggle is near enough 3 miles long. It starts very steep and you get into a low gear straight away. It just climbs and climbs, though after about a mile you can see the top, which helps. I would advise you stay in a low gear and just keep working steadily, don’t overdo it early on and save getting out of the saddle for the steepest bits. There is a flatter section and even a bit of downhill within the last mile, but then the last 600-800m are very tough, hairpin bends etc. It is fantastic though, as there is a big crowd at the top and it feels like the Tour de France! Also it is all downhill back to transition from here, which is big carrot to aim for!
I don’t know what you are like descending, but for me it was safety first last year: wet roads and stone walls added to the traffic on the road down. The last 3-4 miles are flat and smooth so you can give it your all.
The run didn’t go all the way to the top in 2008 due to the horrendous weather, but the first mile and a half are gently uphill and runnable. Then the real climb starts, and to be frank, it a case of who can walk the quickest. Once at a fair height, the steps stop, and you can get running again. The route down is all very runnable for a mountain descent and you could make up a lot of time if you are going well. The last 2 miles or so is a proper 4x4 track turning into a road about a mile out, so you can really stretch out with a nice finishing straight back into transition.
A few overall thoughts:
· High Point of the week: Top of Scafell Pike in Sunshine
· Low Point of the Week: 10 hour car ride home
· Windiest Point in England: High Street, Wednesday
· Pint of the week (well, shandy for some): Swan Inn, Newby Bridge
· Faff of the week: Gaunt (several)
· Best Nickname: Lazy wasp or Armchair Athlete
· Song of the week: We are the Angry Wasp……
· Achievement of the week: Steve managing to miss the top of Helvellyn
