A real shame the Wild Boar 24 Hour Race had to be cancelled by the organisers due to lack of entries. They said they needed 150 teams to make it viable but our four teams were part of only 40 that entered. Don't know why it was down but two possibilities could be the escalation of the entry fees from £100 to £160 per team and the horrendous mile-long trek up to the start that was provided last year which had everyone complaining. And maybe a bit too much fireroad climb.

Regardless, we planned an alternative weekend and some popped over to the camp site at Coniston Hall on Friday night, 15th may 2009. Leaving the Cave at Holystone around 6:45 pm were Matt, Jon and Ian M in Matt's car and Jason, Jay and Keith in Jason's van with a hundred bikes. Ritchy, Steve B and the Gollum travelled over at 7:00 am on the Saturday morning arriving around 9:45 after an almost traffic-free drive. Poor Chris K actually made it over aswell but just missed us after we'd set off around 11:25 for our Walna Scar ride. He did Grizedale solo so at least got a decent ride in. Sorry we missed you, mate.

Saturday Ride One - Walna Scar Road

It was slightly reminiscent of old familiar damp Lake District days as we pulled out of the field, because it was raining. Not heavy though, and it stopped quickly as we went first one way, then the other, then back again along the lake side until we found our way out to Torver and onto a fairly lengthy spell of major and minor road work to get us to our starting point.

Unfortunately we managed to overshoot that by a couple of miles aswell but were able to correct the error with Golly's GPS proving very valuable, at long last. Previously only used for tracking routes as we rode, this time it got us back on track brilliantly. Can't beat American technology, eh Jason? Our initial mistake took us high up the hillside at High Aulthurst Side where there were magnificent views in all directions over the hills and out to the south west Lakeland coast so it was worth the effort I suppose. It did, however, mean that we travelled 13.3 kilometres on tarmac after leaving our camping field, so take that whichever way you like. (Keith's little "Blind, Deaf, Dumb and Dumber Mountain Biker's Guide to the Lake District" book sharing the blame!).

By the time we began to doubt Keith's navigational prowess we'd well overshot the right turn-off and so he, Richy and Golly stopped to peruse the map. Once we'd pinpointed our position with the GPS the next bit was easy - but where were the others? Over the hill and far away, that's where! We selected an alternative route just a quarter mile up the road and when we arrived there spotted the rest of the group waiting like a pet puppy, clueless. We gathered them back in and turned up our first choice diversion at Hawthwaite Haw.

We finally reached our first decent high point at Wallenrigg and began to go the other way, and when we arrived on the floor of this valley side, still on tarmac, it was toilet break time at a small forest at Hawk Bridge, where Keith threatened to do despicable things to Golly's Trek. Luckily his aim was bad. After a five minute breather here Ian decided he'd test the strength of his fairly new Shimano XT chain pulling away up the next slope - twang!!! So a snapped chain became the second mechanical of the day as we set about removing a dodgy stretched link and fitting someone's spare SRAM Powerlink. I forgot to mention that Jay was the first victim before we'd even left the camp site as he discovered a puncture on his Giant Reign's giant 3" inner tube, the type you see holding up oil rigs in the Atlantic (which, coincidentally, we just about reached).

We were crossing Broughton Moor all this time and still on tarmac as we pulled up to Stephenson Ground, where the brave decided it was time to sample those High 5 phlegm swallows, I mean energy boosting gels. Yurk. (raspberry wasn't all that bad, i suppose). A couple of minutes here spent refreshing was all we had before Jason decided we were men not mice and had to press on. Through the gate we went with Matt and Keith discussing directions from here, Matt being a previous explorer round these parts. This first section up Long Mire was actually more of a traverse than a climb but still quite tiring. Up top we decided to call halt for lunch at about 1:15 pm.

We managed to find shelter from the stiff hill breeze behind a big boulder as we sat there consuming enough to get us to the next rest. That's when Mother Nature decided to water her plants just where we were sitting. However, we didn't expect her to be using a jetwash on them. That's exactly what the stinging horizontal rain felt like as it battered us for about ten minutes. Somehow it was almost a tailwind or this mountainside would have been exponentially more difficult to conquer.

The Gollum took the lead as we left the trail and hit pure, unadulterated grass and rocks, running at about 450 metres around the western rim of Caw. The gullies, rock chutes and drop-offs would have been very scary indeed fifteen minutes ago. That's when the grass was dry. But now it was just insanity as the bikes kept slipping away from beneath us as we tried to delicately negotiate our way back down to the valley floor, where the young and the less adventurous were currently riding along parallel to us loonies up top. There's something very satisfying about planting the first wheel on virgin soil. Aahh! We somehow got down without too much trauma to regroup near the stony bridleway at New Close heading back down to Seathwaite. Once again the combination of map and GPS proved invaluable.

It was tarmac time again but only for a couple of clicks as we headed for the western end of the infamous Walna Scar Road. For anyone not into self-flagellation this climb is pure hell. It's not even that steep, and a few of our diehards stayed mounted up here, but Gawd, what a drag! For the rest of us, more ordinary mortals, it was really tough going. The senseless Gollum even took to the grass below the road across Walna Scar Side hoping it was more direct but paid for it with a lung-busting push over dipping and climbing natural ground waves. Fool. Rejoining the road with the others at about 530 metres after heaving across the previous 120, he was at last able to start pedalling again as we headed slowly for the brow at 600 metres/2,000 feet.

This is the point at which gravity at last befriends you and you start to take your survival seriously as the pebbles turn to rocks and then to boulders, whizzing under your wheels as you grimly grip the bars and pray. This is where the Mighty Gollum has a massive advantage over his fellow riders - he just doesn't see the hazards through his tightly sealed eyelids. The first section to the foot of the Old Man of Coniston sees you shed about 370 of those hard won vertical metres, only to have to claw back another 70 as the Mountain looms ahead. A small gaggle of us trotted up to the top of The Bell to take a good look at Lake Coniston a long way below in the distance. Steve and Matt demonstrated their strength by riding up.

It was Matt again, this time with Ian, who fancied doing the Old Man summit, but we did have plans for later and it would have taken them too long to cover the final two kilometres from Crowberry Haws (it looked less but the map tells it true!) and get back down while we just swanned about twiddling things, so they weren't allowed. Committees, eh? Time to grasp the metal, literally, and revel in the rich reward that presents itself from here all the way down to Coniston. It's not all that often you'll here me praise the exploits of hardtailers, but I have to hand it to Jon and Ian - they just blitzed this extremely wheel-unfriendly descent at least as well as or better than the six inch riders amongst us, and vanished from view by the time I was half way down, bringing up the rear. Poor Richy had the misfortune to suffer a split sidewall which dumped his tubeless liquid all over this hallowed Rambler's Heaven. His only recourse was to fit a tube and hope the repair didn't bulge too much. He got away with it but it slowed his progress somewhat.

I passed Richy, Steve and Keith as they hesitated on a rough drop just south of Levers Moss Scrow and bundled my way down to Miner's Bridge only to be halted there by the twittering of the Walkie Talkie as Steve buzzed to say there was another problem up top. That enabled me to play by myself (BY myself) for a good ten minutes on and around the bridge before I saw them take to the trail again to rejoin me. There's a vid somewhere down here of their approach, but it's highly ordinary. Blame them, not me. After a short stop we were off again to try and catch the rest of the party, waiting impatiently some way down this prolonged swerving drop. It smooths out and speeds up (if you still have the energy to take advantage) as it gets lower, and finishes with a tricky stream bed which was quite, erm, wet and extremely slippery due to the moss growing on the rocks.

Follow the route here and see it magnified here

Back down to Terra Firma at Dixon Ground around 5:00pm we were soon back at the camp site and ready to prepare the evening meal. Stoves at the ready, it wasn't long before we were all duly fed and watered as the time ticked on towards evening and the start of our planned night ride into Grizedale Forest, where the North Face Trail was our duly elected target for the Torchlit Trek.

Saturday Ride Two - Grizedale Forest

On paper this looked very straightforward but did we reckon on the presence of our might Trans-Wales/Trans-Scotland/Trans-Ves - no, of course not - Veteran Jason? Did we heck! Once the bu@@er gets his head down out front, which he did here because we faced a nasty road climb on the way out of Coniston, there's just no holding him. By the time the tailenders (Keith, Richy, Golly) got most of the way up the bank the pelaton had vanished - poof! As Keith wasn't thrilled with the prospect of trying to catch them (impossible) we decided on another strategy - that was to issue a declaration that they'd simply gone the wrong way. Not only that, but they should also have kept a watchful eye open over their shoulders to see just how far the tail was wagging! It took them a full ten minutes to return, with Steve, as usual, the most sensible and arriving at the turn-off first, well in advance of the rest. Once we'd taken some eager Michael out of our wayward brethren we eased away in the opposite direction to the one they had taken, looking for a "bridleway up to the right".

Twenty minutes later the Gollum discovered it - but unfortunately the usual suspects had done their thing once more behind a rampaging Jason, and disappeared up another hill the wrong way again. Judas Priest! Another short wait ensued as we stood at the gate to the Forest tracks patiently wallowing in the evening calm. Eventually we got together again amid howls of derision in both directions, so on we went in search of the North Face Trail.

Now that took some finding from where we were, but find it we did, and enjoyed first a couple of back-to-front boardwalk sections (no probs, the Forest was deserted save for us, now at about 9:00pm!) and some of the familiar singletrack. Although there were some extremely tired legs after all the day's exploits we all managed to stick with it.

We hit paydirt half an hour later when Steve and Golly recognised the fireroad winding its way up the hill in front of us - distinctly last year's Wild Boar route! Within seconds we were diving off it onto the best bit of downhill singletrack in the area, something we two and Jason had ridden over seventeen times between us last year during and before the race. It's a short but tricky series of drops up and down steep, slippery slopes but tonight in these almost dry conditions we managed to rip it without much aggro.

Well, almost! When the Gollum hit the next fireroad out front, he expected Steve down next as he was second in line off the top, but he wasn't apparent. He'd chucked himself off the bike again almost at the bottom of the descent but declared himself fit when he did emerge from the trees, still grinning widely. Faced with the ensuing climb, there were a few less glowing faces around by now.

That stuck us firmly on fireroad for the remainder of our jaunt through the timberland, and as darkness crept in and the little hand spun round a few more digits, we tried to figure the best way out. Having left both the map and the GPS back at base camp (this was, after all, just a matter of following waypoint markers, wasn't it?) it was left to the dimly lit western sky to guide us back over to where we'd entered the forest, although that was never our intention and we should have been at the eastern foot of Lake Coniston by now.

Somehow we fluked it after the Gollum had almost led everyone over to Hawkeshead by mistake, and were pretty glad to see the tarmac again as it meant a steady, fast drop all the way back to Coniston and the camp site. We arrived back there exhausted but fulfilled at 10:25pm. Another hour was passed sipping sour stuff and munching on whatever was going the rounds before we retired for a very well earned night of blissful kip - unless you were within earshot of a certain sheep-fancier's tent, of course. Baaa.

pix here (sorry for month's delay!) vidz coming later, honest guv!