All Points North (APN) caught my eye a couple of years ago. A 1,000km self-supported cycling ultra. Riders were free to plan their own route around 10 checkpoints spread over the hills of Northern England, starting and finishing in Sheffield. I was attracted by the inclusive ethos of the event; a scroll of the APN socials saw plenty of women participants, and there was the addition of a ‘rookie’ category giving riders new to ultra-distance events longer to complete it.
The seed was sown back then and that was how I found myself at the start of APN23 on a sunny Friday morning before the May Bank Holiday. I had entered the rookie category, the main riders setting off at 8pm that night and having just 72 hours to get back to Sheffield in time for the finishers’ meal at 8pm on the Bank Holiday Monday.
Once my bike had been given the once over by the mechanics, I was off, navigating the cycle paths of Sheffield and out into the countryside. The forecast for the weekend was unbelieveably good; sunshine and no rain. Perfect weather for bivvying.
At Selby, I realised my tracker wasn’t working. A text to the organisers and they suggested trying to charge it. Luckily, I had the right cable and once plugged into my power pack, it sprang into life. I’d never been ‘dot watched’ before and it was a funny feeling to know that anyone could go to the website and follow my progress. I knew I had so much support from friends, family, club mates and Audax pals, and I knew they were all rooting for me, which was an amazing feeling.
I picked up the NCN route 65, a glorious stretch of tarmaced off-road cycle path that delivered me straight into the centre of York. Along the river, I passed people out enjoying the sunshine; groups picnicking, dog walkers, cyclists, everyone saying “hello”, the good weather seeming to spread good cheer. I heard a cuckoo, a sure sign Summer was finally here.
Before I knew it, I was at the first control; the market cross at Easingwold (113km). At each control, I had to answer a question in my brevet card, and take a time stamped photo to show my arrival. I stopped in the shade to make a sandwich with some cheese and a pannini I’d picked up earlier. The cheese was warm and the pannini had sweated in the packaging after being in my pannier in the heat. I ate it anyway. I attracted the attention of some of the locals who were intrigued by my heavily-loaded bike. We chatted for a while before I set off again.
My route then took me through the lanes of the Yorkshire Wolds as I headed towards the coast. It was absolute bliss; the sun was warm, the countryside rolling and bucolic. Legs still fresh. The nerves from the start had left and I had the feeling of contentment that comes from knowing that all I had to do for the next four days was to keep riding and look after my basic needs. Sometimes on the bike, I have the feeling of absolute peace; my mind focused and quiet. It’s hard to explain but I think the pursuit of that feeling is what keeps me cycling; a junkie chasing a hit. There are worse things to be addicted to, I suppose.
The second control was Filey Brigg (191km) and the last bench facing out to sea. I’d stopped at a quirky American diner to refuel before the night stretch then passed caravan parks and holidaymakers before reaching the cliff tops of Filey. The view was beautiful, stretching right over Filey Bay and out across the North Sea.
A stretch on the A64, then more country lanes led me to the third control at Helmsley (256km). The control was a monument in the middle of the square. It was after 11pm and a rowdy bunch had spilled out of a nearby pub. I stopped to have a snack, add a layer, and check my phone. I’d received messages of support from friends and family who were following my dot. Spurred on by the good wishes, I continued on my way.
I’d thought about bivvying at the next control, Dales Bike Centre (334km), but it would be almost light by the time I got there so instead, I found a spot in the grass at the side of a small lane. I rolled out my bivvy and settled down.
It’s an odd kind of sleep in a bivvy. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’ve slept at all but at least I’d allowed my body a chance to rest and there is something energising about lying on the earth. The dawn came earlier than I expected and the dawn chorus sang loudly all around. As I popped out of my bivvy, four startled horses looked on from the field next to me. I realised I had probably bivvied beside someone’s driveway and didn’t realise in the dark how the house overlooked my spot. Oh well, it was still early. I quickly rolled up my bivvy and set off.
I was glad of pannier bags on this trip. Previous rides had seen me battling with bikepacking bags. The contents seemed to fit so easily at home, then out in the wilds, nothing would fold up or squash back in quite the same way. This proved especially frustrating if it was cold and fingers didn’t quite work in the same way. So this time I’d decided that panniers would save that stress and also leave room for extra snacks I might pick up on the way. I could roll up my bivvy; sleeping bag and bubble wrap mat all in one and just chuck it in the pannier, then be straight on my way before I got cold, or spotted by someone whose drive I may have inadvertantly slept on.
The sun was now up and it promised to be another warm, sunny day. The lanes became a little hillier as I rode into the Yorkshire Dales and the fourth control. By the time I got to Dales Bike Centre, it was just before 7am. Unfortunately, the cafe didn’t open until 9am. Bad planning on my part, as I was ready for a coffee. The toilets were open and I was able to have a strip wash, brush my teeth, change shorts, and apply chamois cream. I was ready for a new day. I washed my other shorts and attached them to my pannier so they could dry as I rode. I met a fellow APN rider who was battling sickness and had made the difficult decision to scratch.
My pursuit of coffee carried me on to Richmond where a kind coffee shop owner made me a cappuccino even though she didn’t open for another half an hour. I must have looked in need. Caffeine requirement sated, I headed north, up the Roman Road of Dere Street and through Bishop Auckland where I stopped at Inspiral Cycles bike shop. My chain had dropped off my casssette a few times so I asked if they could take a look and adjust my limit screws. Fantastic service, they sorted it straight away and I was soon off again.
I joined the NCN route 70, then 14 for a dusty, long off-road section, skirting Durham and up to Consett. Back on the road I headed further Northwards. Northumberland was a delight; vast, expansive skies, rolling countryside as far as the eye could see, quiet roads and courteous drivers. I climbed and descended in the sunshine, passing fields of rapeseed, bright yellow against the clear blue sky. There were more cuckoos here too, their calls the soundtrack to my ride. I started passing fellow APN riders who had opted to take a clockwise route. It was a morale boost to exchange a few words or a simple hello.
With limited options to restock, I was relieved to pass a National Trust property; Wallington, surely there would be a cafe there. I ventured through the gate, passed some beautiful gardens and up to a grand house. In a large grassed courtyard at the back, people were relaxing in deckchairs, families played on the grass, whilst others sat eating ice creams, and there was the welcome sight of a cafe. Sitting in the shade of a tree, I inhaled a sandwich, crisps and Victoria sponge.
I wasn’t far from the fifth control now; Winter’s Gibbet (475km). The gibbet stands, silent and eerie up on remote moorland and is visible for miles around. In 1791 William Winter murdered a local woman, Margaret Crozier. He was hanged and his body placed on the gibbet until it rotted away. The gibbet that now stands there is a 19th century replica.
The descent down to Elsdon was an absolute treat, off the moors and through the verdant Coquetdale to Rothbury. I passed more APN riders slogging up the climb to Winter’s Gibbet and was relieved not to have approached it from this side.
It was at a fuel station along the A697 that I realised sleep deprivation was taking its toll. I stopped, knowing I needed to get supplies for the night stretch. Wandering up and down the aisles in the shop, I just couldn’t make a decision on what to buy. I was in there for what seemed like an age. Even now I can’t remember what I eventually bought but it was just about enough to see me through to the following day.
The evening light in the Scottish Borders on the approach to Norham was stunning. Fingers of sunlight probed through trees and stretched across fields. Golden light picked out the detail on the hillside. I stopped a few times to try to capture the light, with my camera, and the feeling, but both endeavours came to nought.
Another rider joined me on the approach to the sixth control, Norham Castle (557km). We arrived together to cheers from a group of teenage girls on a bench outside. Also there were Laura and James, tandem riders who I’d met at the start. They had set off on a clockwise route and I had set off anti-clockwise. Snacks eaten and layers donned, the girls on the bench shouted: “Go, girl!” as I departed. I gave them a wave and was off into the fading light.
The majority of riders had opted to ride a clockwise route around the controls, getting the punishing hills of the Lake District out of the way early on. I had opted for the anti-clockwise route, reasoning I could keep my legs fresher for longer. Where possible, I also chose a longer route to cut off some elevation. Not that I mind hills, they are one of the things that attracted me to this event, but I wanted to ensure I could maintain sustainable progress so I could make it to the finish.
Over the River Tweed and I passed a ‘Welcome to Scotland’ sign. I continued for another few hours before settling down somewhere near Kelso to bivvy behind a drystone wall. I lay in my cocoon, watched a satellite pass overhead, listened to the sounds of barks coming from a nearby woodland, then before I knew it, I’d been there for three hours. It was still only half light so I stayed in my warm bag for another half an hour. The air was cold on my face. I was glad I’d opted to take my 3-season down sleeping bag; totally worth the additional weight and bulk. It took a bit longer for me to find the strength to get out of my warm bag and get moving again. I lay there thinking of the order in which to organise myself so I could be moving as soon as possible and not get cold.
With the tiredness came the almost constant checking that I still had all my belongings and had not accidentally left something at the last stop. I would be cycling along, fumbling in my back pockets, checking my phone, wallet, and brevet card were still there. Faffing levels also began to creep up. Stop to get a snack out, carry on. Stop to take some painkillers (sit bones were getting sore by this point), carry on. Stop to put a layer on/take a layer off. I was frustrated with myself for the lack of momentum but reminded myself to just keep turning the pedals and eventually I would reach the next control at Long Meg.
The next stretch took me through Teviotdale. A beautiful area where I saw lots of deer and had the road to myself as it was still early. I hadn’t had a coffee and was going through a low point so struggled to appreciate it fully. I’d hoped something may be open in Hawick but no such luck.
In a layby on the A7 I stopped. I was feeling low, moving slowly, and needed to pick myself up. I had a drink, forced a snack, and took some painkillers for my sore sit bones. I got out my wipes and tried to give myself an all over wash. Then I applied some local anaesthetic and chamois cream. My partner, Ness had given me a small pouch before I left home. In it were four notes, each to be opened when I was feeling low. I took out note number one and, tearing up, read the words of love and encouragement. There was nothing else for it but to press on.
Back in the saddle I was beginning to feel better. I realised that all the time I thought I was moving slowly, I was actually progressing up a gradual climb. Now over the summit, my pace quickened. I was more comfortable and able to appreciate the truly amazing landscape.
I arrived at Langholm full of hope that I may finally get a coffee. I found a public toilet, it was open, and there was loo roll in the cubicle, the simple joys! I refilled my water bottles, brushed my teeth and felt a bit more human. Unfortunately, I was too early for any coffee opportunities so I continued to Longtown where I finally found an open fuel station. Sitting against the wall in the early morning sun, I downed a coffee, demolished a breakfast of meat and potato pie, lemon cake and packet of crisps. Not too far from the next control, I set off again, the morning (and coffee) giving me a new lease of life.
I’d planned my approach to the seventh control via a bridleway that I’d noted on the map would cut off some elevation. In reality, the bridleway was no more than an overgrown singletrack. I bumped along, panniers barely squeezing through, dodging rocks that were obscured under the vegetation. Luckily it wasn’t a long way, then through a farmyard, and I was at the Neolithic stone circle of Long Meg and her Daughters (717km). I met a fellow APN rider there who was doing the route clockwise. She’d had a mechanical, forcing her to be delayed in Penrith. But she was now on her way, determined to finish even though she would not make the finishers’ meal.
I checked my phone. I was encouraged by messages of support from those following my dot. I also had a message from Tori, one of the race organisers, telling me I needed to charge my tracker. I’d used the power from both my power banks keeping my phone, TwoNav (navigation device), and tracker charged up to that point.
Cycling down the hill from Long Meg, I spotted a campsite. I found reception and asked the campsite owner if it was possible to pay for a shower and to charge my things. She agreed without hesitation, let me plug my things in and showed me to the shower block. Whilst everything was charging, I had a lovely shower and washed my clothes, stringing them along a bench to dry in the hot sun. I then found the honesty cake stand and helped myself to a delicious banana cake. Bottles refilled, I was feeling ready to carry on. When I got back to my charging station, I realised with dismay that nothing had been charging. I was annoyed with myself, I’d been stationary for too long and needed to get moving. But there was nothing I could do, I needed to charge my equipment. Ensuring everything was charging properly, I set off into the campsite to find a quiet spot for a nap. The site was busy and I tried to doze in the shade of a tree but didn’t have much luck. When everything was finally charged, I gathered my belongings and set off.
Despite it being a bank holiday, the lanes that led me into the Lake District were fairly quiet. I thought I’d left the most dramatic countyside further North but the Lake District was breathtaking. It did, however, deliver the worst hills I’d encountered so far, short stabby climbs that had me zig zagging up, cursing the weight in my panniers. The scenery was worth the effort, though, and the sun was still shining and my spirits were high.
The eighth control was Wasdale Head (821km), reached down a single track road that stretched along the length of Wast Water, fells rising dramatically on either side. I made it just after 8pm. It was still busy and I was glad I hadn’t arrived in the middle of the day. I imagined it would have been heaving with traffic and people; one of the main hiking routes up Scafell Pike starting there.
This strategically placed control posed the following conundrum when route planning; take the rough off-road pass, Hardknott and Wrynose Passes, or take a long detour to avoid both? I’d elected to go via Hardknott and Wrynose. and being a Hardknott virgin, I figured, how hard could it be?!
I was hoping to be over Hardknott Pass before dark but the light was already quickly fading when I reached the foot of the climb. I had a snack and set off, over the cattle grid and then the gradient immediately ramped up. I got off and tried to push my bike but my cycling shoes kept slipping on the tarmac. I took my shoes off and attached them to my pannier, then began pushing the laden bike up the 25% gradient. After a while, the road flattened off enough for me to put my shoes back on and contemplate trying to cycle, I could feel blisters forming on the bottom of my feet and by now it was almost completely dark. I got back on the bike and after several false starts, managed to start pedalling up the near vertical strip of tarmac.
I was glad I couldn’t see the top but imagined it wasn’t that much further, the wind picking up with every pedal rotation. A man watched my slow progress up the pass from his bed in the back of a camper van with the door open. As I got level with him, I said: “Hi” with all the nonchalance I could muster, as though this was a normal evening pursuit. The gradient was around 30% at that point and my front wheel began to lift off the tarmac despite being weighed down by my handlebar bag and snack pouches. I had to get off and push again.
Just when I was wondering if I was nearly at the top, a light appeared in the sky. A divine light come to interevene in my foolish pursuit? Then I realised I was nowhere near the top and the light was actually the headlights of a car that had crested the col and was making cautious progress down the pass towards me. Once it had passed, I resumed my slow plod towards the heavens.
At the summit I put on my coat in readiness for the descent. I would later speak to another APN rider who ended up bivvying at the summit of Hardknott rather than face the descent in the dark. Probably a wiser choice than mine but the sleep-deprived brain makes poor choices. On the drops, gripping my brakes for dear life, I made my slow descent down the pass. My light reflecting the sheeps’ eyes that were all around. My brakes strained under the force of the gradient and heavy panniers. The switchbacks were so sharp that I often couldn’t see which way the road would turn until the last moment when I swung my bars round the bendand my front light lit my way. I was comforting myself with the mantras: “It’s ok.” “Just stay calm.” “Weight back, keep calm.” “Breathe, nearly there.” Only afterwards did I remember the headtorch I’d packed that would have made the descent slightly less perilous, allowing me more sight of the road ahead. And then finally I touched down, revelling in the safety of the valley bottom.
I steeled myself again before Wrynose Pass, not quite as bad as Hardknott but I did have to remind myself to breathe on the descent. It was with huge relief when I reached Ambleside. I stopped for a moment to have a snack, take some painkillers, and ready myself for the rest of the night.
At Staveley was another poor decision. I’d planned two routes to the next checkpoint; a longer, hillier route on quiet roads, or a more direct route down the very busy dual carriageway of the A591. It was the early hours by now so I decided to risk the A-road. I was well lit up with two, bright rear lights and wearing plenty of reflective gear. The road wasn’t busy, but there was enough passing traffic hurtling past at high speed to have me gripping my bars and pedalling as fast as possible. The road seemed to stretch endlessly. I braced every time a car approached from behind, but finally I made it to the end; nerves raw. I knew I should find somewhere to sleep but adrenaline was still coursing through my system. Eventually, knowing I needed to rest, I manhandled my loaded bike through a narrow kissing gate and rolled out my bivvy in the field. After 45 minutes of lying there, I couldn’t settle.
I set off again, the sky beginning to take on the purple hue that signified a new dawn approaching. I had on all my layers but the cold air was chilling me as I rode. I tried to pedal faster to stay warm but my legs were only capable of one speed. By the time I arrived at the ninth control, Selside (933km), the sun had just come up but I was freezing. I filled in my brevet card and took a time stamped photo. I didn’t feel right but I couldn’t put my finger on why. I was struggling to think straight. Was it tiredness? Hypothermia? I knew I needed to rest and warm up so I found a warm stone wall that was soaking up the sun’s rays. I rolled out my bivvy next to it, got in and pulled the toggle tightly so only my face was sticking out of the bag. Once again, I was so glad I’d packed such a warm sleeping bag. I slept for an hour and when I woke up, immediately knew that I was better. My mentation had returned to normal and I had warmed up. I took out my pouch from Ness and read the second of my notes.
My mood lifted, I’d survived the night’s events and today was a new day, and one in which I’d hopefully finish. Tonight, I would sleep in a bed! At Horton-in-Ribblesdale, the public toilets were open and I was able to tend to my personal hygiene and refill my water bottles. My sit bones were still painful so I decided to wear both pairs of shorts. In Settle, the Co-op provided more than I could have hoped for; a sausage, egg and cheese breakfast muffin, maple and pecan plait, Yorkie bar, and a cappuccino.
I reached the final control, Widdop Reservoir (990km), after a steep climb. The end was in sight. I checked my phone, more messages of encouragement and support made me even more eager to finish. I checked the battery on my TwoNav, not quite enough to get me to the finish, I’d have to stop and charge it somewhere.
I rattled down the steep, narrow cobbles and through the picturesque village of Heptonstall. Spotting a cafe, I stopped and enquired if they would be happy for me to charge my equipment. They were happy to oblige. While I waited, I ate my lunch but eating was becoming difficult due to the amount of mouth ulcers I had developed from eating so many sweets. Eager to be on the move again, I was off as soon my devices had enough charge to get me to the finish.
Keen to avoid busy roads as much as possible on the final stretch to Sheffield, my route took me along the canal towpath. It was here that I suffered a mechanical resulting in me having to ride the remaining route with only my lower gears. I’d messaged my Weaver Valley clubmates via the off-road WhatsApp group to see if they had any suggestions and to explain why my dot had been stationary for so long. Within seconds I was flooded with messages offering advice and encouragement. Their support moved me to tears and I spun along for a while, tears rolling down my face.
During the last day, as sleep deprivation continued to have me in its grip, I kept having to do a double take as inanimate objects started to resemble animals and everything seemed to have a face. A rabbit at the side of the road was actually a tuft of grass. There were faces in the drystone wall. The cuckoo’s call was still in my ear, too.
On the approach to Sheffield, the battery died on my TwoNav. I got out my phone and attempted to navigate the final miles. A few wrong turns in the city centre and finally I was at the finish. A small crowd outside The Heeley Institute cheered as I arrived. I was greeted by someone clearly well used to dealing with slightly confused cyclists barely functioning on little sleep, given a beer, and taken inside where the other riders were relaxing. I’d made it with a hour to spare before the finishers’ meal and enjoyed soaking up the atmosphere and recounting stories with fellow riders.
It’s all a bit of a blur now, like waking in the middle of a vivid dream and not being sure if it’s real or not. I used to work nights in a busy veterinary hospital and I would often go home, still able to hear the noise of the drip pump alarms. In a trick of the mind, I could still hear the cuckoo 24 hours after APN.
So that was it, my first ultra-distance cycling event. The weather was kind and certainly improved my morale, but what spurred me on when things got tough was knowing that people were watching my dot and willing me on. I had messages of support from friends, family, and cycling pals, as well as people I didn’t even know but who shared my passion for cycling and were following along at home. I may have spent hours cycling in solitude but I began to feel connected to a wider community of like-minded individuals. It left me with a warm feeling, knowing I was part of a bigger picture.
Ride Stats:
Total distance covered: 1,090km
Total elevation: 11,544m
Total time: 81 hours 23 minutes
