September 28th, The Three Peaks Cyclo Cross-A Potted History.

It was 1987. Whilst I had been a cyclist for some years previous it was only now that I had begun to start meeting a few dedicated riders. My work at the British Eagle cycle factory in Mid Wales had brought me into contact with a lovely circle of people, a lot of whom had some degree of interest in the sport. Of course Barry Hoban was the most well known of these people for his exploits in the 1960's and 70's riding all of the great races on the European professional scene....and winning. It was however the people on the factory floor that I got to know the best, in particular, a frame builder of some repute by the name of Tony Revel.

Tony had a good knowledge of all things cycling and a whole host of stunning handcrafted machines that he'd built over the years. One of Tony's passions was Cyclo Cross. Up until that point I really didn't know what the hell it was and was intrigued by the stories and wonderful bike that Tony possessed for this unusual sport. One of the tales that most impressed me was of a race that took on a mythical status by the way he spoke of it. The Three Peaks Cyclo Cross race.

By the Autumn of 1988 I was working in extremely squalid conditions in the back streets of Salford 7. Whilst the gentleman who had employed me was not of the most upstanding character, he was very enthusiastic and was quite serious about his bike racing. He took me to my first cross race that year and I still take pleasure in remembering coming 9th behind David Baker and getting a prize presented by Phil Liggett. It was only in a passing conversation that I discovered the Three Peaks was a very real event. In a whirl of enthusiasm, a late entry saw me lining up in Helwith Bridge for the start of something way out of my depth.

The 1988 edition of the race was won by Tim Gould who was the man to beat for six years during the late 80's and early 90's. The race for myself was an experience that can only be described as memorable. The poor conditions and thick mud made it treacherous and my own poor physical state added to the misery that I was to ultimately succumb to climbing the last peak of Pen-y-Ghent. It seemed to grind on forever and my body was wracked in pain that even to this day I find difficult to describe. The top was enshrouded in mist and very cold, I was blown to pieces and couldn't even see straight. When I remounted my bike for the death defying plummet back to the finish I wondered if I might not live to tell the tale.

I finished the event in just over 4 1/2 hours and had been pushed further into my limits of endurance than ever before. My employer had not been able to finish the race and was less than happy. The atmosphere was sombre driving home in a banger of a Volvo that saw his son having to manually operate the windscreen wipers via his arms disappearing through the glove compartment with his cheek uncomfortably pressed against the dashboard, and boy, did it rain.

In 1989 I returned to the race better prepared and went under 4 1/2 hours which I was relatively pleased with. Perhaps not so much with the time to complete the course but more in my ability to recover after the event. After the 88 event I was forced to come down the stairs the following morning on my arse because bending my legs was close to impossible.

I didn't ride the race again until I'd met up with Clive and Will at the end of the 90's. It was 1999 when I found myself at Helwith Bridge again. I was an older and wiser man by now and I was as prepared as I might ever be despite having a less than worthy bike. I appear in the photo at the start wearing a rugby shirt with a small size Atom Team jersey stretched over the top of it. I had the yellow Astro Turf trainers that I'd purchased in 1988 (which I still have to this day) and a bottle mounted on the handlebars in a steel cage just like something from the 1950's Tour de France. I did a good ride though and broke the 4 hour barrier by a minute or so and to the surprise of a lot of people, was only a few minutes behind Will.

The following year I was fit and very well prepared. Will was also in good shape and the two of us set of that year with every chance of doing a good ride. After a world class start Will crashed heavily on the descent of Ingleborough and destroyed his bike instantaneously. He was fortunate to be close by to someone who had a spare bike that enabled him to continue. Will went on to do a 3:45 which is a cracking ride on a borrowed bike with your head twisted half way around your shoulders. I was going well until I was struck by my first puncture at the summit of Whernside. I went on to have 5 punctures and finished the latter half of the descent of Pen-y-Ghent and the road section home on a flat tyre with steam coming out of my ears. I did a 4:16 that year but I was pretty pissed off.

An entry in 2007 was looking dubious after it was filled up within days of the entry forms going on line. I was quite pleased really, I hadn't built the frames I'd promised for the event and wasn't over keen on the idea of doing it again anyway. Will persevered and managed to wangle two entries as well as providing us both with brand new frames and components to go with them. I felt pretty guilty at the time for my lack of motivation and was relived to hear that the event had been called off due to a foot and mouth scare.

This year I had some renewed enthusiasm and vigour. I produced two cross frames in good time for the event and spent the weekend before the event with the club, riding the Coast to Coast and getting the feel of my new bike. I did try doing a running session several weeks prior to the event with good intentions but it took me several days to recover from a 20 minute session so I knocked that on the head. Both Will and myself had become comfortable with the idea that we would ride around the event together and enjoy the day without killing ourselves.

The 500 field mass start from Helwith Bridge was a great spectacle. The back of the huge peloton was just melting and I gave up chasing by Horton in Ribblesdale in the full knowledge of what was about to come. Will was well up there and can't resist a race when it's on.

Mike, Phil, Danielle and Greg were waiting at Gill Garth for us to pass through and Will kindly waited for me at this point. It was great to see people from the club shouting you on but at that moment I didn't have enough breath left from such a rapid start to respond.

It doesn't take long before you are at the bottom of Simon Fell, a near vertical grassy slope just short of half a mile in length. You look for foot holds and need to be leaning well forward to grab hold of a clump of grass should you slip. This is the point where your calf muscles are being stretched like guitar strings and your every step is punctuated with burning pain. It's best to concentrate and ensure that every step is long and sure with full focus on moving as far upward as possible. Cresting the top of Simon Fell I turned around to be met by the most staggering view. The whole of the Ribble valley bathed in sunshine with wisps of white cloud floating along beneath you. I looked back to see Will still hauling himself up the steep slopes and looking very uncomfortable. I thought his head was going to pop.

The final ascent to the summit of Ingleborough at 732 metres is by no means as savage as the previous steep slopes but it's still more slugging it out amongst rock and mud with the bike over your shoulder becoming ever heavier. We crested the summit together but I have to admit to not getting my shit together on the descent and getting a long way behind Will who had to wait on several occasions.

Will had started to ride away from me on the road to Chapel le Dale and I was feeling a bit rough. However, a flapjack and some drink began to do the trick and by the start of the ascent of Whernside I was beginning to feel good. Will was struggling to carry the bike and was looking increasingly uncomfortable on the steep, stepped mountain side. I thought it not a good time to mention that I had stitched a comfortable padded section of material into the right shoulder of my jersey. It made quite a difference and carrying the bike was not such a problem for myself.

Cresting the summit at 736 metres we both began the treacherous descent down to Ribblehead. I was least looking forward to the stone slabs that have been laid in the boggy pastures high above Gill Force. They are slippery and have unpredictable drops and gaping gaps between them. Once past these obstacles the path is rocky and ever downward. Both Will and myself were getting into the groove and picking lines around other riders, walkers and jagged rocks with great accuracy. The slab sided channels across the paths could be bunny hopped if you had enough speed and I made a point in thanking as many walkers as I could for standing aside and giving us a clear run.

We crashed through streams and across rocks alongside the mighty Ribblehead viaducts at full steam in the big ring. Once we hit the road section to Horton in Ribblesdale we were motoring and soon mopping up riders and dragging a fair sized group along to the start of our last ascent.

We have discussed many times about how far we could ride the first tracks leading up this climb and steadily we both rode for at least two miles before being forced to dismount by the severity of the inclines. We both were able to ride where a lot of people had resigned themselves to slogging on two feet. That is the twisted face of an endurance event of this nature and by the time you hit these final slopes of Pen-y-Ghent, many riders have lost concentration and find themselves struggling to be as agile as they might have been earlier in the event. It can be a death like march to the top of this, the smallest of the three summits, if you have hit the wall and blown up.

On the final slopes we were still together and the views around us were awesome. The flat top of Ingleborough was majestic against the blue sky and the sheer massive scale of the landscape around you was of vast proportions. It was truly an awe inspiring place top be on such a beautiful day.

We clocked our tags at the 694 metre summit and turned around for the plummet back to the valley bottom. I came unstuck on the rocky track traversing the steep sides of the upper slopes and narrowly avoided tumbling over the edge. In a fit of descending mayhem we were blasting past more cautious riders like dust devils until the inevitable happened, the rear tyre could stand no more and flatted. Will stopped and together we were under way again very quickly, once again crashing down the rock strewn paths in a very unsafe and adrenaline charged fashion. I punctured again but had to continue. It wasn't much slower on the rim and I was hoping that one of my club mates might be at the bottom of the path so as I might steal a wheel to the finish. It wasn't to be and after another quick change the pair of us nailed it to the end of the race where modern technology clocked us in and gave us our finishing times. 4 hours and 26 minutes. Not a fast time compared to the winner, Rob Jebb who cleared 3 hours by 8 minutes, but I think it would have been a struggle for either of us to get inside 4 hours this time. Besides, we had set out to do it together and enjoy an event that can be arduous and mentally crushing if you are not having a good time.

Many thanks to those who turned out to support us and cheered us on. Will and myself had a dam good time and I intend to ride again next year. I hope in 2009 that one or two more will come with us. It is a great event and one that leaves its mark on everyone who takes part. It is after all, "The Toughest Cyclo Cross In The World". http://www.3peakscyclocross.org.uk/

Chris Riley.