A group of 45 brave triathletes (and one imposter from cycling/athletics) headed to the peaks this weekend for our annual trip for some cycling, running, questionable cooking, and the associated chaos.
Despite a few hiccups on the journey there, including some mechanicals before the trip had even started, we managed to get us and all the bikes there safely. A scrumptious bolognaise was served (only a couple of hours late) and the carb loading began.
Our first day started with some excellent trail runs in the pouring rain, after some less excellent porridge... Fabulous character building if you ask me. There was even enough hot water for everyone to shower afterwards - miracles do happen. We then set off on our first rides. These ranged from 30km all the way up to 100km. Now we may have started in cloud and constant drizzle but by the afternoon the weather was (by the peaks standards) not too bad. The usual fiasco of mechanicals occurred with the highlight being a fresher with a completely snapped chain requiring a hitchhike to the nearest bike shop. Astonishingly, we only had one contender for bonk of the day. But my god did he do it with style. Rumour has it that James Walker is still out there somewhere trying to get up the hill back to the hostel.
Shoutout to one of our freshers Priya who had a whirlwind of a 24 hours, signing up to the trip 40 mins before the coach left and then in an unfortunate turn of events got abandoned in the Peak District and had to knock on farmers doors to try and get home. As I said before - character building.
Saturday night came with some organised fun fuelled by lots of curry and rice. Praise the lord for the extra hour of trip granted by the clocks going back.
Sunday morning saw some early risers going out for a big ride or trail run while others recovered for longer in the luxuriously comfortable beds. We all met in Castleton for a supposed pub lunch however the heavens opened just as we all arrived there and suddenly there was no room at the inn. With many borderline hypothermic freshers, things were looking bleak. Suddenly our hero Charles Barry invaded an innocent tearoom and we took over the entire upstairs and gave the singular chef in the kitchen a stress-induced heart attack. What would be do without our eternal fresher?
The clouds disappeared, the sun came out, the wind dropped. The cycle home was beautiful beyond words. A perfect ending to a fantastic weekend of cycling. The van even made it all the way home without breaking down. You really couldn’t ask for more.
The countdown to Majorca begins.