Arrivéesummer/autumn2019
on the high road toInverness
WORDS AND PICTURES RICHARD CHEW
50
Monsters and mental struggles
on the high road to The Inverness 1200 is an event which follows a strenuous route from the Lancashire coast at Lytham St Annes 1,206km to Britain’s most northerly city. Rich Chew found the going tough, both physically and mentally – to the point where he found himself seeing imaginary monsters. Or were they imaginary? Here he describes the emotional battles sometimes faced by long-distance cyclists.
PEOPLE ASK ME why I’m not interested in doing the Paris-Brest-Paris. My response is that there’s still so much of this country I’ve yet to explore by bike. I’ve also enjoyed the rides that Andy Corless has organised in the past couple of years and was ready for another challenge ride. I’m a fan of there-and-back-again rides too, which lends a certain purpose in coming back to where you began, whether in a loop or straight line. The Inverness 1200 proved to be a combination of both formats. There was the usual flap, getting away from work at the end of the day, and on to the train in time. All went well until I reached Euston, where I hung about near my anticipated platform, waiting for departure information of my delayed train. Finally I returned to the departure board to look for an update and saw to my horror that it was about to depart
from the other end of the station. No announcement of course. I dashed across the concourse and along the length of the train where I then had to wait for the guard who nonchalantly strolled up to allow me to load my bike. My reserved seat had been taken so I plumped down next to a dapper chap who had a spare seat next to him and got talking. He turned out to be a professional puppeteer, none other than the owner of a famous TV dog called Hacker. We spent a very pleasant journey – and Hacker came out of his hold-all for photos. A trouble-free connection to St Anne’s followed and an overnight stop in a quiet Travelodge. The ride began next morning from a nearby scout hut. We ambled along pleasant lanes with views over to Heysham nuclear power station. I recalled at about this point that the reason my puncture repair kit had seemed so empty when I looked in it before the ride was that the tyre levers were missing. Probably. I couldn’t be sure. I could go the whole ride thinking I had no tyre levers and then find at the end that I actually had them all along. It became a gnawing paranoia. I later tested my luck by passing at least two bike shops without stopping to buy any. I placed my fate in the hands of the gods of improvisation. Before departing I’d discussed the ride with some colleagues in Preston and confidently told them I didn’t imagine I’d see many hills between Blackpool and Glasgow, as we were avoiding the Lake District on this occasion. Perhaps my collection of OS maps doesn’t cover Shap Fell, so I had a bit of an awakening as we began to head north from Kendal. A long but impressive haul, but still no need to resort to the granny gear just yet. The sequence of the towns en-route still eludes me, even which are in Scotland and which in England. I always remember Gretna though. The sense of frontier and change lies on it; the style of houses and other less tangible attributes seem to occur quite suddenly as you ride through.
