WORDS & PICTURES JOHN ALLEN
Halifax-based John Allen battled Storm Alex, spectral skeletons, demons and witches on the Hell of the North West ride in October, 2020 – completing the punishing 800km course in first place… and last. He was the only one to finish. The 36 year old describes a truly hellish but ultimately uplifting weekend in the saddle:
Arrivée152Summer2021
Demons in the darkness on one Hell of a stormy ride
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I’M NOT A PROPER CYCLIST. If anything, I’d say I was a fell runner. I enjoy being in the fells and mountains, competing in long distance foot races, ultra-marathons and mountain marathons. But I fancied a change – so decided to try my hand at long-distance cycling last year. I’d seen advertisements for the Hell of the North West, but dismissed the ride as ridiculous – too hard, too hilly and frankly, I didn’t believe anyone could finish. But then I thought – maybe it is possible? I entered to find out. Then Covid happened, and the event was postponed. Six long, lonely months of training in the dark after work, and hundreds of hours all seemed wasted. Then the Hell of the North West was rescheduled – for October. The thought of it still triggered feelings of fear and self-doubt. I told myself that I’d only attempt it in good weather, to do otherwise was foolish and would make something seemingly impossible, downright dangerous. The event, and Storm Alex, would arrive together in early October. It would turn out to be the wettest single day on record – and a day I won’t forget in a hurry. The ride was due to start on Friday, and the day’s forecast was good. Sunday’s forecast looked OK too. So even though Saturday looked apocalyptical, if I could survive it I might achieve the impossible. The start time was between 1pm and 5pm on Friday, so my cunning plan was to start early, ride as far as possible before the storm hit, continue to ride through the storm without dying, then carry on riding once the storm has passed – the challenge here being to stay alive. Rather than packing light and fast, I went for safe and warm – luggage rack, mud guards, dynamo lights, a pair of waterproof panniers, spare clothes, three pairs of gloves, head-to-toe waterproof
clothing, sleeping bag, sleeping mat, and lightweight tent. Registration was at the Green Jersey bike shop in Clitheroe. I was the first rider to arrive. I swapped a few words with the organiser, Dan Jones. He was expecting a maximum of 15 riders. He wished me luck, we bumped knuckles and I was off. Then it was straight up Pendle Hill. The weight of the fully-loaded bike was immediately apparent, and I quickly ran out of gears. My heart rate rose and the legs began to burn. This was the simple bit. But I was feeling strong and the bike felt good. I told myself to just keep pedalling, stay relaxed and don’t be rubbish – my basic mantra. The miles clicked by, hill after hill, corner after corner. First, heading north through the Forest of Bowland, then back
south towards Rivington Pike. This isn’t a race, but I checked the Random Adventure Facebook page to see which other riders had started. There was a pair of brothers, Steve and Michael Wykes, riding together, and it looked like they had absolutely no gear with them. Maybe I’d over-packed? My bike weighed 23kg fully-loaded and these fellas were running race bikes. I spent the next few hours doubting my strategy, and looking over my shoulder. Darkness closed in over the south Pennines. My sights were set on Keighley at the 100 mile mark, and getting there before the Co-op shut at 10pm, the last supply point until sometime the following day. I grabbed a takeaway pizza in the town centre and put some warmer clothes on. A quick check on social media showed a total
