APN 2023 Ride Report
The Star
A few weeks ago, I was sitting in a gazebo at the back of a bike shop, gobbling one pizza while trying to stuff another onto my already-overloaded bike (a Kinesis G2 I’d lovingly titled “Mushy Peas” after a slightly delirious refuelling stop at a chippy some weeks prior), watching other lycra-clad people dash around putting the final touches to their set-ups. It was nearly time to start All Points North, my first proper self-supported, ultra-distance cycling race.
All Points North requires riders to independently plan a route around ten checkpoints in the north of England. This process mostly involved hours of staring at ride planning apps and streetview, making miniscule changes to find the shortest and flattest possible route, then looking back at it later and wondering what the heck I was thinking. I’d opted for the anticlockwise approach, noting slightly less ascent than descent this way round, though I'd soon understand why this is always the least popular option.
This year APN featured a staggered start, in order to enable more riders to make the finisher’s dinner on Monday evening. I was in the last wave to go, with just 72 hours to make it back, setting off from A Different Gear bike shop as the sun made its languid way west and the temperature blessedly dipped below 20℃. An evening start was pretty difficult to plan for; I’d anticipated getting a good nap in during the day and had instead spent a sweaty couple hours lying in my car, barely sleeping, compensating with caffeine. Then, after all of my meticulous planning, I changed the order and routing of my first three checkpoints just three hours before the start of the race (not recommended). The added uncertainty did calm my nerves considerably, though.
Day One
I reached the first checkpoint (Filey Brigg, 156km) at around 0230AM, having seen the most glorious sunset and avoided far too many rogue animals (including one rustling in the hedge, sounding large and terrifying in the pitch black night). The road wheels and tyres I’d put on my bike felt majestic after months of riding on gravel tyres, and I definitely pushed too hard to start. The elation at checking off the first checkpoint soon waned, and I spent the next 60km desperately trying to stay awake, wobbling vaguely across the road whilst my eyes made strange creatures out of the shadows (at one point I was convinced another cyclist in hi-vis was coming towards me, only to realise it was a stationary traffic cone). Before starting, I’d told myself I wouldn’t let myself get so tired that I started seeing things, but evidently failed miserably.
Checkpoints two (Helmsley, 216km) and three (Easingwold, 240km) passed slowly, and it took great effort to look around and admire the quiet country lanes I was riding on. After a quick shop stop to stuff my face with food (a common occurrence throughout this ride), I felt much restored and pushed on to checkpoint four (Dales Bike Centre, 309km) for a late lunch. Here riders going in both directions rested, and I had a quick chat with some of them before the call of caffeine became too strong. I wrestled with the idea of having a wee nap, before deciding I should make the most of the daylight and carry on.
It was at this point in the ride, some 17 hours after the start, that a niggling knee became harder to ignore. I’d adjusted my seat height, which solved some hip issues, but my knees are very hard to please. I ended up doing a sort-of lopsided pedal, pushing with the good knee and slowly rotating the bad one with my foot pushed out wide, as if hoping the joint wouldn’t notice the exertion (it definitely did). I dallied a lot more, stopping for ice cream and more feral shop-stops, before finally letting myself sleep in a country park, surrounded by evening dog walkers and insects.
Day Two
Now, I’m not a camper (unless it’s car-camping, but alas that was not feasible for APN). Bivvying is even worse, with all the exposure that comes from sleeping in what is essentially a glorified plastic bag, so the fact that I chose this as my sleeping method probably does not say flattering things about me. However, after 24 hours of cycling, it was so cosy and delightful that I slept an hour longer than I planned, and only reluctantly dragged myself up to cycle into the cold midnight.
This was a pretty fun section, knee still screaming but body feeling warm and semi-rested, and it was delightfully spooky to reach the memorial gallows that marked checkpoint five (Winter’s Gibbet, 445km). As dawn broke, sunlight streamed through gaps in the clouds, and I felt so lucky to be moving through such a beautiful part of the country by bike.
Until I hit a string of bad luck. Tiredness struck again and I took an unplanned sleep in a random field barely off the road, forgoing the mat in my desperation to be unconscious. Sometime after waking, I hit a particularly detritus-laden road and my front tyre lost pressure, merrily spraying sealant all over the surrounding hedgerows. It refused to seal despite my desperate pleading (rude) and I spent the next half hour sitting in the road wondering why I was doing this “for fun”. I went a little bit insane reaching checkpoint 6 (Norham Castle, 523km), making up songs to my knee and singing them very loudly, shouting with relief when I found a public toilet to wash tacky, dried sealant off my skin.
The next part of the route took me through the Scottish Borders, where I rediscovered joy through some fast, sweeping descents. More feral supermarket scavenging ensued, as did any attention I might have paid to social norms, sitting on grass verges to air my feet or repack bags, whilst sleek roadies whizzed past confusedly. I was crushingly aware of how slow I was moving and how far the next checkpoint was, but couldn’t bring myself to rush. This was one of the longest legs, around 160km to checkpoint 7 (Long Meg, 682km). I kept looking out for an upright stone, thinking I could see it at the top of the next hill, only to realise I'd been looking at a particularly thick fencepost, or a tree.
Finally, the distinctive stone circle came into view, surrounded by grazing cows and scattered tourists. As an enthusiast of all things spooky and witchy, this was one of my favourite checkpoints. Maybe it was the exhaustion, but it was comforting to place my hand on the ancient stone and pause for a moment, praying for a smooth onward journey. I sat for a while in the shadow of the stones, resting my bike against Long Meg herself and hoping it didn’t offend her, reading the supportive messages friends had sent after a slightly desperate instagram story and watching the sun sink closer towards the horizon.
Hunger was a constant companion throughout this race. I’m very bad at recognising hunger cues (thanks, autism!), not realising until I’m absolutely starving and all the strength has left my limbs, so I’d set my Garmin to remind me to eat every 20km (definitely not often enough). I also struggle to stop in crowded places and find pubs pretty intimidating solo (again, thanks autism!), so it was with great courage that I decided to pull into a local pub, only to find it fully booked. And so was the next one; I’d forgotten it was a sunny bank holiday weekend in the Lake District. Luckily, McDonald’s came to the rescue and I wolfed down a double dinner before heading back onto the road, replenished.
It was after this point that my routing became truly unhinged. I was properly in the Lakes by now, so there was always going to be a lot of elevation, but I’d totally overestimated my enthusiasm for a good hill climb after 700km of cycling. Those ascents loomed in the distance, looking stunningly intimidating as they framed the glistening lakes. My Garmin kept alerting me of climbs ahead (which is actually very disheartening when you are already going uphill, but your device is telling you that this is flat compared to what is coming) and ominously warning me of a right turn onto “The Struggle”.
I saw some very strange and wonderful things while labouring up Kirkstone Pass that evening: a gentle rainbow of cloud iridescence, sheep ambling along the road and stopping to stare at me labouring past, a car screeching downhill with a flat tyre and a loose bumper, spraying the road with debris and seemingly oblivious to my very vulnerable body only metres away (I was convinced I’d hear a loud bang followed by sirens as it inevitably crashed or exploded, but there was only silence). I was delighted to discover I would be going down The Struggle, rather than up, but soon realised this came with its own perils, as the hairpin bends necessitated quick reactions and a heavy dose of braking.
My poor brain was fried from all the concentrating I’d had to do, and so the lure of sitting down inside became too much to resist once I reached civilisation. I must have looked insane, stumbling into the Ambleside YHA just after 2200, covered in dust and sweat, babbling something about charging electronics and rest. They were very sweet, letting me sprawl across the dining room for the price of a coffee and cake, dimming the lights and constantly asking if I was ok. It wasn’t particularly restful, and I’d soon wish I’d just collapsed in my bivvy bag in a field somewhere so I could actually sleep, but it sure did feel luxurious.
Day Three
Four hours later I was back on the road again, about to tackle Hardknott and Wrynose Pass for the first time that day. It was about 0200 in the morning; the roads were silent and the mist was hanging low. I managed a few feeble pedal strokes up the passes, and soon resigned myself to a long hike-a-bike up the 30% gradient. My front light was turned low to conserve battery, and sheep eyes glinted ominously at the edges of its beam. I took to side-stepping (knees still pointed forwards thanks to bow-leggedness and knock-knees), stopping often to breathe and curse my choices.
Whilst ascending switchbacks in darkness was arduous, descending was downright treacherous, made even more so by a mysterious creaking noise coming from my front wheel. I thought perhaps I’d worn my brake pads out with enthusiastic braking, but it turned out the thru-axle had become slightly unscrewed and left my wheel rattling about precariously between the forks. I mustn't have tightened it properly after the flat repair earlier in the day, but the near-miss sure gave me a fright.
I reached checkpoint 8 (Wasdale Head, 786km) as dawn blushed prettily across the sky. This was one of my favourite views of the whole race, and I would have lingered there a whole lot longer had it not been for the constant driving pressure to keep moving and the cloud of mosquitoes that hovered nearby, waiting to irritate stationary flesh.
I won’t bore you with the details of my return trip over Hardknott and Wrynose Passes, except to re-emphasize: ugh. I stomped my way back over with slightly more cycling this time, sweating with both exertion and the sun’s increasing intensity, stocked up on snacks in Ambleside, and ploughed onwards to the Dales.
The journey to checkpoint 9 (Selside, 896km) was a real slog, battling headwind on what should have been nice, cruisey roads. I calculated I could still make it back within 72 hours if I just upped the pace a little (evidently feeling very optimistic at the time) but couldn’t make myself move any faster. Ribblehead Viaduct passed as an afterthought, a picturesque distraction from exhaustion, and I collapsed on the grass as soon as I reached the checkpoint.
The next leg was even more arduous; I’d hoped I’d find hidden reserves of strength to push on to the last checkpoint, but my body had other plans. After nearly falling asleep on the bike and swerving precariously over the road, I sat a roadside bench for a “quick stop” (a 20-minute nap, which involved throwing my head back, cracked lips and ulcerated mouth wide open, slowly turning red from sunburn and snoozing my alarm twice) and accepted that a 72 hour finish was out of reach.
Reaching checkpoint 10 (Widdop Moor, 954km) was the worst. I might’ve enjoyed it had I been fresh, but instead I cursed every single incline and was powered onward by sheer mulishness.
Seeing signs towards Sheffield felt like a dream. I turned on my most obnoxious, beast mode music to keep up the momentum and watched evening bloom in the peripheries of my vision. The final few kilometers lasted forever (mainly because I kept miscalculating how much further was left), even after a quick scavenge of Hebden Bridge co-op for last-minute energy, feeling even more bedraggled amongst the sunny bank holiday revellers, but I dragged strength from somewhere and powered home in respectable 73 hours 46 minutes.
The Verdict
All Points North was, without a doubt, the hardest race I've ever done. I was in pain for most of it, discovered new places to get saddle sores, and have never felt more like an animal. I was reduced to base instincts in order to keep pedalling: finding food, water, and a place to sleep. It seemed like an awfully undignified thing to do for fun, and it was also absolutely brilliant. I’m always so curious of how much things can hurt and how far I can push myself, and it turns out the answer is pretty far!
I'd also be remiss not to mention my bike at least a wee bit on a Kinesis blog. It was ace. The mechanicals and discomfort were all to be expected on an ultra-distance ride (especially when you attract chaos and just had a slightly detrimental bike fit), but the G2 handled so well. I’m absolutely sold on the 1x configuration (possibly because I'm too lazy to deal with the extra cassettes and maintenance that comes with it, but mostly because it gives a real sweet gear range for climbs) and its versatility. A quick wheel change and I’d gone from sailing down rocky descents in the Lakes the week before to eating up miles on tarmac. Occasionally I’d max out my gearing on a descent, but I used those opportunities to rest my legs, and I’ve since double wrapped the handlebars to give my hands a bit more cushioning. Anyway, I love it, and I can’t wait to ride even more ridiculous distances on it later this year.
Thanks so much to everyone at Kinesis UK and A Different Gear bike shop, as well as all the volunteers and other riders, for making it such a unique and fun event (albeit mostly type 2 fun). Chatting to other participants, the staggered start made the event so much more accessible to people trying ultra-distance for the first time (even if i did decide to make my life harder for myself by ultimately opting for the 72hr category) and it was great to see greater gender parity. Highly recommend; I’m already planning a return!
The Gear
Kinesis G2 Bike
Sector R26 Disc Wheelset
Gravelking Slick 700 x 32mm tyres
Apidura, Straightcut Design, and Alpkit bags
For a more detailed breakdown, see The Bikes of APN 2023 or check out Saz Harris' Instagram.