Polaris Challenge
Flies and Spiders
John Glanfield / 14.10.2003
Day 1The early morning chill had abated and thin wintry sun was filtering through the rapidly dispersing cloud. The sweet smell of GT85 hung in the air. Around us, in front and behind was a solid phalanx of some 400 riders, chunks of 25 were shuffling forward, clearing their cards, before finally spinning cranks in earnest on the Autumn 2003 Polaris Challenge.
For us it was the first time, the agonising decisions about clothing choice, kit weight, and nutrition were quite literally behind us in bulging rucksacks. Whatever we had now was either going to be eaten or carried-for 7 full hours on Saturday and 5 on Sunday. Oh joy!
We picked up the points values at the give-out approximately 1km further up the track and began to roughly plan our day, taking note of the wild camp location, and the 4 main valleys predominately north and east of Alston, a smallish town nestled in the north west Pennines 10 miles east of Penrith.
The event map was dominated by significant water-courses, the South Tyne, the East and West Allen and the Wear. Between them and beyond them lay high moorland, cloaked in the autumnal hues of bronze and copper, rising to a height of approximately 700 metres. The whole area was liberally peppered with our meticulously plotted check-points, values, out of bounds routes and permissive byway information. For the next 2 days the map was going to be our reality, holding the key to our comfort and pain, our literal highs and lows.
We settled on a meandering first day, making the most of the Sustrans routes bisecting the event arena to the east and north. The C2C and South Tyne Trail represented large arterial options available to competitors, which were to prove key, simple transits between points. We looped south to start with before cutting back to the north along the West Allen river valley, leaving us a 350m high hike over Round Hill to drop into the East Allen valley and along it’s banks to the mid-camp.
Conditions were fantastic, un-seasonably warm and relatively dry beneath our tyres, no wind to speak of and not even a threat of rain. The hours progressed with surprising speed. Rough navigation took us as close as possible on tarmac to the checkpoint, leaving the last stretches to be negotiated on mixtures of slippery mud, rock and cinders.
We were amazed by the diversity, elite riders with rucksacks the size of Tupperware containers and quads that Wilkinson would be proud of, hoary old veterans, all sinew, bone and beards, and wannabes like us. Andrea is a run specialist getting to grips with biking again after a summer of climbing and running, and my wouldn’t look out of place in a nest - all the gear and very little idea.See All Event Posts
