Prologue

'Here's tae us, wha's like us? Damm few and they're all deid!'

The Seven Stanes – seven of the finest man made mountain bike trails, certainly in Britain, possibly in Europe. They are scattered like pinpricks across southern Scotland, join them together with a pencil and you get a twisted snake-like route that starts from Glentrool in the far west of the Galloway hills to finally reach Glentress in the Borders, approximately 180 miles eastwards (as the cyclist rides). The land sandwiched between the Seven Stanes is one of rugged beauty, of high hills, lush valleys, ancient lochs, scenic coastline and all relatively traffic free. It was Simons idea, a year earlier to do a ride, a ride that was so unique, so challenging, it was surprising that it hadn’t been done before. We would form a relay team, not exceeding 4 riders and on the longest weekend of the year we would ride from Glentrool in the far west to Glentress in the far east, the route would take us via each of the Seven Stane mountain bike routes and at each Stane we would ride the red route, suitable only for fit experienced mountainbikers. The reason why we were doing it on the longest weekend of the year? - We needed the extra light because we were going to ride the Seven Stanes in less than 24 hours, we going to ride the 7/24!

The rules were simple – it was a relay race, one-rider carries a baton, inside of which is a whisky miniature. Teams can swap riders over at any stage, but the rider must carry the baton at all times. Riding a variance of road and mountain bike trails requires a change of bicycle so 1 support car is allowed for each team. There were two teams riding the inaugural event. My planned team had fallen through and I had offered my services as marshal. Simon had other ideas though and a week before, a phone call, a flurry of emails and I was in the Stewartry Wheelers team. Simon, Angus - a twelve year mountain bike nut and Janet, who wont allow me to reveal her age but was joining us at Newcastleton, the 6th of the seven Stanes. My role as the racing cyclist was to get them as far as I could, with faux bravado I had emailed Simon saying I would get them as far as Newcastleton without too much trouble by riding all the road stages and half of the first off road stage on my cyclo cross bike.

Stane 1 Glentrool to Lilies Loch

Alison and I swung into the gravel area that serves as a carpark in Glentrool at 10.45am, given the ride start at 11.00am that was not bad for us. Alison would provide vehicle support for us during the first stage. We were greeted by Simon who promptly handed me an envelope containing directions for each of the stages, a race number and a laminated ‘7/24 team car’ placard. Hoisting on my camelbak and stuffing pockets full of bananas and powergells I glanced around me. Glentrool has an eerie beauty about it, a typical highland scene in the lowlands. To my right was Bruce's stone, in memory of Robert Bruce's victory over the English 700 years ago - they rolled boulders down the valley squashing the poor English. The air was damp, the forecast heatwave hadn’t arrived. An officious Simon counted us down to the 11.00am start. A quick photocall of both teams receiving their relay batons and we were off.

The second team decided on the tactic of fielding two riders for the first stage, a rocky trail over hilly rough terrain that would connect with the mountain bike trail of Kirroughtree. We bounced down the descent from the start into a valley that had an almost fairy grotto feel to it. I took the opportunity to introduce myself to the other team, Alastair and Stuart, both on full suspension mountain bikes who eyed me with disbelief as I bounced over the rough track on my cyclo cross machine. I accepted Alastair's comment of it simply being a ‘racing bike with knobbly tyres’ but was gratefull for the shock absorbtion of carbon fibre forks and specialised gel phatt wrap on the handlebars. Soon we were climbing up an old drover’s trail into the mist. For the first of many times that day, I slipped into my lowest gear and spun up the bumpy climb. I was glad I kept the triple chainset and hadn’t succumbed to opting for a single ring, it was too early to be hoisting my bike over my shoulder. Pretty soon I was in front and alone with the mist enveloping around me as I continued the climb upwards. Despite the wet mist I had already begun to sweat, the occasional glance behind confirming my lead was growing at an increasing rate. The first 6 miles or so miles were silent save for the whirring of my gears and the odd crack as my rigid machine hit a sharp rock. With no-one else around it seemed pointless to swear at the hard bumps, besides, as the clouds started to break and the mist lifted revealing the green ranges around me, this was fun, it was really, really stupid and boy, was I glad to be part of it. I started the descent down towards Clatteringshaws Loch with a whoop of childish joy and as I bounced down past the White Laggen Bothy I imagined that the two hill walkers coming towards me were drovers from two hundred years ago, running their cattle overland to Edinburgh.

Stane 2 Lilies Loch to Kirroughtree

Sadly my reverie was soon broken as I eventually arrived on a tarmac road and begun to search for the sign that said Lilly’s Loch - this was my handover route as I refused to ride the extreme Black route of Kirroughtree that marked the second part of this stage. Simon had warned me not to miss it, as it was a minor trail easily overlooked. As I rode on, a minor panic set in, had I missed it, turning back would mean losing time, had I built up a lead only to lose it by missing the checkpoint? To my relief as I rounded a bend I saw Simon and Angus waiting for me. They had decided to ride the route together and Angus whooped with excitement as I handed them the baton and wished them ‘God speed’. Alison was there also and took a few pictures of the exchange. She latter told me I had a grin as wide as Cheshire cat. We loaded my bike onto the car roof and begun the drive back to the stage one finish at Kirroughtree where, after about 1 ½ hours riding along a combination of the red and extreme black route, Angus and Simon would hand the baton back to me. As I got into the car it struck me this seemed like some boys own adventure from a John Buchan novel – the story of John McNab anyone? Total elapsed time 1 hour. 12.00pm

Stane 3 Kirroughtree to Dalbeattie

We arrived at Kirroughtree visitor centre and were welcomed by a bicycle event day, which added a nice touch of atmosphere. Our teammate for later in the day, Janet had a stand for her bicycle shop and numerous clubmates milled around. In between filling myself with coffee and scones, I realised that I had left my road shoes in Simons Jeep and wouldn’t get them until I arrived at Dalbeattie. I filled in some of the waiting time by taking the Look pedals off my steel tubed ‘Thorn’ roadbike and substituting them with the SPD pedals from my cross bike. A nonchalant Gareth hung around waiting for the other team to come in. We had added spice to the event by getting the country’s top mountain biker to ride for the other team, Gareth's no slouch on the road either and it ensured that I would be continually looking over my shoulder during the day.

Approximately 1-½ hours after first handing the baton over, a still excited Angus came whooshing into the visitor centre waving his baton, Simon had sent the speedster on ahead and was following some time behind. Angus signed in at the checkpoint and handed me the baton whilst at the same time, proudly showed me his shoes that were now missing a cleat after riding the black route. I clicked both my cleats into the pedals and with a wave to the bystanders started off riding towards Dalbeattie via Creetown. Total elapsed time 2 ½ hours,1.30pm

Wary that the other team may have made up some time on us, I started off way too fast, at almost race pace – this pace which I tried to hold throughout the event was to tell later on. National Cycle Route 7 is an interesting route. Built on a disused railway line, its narrow, overgrown with weeds and in places very mossy which in damp conditions such as today make it challenging to say the least. Coming down a slimy and very steep descent to a crossing gate, I braked and saw the rear of my bike slide past me and whack to halt at the gate. On the climb out of Creetown my breathing became hard and laboured, the adrenaline hadn’t worn off and I was reluctant to slow and pace myself and risk relinquishing the lead. The impressive view of the viaduct which marked the site of the long gone Gatehouse station also marked the long twisty descent down to Gatehouse about 6 miles away which offered a small opportunity for recovery. Soon however, I was climbing again, this time out of Gatehouse towards Twynholm. On the long climb I saw the rather grisly sight of a deer carcass, or rather only the top half of a decapitated deer, where the bottom part was or how it happened I assume I will never know. 15 miles further on and I smile at the familiarity of Rhonehouse, my parent’s home before they decided to move to England 7 years ago. Within another 10 miles I joined the mainroad to Dalbeattie which was used by the club for its 10-mile time trial races. Leaning onto my tribars, I adapted the tucked position of a downhill skier as I pushed a big gear along the familiar time trial course. Very soon I arrived at Dalbeattie to be met by the sight of Angus bouncing around waiting impatiently for me to hand him the baton, after signing at the checkpoint I handed him the relay baton and he raced off in search of the red route. Total elapsed time 5 hours, 4.00pm.

Simon hadn’t yet arrived in the support car and I sent him an inpatient text ‘need food’. Thankfully he arrived soon after which allowed me to demolish half a maltloaf, 1 litre of lemon tea, two power gels and two bananas. After 30 minutes wait Gareth rolled in and handed his baton to the other team. We compared notes and agreed that as we both took 2 ½ hours to complete this section it was certainly further than Simons promised 40 miles. Waiting for Angus to return I changed my pedals back over and discovered that Gareth didn’t see the deer carcass for the simple reason that we both took different (and wrong) routes. I was introduced to Jon Senior who was the fourth member of the rival team and was to our delight was going to complete the event on a recumbent bicycle complete with wicker basket which housed his drink supply. As we hung around chatting and waiting for our team-mates to reappear, I became slightly concerned that my legs felt heavy and I as said goodbye to Alison who I wouldn’t see again until I reached Newcastleton, I agreed to lay of the race effort and try and pace myself. To cheers from the bystanders, a now tired Angus wheeled back into the carpark and handed me the relay baton. Total elapsed time 6 hours 45 minutes, 5.45pm

Stane 4 Dalbeattie to Mabie

Pulling out of Dalbeattie I dropped into the tri bars and put on a full trial effort ignoring my own sage advice. Along a beautiful smooth road that followed golden beaches which glinted in the evening sun, I was able to turn a surprisingly high gear. Passing through Kirkbean the birthplace of John Paul Jones, (founder of the US Navy), Simon pulled up alongside in his jeep. He later told me that he was about to turn around, convinced he’d missed me, as no way could I have got so far so soon. Driving ahead, he pulls up and takes a few pictures of me racing towards Mabie. I have just enough breath to croak ‘hello mum’ as I race by. The weather has changed and under clear skies and a warm sun I race through New Abbey and past the beautiful red sandstone remains of the abbey. On the final climb up to Mabie forest I start to feel the effort in my legs and the speed bumps start to feel like mini hills of their own.

Regardless of my speed Gareth makes time on me, at one stage of the flatish route he is clocked at 46 miles per hour. I hand over to an unprepared Simon who spends the next five minutes prepping his bike. As I’m to discover later on, those five minutes may just haunt him. Watching Simon disappear into Mabie forest to ride an exhilarating red route, I turn my attention to the important subject of food and drink and promptly sit down to feast in the evening sun. Total elapsed time 8 hours, 15 minutes, 7.15pm

After 1 hour and 45 minutes, during which time I had been consumed by half the midge population of Galloway, a sweaty Simon reappeared to hand me the baton. Simon dislikes bicycle helmets, when he must wear one, he goes to extremes and wears a full facial helmet. Mountain biking on a warm summers evening, he has my sympathy as I roll out of Mabie towards Dumfries. Total elapsed time 10 hours, 9.00pm

Stane 5 Mabie to Ae

Today was the Guid Neichbors event in Dumfries, which translates to ‘Good Neighbours’ which further translates to ‘Get truly drunk’. I had warned Jon Senior that as our route took us through the town centre to be wary of the odd drunk. Soon enough I find myself deftly swinging my bike through a cluster of drunks who insist on staggering down the middle of the road in the town centre. Soon I reach the relative safety of the Caledonian cycle path. As I have 6 years experience of cycling in London, I know this path would be the envy of urban cyclists anywhere. Wide, clear, glass and pedestrian free, it compares favourably to anything I experienced in London. It soon leads me out to open countryside and I begin the long gradual ascent towards Ae. It’s been a long day as I watch a gorgeous sunset over the rolling Dumfriesshire hills. I glance eastwards and view the outline of Southern uplands in the far distance. I’ve got to get over them before my day is done, I put my headdown and in a workmanlike manner slip into a high gear. I’m soon joined by Simons Jeep which stays behind me until I reach Ae forest and the next checkpoint. The check at Ae is brief, the routes have not yet officially been opened yet. I have just enough time to chat with Simon, Angus has gone home, he was exhausted, mostly by the excitement but as Simon warns me, with just the two of us until Newcastleton, he cant afford to swap places with me and I’m on my own for the hardest part of the ride. There is also concern in his voice as the other team have lost track of their rider somewhere along the route. As the daylight slowly disappears, this fun event takes a new turn. Total elapsed time 10 hours 50 minutes. 9.50pm

Stane 6 Ae to Newcastleton

Into the fading light and with fatigue edging into my legs I once again adapt the down hill skier poise and begin the next stage. Riding down the centre of the empty lanes, shrouded by green hedges on either side I begin to feel as if I’m riding down an endless green tunnel. I see a sign marking the next village 3 miles away and after what I swear is double that distance I finally make it to the village and my next reference point on the route. Here, its so dark I have to take my sunglasses off and realise I’ve made a mistake. Well, two really – the first is that I am long sighted and hadn’t brought my clear lenses with me. This makes it difficult to either read road signs or view road hazards such as bends. The second mistake is that I underestimated how hard this route would be, expecting to finish before it got dark, and I hadn’t brought any lights. Now I cant see a thing, I think I’m lost and I know I’m tired because I have to think hard which side is left and which side is right.

Like the 7th Cavalry, the headlights from Simons jeep light up the lane and he points me in the right direction. I explain the problem and he will now drive with me through to Newcastleton. We agree for him to drive in front and I will follow his rear lights

With fresh impetuous, we set out towards Lockerbie and I try unsuccessfully to motorpace behind the jeep. I do however succeed in lifting the pace on the flat run in towards Lockerbie, which we reach about chucking out time. I feel heroic and like a race leader as Simon leads me through the main street of Lockerbie, with the locals on the way home from the pub looking on in surprise. Up the climb out of Lockerbie I spin my 42 x 23 gear and feel the acid in my legs. Simon however is impressed, and at the top he flatters me by saying that I am flying. And that’s the problem, its getting more and more difficult to maintain this pace and I know that both Simon and Janet who will ride the last two stages are not in race condition, if they want to beat the 24 hour mark, I’ve got to keep it going. Total elapsed time 12hours 25 mins 11.25pm

By this time the light has completely faded and as we wend through the lanes towards Langholm, the shadows of highs hill start to surround us. The road becomes more rolling, the climbs extending each time, the hollows filling with mist and I feel the ghosts of the border reivers watching us. The lights from Simons jeep lights act as a ‘willo the wisp’ leading me over the hills. These thoughts come to an abrupt end as the jeep stops and an arm holding a red flashing light appears from the driver’s side. Simon can’t see me in his rear view and I attach the light to the chest strap of my camelback. I tuck in behind Simons jeep and we begin again, the hills arrive more frequently and each one saps more strength from my legs. On each climb, my right index finger jams against the STI lever pushing the mech. to its furthest point. I become used to the sensation of my hand pushing against the lever to find it’s already in the lowest gear and cant get any lower. Its past midnight and I know the misty hollows are caused by cold air and yet, even though I’m only in shorts and sleeves I’m not cold, truth be told I’m sweating heavily at the effort. I pull the drinking tube from the camelback and take deep gulps. A few minutes later I pull up at Simons parked jeep – ‘what’s up?’ Simon thought he’d lost me on one of the descents, the light had disappeared from his view. I realise that I had inadvertently switched it off as I reached for my drink.

It’s now past midnight and I wonder what on earth we are doing. I’m exhausted, I’ve ridden all day and I’m now in the middle of nowhere, in the dark trying to ride the Seven Stanes within 24 hours for no particular reason, its not an official event, there are no crowds, no prizes, I’m a adult with a sensible job, in a nice house with a wonderful wife. In flash it strikes me exactly why I’m doing this. I grin at Simon my ‘team support’ sitting in his jeep, knowing that when I finish, he is riding through the dawn towards the finish, no one to keep him company but a few close friends. Of course this is why we are doing it.

We roll towards Langholm and this is where it happens. I’ve never ridden it before, never even seen it, but the climb out of Langholm has mythical status amongst local cyclists. Simon had marked it on the route map as severe, the only climb that merits this warning. We flash through the deserted streets of Langholm, I ride with no hands and devour my last power gel and drink, preparing myself for the climb that awaits. As we come out of town the jeep swings into a narrow side lane and then it hit me. Hard. The road automatically went up steeply, no warning, just a wall, so steep that in the dark it looked as though as I was riding into a black hole. I instantly clicked into the lowest gear but it was not enough and I slowly, very slooooleeeeey, ground up the climb at a pace best described as crawling. My legs scream in pain, my chest thumps so hard its going to explode and I feel sick. The lights of the jeep led me round numerous bends and at each turn the gradient refused to lessen. I will myself to continue spinning the gear, I know that if I stopped I wouldn’t start again, with my hands on the tops of the bars and my head hung low I struggled upwards. Every pedal stroke increased the pain and nausea, I wanted to stop, to lean the bike against the side of the road and collapse. However, I didn’t stop, I didn’t collapse at the side of the road, I did feel however, the pain decrease, the gradient lessen and my heart stop trying to rip its way out of my chest. I’d reached the top! I glance behind me and see the lights of the town way below. In a way I’m glad I rode it at night. If I had seen the climb in daylight I would have struggled more, knowing what was coming. Simon calls to and tells me that there’s a plateau, a slight rise and then its downhill after that. Thank God, thank Allah, thank Buddha, thank my fairy godmother, whoever you are, thank you.

We roll on, the slight rise that Simon described hits me hard and I struggle up it. I’ve not bonked, not hit the wall, I’ve eaten enough calories, drunk enough electrolytes to avoid that, it’s just at approximately 1.00am in the morning, in the Lowther hills I simply ran out of talent. I have no idea how far we have to go to Newcastleton as we begin the descent off the hill I began to pray that its just around the corner, that each bend in the road will bring me to the finish. Soon we go past a graveyard which fills me with joy. A graveyard means people, and people means we are arriving at a town, surely we are near the finish. I slowly follow the jeep and after what seems like an eternity we roll up to Newcastleton where two cars are waiting. I see figures silhouetted by the car headlights and voices but for a moment I stand haunched exhausted over my bike. Every part of my clothing is soaked in sweat and I feel like an old man.

That was my hardest day on the bike ever. I assure Janet that I am ok and hand her the baton. A flash of cameras and she is off, front and rear lights beaming to ride the red route around Newcastleton at 1.30 in the morning. ‘Jeez, we are crazy’. Wearily I dismount my bike and pass it to Alison who loads it up onto the roof rack while I wipe myself down and change into a dry jersey. I look across at Simon who is busily pulling out his road bike ready to ride the next stage and with a smile I get into the car. Alison and I exchange farewells with Simon and Marcus, Janet’s husband who was taking over the support role. “That was tough, you must finish it”. A few congratulations and at 2.00am we drive off to Glasgow for a few hours sleep and thence to Wester Ross for a well-earned break. Total elapsed time 14 hours. 2.00am

Stane 7 Newcastleton to Glen Tress

By the time Janet had returned after riding Newcastleton in just over an hour I was already asleep in the passenger seat as Alison drove. I know however, that Janet passed the baton to Simon who then rolled out on his carbon fibre dream machine on the long road to Glentress. I know from looking at the route maps that his ride would have been long, nearly 50 miles through the Lowther hills, that he would have seen the sunrise and felt as I did when I saw the sun set the previous day. Simon made it to Glentress, passed the baton for one last time and Janet rode a lap of the red route. I know this because at 8.06am that day I spoke to them on the phone. They had done it in 21 hours and 5 minutes. Delighted though he was, Simon was already thinking of those 5 minutes lost at Mabie forest. An update on the other team indicated that they were en route to Glentress and were going to squeeze in on the time limit.

Epilogue

Total elapsed time 21hours and 5 minutes. 8.05am We had done it; it was a crazy adventure. But we were the first and we beat our target. It could be easy enough for 4 fit experienced mountain bikers and roadies to team up and do the ride within 24 hours, I expect they could do it in half that, but why would we want to? A team of average club cyclists did it. We faced a big personal challenge, we didn’t need to race against others, we only raced against the clock and ourselves, it was achievable by combining teamwork and a thirst for adventure and we did it. Next year we hope to do it again, make it bigger and better, a few changes to the organisation perhaps, but don’t forget, we actually only rode 6 of the Seven Stanes, next year Ae forest will be open, that will add a few hours to the time and hurt some legs. Next year, I’ll ride the whole dam enchilada, see the sun go down on one side of the Lowther hills and watch it rise on the other side. We will be there next midsummer, will you?