I was very fortunate to be able to take part in the 2003 Three Peaks Cyclocross in England, and I thought I'd write a note for the FOPC site about the experience. This is very much a "one rider's perspective" tale of the race - there's not much here about Rob Jebb's amazing victory in 2:52, but I dwell in great detail over my own back-of-the-pack struggles. Only the most curious and crazed cyclist could possibly have an interest in this tale, but then that's what cycling is all about, right?

The Three Peaks Cyclocross

The Three Peaks calls itself "the toughest cyclocross race in the world", but it does so very quietly - the race keeps a low profile and does not seek out attention. Nevertheless, I had heard rumors about the event, and since I had to travel to the UK for work I thought I'd try to ride it.

The 40 mile route of the Three Peaks climbs the three highest peaks in the Yorkshire Dales, each of which is about the size of Mount Tam (about 2500 vertical feet). The climbs and descents of the three peaks (Ingleborough, Whernside, and Pen-y-Ghent) are undertaken on sheep tracks, bridle paths, and hiking trails, and in one notable instance on no discernable track at all. The riders cycle on the valley roads from the base of one climb to the next, then tackle the off-road adventure on each climb that gives the Three Peaks its unique character.

Now that I've done the race, I can say that the course is truly bizarre. There's nothing about it that suggests the application of bicycles to surmount the obstacles involved. It seems more like the result of a dare, like those guys who iron shirts on the top of the Matterhorn. In spirit the nearest thing that I can compare it to in the Bay Area is the Dipsea trail run. It's even got the equivalent of a Jack Kirk - John Rawnsley, the race inventor and organizer, who has taken part in every one of the 42 Three Peaks, including the first one, which he won in a two-up sprint. Great thanks are due to John for bringing into the world this little bit of annual whimsy. If you know the Dipsea course, then one more comparison is worth making - the climbs in the Three Peaks are steeper than the Dipsea's.

Because of the low-key nature of the event, there were few foreigners in the field. Four U.S. riders took the line this year, three of us from the Bay Area - myself, Mark Michel from Bicycle Trip in Santa Cruz, and industry guru Keith Bontrager. The other U.S. rider to give the Peaks a try was the current Masters 30-34 national cyclocross champion Richard Feldman from Durance Cycles in Idaho.

Preparation

Prior to undertaking the Three Peaks, I read everything that I could find on the internet about the race. What I found was disconcerting. Every single rider who wrote an account on the web had incurred some form of mechanical mishap. Pinch flats seemed to be as common as sheep. Most riders' accounts also told of broken chains, trashed wheels, busted frames, snapped forks, and even a cracked seatpost. All of this was culled from fewer than a dozen race accounts. Most of the riders in the race seemed to have supporters stationed along the course with fresh wheels, bikes, water and food, and they seemed to use all four.

Because I wouldn't have any such support, I took pains in my preparation to be sure that my setup was bulletproof, if a bit heavy. I chose to take my durable, reliable and cheap Surly cyclocross bike, equipped with a handy triple chainring, rather than my light, fast, and narrowly-geared Steelman. Onto the bike I strapped and stuffed two tubes, a patch kit, a pump, a multitool, a spare spoke, a pair of cartridge inflators (which I had to buy in London because you're not supposed to take them on a plane), a whistle, and a large orange plastic survival bag, which is required in case of emergency. Fully loaded, my bike weighed about as much as a good quality tandem.

As part of my pinch-flat avoidance program I wanted to put on some pretty big tires. I found a pair of Ritchey Excavader 35 mms, which aren't all that wide, actually, but which have a pretty grippy tread and a nice cross-section. Tom Ritchey claims that this tire is for "extreme conditions", and I figured that this race fit the bill. From the web accounts I gleaned that the standard Three Peaks Pinch Flat Avoidance Program recommended running very high (for cyclocross) tire pressures of about 70 pounds. This combination worked out perfectly - the ride was rough, but in the end I suffered not a single flat.

I owe special thanks to a rider named Dave Haygarth from the Cheltenham Cycling Club, whose accounts I had found on the web. I e-mailed him about the event about a year ago and he was helpful and patient in answering all of my stupid questions. Dave is also scary fast, and regularly does the Three Peaks in under 3:30, an Elite Class finish. Dave, if you ever have any questions about coming over to the U.S. to do the Berkeley Hills Road Race, drop me a line!

I had prepared for the Three Peaks by doing a lot of riding on the hilly fire roads in the Marin Headlands on my cyclocross bike. This was great fun and excellent training in general, but in the end it bore little resemblance to the physical demands of the Three Peaks. In retrospect if I had wanted to train specifically for the Three Peaks, I would have taken my 'cross bike to the foot of the Lyon Street steps in San Francisco and walked up and down them for two hours. More on that later.

Getting to the Three Peaks is an adventure race in itself. I chose the planes, trains, and automobiles route of flying to London, taking a train to Leeds, renting a car there, and driving the hour and a half to the Yorkshire Dales. All of this travel is complicated by the necessity of traveling with a bike that was so cumbersome that I occasionally had dreams that I would get lucky and trash the frame in the race after all, so I wouldn't have to bring it home with me.

Race day dawned bright and clear, a welcome surprise in an event that usually comes equipped with horrible weather. I signed in at the little villlage of Helwirth Bridge, collected my race number, and went to watch the 40+ age group and the women, who started a half hour before the senior men.

Signing in

One of the surprises of the event is the very small number of women who do the race. Of the 300 starters, I think only about seven or eight were women. On the other hand, the veterans' class was very well represented.

When we took the start line at 10:00, I noticed that the field had a much more serious look about it than I expected. There were a lot of lean, hard Brits on hand, most seemed to have a serious racing background. I shrank to the back of the pack to avoid the risk of getting carried away and starting out too hard.

At the Start Line

The bikes, on the other hand, were a pot-luck stew. There were all sorts of approaches to the Three Peaks on display (The 40+ masters seemed especially quirky). Most common was a standard cyclocross setup, with local builder Paul Milne and Cannondale the most prevalent brands. But there were a good number of straight-barred entries (though pure mountain bikes are forbidden), and a lot of crazy setups, like the brave souls who did the race on single speed bikes. I saw a surprising number of bikes with toe clips and straps. About half of the field had taped some sort of padding to their top tubes and seat tubes to pad their shoulders when they carried their bikes.

I doubt that this picture will do it justice, but this is the funkiest bike that I saw - it's a single speed with a flip-flop hub, an ancient saddle barely hanging on, and classic centerpull brakes. Not really visible in this picture is the dangling cable from a Sturmey-Archer three speed shifter that seemed to have been disconnected so that the rider could run the flip-flop rear wheel. And note the attachment of the ubiquitous orange survival bag. This guy rode in style and finished with honor.
Funky Bike

The names of the British cycling teams were straight out of a P.G. Wodehouse novel. Competing this year were representatives of the Axholme Wheelers, the Buxton CC, the Derwentside CC, the Ferryhill Wheelers, the Huddersfield Star Wheelers, the Macclesfield Wheelers, the Rugby Velo Club (what do THEY do?), The South Pennine RC, the Stourbridge CC, the Vegetarian CC, the Basildon CC, the Colchester Rovers, the Derby Mercury RC (pronounced "Darby" not "Derby", they tell me), the Didcot Phoenix CC, the Hull Thursday Road Club, the Midlotian RT, the Wolverhamption Wheelers, and the redoubtable Scunthorpe Road Club.

The Race

At the gun we were off for a 13 minute road section before we reached the first climb. The pace was surprisingly fast, like a road race setting up for the final sprint. Things were a bit nervous, but most everyone seemed to know what they were doing, and I hit the base of the first climb in the middle of the pack.

The first climb, Ingleborough, was by far the hardest in the race. It starts on a rough farm path and gets grassier and steeper. Eventually, one by one, everyone has to give up riding and start walking. This photo was taken about where I started walking. Needless to say, it's too steep to run.

Climbing Ingleborough

You can see a stone wall to the left of the riders. The course continues to parallel this stone wall all the way up to the top of the mesa in the picture, getting steeper and steeper. Eventually it becomes steeper than a staircase and all trace of a path disappears. You're left to scramble up the hillside, sometimes gripping the wall for balance, staring at the ankles of the "rider" in front of you, which are at your eye level, and trying to find a hole in the muddy grass for your feet to find purchase. At this point my calves were lodging serious protests and I thought that if all three climbs were like this I might not be able to finish. I considered getting out my camera to capture the moment, but I was afraid that if I did so I'd topple over backward. Going up this section, all I could think was "how the heck are we going to get down?"

The steep part of Ingleborough ends at a fence where a helpful volunteer was hoisting bikes over the wall as the riders scrambled over. I wanted to tip him five pounds to have him take my bike all the way to the top for me. There's a bit of riding on the high plateau, one more hilly push to the top, and the first peak is bagged. Including the road section at the start, it took me a little over an hour to reach the top.


The Top of Ingleborough

The descent from Ingleborough, though not as steep as the climb, was grassy, muddy, and rocky, if you can picture that. There were lots of boulders that clipped my pedals repeatedly. Muddy bogs that crossed the grassy path could be ridden or bunny hopped if you had a good head of steam, but required cautious dismounting if you were being careful. I erred heavily on the side of caution (closer to the fear/cowardice zone, actually) and lost a ton of time on this descent, taking it in just under 20 minutes. But I reached the valley floor, and the wildly enthusiastic crowd gathered there, without incident.

Then it was onto the pavement (you know they ride on the wrong side of the road over there?) for a quick dash to the base of Whernside, the highest of the three peaks. Altogether there's a good hour of road riding in the Three Peaks, but it's so broken up that in retrospect it seems like it just flew by. I worked with a couple of other riders in the valley, took some water from the neutral support at the base of Whernside, and started climbing.

Water supply, by the way, is one of the puzzles of the Three Peaks. Since you're carrying your cross bike you really don't want to put cages on your bike. The best solution is to get a lot of hand-ups. There is no second best solution, especially on a warm day like we had. I carried a large bottle in my back pocket which made running downhill more awkward than you'd think. Some riders used Camelbacks, but those somewhat interfered with the carrying of the bike.

Again, the bottom quarter of the climb was mostly rideable, especially with my Surly's super-low 30x25 gear. Then came the inevitable dismount for an interminable hike-a-bike. This one was mostly on relatively even stairs that had been cut from the stone mountain. Although it was steep, the even footing made Whernside the easiest of the Three Peaks, in my opinion. On this climb I took a photo that does a good job of capturing the feeling of the Three Peaks.

Climbing Whernside, the second peak

After about 35 minutes of climbing, I topped out on Whernside on a surprisingly wide, rideable trail, with some nice views. One thing that struck me from the top of Whernside was the almost total absence of trees in the area.
The View from Whernside

Then it's down down down on Whernside (almost 20 minutes, again). This descent was characterized by stone slabs, like tombstones, laid end to end over swampy ground. Waterbars were created in this trail by two methods - one was by leaving a gap, about a foot across and a foot deep, between two stones. These gaps could be bunny hopped, but again one needed courage and faith, both of which I lacked. The other type of water bar was a tiny palisade of sharp stones placed across the trail. Again the bold went over, the meek went on foot. You could tell that one of these waterbars was coming up by the small clutch of one to three cyclists that was stopped at each one, changing flat tires. I am not exaggerating, this really was true.

A mob of fans and supporters waited at the bottom of Whernside by the famous Ribblehead Viaduct. This was a good location, since the Whernside descent seemed to claim more victims than the other two. I headed back onto the road in the slipstream of a rider who seemed inexplicably fresh, and soon we were at the foot of Pen-y-Ghent.

The bottom third of Pen-y-Ghent was my favorite part of the race. It was a cobbled road that required some skill but could be ridden. Race fans mingled with the many day hikers who by this time of day were making their own way up the climb. On Pen-y-Ghent the descent follows the same route as the climb, so as I climbed the race leaders were making their way down past me. This caused occasional confusion, partially because their instinct was to bear to the left (as British drivers do) and mine was to bear to the right, directly into their path. Oh well, I didn't cause any crashes. I got some cheers for staying on the bike through some tough stuff, but looming in front of me was the climb proper, when the nice cobbled road ended and the tough stuff began.

Pen-y-Ghent, one third of the way up

As the tough stuff started I realized that I was starting to suffer a bit from dehydration. At this point the climb was quite crowded with tourist hikers, and I noticed that I was, well, not exactly RIPPING my way past some of these day-trippers. That's not encouraging. There was a neutral water feed about two-thirds of the way up the climb, but they had to portage all of their water to that point, so supplies are limited. Still, the few sips that they spared for me saved my race. I do feel, though, that I damaged US-Anglo relations permanently when I asked them to fill up my 28-ounce bottle. They just laughed. Sorry guys, and thanks!

And so I went to the top of Pen-y-Ghent, and all things considered I was not feeling too bad. After another painfully slow and cautious descent it was a short solo spin on the valley road back to the start/finish in Helwirth Bridge (see my blurry picture as I crossed the bridge) and to the finish line.

Coming in to town, and the finish line

The Yorkshireman

What can I say about race commentator Roger Ingham? It seems that they found the guy with the thickest, most incomprehensible Yorkshire accent around, gave him a microphone, and cut him loose to riff at random at the start/finish line. To my ear, he sounded almost exactly like Mike Meyers as the Scottish father in "So I Married an Axe Murderer". When I finally crossed the finish line I think I heard him say my name, and then as best as I can tell he told me to "fly away ya wee fairy". He kept up an endlessly entertaining banter of thick Yorkshire wit that was no less amusing for being completely indecipherable.

All praise to my trusty steed, the cheap Surly cyclocross bike that performed without flaw and never let me down. Unlike every single web chronicler that I had seen, I had absolutely no mechanical problems, not even a flat tire, rendering all of that heavy gear that I was toting into just so much ballast. You can spend ten times as much on a bike as I spent on this one, but you can't possibly have more fun. In a perfect world every cyclist would start out with a cheap, versatile, reliable 'cross bike.

Looking Back

Here are a few statistics to help put this unique event in perspective. My time was 4:25, about 160th out of the 298 starters. Considering that I lost no time to mechanical mishaps or flat tires, and that the 298 rider total includes all of the masters and ladies, the message is clear - most of the field totally spanked me. This is deeply humbling, and fills me with much respect for our Anglo cousins, notwithstanding the fact that a couple dozen of us armed with soup ladles sent them a-running across the future cyclocross courses of New England two hundred years ago. If I had been in the Revolution, we'd all be Canadians.

Of the 4:25 that it took me to do the race, almost two hours was spent on foot, carrying my bike uphill. The next biggest chunk of time, about an hour, was spent picking my way down the treacherous descents. I can easily see how braver riders could have done the descents perhaps twice as fast as I did. The next biggest chunk of time was the hour or so that I spent on the four road sections. Finally, only about a half a hour was spent actually riding my bike uphill. In a nutshell, the two essential skills for the Three Peaks are climbing on foot with a load on your shoulder, and descending like a maniac. Now I can see that the intrepid single speeders who rode the race weren't at such a disadvantage after all. Their bikes were light, and there wasn't much on-the-bike climbing anyway.

My heart rate averaged 152 for the whole event, but the real measure was my heart rate on the climbs. On Ingleborough I tried to keep things under control and stay around 170 (my AT is about 172, and my max is 188 or so). On Whernside I ran in the low 160s. On Pen-y-Ghent I was around 160 on the bottom third when I was on the bike, but as I started to feel dehydrated I had to dial it way back and I was at just 145 or so until the top.

My rate of vertical ascent was pathetic! A world class cyclist like Lance Armstrong can climb Alpe d'Huez at around 95 vertical feet per minute. My best effort on Old La Honda equates to about 67 vertical feet per minute (I'm no climber!). In the Three Peaks, my rate of vertical ascent was 38 feet per minute on Whernside, by far my best climb. On Ingleborough and Pen-y-Ghent it was even slower. Scientists have calculated that certain volcanic mountains in the South Pacific are actually rising faster than I was.

What about the fate of the other Americans? No surprise that Richard Feldman, national champ, had a great ride and finished near the top of the heap in under 3:30 somewhere (I don't have the exact results). Mark Michel had a fine ride and came in with a time somewhat like mine, I think, though he wrestled with a broken toe strap. Keith Bontrager ran into some trouble on Whernside with a series of flat tires that exhausted his inflater cartridges and his spare tube supply, and eventually had to abandon the race, which is unfortunate because I think he was putting in a blistering time until his luck ran out.

Racing the Three Peaks is a thrill, and I'm tremendously grateful to my family and my friends who make it possible for me to try this unique race. At the finish, over the obligatory pint of ale, lots of people asked me if I'd be back next year. I'm of two minds about doing it again. On one hand, if I did it again I'd feel compelled to try to improve on my very mediocre time. But to do so I'd have to take far more risks on the descents, and the prospect of doing so frankly frightens me. It's like trying to break your fastest time for your daily automobile commute - how many risks are you willing to take? Also, it's no picnic getting from San Francisco to the Yorkshire Dales with a cyclocross bike. Maybe I should just bury one there, stashed under the Helwirth Bridge, with the orange survival bag already attached.

On the other hand, now that I've done it alone, I'd love the chance to make the trip with a few friends and have them experience this wonderful tradition first hand. Thanks are due to John Rawnsley, the event organizer, Jonathan Berry, the co-organizer, and all of the volunteers and officials who worked so hard to put on this incredible race. I hope that I see you again soon.

Mark Slavonia