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Por EAT MORE LARD

25 de September de 2015

In April 2015, Rob Lee set out to become a member of the Hells 500 High Rouleurs Society. This is his story of the ride.

The alarm goes off and I stiffly move to silence its intrusion. My mind is whirling nearly as fast as that clock that never slows down. My whole body is in hurt, even my brain seems to ache from endless calculations of food and hills and time, time, ah yes, the clock. I turn back to bed, reach for warmth and a cuddle, and my wife speaks.

“How much time do you have left?”.“About fourteen hours”.“Do you need all fourteen?”.“Possibly”.“You better get up!”.

I stand up, slowly dress, and walk back out into the cold. It‘s easier to acknowledge the ridiculousness of my predicament than wait for the clock to tick down. I need this, like I need to feel: it‘s part of my soul.

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From the minute I finished reading that first email from Hells 500 I was always going to attempt the HRS at my earliest opportunity. Pre-launch was better than I could have hoped for: avoiding any publicity and keeping it under the radar - something I‘d longed for as a racer and endurance mountain biker but so often denied. “Retired“ I now have the luxury to actually be the rider I‘ve so longed to be: pushing my limits rather than my profile or status. It started out this way and it feels good to return home.

Home - it‘s a word that means so many things: a place in my life, my love, a snapshot of life. I‘ve finally settled. Riding a bike has been the mainstay of my life for the past two decades. I‘ve circled the globe three times, just to ride my bike, raced on most continents and in too many countries to recount. I‘ve seen most mountain ranges up-close and personal, been dwarfed, awed and beaten into submission. I‘ve seen my share of darkness, of dark places in mood and heart, the blood, sweat, the rain-streaked tears, I‘ve tasted the sweetness of victory, of defeat, and have been honoured for my dedication to the sport with my induction to the UK MTB Hall of Fame.

Eventually I retired from racing, to start a family, and to live a life more ordinary. Something happened that I never saw coming. I realised depths of my affection. With an extraordinary wife and something in my soul forever drawn to the bike, that movement, my inner peace, it was never going to be a life that ordinary could recognise. And the part that remained - once I‘d relinquished my sponsorship, my status and my following, taken time out and slipped away from the sport? It was purely a love for what I do - I ride a bike

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With that in mind the simplicity for my attempt was obvious - my ride was all about Home. For eighteen years all I‘d wanted to do was to be anywhere other than where I was, and the excuse was cycling. Now I‘m home and all I want to do is stay. I live here, love here, work here, ride here, and when I go on holiday I just stay here - Home.

My wife is 7 months pregnant, and we can‘t wait for our son to come along. My daughter is almost three years old, and the best ever thing to have happened in our lives. The course I chose covers much of the valley that my wife and daughter walk on a daily basis. I would never be more than 15 minutes ride from home, my family could walk out to see me ride, my daughter could play with a disposable camera, we could eat together, and I could tuck my daughter into bed whilst still on the challenge.

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It seemed so very simple and for the first twelve hours it was just that - simple. Like clockwork the old Rob Lee was starting to reappear. It takes a while to get it back, I‘d been gone for so long. But now there‘s a glimmer, it‘s no endurance legend, but it‘s certainly a taste of who I once was. Twelve hours in and I was already halfway through the challenge required distance and accumulated height gain. It was comfortable too: I‘d posed for photographs, stopped to chat to neighbours and cuddled my daughter in the garden.

I figured it would be this way and I also knew what was next to come: the low. Initially it might seem a soft option to ride a challenge out of your own home, on the roads surrounding your house, in a place you love to live. What could be so challenging? Nothing while the sun is out and everyone is smiling. Nothing at all. But as the sun sets on your sweat encrusted jersey, your pregnant wife starts to struggle, your three year old wants daddy and the temperature drops. Body, mood, motivation and soul start to wonder.

The toughest part of endurance cycling is “pointlessness“ and if it takes hold then your game is over. The twist in my challenge, the sick perversion, was building-in such a deep possibility for pointlessness and the spirit-crushing blow that it brings. As the sun set my attempt was almost defeated.

I wrestled my demons in the dark, pondering thoughts, calling on favours from distraction, wishing for the end, and then embracing the depths of my despair. I was fighting my turmoil and the desire to be in my cottage with my family, warm, safe, and not at all pointless. I fought on for four more hours and barely covered a quarter of my previous height gain. It started to slip away.

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It was pretty tough and then it just turned tougher. Every part of my upper body started to ache. The arm I had rebuilt two summers ago could barely hold the bars. Badgers started to come out to hunt, and each seemed intent of throwing them self under my wheels. Mist started to form, in pockets at first, but then on every descent. I started to hit corners blind, to hear another badger, jam on brakes with the damaged hand, slide sideways, it became unbearable. I decided to sleep.

And so we came to be: twenty two hours in, one hundred and eleven kilometres yet to cover, three thousand six hundred and ten meters of elevation still to climb, and fourteen hours left to get the job done. I stood up, slowly dressed, and walked back out into the cold. My bike was waiting and the clock on the bars was still running. Could I do this? I was no longer sure. I turned out of the pathway and straight into blanket fog. Not mist, but fog, and there it was from floor to sky, filling every valley I‘d so far used for the challenge. I bit my tongue, just to taste blood, just to remember why - the whole point of making it pointless was to make it near impossible to overcome. Bring it on pointlessness, I‘ve got your measure, I‘ve got your depth and I am your demon. Come taste my blood, come taste your defeat.

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I didn‘t even think about stopping now. It would have to be hill repeats with all lights flashing. The climb by the cottage is a bit too steep for comfort. The climb by the cottage is a bit too busy in the day time. The climb by the cottage could be called the last hope, but it wasn‘t, I didn‘t need hope, I would finish this whatever it took.

Fifty metres of elevation at a time, scant, but a chip. I chipped again, again, again, hour upon hour upon hour. The fog started to drop so slowly that each climb was slightly different from the last. I lived in a time lapse slowed-down. Futility was gradually replaced by strength, then power, purpose, grit, the embracing of pain, a refusal to quit or surrender, body resigned to duty, mind resolute in purpose.

The girls stood on the bridge, above the road, next to our cottage, above dad, above husband. Kit streaked with sweat, haggard, bent to the bars in salute. I looked up and the tears streamed down both my cheeks. I smiled, the joy. I looked down at my bars and the count flickered ten thousand metres and I whispered words that only I shall ever know. I closed my eyes, slowly touched the brakes, swept the last corner, and rolled for home.