I had undertaken some tough sportives previously.
The Fred Whitton in 2022 and The Dragon Ride in 2024.
I had often seen lurking in the background on social media adverts for ‘The Yorkshire Beast’. It was labelled as ‘the toughest sportive in the UK’, at just over 200 miles with circa 17k of climb.
I subconsciously chose to ignore it but had that horrible nagging feeling I often get that inevitably results in me appearing on a start line for the very thing I was trying to avoid.
The trigger point was when I picked up on a number of references that The Beast, along with the Fred and The Dragon Ride formed a ‘Trilogy’ of the hardest and most iconic sportives on offer in the UK.
So I found myself at Thirsk racecourse at 04.30hrs in late June having had a restless nights sleep in a pub nearby.
Every time I had driven to Durham to see my daughter, Kitty, I got anxious when I drove past the Thirsk turnoff. I knew deep down this was going to be a tough day out from the moment I signed up. But I guess that’s what made me want it.
Not only did the distance and elevation surpass anything I’d undertaken before, but the added jeopardy of having a grown man in a rubber mask force you to hit a pace that ensures you make the cut off. An average pace of 12.5 mph must be pretty straight forward right???
Velo29 made it clear from the start, if the chaser van catches up to you, your bike gets removed and put in the van and you have to wait for a sweeper car to pick you up. No excuses, no waivers, no exceptions (including mechanicals). If you get caught, you’re out.
I made the usual mistake of watching some vlogs from previous events. I wish I hadn’t. Ignorance is bliss.
The start line had circa 100 riders. 75% of them were doing the ‘mini beast’, which was the first loop of the figure of eight course.
The start was cold and it was made absolutely clear to those doing the full, that you should not start the second loop if you had any doubt whatsoever about the ability to complete the whole event.
The plan was simple. Go steady but aim to be ahead of pace for the first 100 miles to ensure there was a buffer for when the inevitable wall hit. Drink plenty, eat whatever, whenever I could.
Off we went. I knew the first climb at Boltby Bank was not far away. Ominous warnings that this is where the first riders will be caught spurred me on. Lots of speedsters went screaming off ahead of me. When I got there, many were off their bike pushing them up the hill. Too early for that. It was a brutal opener. Ranked 54 on UK climbs, just under a mile averaging 13%. A 750 meter section at 17.3% before ramping to 25% without a summit in sight.. Heart rate spikes and legs start to scream. A bold opener to the day. Felt like my legs would never escape the torture of this monster. Down the other side was tough on a narrow and rough road.I understand a number fell at the first hurdle.
40 miles in at Kildare gave the first respite. Food. Lots of it. Matters not helped by slipping on a greasy toilet floor and landing square on my back on the hard tiles. It Hurt. I decided to get the legs turning asap to avoid it stiffening, although I knew I had hurt myself.
Off in haste. Lots of riders to talk to. The danger here was that most were ‘only’ doing the mini beast and I had to factor in their pace and energy were different. When asked whether mini or full, I learnt it was foolish to say ‘full’. The response was usually indicated that they thought it was was utterly stupid.
I knew that feed 1 to feed 2 was known for its brutality. Kildare, Commondale, Castleton and Danby all awaited before the ominous Caper Hill and Rosedale Chimney needed to be climbed.
Sandhill bank, the first climb after Commondale seemed reasonably ok at 1.3 miles, averaging 5.3% and not exceeding 12%
Caper Hill was my first brown pants moment. Nicknamed ‘Glaisdale Horror’. Over a mile at 14% average. What made it tricky was it was only a car width wide with a nasty grass/ gravel ridge up the middle. No weaving to be done here. It was quite busy with riders so a straight line was the only option. It has a 15% cattle grid to navigate immediately followed by a 25% bend. This was the first ‘foot down’ climb. I stopped to regroup myself half way up. The way down was narrow and steep. Equally traumatic and no respite to the arms or body. It was ok though, because it was only Rosedale Chimney next up………
Rosedale Chimney was everything I had read about. It’s ONLY just under a mile, but it packs horribleness into every inch. Average 14% but hitting 33% on the brutal hairpin bends. Nicknamed ‘The Chain breaker’ and referenced as the steepest road in England. It appears out of nowhere round a bend and from the base, it is an ominous sight. Many cycling ‘influencers’ make a big deal out of this climb.
Lots of support here. Did I get up in one? Did I balls. But I was reasonably content with the effort and massively releaved to get over the top.
Shortly after was feed station 2. A welcome break with pies and pastries. I stuffed as much into my mouth as I could. The crew reported that the Beast was circa an hour behind but had been delayed due to a high number of riders getting ‘caught’. We were told however to understand that he would make that time up without problem.
The next section to the halfway stage seemed ok on paper. No more ‘noted climbs’ until Thirsk.
However, what transpired was a 30 mile ride into strong wind which was sapping to say the least. Weather remained cool but dry.
Into the racecourse at Thirsk and the halfway point. The official timer said I was 57 mins ahead of pace. Lots of riders celebrating completion of the mini beast but I had to block that out of my head as I consumed pasta and electrolytes. I went to the car to restock with some home comforts for the second leg.
As I did, 3 riders, a couple of whom I had chatted to on the first part came past the car and said they were leaving. They said the next section was flatfish but into a strong head wind and working together was sensible. Did I want to join them? I cut the stop short and went along. About 48 mins ahead of schedule at this point. Felt tired but ok. What I had just done would be described as a ‘big ride’ by even accomplished riders. Just had to kind of repeat it.
The theory was great. Sat in a tight train taking turns working on the front for a few miles. I soon realised however that I could not keep their pace and started to drop. They didn’t slow and soon the elastic broke.
This is where it all got tough. Rain started. The wind picked up. I was cold and wet. I now realised that I was in a battle.
Greenhow Hill, the next climb was some miles into lap 2. 3 miles at 7.2%, hitting 17.2%
The climb was up to the top of the moors. Here’s where it hurt. Miles of barren, open, exposed road. By myself. In the rain and the most horrendous headwind. The organisers later reported it was the worst weather they had ever had for the event and the strongest winds. I went a section of around 25 mins where I was averaging over 250 watts and failing to get out of singles figures in speed. Truly soul destroying.
This was my toughest period. Morale on the floor. Legs in the gutter.
Near the end of the moor road, I was absolutely empty of everything. I knew a feed station was incoming but it felt like I didn’t have the energy to get there.
In the middle of nowhere was a quarry museum. I pulled in and went and bought 2 cans of Fanta, a mars bar and some kendal mint cake and destroyed it all sat on a slate wall outside in the rain.
I just needed to get to the next feed station.
That came soon enough and the crew provided hot dogs which I covered in salt. I was nauseous but knew I had to consume. They said there were concerns about some riders in the weather and assured me that I was ‘just about ahead of schedule’. I left the station as a couple of others arrived, both declaring themselves ‘out’ of the event, one swearing loudly before literally collapsing off his bike onto a grass bank.
I headed off knowing Park Rash climb lay ahead. It was cold and wet and the rain was relentless.
I reached a village and there were a number of different arrows on road signs. I recalled reference to another event and not to follow the wrong signs. I followed the GPS route. It took me down a long road into nowheresville. It felt wrong. After a couple of miles my instinct told me to question it. I called the emergency number. The organiser asked where I was and I tried to describe. I told him I was on the GPS route. He asked ‘which one?’ and when had I downloaded it. Turns out a new GPS had been put out a week before and mine was obsolete.
I was going the wrong way. I turned round and headed back to the village. I passed another cyclist doing the Beast and told him he was going the wrong way as well. He turned round. Only 4 miles added unnecessarily onto the route. At this point, that meant nothing.
As I came into the village, the road became really narrow. And a car came from behind ridiculously close. The wing mirror hit my arm and I lost my balance, putting my right foot down hard on the ground to prevent me coming off my bike and to stop my momentum. The car drove off with me cursing and gesticulating to him in his rear view mirror.
I went to clip the cleat back in. It didn’t feel right. It felt lose. I unclipped and saw that the front of the cleat had cracked as a result of hitting the floor. A large piece was separated from the main section and was ‘hanging on’. Total balls………
No option but to crack on. Back into the village and followed the other signage and soon found myself at the bottom of Park Rash climb.
It was wet, cold and raining. There was no-one around. The other rider had long gone. I felt alone.
Park rash is savagely steep. It starts with a 25% kicker and there are multiple 20% ramps. There is no one or nothing there. Just steep, rough tarmac and pain. The wind was blowing directly at me just to add insult to injury.
1.7 miles climbing with 750 ft of climb. Heart rate through the roof. Right foot loosely moving around in the pedal. Horrible, horrible, horrible.
It never seemed to end and the top only provided a desolate road into nowhere. Exposed and lifeless.
I had two more climbs and about 50 miles to ride. I could see that the next feed station was at a ‘bike centre’ It gave me hope to resolve the cleat issue. I hadn’t seen a course mechanic for hours. In fact, I hadn’t really seen anyone for hours.
How was morale? It was so low. Lower than I think I’d ever experienced in any event I’d ever done. On Ultraman, when I bailed, I was unwell. My body had crossed the line. Here, my body and mind were broken but the body hadn’t crossed the line to thinking about the very real possibility of a hospital visit as per UMUK.
I remember thinking that if I gave up now or failed to beat the Beast, I would have to come back. That thought made me feel physically sick and I simply could not entertain that possibility of doing this again. Feck the time, feck the body, feck the brain……… Head down and keep moving. Stop focussing on where the Beast was or what the cut offs were. Just keep moving.
There followed more miles of exposed moor. Stop thinking. Just ride.
My bike computer was pinging with messages from a couple of Tri mates. I’d been off radar for hours. They were concerned. I didn’t have the time or energy to alleviate their concerns. Keep moving.
My cleat was getting looser and looser. I stopped and made the mistake of unclipping to look at it. The front of the cleat temporarily stayed in the pedal as my foot came away before falling onto the floor, almost goading and ridiculing me.
My right foot would now not clip into the pedal. It slid and refused to be seated on the pedal. My foot kept slipping off the pedal which would then impact my shin or calf.
Flow Edge. The second to last ‘climb’. Only half a mile. Only averaging 12%. Only peaking at 14.5%. Only, only, only……..
Bike centre was next. Bottom of the descent. Pulled in. Crew there with another 2 riders who had declared themselves ‘out’. Why now? Why when this far in?
Hot chocolate and food.
Showed the crew my cleat. ‘Fucking hell’ they said. The bike centre was closed. I had lost all sense of time. They called the bike mechanic who was not far away. They also said the Beast was not far away either.
I recall vividly being under the canvas shelter. Shivering. The rain was relentless. I called Jon (https://www.instagram.com/jon0572/ ) for some morale boosting.
Mechanic arrived. Mechanic didn’t have cleats. Mechanic served no purpose.
How far to go? Around 30 miles.
‘The last climb isn’t that bad’ I said hopefully to the crew. The man pointed down the valley to a wall of stone which needed going over. The climb looked more than bad.
‘You can’t head up there with one cleat’, he said.
At that moment, and with those words, I knew that’s exactly what I was going to do.
F you, f this, f everything. Get this done. No surrender. No retreat, No failure.
Grinton Moor. 2.7 mile climb. Average 5.3% with hits of over 12%
Some ridden. Some walked. The torrent of water running down the road washing over my sodden shoes and socks. Sideways wind.
I believe I left a piece of my very soul on that hill.
The last kick to the top is etched in my memory and I’m sure will be replayed to me at death if rumours about life moment flashing before you are true.
I looked around. No one. Nothing. BUT……… not a Beast in sight………
Let’s bring this home. I knew whilst there were undulations, it was predominately downwards for around 15 miles back to Thirsk.
I stopped once to speak to another rider who was sat at the side of the road. No mechanical issues. No injury. He had just lost the will to turn his legs. I tried to encourage but knew the clock was ticking.
My phone was ring incessantly. I had told Amy an hour before that I was nearly done. I wasn’t nearly done and she was obviously worried. I had lost the ability to think rationally and didn’t answer and just pushed on. Foot slipping off the pedal, legs gone, head gone.
It was getting dark and my light batteries had long since failed. Keep going. Just keep f’in going. Cycling on a main road in the dark with no lights.
I was on the outskirts of Thirsk at lights. A van pulled up. I crapped myself and my heart sank. It was crew from the last stop. ‘Nearly there’ they said. Asked if I was ok before telling me the Beast was just back up the road and not to stop.
Pulling into the Racecourse was the biggest relief of my life. As I approached the finish line, the organiser shouted out ‘it’s no cleat man’!!!!!
He told me he couldn’t believe I had done Park rash and the last 35 miles or so with my shoe as it was.
I was elated and exhausted.
After a few minutes the Beast van arrived. He had the rider I had spoken to with him. The last victim. I was so close to being caught but I hadn’t been and that’s all that mattered.
My hardest, proudest and toughest ever day on the bike, Without doubt.
The Fred, Dragon and Beast done.
https://fredwhittonchallenge.co.uk/ https://www.dragonride.co.uk/dragon-devil/
https://velo29events.com/sportives/yorkshire-beast/
Which is toughest?
If you only do one, do the Fred. It’s the most iconic and stunning ride and the most revered in the cycling community.
The Beast is tougher though. No doubt. Another 90 plus miles and 6k of climb. It was absolutely awful. It’s the medal I smile at most when I see it.
Watch vlogs of accomplished riders describing doing any single one of those climbs on a single day. It makes you realise the task that the Beast demands of you.
Amy shouted at me. I had truly scared her. She told me I was absolutely not to drive home after 16hrs on the bike.
Sponsored by red bull I drove home. I don’t remember the drive. At all. I remember not being able to get out of the car because my back injury from earlier had seized up.
The next morning, breakfast was painful. I had clearly shaken Amy up and she let me know exactly where she stood on the whole thing. Genuinely, and I regret that. I had said I was ‘going for a bike ride in Yorkshire’. I hadn’t quite said exactly the nature or extent of the aforementioned bike ride. I had been alone. It was unreasonable of me and it made me realise that we can’t underestimate what we undertake in the endeavours we embark on. A time to reflect. But I had Rustman and IM Leeds looming within the next four weeks. My knee was destroyed. That’s another story……..
Do things that frighten you. Don’t stop when you think you’re done. Only stop when you are done.
