Ultra Distance Shenanigans: Scotland, scratching and last minute FOMO

Pan Celtic Race 2024 Day 1- Isle of Man

Equipped with my iPhone and 36 shots of Kodak Gold 200 with a dodgy point-and-shoot, which now costs the same price as a Kidney on the black market, I embarked on a crazy journey across some of the British Isles with a bunch of other like-minded thrill seekers, taking on the Ultra distance race that is the Pan Celtic Race. This would be my second edition, completing the Brittany to North Wales version last year. This time, the route started in the Isle of Man, making its way to Inverness covering over 1,600km and filled with over 19,000m of climbing. It's a pretty punchy and savage route.

For those who know me, I had a pretty rough time in my first attempt at the Pan Celtic Race. Whilst I managed to finish the route, I had to switch to the short route (which I argue should never be called short in the first place) once I had reached England to save my sanity and complete the race in time for the party. It was my first time diving into the ultra distance scene, having received the ultra distance scholarship which pits 3 people of colour to dive into the deep end of racing. I struggled a lot with managing my blood sugar levels and made some pretty rookie errors which made my quality of life, pretty miserable during the course. Therefore, I wanted to come back to try and rectify these mistakes and give it another crack.

For those who don’t know, Ultra Distance bikepacking is a genre of bike racing where individuals or pairs essentially race their bikes across an obscene distance which to most people isn’t considered healthy or normal. Most races emphasise the importance of self-reliance, finding solutions to your problems without outside assistance where possible. Races like these vary in length, some as short as 300km and some as wild as the Trans-Continental Race, covering 4,000km in as much as 14 days.

Originally, this had been considered my “A” race for the year after training pretty hard throughout the winter to prepare myself for what the race was about to throw at me. Circumstances out of my control meant that I didn’t have much time to complete the course as I desired and instead just decided to come along for the ride, seeing how much I could do before returning to work. My objective wasn’t to put myself in a hole or intentionally sleep deprive myself. I just wanted to enjoy the route for what it was.

Day 0-1: New and Familiar faces, a ride of biblical proportions and sleep deprivation

162km 2948m

The Chief (Mally/ Matt Ryan) and Toby Wilson.

A 13-hour trip using a combination of trains and a ferry, I finally made my way to Douglas to get to the start. I was greeted by the charismatic and slightly chaotic chief, Mally and also Toby who I consider his partner in crime in devising routes that can make grown men cry.

Spirits were high amongst those who had arrived at the start, and it was amazing to see a few familiar faces of those who had helped me finish last year. The energy around camp was pretty great. Everyone seemed either fairly chilled or had stories to tell of their preparation even just to get to the start-line. If there’s one thing that I would say about the Pan Celtic Race is that it’s probably one of the best races out there for people to dip their toes into the ultra scene. The community aspect of the event makes everyone welcome and provides an environment that enables those who want to race it as hard as possible to go out and do that. Meanwhile, the majority of people just want to get around whilst enjoying themselves.

The race was due to begin at around 7 pm which posed its challenges aside from presenting a 160km route that had a lot of climbing, as is always the case of a ride created by Mally. I naively called my girlfriend to say that I would be done by 2 am and that I was setting off soon. It’s only 160km it can’t be that bad right?

It was a warm evening, glad that the forecast had said that there was not meant to be that much rain later that evening. After listening to the customary speech and safety talk led by Mally and Fergus it was time to embark on the journey that would be one to never forget.

Mally giving his yearly speech to the riders before sending them.

Blue skies dominated the landscape around us as I rode for a few hours at sunset. Whilst it was a punchy start in classic Pan Celtic Race form, it was a fairly chilled affair. I wasn’t racing the event in a traditional form and therefore didn’t get caught up in the time trial efforts that some others had pursued. For me, this was more of a “fast bikepacking” trip where I stopped whenever I wanted but was also conscious of making progress where possible. I’ve never been to the Isle of Man before and probably won’t visit for a while, I wanted to enjoy the scenery where possible before riding into the evening.

It’s a bit of a crazy place. The Isle of Man is a beautiful island dominated by a rugged coastline and of course, a mountain which can be seen from miles away is well known for its motorbiking history which gave inspiration for our ride around the isle.

The first 50km went by quite fast, I settled in quite well and kept on tapping away at the pedals blissfully unaware of what I was about to encounter. As the sun started to run away from me and the night became more apparent, so did the change in weather. The inevitable rain shower came upon us at probably the worst time possible as I was approaching a 5km climb which had me on the ropes.

I tried to keep my spirits high by cheering on as many others as possible up the climb to forget about my struggle. To an extent it worked, but in reality I probably just used more energy than I needed to. As I made my way up towards what looked like the end of the climb at a snail’s pace, the weather had progressively gotten worse. More and more people had become silent by this point as we finally realised what we had signed up for. It always looks rosy and holiday-like in the film when it’s published but in reality, riding ultras can put you in testing situations from which you have to push through.

As I crawled nearer to the top, getting closer to the clouds the temperature dropped significantly. Now I’m probably being dramatic but by this point I’m fairly psyched out as it’s midnight, and I’m cold, wet and tired. Other riders were huddled together like a bunch of penguins near a building at the top of the climb, scrambling to put all their layers on. I’m starting to lose the function of my fingertips by this point, I can’t see through my glasses because the rain put me at edge for a bit. I now had to descend the mountain, trusting a fellow rider’s rear light with my glasses off so that I’d be alright to continue. Not my finest of moments.

The Graveyard shift.

It’s 2 am by this point, and I’m already feeling like I could do with sleeping but I knew I had about 70km to go and a ferry to catch first thing in the morning. Riding through the night, hearing a sound system blaring music at this time was not on my bingo card. Dot Watchers or trail angels are very lovely people. I was lucky enough to get some sweets from a group of people who had opened their home up for passing riders to have a break after tackling that monster of a climb.

By this point, I’m entering the graveyard shift between 2 am and 5 am. Time seems to move slowly at this point. Every pedal rotation feels like I’m riding through sand and everyone around me seems to be overtaking me. It’s only day 1 and I’m already thinking, what the hell am I doing this for? Admittedly, I struggle with nighttime ultra starts. My body can’t quite grasp what I’m doing and puts up a protest to which I normally give in. I kept telling myself that I would feel better once the sun was starting to rise.

The route around the Isle of Man had one final surprise. Not the longest of climbs in the world but one that would mess with my head annoyingly. I struggled to fight against my sleep-deprived self on the road and tackle what seemed to be the final challenge of the route in the form of an out-and-back climb towards a lighthouse (I think it was that). I was kept awake by the sheer number of exposure head torches that blinded me as others had completed the section that I was about to take on. This section had messed with my head admittedly. Progress had been slow by this point and I needed a bed. I was already out of the estimated time that I would need to complete the 160km route. Spirits were pretty low but I knew that it wasn’t long to go.

It’s 4:30 am ish and I’m now rewarded with an amazing sunrise along the coast, allowing me to admire the crazy effort that I’ve nearly completed. I was tempted to get the bivvy out and sleep for a bit but I was conscious that I didn’t have much time to get to the ferry. I do wish that we had more time during the day to appreciate the Isle of Man for what it was.

Sleep-deprived and fuelled purely on a mixture of bars and gels (the diet of champions), I finally made it back to Douglas at 5 am. What a rough ride that was.

A part of me was frustrated with myself as I struggled around the course but the rational side of me understood that riding at nighttime is a skill that I do not have. Arriving at the bike shop was a bit of a shock. Hundreds of cyclists sleeping all over the floor looking shell-shocked at what they had put us through on the first day of riding. This made the first day in Brittany look like a piece of cake in comparison.

Whilst I had a tough time riding around the Isle at night, it was a brilliant experience which tested me to my limit. The few hours that we did get in the evening showed a glimpse of the Isle of Man at its best. A punchy, scenic and testing island which throws many surprises at you. It was great to cheer on others taking this on as their first race, which I would consider a baptism of fire.

Our time on the Island was over. The race had only begun and there was an even bigger challenge that we were about to face after reaching Heysham by ferry. The Lake Districts.

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