Gospel Pass 600

The Event#

The days here are getting shorter, and there’s a proper autumn bite in the morning and evening air. Don’t ask me how I ended up here, but I’ve just taken on my first official 600K BRM. Let me rip the band-aid off straight away: I DNF’d early doors.

The Gospel Pass 600 kicks off from Stevenage in north London, heads west out to Wales, and loops back. It starts bright and early at 6:30 AM, and all controls are X-rated (unmanned).

“Gospel Pass” is a mountain pass. Back when Jerusalem fell to Saladin, the Archbishop of Canterbury (who was backing the Pope at the time) apparently crossed this very pass to rally Crusaders in Wales. Barring this climb—which boasts nearly 500m of elevation—it’s actually a relatively flat route for a Welsh mission.

The Strategy#

Don’t Suffer the Rain in Advance#

I signed up for this one in a mad rush because my time-management skills for multi-day events are proper lacking.

When the weather forecasts started hinting at rain, I felt proper rattled. As the wet weather looked more and more nailed on, I was dead set on DNSing. But come the eve of the ride, doing sod all just made me feel sluggish and restless. I was bored out of my mind and pacing the walls. Part of me was being proper cocky, too. I kept convincing myself, “It’ll be grim, but I can totally smash through this sort of weather.”

Trying to convince myself I can happily punch through 5mm of rain an hour…

Either way, I had to brace myself to spend over half the ride completely soaked. “Bracing for rain” is a bit of a stretch—it was more an exercise in mental gymnastics to stop myself pre-suffering before the pedals even turned. I sorted my gear—fitted the mudguards, grabbed a windproof jacket, swapped short gloves for full-fingered ones—and just resolutely blanked the weather app. I’ve done long rides in absolute chucking-down rain before. But unlike getting caught out unawares, heading out with eyes wide open dials the tension right up to eleven.

Then, while reviewing the organizer’s notes, it hit me: 90 riders had registered. Being close to London, it clearly had way more sign-ups than any brevet I’ve done before. Obviously they wouldn’t all turn up on the line, but knowing there’d be dozens of bodies rolling just ahead and behind offered some comfort.

A Sound, Sustainable Sleep Plan#

On my last 1000K (London-Anglesey-London), I rolled into the first night’s digs and spaffed away a full 11 hours (with 7 hours kip). Because that was the plan from the get-go, I really had a hard word with myself about my shocking accommodation strategy afterwards.

When you’re mapping out where to crash, you hit the classic randonneur’s dilemma: if you knock off right after dinner when the sun sets, the night stretches out way too long. But the thought of dragging yourself out of the leaba at 2:00 or 3:00 AM when sleep is sweetest? Absolutely not. You want to roll out as the eastern sky cracks open—that’s what keeps the spirits up.

On the flip side, pushing past midnight until 1:00 or 2:00 AM just to reach your bed makes you anxious about missing check-in. I suppose that’s why proper hardened randonneurs just bivvy out, though I honestly don’t know if I’ve got that dog in me.

As far as my current stamina goes, checking into a gaff around 11:00 PM to midnight and getting up between 4:00 and 5:00 AM seems like the most sensible play. If I’m stressing about late check-ins, I’ll ring ahead to hotels, though it’s a bit of a faff. For this 600K, I booked a spot in Hereford at the 335km mark. I fancied pushing further, but it didn’t fit the grand strategy, so I kept a lid on it.

A Bit of Randoneuring Science#

Riding with the confident delusion that I’d finish no matter what, I decided to drop down 1-2 gears right from the jump and stay off the chaingang. The master plan was to save all the juice for a massive dopamine hit when the finish line hove into view later on.

And while I couldn’t guarantee it, I swore I’d treat myself to at least one proper sit-down meal at a real gaff instead of surviving purely on garage station sarnies and wraps. You can take the Korean out of Korea, but you can’t strip away the soul-deep craving for a hot, salty, brothy fix.

Lastly, I made a pact to steal 20 minutes of absolute chill time whenever I spotted a spot-on view. Stop rolling, hop off the saddle, snap some pics, or even deviate off-route for a nosey. I figured that sweet spot would end up being the Cotswolds on day two—proper gorgeous villages built out of honey-gold limestone.

The charming limestone houses nestled along the river in the Cotswolds are a proper treat for the eyes.

The Battery Experiment#

I was running one more little trial on this 600K: trying to survive the full two days without cracking open a power bank.

The protocol: phone on flight mode + low power mode ON, raise-to-wake OFF, only killing flight mode when off the saddle; Garmin Edge plugged into a charge mid-ride only starting two hours out from the night stop.

I tested this out on a club run, and my phone still sat at 95% by the end of a full day out. If this holds water, lugging just a single power bank on BRMs of 1000km plus might actually be totally doable.

The Result: DNF at 118km#

The evening before the off, I cracked open a tin of beer in the Stevenage hotel, fantasizing about how I’d look as a ‘Super Randonneur’ and bragging to my mates. Looking back, I deserve a massive pat on the back just for dragging myself to the start line after nearly binning the whole idea beforehand.

Out of 90 entrants, fewer than half—43 riders—actually rolled out.

Around 6 AM, and the heavens are about to open.

The weather meant I was forced to dial it right back from the off. I’ve binned it on wet tarmac before, so my cornering speed in the rain is practically non-existent. But then the wheels fell off—literally—from an entirely unexpected angle.

By the 118km mark, I’d suffered three punctures. By puncture number two, I already knew the writing was on the wall.

To top it off, I made a proper beginner’s error: forgot to lock the valve on my CO2 inflator before screwing a canister in, instantly wasting a cartridge. Thankfully I had an electric mini-pump on me, so that saved my bacon.

Since I’d only packed two inner tubes, hitting flat number three gave me a strange sense of absolute clarity. I called it a day right then and there.

There was a Hanborough train station handy before pushing deep into Wales, so I hopped on a service straight back to Stevenage. Sitting in the car on the drive home, watching the rain bucket down outside, I channeled my inner Aesop: “Right, the weather’s dogs anyway. Pulling out was a masterstroke; I’d be absolute misery if I was still out there.”

Punctured front, soaked in mud, dragged the bike to Hanborough and hopped on the train.

Come Monday, word came down that of the 43 starters, only 19 finished.

It was a painfully short stint in the saddle, but I still bagged a few key takeaways.

Weatherproofing#

First off, my top tube bag—some random freebie swag from an old event—leaks like a sieve. Since I plan on stuffing a power bank in there, I need to hunt down a properly watertight replacement. I could stuff everything in a ziplock bag, but that’s a right pain to fiddle with while on the move.

When you’re grinding through hours of persistent 1-3mm rain, stopping for even a minute chills you to the bone straight away. My current rain shell doesn’t have rear pockets, so I’d packed a thinner windproof instead—a choice I deeply regretted. Time to source a decent jacket with proper back pockets.

The Puncture Conundrum#

Only packing two tubes meant my day was cut short, though even if I’d blagged one off another rider or carried a few more, it still would’ve been a headache.

Still smarting from the debacle, I went out on the Sunday club run only to cop another two punctures—making it a grand total of five blowouts over a single weekend. Must be a tyre issue, though what’s doing my nut in is that every single hole was in a totally different spot.

If this happened during PBP, it’d be soul-destroying. I’ll definitely need to slap brand-new tyres and fresh tubes on before rolling up to a big one, but the thought of getting hit with that kind of bad luck still gives me the shivers. Definitely needs some pondering.

I’m keen to lock in my Super Randonneur series this year, so I’ve gone and booked a season-closer 200K for late October. If I cross that line, I’ll officially bag the SR title (1000K, 400K, 300K, 200K), though it’ll have a bit of an asterisk next to it in my mind.