I’ve been on a few Club Dales trips and always thoroughly enjoyed them. Nothing boisterous, just great riding. There was often talk on the Saturday evening that there should be a Peaks trip in the autumn. Like the Dales, but nearer. And the Cat and Fiddle pub was very much like Tan Hill. So, when in late July I heard about the Peaks Sportive, I was primed to sign up for it.

A lot of the logistics were, very generously and appreciatively, completed by Mike: eg entering the personal details of six of us on the UK Cycle Events website with its 10-minute timeout (little wonder it took two attempts and got some emails wrong) but importantly securing us a 25% discount (to be spent on gear or supplements); being inquisitive and booking a 4-bed room for all those that went up the day before…

So, Friday lunchtime Richard, Mike and I convene at the Ilam YHA. Gary, who created a <32m route with 980m climbing for us, says he’s running very late and will do his own thing. There’s a river running through the valley, and we’re next to it. Gary has us climbing pdq with little chance to warm up, before we’re hot.

I was testing out my rig for the NC500 (more of that in weeks to come), with a new chain and hanger extender to accommodate the 11-34 cassette. Oh, it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. In fact, the best cycling decision since I started wearing a helmet. It meant I spun up the climbs, never getting out of the saddle, even when it was 24% (fresh legs are a wonderful thing and should never be wasted on sensible pacing). A nice café stop (20m), again by a river, and then a steep climb out. Why do café owners never set up  at the top of hills?

Back at the YHA, we got to see a bit more of the National Trust building, very grand. We were in a 4-bunk ensuite room, bigger than the Dales Bike Centre for reference for some. If you’ve not been, you’re missing out! Gary arrived having ridden a short route he’d quickly put together. YHAs aren’t what they used to be. They’re better! This one had a bar and restaurant. And, of course, wi-fi.

The four of us have different morning routines. This is a good thing when sharing a smaller space, as it means less competition for the facilities. Gary was quietly up at stupid o’clock. Then I think Mike and perhaps Richard. Yes, I was last. However, I quickly made-up time. My breakfast was all sorted. I’d used half the iced latte from lunch as the fluid for my overnight oats, energy and caffeine in every mouthful. Essentially a legal performance-enhancing breakfast. Ready to eat straight away with no fuss.

There was a bit of a faff getting in the cars as there was no phone signal for satnavs and Mike had to go back into the YHA to get the route via the wi-fi to Bakewell, 30 minutes away. At the Sportive, check-in was easy, although do take your helmet with you to avoid any grief from the volunteers handing out your number…

We looked for Karolina, Ebony and Ash, but couldn’t see them, so the four of us set off on the long course. Gary quickly left us to our own devices and up the first climb we went. Pretty brutal. Then came Bar Road and more warmth, despite the very light misting.

At the top of Mam Nick, Karolina came past as we posed for a photo. We crossed paths again at the first feed station and then on the road when we passed.

More climbing followed. Long Hill was one of those drags that never seemed particularly steep but still managed to sap the legs with the quiet efficiency. The route then headed through the Goyt Valley, climbing first towards Derbyshire Bridge and later up to the Cat and Fiddle where Mike stopped for a photo.

I had new boots (Conti GP 4 Season 28mm) and really didn’t like the crosswind descents. My bike felt really, really squirrelly. Unnervingly so. Hmm, do I really want to get narrower bars?

There were two more feed stations. The cherry cake, banana and jellybeans were my go-to. I did better on the longer climbs than the shorter, steeper efforts, including the Onecote Climb. More pleasure than should probably be admitted came from passing riders going slower than me on Thorncliffe Bank – one had stepped off and was carrying his shoes (@Simon Richardson). Then there was the guy from Norwich I’d spoken to earlier in the day. He was laid up with cramp – he seemed like a nice guy, but that’s what happens if you have an 11-25 cassette. I’m not sure where from, but I’ve learnt to be wary of anywhere that has the word “Bank” in it. None are like any other sort of bank I know of. Thorncliffe appeared to be a Roman road that just went straight up, with a few false summits thrown in for psychological warfare. Every time I thought I’d reached the top, the road disagreed. The organisers seemed determined to link together every famous road in the Peak District, and any unfamous ones that happened to point uphill.

We finished just under the ton, so Mike and I both felt duty bound to go and do a bit more. Gary was just setting off home. Richard followed while Mike and I shared a pizza and then had a massage, well individual massage.

I found the route was very well signposted. Mike less so, having briefly conducted his own independent route validation exercise by missing a turn after the Cat and Fiddle. The feed stations were super. Parking was easy. Very little traffic, and very few potholes. And the hills, oh the hills! Glorious! The other riders were friendly and starting us in small batches meant there were never too many close by.

A fantastic couple of days riding. I’ll go again. Though possibly with an even bigger cassette.