Dirty Reiver Retrospective

It’s been nearly two weeks since finishing the Dirty Reiver in Kielder Forest, Northumberland, and as always, I came away from the event having learned more in 5 hours than I have in 5 months. This time, it was more about how I should see myself as an athlete—not just as a guy who enjoys riding his bike.

A good amount of preparation went into the run-up to the event, as I covered in a previous post. But there are always things that are easy to overlook, and when you add that to the pressure I put on myself to make everything “just so,” I sometimes can’t see the wood for the trees. Let me elaborate.

Something I didn’t mention—or perhaps forgot to mention—in my last post was a small incident I had with my bike while in the North Pennines. That lovely photo of the Ritchey propped against Hannah Hauxwell’s barn wall turned out to be quite costly. It was incredibly windy that day, and while I was shutting the barn door, a huge gust caught the bike. All I heard was a thump—it hit the ground hard. The derailleur and hanger were damaged beyond repair.

Here's a refresher for you:

Moments before calamity struck!

Although slightly irked, I told myself, “Not to matter, I have spares in the van.” I crawled the bike back; it really wasn’t overly happy. I swapped out the components for new ones, and that’s where things started testing my patience.

Whenever I shifted to my lowest gear, it would get stuck. After much fettling, I got the system working again, it just wasn’t quite right but it worked.

Fast forward to the evening before the main event: I headed out for a little leg spin in anticipation for the next day’s ride. On returning to the event village I took advantage of Fenwick’s bike washing facilities eager to test my new favourite gadget—a battery-powered high power air compressor for drying the bike. Expecting ridicule from fellow riders for my nerdy van gadget, it instead became the object of desire—would you believe it?

Everything was going incredibly smoothly that day until I had to climb the bloody great hill where we’d parked the van. Naturally, I wanted to use my lowest gear to get up it. I could get into it just fine—I just couldn’t shift out. The next three hours were a blur of troubleshooting, swearing, disbelief, and ultimately, appreciation for the generosity of strangers. The people staying in the van next to us had a look and were as stumped as I was but they could see I was getting frustrated, hungry and needed some extra time to sort this. So when we were invited over for dinner I was beyond grateful for their generosity! After dinner I shot down the hill to consult the SRAM mechanics in search of a professional’s experience to find a solution.

General confusion swept over the team when I explained the issue. Their conclusion: my chain was too short—a diagnosis I struggled to accept, given it hadn’t been touched during the recent repair and had always been the same length. The gears stopped changing because I had cleaned the bike.

Unfortunately time was running out, the light was fading, and there was only one thing for it: I had to go against everything I believe in. I had to find a bodge—or a “hack,” for the more optimistic among you. I added two extra links so I could access all my gears. It pained the very core of my being, but needs must.

Equipped with a bike that could now shift across all eleven gears, we rolled out to the start line around 8:40 a.m., thinking it wouldn’t be that busy. We were wrong. Thousands of people were geared up and ready to ride.

The serious riders set off from 9 a.m. in staggered waves, taking advantage of a clear run. We had determined that we don’t belong in these groups—it’s reserved for the super-fast. But as the rolling start began and we slowly made our way out, we realised our mistake, maybe we did belong in there?

The first 3km are a neutral zone, and with thousands of riders ahead, it became clear the first 40km would be spent navigating the masses and trying to find a sustainable pace.

As soon as my tyres crossed the blue timing strip, I brought the hammer down—darting and weaving between what felt like thousands of riders. Each incline became an opportunity to move forward, passing those taking a more leisurely approach. Things began to open up around the 20km mark, and by kilometre 40 I found a group riding at my pace. We leapfrogged each other up until the final feed zone around 100km.

My strategy was to treat the event as a race simulation: take everything you need, nothing you don’t—meaning no stopping. That was the plan, but the bodge from the night before came back to haunt me. I dropped my chain multiple times. To help keep it on during descents and rougher sections I had to adapt my riding style by shifting into a lower gear to increase chain tension, but this had an adverse effect—I couldn’t put down the power I wanted at a sensible cadence for fear of another dropped chain.

Also, the effort to clear the crowd early on came back to bite me in the form of minor cramps around the 60km mark. Thankfully, years of endurance riding has taught me how to keep myself within a narrow working window of effort to avoid making things worse. I couldn’t push as hard as I wanted during the middle section, but by reining things in slightly, I recovered on the go without slowing down too much. I worked on getting carbs in—something I still need to improve. (50g carb gels do seem to help, thanks Stykr). I also tried to hydrate enough to stave off cramp, but not so much that I’d need to stop at a feed zone.

Eventually, I worked through most of the fatigue, cleared the final feed station without stopping, and picked up the pace. When the group I’d been with started to drop off I knew I was probably starting to feel stronger again. Still, I was careful not to overdo it to the end.

Crossing the finish to cowbells from locals and supporters was just brilliant and so great to hear when you haven’t got much left to give. A food token for a post ride chilli went down a treat too!

For those that are interested and like numbers I finished the 130k route in 4h51m, averaging 26.7 km/h—15th out of 151 in my category (30–39), and a top 10% finish overall.

I know the Dirty Reiver isn’t technically a race, but it’s a timed event, and for me as I said before, a perfect race simulation. I’ve come away with the confidence to start seeing myself as one of the “faster guys” who can start up front for a clearer run. I also learned that I need to eat more both before and during events—and most importantly not let the weather destroy components in the run up to races.

Now, what became of my bodge? The workaround had got me around the course but it also caused all those dropped chains. I couldn’t accept the "too-short chain" theory, so I started digging deeper that evening for answers. Knowing we were headed to Scotland for a chilled week I was determined to figure it out then.

The solution hit me in the shower the very next day. The bike shower, that is.

We were washing the bikes the next morning and chatting to the guys running the Fenwick’s stall. I wheeled my bike against a wall next to some other freshly cleaned bikes, and that’s when I saw it: the derailleur was sitting wrong. I’d mounted it on the wrong tab back in the North Pennines, and it was at the wrong angle. The top jockey wheel was far too close to the cassette, no matter how I adjusted the tension screw.

When the issue first presented itself, I just couldn’t see it. It was right there in plain sight—but neither I, nor the riders who helped the night before, nor the on-site mechanics, spotted it.

With a little perspective—and without even looking for at the problem for a solution—it revealed itself. Hopefully, this mechanical epiphany is a physical manifestation of the perspective I’ve gained about myself as a rider at this event. Time will tell.

On to the Gralloch.