It all started in the spring of 2002, when I was told non-too diplomatically by three of my fellow Deesiders, that my name had been entered for the Corrieyairack challenge. However I was not to be a biking participant but a (no-doubt highly valued) support person. I soon pointed out to my dearly beloved (known to some as Tony English) that a round trip of six-hundred miles from our Lake District home to hand out bananas or direct traffic was not my idea of a fun weekend. Quietly I determined that next year I would be riding.

Now it must be emphasised that the main aim of the challenge is to raise funds for the Badaguish Centre for outdoor activities for disabled people. i.e. it's an event not a race?

To find out if I was worthy to take part in this "event", I nagged my husband Anthony into guiding me on a recce of the Corrieyairack Pass from Fort Augustus during our Christmas family visits 2002. The task was truly formidable, but with a little training and a lot less food and alcohol, it could maybe be achieved without shame. At least there would be no ice in July 2003.

So it was that, come spring 2003, Anthony had gallantly stepped down from the team, to allow myself, Malcolm Gallon and Phil Kelman to form the "Deeside Thistle A Team". Now the training began in earnest: Phil doing his usual hundred miles per day on a can of flat coke and a vindaloo; Malkie fine-tuning his body-fat by saving the lumps from his porridge and recycling them for his tea; and myself couring the local bike shops for chocolate flavoured energy bars.

The weekend of July the fifth arrived and all logistics fell into place with much help from Anthony's family, who are liberally scattered around the Glen Urquhart area. They also managed two walking teams: "The 45 Rebels" and "The Antiques Road-show".

Strangely, the Deeside A team did not suffer pre-race nerves (Ah but it's an event not a race). Phil and Malcolm queued dutifully for registration while I barged to the front, maybe their competitive edge was still snuggled under their quilts? Apparently not, for as soon as they saw the start line they were "up and at 'em".

I found myself in a large group of mixed-ability bikers, warming-up on the short road section before the bunch-carry up a narrow footpath onto the old military road. The racing snakes were long gone but the main bunch had not yet spread out so there was a lot of frustrating stop and go on the first climb. However, once onto the first false-summit I found my own pace and made slow but steady progress. Most of the nine mile ascent to the two and a half thousand feet summit is steep with varying degrees of technicality including some loose rocky zig-zags which are mercifully short. There are several places where the gradient lets up and you even loose a little height, only to buy it back later of course. Eventually I realised that I was travelling with a loose group of about eight comrades in pain. One was a girl younger than my own daughter. She had only just taken up mountain biking but was "really enjoying" the introduction, I was sure she'd be a world cup champ some day. Then there was the guy all dressed in black motor-cross padding, who pushed his bike to the summit and (here maybe I was getting delirious) transformed himself into a huge crow and swooped down the other side.

My elation at reaching the top and my enthusiasm for the descent were slightly dampened by the sound of an injured man in pain being prepared for airlift to the hospital. I paused at the summit and put on elbow pads. The descent is pretty extreme being steep, rocky and loose in parts and just plain steep and rocky everywhere else. The cobbles of the "better sections" will loosen every bolt on the bike and every filling in your head. I hurtled down to the Melgarve with just a slightly cut knee but badly jumbled brain cells. Here, five small green faceless aliens approached me with outstretched arms. Never one to pass up a close encounter, I stopped and tried to focus on the scene. A dark biting cloud descended. "Drink up and go" commanded the aliens, "Don't stop here!" On to Garva Bridge where real humans gave food and water while I hastily squirted CO2 into my tyres to prepare for the final twenty-six miles on the road to Kincraig. Later I heard how impressed Phil was with the professional way his wheels were changed to his slick-tyred pair, which had been carefully numbered and were instantly produced as soon as he called out his registration number. I was just grateful to these saints for stuffing my pockets with bananas and filling my Camelback. My own supplies had got me over the hill section, but there were plenty of water stations on the climb had they been needed.

The next five miles was fairly slow as I stuffed every bit of food into my face and then waited for the energy to kick in. Following the well-marked route I was soon at the twenty mile to go sign and regaining some momentum. With a good spin going the next ten miles flew by. Following the meandering Spey was a lovely road teeming with wildlife (some of it sadly squashed). Soon I was crossing the river at Kingussie and Ruthven Barracks was in sight at last. There was only eight miles to go to Kincraig but my shoulders ached and I was burning out fast. Delirium was setting in again. Here and there mossy-lined single-tracks beckoned from the woodland edges, inviting me to give up this painful pretence at athleticism and sample their swoopy momentum-aided delights to a faerie glen where weary bones would come to rest and race marshals would never find me.

Kincraig was almost in sight, I had to concentrate. There was Phil sitting relaxed and recovered atop the final hill into the village, shouting encouragement. He had finished over two hours earlier in third place (seniors) at 2. 59.17. Malcolm stood grinning at the finish line, he was twelfth veteran at 3.58.28. I was never so gad to see either of them. My place turned out to be first super vet at 5.17.16 (but I'm sure I'll improve on that time next year). We were the fourth mixed-sex team and came sixth in the fundraising.

A very well organised race..event!

Wendy English