UK 24 Hour Mountain Bike Champion 2016


Matthew Jones and Lee Craigie the 2016 24 Hour Mtb Champions 2016

Deciding to enter a 24 hour mountain bike race will only ever happen a couple of days beforehand for me. If I took the time to plan and consider the logistics and discomfort of it all I would instinctively put that time to better use and talk myself out of it. At this time of year though, resolve is weakened. By the end of October, the Highlands of Scotland has started it’s phased retirement of daylight hours and at exactly the same time it begins to display some startlingly beautiful autumnal colours. This small, enticing window, usually accompanied by settled weather, makes me ache to get out on my bike in a pre winter panic. No one can tell me that by taking part in Relentless Exposure 24 in Fort William (which this year also happened to be the UK 24 Hour MTB Championships) I would not be making the most of the daylight hours and autumn colours.

But yes, there was also peer pressure involved. Ian Fitzpatrick was coming up from Sheffield to race in the solo category and asked if I’d support him in his team pit. Racing the event myself seemed like the easiest way to say no. Then David Jones, possibly the only person I know more last minute than me, began a gentle text campaign the Monday before the event suggesting we both ride solo too. These texts became more like a subliminal marketing strategy as the week went on until before I knew it I was prepping my bike and shopping for jelly babies.

Ferga and Rachel were cajoled into supporting the three of us in a shared team pit and between them would keep six legs and 3 bikes operating for 24 hours. Entered, organised, supported, committed. The hard part was done, right?

Wrong actually. Quite, quite wrong.

No Fuss Events set off 260 riders at 12midday on 29th October to ride laps of a 10.5km loop in the shadow of Ben Nevis. It was a typical Scottish day with a persistent, friendly smir of rain falling from an entirely grey sky. The colourful woodland, that is home to the well built network of mountain bike trails, compensated for the dull sky with an eye watering display of yellows, oranges and browns that even obliged by dusting the trail with bright orange larch needles.


It was sociable to begin with. I don’t usually race these events solo and enjoyed the luxury of riding the first few laps at a steadier pace than I might have in a team of two or four. With lung capacity to spare I caught up with friends and made friends of strangers. I will be forever grateful to the woman riding for the RAF who, in reply to my assertion that the hill we were climbing was horrible, conceded that it was “houfing “. A braw Scottish word meaning vomit-inducing I would never have thought to use it in this context but as of now will apply it to everything I dislike.

My bike was also chattering away to me. There’s a way to adapt a bottom bracket removal tool that allows you to pull off the type of cranks I run on my race bike using a coin for extra purchase. Unfortunately, I had managed to fold and push the coin irretrievably inside my bottom bracket and was now being rewarded by the constant tinkling sound of my mechanical incompetence.

Although my bike continued it’s high pitched monologue, human chat dwindled with the daylight and night imposed an austere code of silence on the forest. Ashen-faced riders now willed their legs around while self destructively calculating the hours they still had to ride before daybreak.

I thought it prudent to at least try and get all the disasters out of the way before I became too addled to cope and so I snapped my bottle cage, lost a water bottle, pulled my hamstring, tore off my mud guard and developed a stomach upset all on the same lap. Our efficient pit crew, who had by now been joined by Mini (Tom) Pips, sorted it all out including providing me with a plastic bucket and a roll of toilet paper of which I would make constant use throughout the 24 hours.

At 3am with 15 hours of riding in my tired body and with 8 still to go, I staggered off my bike and lay on the ground in the team tent instructing Rachel to wake me up in 20 minutes time. If I’d climbed into my comfortable van then it would have been all over but 20 minutes spent unconscious on a cold, damp, hard surface is surprisingly restorative when you need it that much. Punctuate this rest with a mini pork pie, some coke and a liberal reapplication of Happy Bottom Bum Butter (using a different hands, please, we have standards) and you might be starting your day a fresh.

Not so for David. At around the same time he crawled into his vehicle and did not reemerge. David Jones will push through most levels of discomfort and come out the other side but this time his wrists had actually stopped working. Troubling for a dentist. Or perhaps more so for his Monday morning patients.

Fitz was still out there somewhere and although we never saw each other either on the trail or in the transition, it was heartening to know that his suffering continued with mine.


I never really found my groove on this ride. Having to stop every lap to commune with the toilet bucket broke any rhythm I might have established. There were glimmers of flow and I felt bouts of energy but my stomach upset was wearing me down emotionally and physically. Then, half way through the race and half way round a lap, my lights broke. Complete darkness. Not funny. I nursed my way round the remaining lap and into the welcome glow of the transition area. Mark and Tom from Exposure Lights greeted me with warmth and enthusiasm and before I knew it had a rather lovely Toro light strapped to my bars with more than enough lumens to see me though the remaining hours of darkness. This support and good will rebooted my flagging motivation. The race was back on.


Out on course the marshals were keeping us going. At key points in the lap, these kind people were keeping fires lit while huddled in bivvy bags or, in one case, adorned in fairy lights and dancing to the radio, their enthusiasm never faltering. Riding back into the transition at the end of each lap was to be assaulted by smells of wood smoke, the sound of generators and music and the bittersweet sight of warm glowing light, which spilled out from every pit area.


At the timing pit, the No Fuss organisers were often personally standing by the timing post to help tired, fumbling fingers find the unit carried on a lanyard round rider’s necks.

People ask “Why pay money to ride your bike round in circles for 24 hours surrounded by other people?”. It’s a good question but I hope I’ve just answered it.

Dawn took forever to break. Between 4am and 7am each time I rode to the highest point of the lap, I would scan the sky in search of nuanced changes in it but the street lights of Fort William continued to twinkle tantalizingly in the valley far below and the night sky remained resolutely black for far longer than my soul would have wished. When the grey dawn did finally arrive, it was washed out and as spent as the riders. It was also accompanied with rain which turned the course into a muddy mess. With 4 hours remaining, I was losing my grip both metaphorically and physically. My skin hurt from having been shaken so much and my hands were cramped into tight fists. I stopped to slur this information to my support crew, to which David was now lending his weight, and while I paused to eat a bowl of soup and balance on my bucket again (glamorous) they arranged my lovely steel hardtail with Jones bars into a 24-hour race machine. Climbing onto the Shand having been sat on a harsh flat bar carbon hardtail for 18 hours felt like sinking into a mattress. The comfortable hand position and oversized tyres together with the forgiving nature of steel gave me a new lease of life and I did another 4 steady laps in relative comfort.

It was over. I’d ridden 23 laps in 24 hours. Approximately 245km and 8350m of climbing, 15 toilet stops, 2 packets of jelly babies, one pair of shorts, 16 litres of Ribena, 4 pork pies, the equivalent weight of a small child in banana flapjack, half a tub of Happy Bottom Bum Butter, one new favourite word (houfin’), countless new friends and title of UK 24 hour Mountain Bike Champion 2016.


Thanks to No Fuss and Exposure for another fantastic event and thank you to everyone, especially Ferga and Rachel, who offered their support to allow us to ride our bikes in circles.


…and goodnight

13 thoughts on “UK 24 Hour Mountain Bike Champion 2016

  1. Looking at the pics, I followed you round for a lap or 2 at about 4am, didn’t realise it was you as I would have had a chat as I just supported the highland 550 journal last week.
    You left me for dead on the downhills.
    Well done on the win.

  2. Lee what fantastic riding and fantastic writing. You have talent for both. Next event 24 hour writing with a bike ride after? That sounds like an exam so let’s not go there. Loved reading this and very well done! Nanette

    • Thanks Nanette! How kind. The words only happen after the rides. Blog posts occur in the funny post ride adrenaline fuelled period immediately after the race or not at all! (and are then quickly followed by utter exhaustion)

  3. wow 🙂 Congratulations!
    Just out of interest (and not knowing very much about mountain biking) – why did you choose the ‘other bike’ over Jimmy for the 1st part?

    • It was lighter and stiffer and therefore faster but only over shorter distances it turns out. If you can’t hang on, you can’t ride fast on anything no matter how light it is!

      • Interesting, thanks! Does that mean you have to do a 24 hr armchair/mattress ride (ha! ;-), just to find out for sure? Jimmy aka the flying carpet 😉

  4. Great write-up Lee, you make it sound almost enjoyable. Sort of.
    Congratulations on the win, sounds well deserved.

    Oh, and I really enjoyed your Radio show the other week as well, something really interesting to listen to for a change 🙂

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