While rides from one end of a country to the other might be a bucket list, once-in-a-lifetime adventure, coast-to-coasts distil the same idea into a weekend – or, in the case of Frontier 300, a single day.
Having missed out on this gravel/road epic previously due to Covid, nothing was going to stop my participation this time round – not even an almost comical lack of training on my gravel bike.
I had miles and strength in my legs and I was confident of making it through this 300km British coast-to-coast, from Rockcliffe on the south-west coast of Scotland to Hadston in the far north-east of England.
Coast-to-coasts, or C2Cs, hold a special place in the cycling community, and there’s a real sense of accomplishment and purpose when travelling over an expanse of land from one sea to another.
As Frontier 300 organisers put it, we live on an island and everyone should ride across it once.
There isn't one definitive C2C in Britain, which is part of its charm.
There are many routes, many starting points and many end points. Any one route can be made as easy or as hard as you wish; you can simply adjust the number of days you do it in.
Held on a single day, the Frontier 300’s difficulty is cranked up to the max.
Rockcliffe ’n’ roll
The 2023 Frontier 300’s single-day format, with a 300km distance, 4,200m of elevation and a 50:50 gravel/road split, makes for an incredibly early start – between 4.15am and 4.45am. I was up an hour before this to pack up my tent and digest a bowl of overnight oats.
I made it to the start line on the early side of this departure window and watched as my fellow riders worked their way through their pre-ride rituals ahead of what would be, for many, a dawn-till-dusk adventure.
Indeed, the sky was just thinking about turning its lights on when I got rolling.
In my early-morning state, I’d forgotten that the start proper was a couple of minutes further along the road in Rockcliffe, alongside its beautiful beach.
Shortly after, the route took a hard right up a short, steep track and the first section of gravel began.
Despite having done several DIY gravel rides by way of preparation, this was my first organised gravel event. I had little idea what to expect, beyond the route being half on tarmac and half off-road.
I had an average moving speed in mind in order to finish in daylight, although this could easily be nudged along by a surfeit of easy kilometres.
However, I’d also defined simply finishing as my ‘good’ outcome.
Only 10km into the ride, we were treated to a spectacular sunrise, and it was difficult not to get caught up in the stunning location and the enormity of the task at hand.
This would be my longest ride yet and it was truly a journey into the unknown, because I knew nothing about where I was set to ride.
No stranger to endurance events, I set out in time-honoured fashion: paying little to no attention to pacing.
That came back to bite me in a slightly concerning fashion, with the first twinges of cramp at only 40km.
I’d already punctured my tubeless tyres by that point, pinching the tyre with the same result as a ‘snakebite’ puncture in a tube.
There was one hole in the tread and one close to the bead, out of which sealant came gushing like a breaking dam.
I considered using plugs, but I’d have to use all of my supplies and there was no guarantee it would hold.
Instead, I used the first of my three inner tubes and a couple of CO2 canisters, because the first of those seemed to go off before it was fully installed in the adaptor.
It was also during this stop that I realised I’d left my hand pump on my workbench at home. Not a vintage start to the ride.
This break in play took longer than envisaged; I had come to a standstill next to a fork in the fire road, where the course took the less-obvious and tougher-to-negotiate right-hand turn.
I spent as much time pointing riders in the right direction as I did tending to my bike’s inflationary issues.
We passed through forests, towns and villages that will be familiar to many mountain bikers – Dalbeattie, Mabie, Ae. The terrain was challenging, with tough climbs and twisting descents punctuated by road sections designed for fast recovery after rattling over kilometres of the rough stuff.
Up to this point, I’d been descending confidently, not taking risks but maximising momentum into subsequent climbs by staying off the brakes where possible.
That all went wrong shortly after 70km when my front wheel hit something I hadn’t spotted and caused my tyre, now with a tube in, to go pop, approaching a corner, on loose gravel. Instinct and blind luck kept me upright.
Luckily, the new tube went in with little hassle and, once the adrenaline had worn off, I was under way again.
Busman’s holiday
I was struck by the camaraderie and mutual support between riders – we were all clearly the same kind of daft.
Early on, I didn’t ride with people a lot; they’d pull away on the climbs, I’d pull them back on the descents and we’d exchange a few words before they eased away again as we headed up.
Moderate disappointment set in when the Salsa Beach Party In The Forest came into view.
Although Jelly Babies were offered, this was not what you’d call a feed station. Still, the chat with a couple of people from event sponsors Lyon Distribution was welcome.
The legs were complaining, and we weren’t a third of the way in yet. I picked my bike up to push on and found the front tyre was flat – again!
I hadn’t felt this one burst, but I replaced the tube once more while being attacked by midges and set off, for a handful of seconds, at least, before reaching a hike-a-bike section.
Being a mountain biker at heart, I’d seen mention of this obstacle and naturally assumed it’d be a flight of steps or something I could ride up with a rush of confidence. The reality proved different.
On a good day, fresh, and on a mountain bike, I think I could make it halfway.
The Specialized S-Works Vent Evo shoes, which had been so comfortable and so good while in the saddle, found their kryptonite – they aren’t designed for walking any meaningful distance, especially up this kind of gradient.
I found out the hard way why specific gravel shoes make sense.
At the top, we were treated to a spectacular scene, to the east of Moffat, the highest point of the route, at 1,500ft / 457m.
Just after the halfway point and on leaving Newcastleton, I realised one of the chainring bolts was loose.
Noticing this part-way up a short singletrack climb, I had no intention of getting in anyone’s way, so I pushed on to the gate. However, as I did so, the offending bolt fell out.
Faced with a needle-in-a-haystack situation, I elected to check the remaining three and carry on.
The very next climb worsened this dire situation. I dropped into the inner ring and instantly there was a loud noise, followed by an odd pedalling sensation.
It didn’t take long to realise two of the remaining three bolts had snapped, leaving me with no usable inner ring.
At that point, I decided to walk any climbs where I found myself putting out too much effort, which, given the gradients in the second half of the event, was most of them.
I used Garmin Rally pedals to monitor my power and keep it under a chosen limit.
Final frontier
The rolling nature of the latter stages meant small groups could form and stay together.
A collective determination set in among my new-found companions and I, and was reflected in the riders catching us, as well as those we passed.
The rump of the second half of the ride to pass without drama. Well, much drama, anyway.
The spare tube I’d been persuaded to take earlier came in handy when my front tyre went down for a fourth time with only eight kilometres to go.
I borrowed a pump from one of my companions because I was out of canisters by this point, and noticed that amusement had outstripped frustration for me at this stage in the proceedings.
Marathon runners talk of waves of emotion in the latter stages of those runs and I found similar here.
I’d dropped off the group once or twice to allow unbidden feelings to flow, some familiar from previous endurance-sport experience and some entirely new because I’d never ridden so far in one go before.
And then the finish: a welcome like none I’ve experienced before, the proffered beer gladly taken and a pizza with a newly-made friend.
Not long after, I headed gratefully to bed. I thanked my 36-hour-earlier self for setting my van up, so all I needed to do was crawl under my duvet… the shower could wait until morning.
Images: Andy Heading, Stephen Smith
