All day – and all of the night

How does getting tired affect your riding? Not a bit tired – but totally, bone-achingly, eye-closingly exhausted? We joined a 1000-mile, 24-hour charity ride to find out

A long ride is all about perspective: it’s only as it gets closer that you actually realise how big it really is. When the ride's a long way off, you imagine any distance is possible if you take your time. But as it gets closer, you start to accept how tough it might be – because you know that as you ride, you'll get tired; as you get tired, your riding will get worse.

So how exactly does getting tired affect our riding? To find out, I'd volunteered to take part in the RE1000, a 1000-mile charity ride visiting four Royal Engineers depots with current and former Sappers. I felt confident at first, but as they days ticked down, I began to feel like the helmsman on the bridge of The Titanic: oh look, a little block of ice; well, it’s not that big; uh – that's not looking so good; Oh. My. God…Still, I’d put the RiDE name forward so I wasn’t going to abandon ship.

However, I did plan how to survive it. And all joking aside, I saw it in those terms: I didn’t want to lose concentration, make a stupid mistake and crash through exhaustion. So I took great care to select the bike, the kit and even the food I thought would get me through the ride. The planned route would go from Oldham to Elgin in the Highlands, then down to Chatham in Kent. Thing is, the plan was to set off at 1am on Easter Saturday morning… So on Good Friday I was tucked up in the Oldham Travel Lodge by 7pm, trying to get to sleep.

11:30pm

The alarm goes off. I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve only had four hours’ kip. I hit snooze…

Midnight

I’m stumbling round the room like a drunk. This is what bumbling looks like. I should have been gone by now, but I’m faffing. As the silly little panniers on the KTM 990 SM-T are so pointlessly small, I’ve filled them in no time: one has extra waterproofs and three spare sets of gloves; the other has food, water and the change of visors that won’t fit in with the gloves. I’ve had to strap a drybag on the back seat to actually carry a change of clothes.

12.15am

I’m standing on a deserted petrol-station forecourt in Failsworth, which is where I thought we were meeting. It feels like I’ve fallen for an elaborate and well-executed wind-up. As soon as I set off – thinking, “Sod it, I’ll just do it anyway” – I spot a group of 20 flouro-bibbed riders parked up 50 yards away outside the Territorial Army building that doubles as the Oldham Sappers’ depot.

Introductions are brief, but I’m not planning to stick with the group. I don’t want to ride at the pace of the slowest rider (whoever it is), as that’s a surefire way to get bored and fall asleep on the bike. That’s happened to me before and I was lucky to wake up in time to save it. I'm also I’m worried that, riding in a group, someone else might fall asleep and ride into me. That’s also happened to me and, again, I was lucky to stay on. I’m not risking either drama happening on this ride, as I doubt I'll be so lucky again.

Besides, I dislike riding in groups more than anything apart from off-roading – even more than peaches and dance music. I know that if I’m going to get through this, I have to ride at my own pace. My plan is to get ahead early, then have a leisurely ride on the tight roads through the Cairngorms while the group takes the faster A9. I'll rejoin the pack at the scheduled break in Perth.

1am

We’re off. I get straight to the front of the group. By the time I’m on the M60, there aren’t even any headlights in my mirrors. I settle into a steady 85mph cruise and sit back, massively relieved that at the last minute I’d wired the Klan heated gloves in.

2am

This is surprisingly easy. I’m not feeling tired. I’m well on my way north, on the M6. Why has the fuel light come on? I was expecting to get another 30 miles from this tank. Pulling in at the mercifully close services, four clicks down finds neutral: I just did 105 miles in fifth, not sixth. Maybe I’m not properly awake yet, after all…

Fuel for the bike, a strong coffee for me. And a cereal bar. I’m planning to eat my way to victory. I’m avoiding anything too sweet – including energy drinks – as I don’t want the boom-and-bust of a sugar rush. I have peanuts, cereal bars and ham-and-cheese sandwiches of seed-rich homemade wholemeal bread. I wanted slow-release carbohydrates and proteins, to keep energy levels constant. But at the moment, it’s the coffee that’s really working… I have lots of water, too, as I can’t afford to drop concentration through dehydration (caffeine will do that to you).

4am

Glasgow, filling up again. Food for me and the bike. I’m expecting this next stretch to be gruelling: friends who work nights say it’s hardest to keep awake between 4-5am. I have a sandwich, then get back on it. My aim is to make sure no stop is more than 10 minutes long: no point riding hard, only to piss away my average speed by standing about in petrol stations.

6am

That was hard. Not the tiredness – I feel perfectly awake – but the cold is awful. Past Perth, up the A9, a chill white mist rolled off the hills to cloak the road as a feeble grey excuse for a dawn slowly broke. Strength-sapping weather, spirit-crushing conditions. Every bone I’ve ever broken aches. It feels as if my right-arm – which in X-ray looks like a jigsaw held together with Meccano – seems to have barely enough grip to hold the throttle open. I’m genuinely surprised there’s enough strength in it to lift the petrol nozzle at the Tesco in Inverness.

7am

Here’s the first validation point on the ride: the Royal Engineers depot in Elgin. Locked up fast. It’s a TA center and is deserted, because I’m here too early. I take a pic of the bike in front of it, eat and drink, then head on down the road.

8am

I’ve never ridden this stretch of the A95 before – what a great road. After hundreds of miles of mostly dual carriageway, it’s as refreshing as the pint of lager at the end of Ice Cold In Alex… It flows and curls elegantly past dozens of distilleries, a Speyside dream trip that’s refreshing the parts other roads just wouldn’t reach.

I’m meant to be turning south on the A939, past The Lecht Ski area, but the fuel light’s on again. I find a rural garage that’s open, top up, then carry on without remembering to retrace my steps. I end up back on the A9 at Aviemore. I’ve barely gone a mile when Phil and three of the other riders pass me, heading north. So much for meeting them in Perth…

10am

Glasgow again. For the first time I’m feeling slightly tired. Not glassy-eyed or sleepy, but remote. I’m on the motorway headed south when I catch myself observing the ride, rather than actually being there in the moment. It’s like drifting off in front of a dull TV programme. That’s a spine-chilling thought so I stop for another coffee and more food, filling the tank despite having done only 60 miles on it.

Midday

I’m past half distance, which gives me a huge psychological boost. I can't believe how comfortable the SM-T is proving to be: my legs are relaxed, my back is fine – only my shoulders are aching slightly, but rolling them helps. Then I realize drivers must think I’m pretending to row past them, some sarcastic speeder on an orange bike.

I am struggling to hold a constant speed. I’m not really caning the bike, though I have been making steady progress. Now, the second I stop concentrating, I either add or shed 15mph at random… that’s no good. Heading towards Penrith, I decide I need a break from the multi-lane roads.

I set off on the A686 over Hartside Pass, aiming for the Hartside Café. As I approach, I see the car park is full fat-thighed women taking pushbikes off car racks. I can’t see a single motorcycle there – which depresses me so much I don’t bother stopping. That has to be tiredness: I’ve already noticed my mood swings becoming more rapid and more extreme, from joy at a great view to fury at idiots sitting in the middle lane on an empty motorway. The misery is new, though.

12.45pm

Now I'm elated again. From Alston, the SM-T has devoured the blindingly good B6277 to Middleton-in-Teesdale. Complete with sheep and clumps of thick snow by the roadside. Stunning road, brilliant bike. Halfway along I stop for food and to take a snap with the phone. It’s utterly isolated, beautiful. Priceless. I'm eager to get back on the SM-T: riding it on this road is as invigorating as a shot of espresso.

2pm

A1, southbound near Leeds, I have a moment of arse-awareness. I'm not sore, but I notice I’ve been sitting on it for 13 hours. Hang on, 13 hours? That’s amazing – I’d expect my bum to be in agony long before that on a normal seat. The Airhawk seat-pad I’ve fitted to the SM-T is miraculous.

2.30pm

Yawn… close eyes. Blink open, cold sweat on the neck. Look ahead. Yawn… Blink. Christ, it happened again. “Tiredness Kills” says the sign. Too right. Blyth services are just ahead. Stop for a coffee and a serious word with myself. If I can’t get it together, if I can’t wake up, I’ll have to stop. It’s not safe otherwise.

4pm

This is better. More than better, in fact. I’m past Cambridge, heading for the Royal Engineers depot in Waterbeach (it’s on the other side of the road to Landbeach, which I find strangely hilarious). By quarter-past I’m standing in front of the barracks, one of the Sappers on gate duty taking my picture. “How far behind you are the others?” he asks. I’ve no idea – must be a couple of hours. “But it’s not a race,” I say. He grins: “Yeah, and you’re winning.” I grin too. Sat nav says it’s an hour from here to Chatham. Helmet on at half-four, it does feels like I’ve come onto the final straight of a race. I know I can do this now.

6pm

That was tough. Really tough. The M25, with 50mph limits, cars going everywhere, congestion, filtering, a muddled fuel stop. Brain struggling to follow the sat nav instructions. Tiredness is making a moron out of me. I have no attention span, every train of thought derailed before reaching a conclusion. I’m struggling to operate the indicators. I can’t remember when I last looked in the mirrors.

But I’m here. I pull up outside the final base, get my phone out to take a picture and a jobsworth rentacop appears. “You can’t leave your bike there, you can’t take pictures.” I’m too tired even to swear at the halfwit, so I just ignore him and do what I want to do. But it puts a bad taste in my mouth: why have I just bludgeoned myself to pieces for this kind of welcome? A proper Sapper emerges from the base, a bit more friendly. The rest are expected at 11pm… I’m early.

So early, in fact, that I might be able to catch the group as they head south. There’s a stop planned for Grantham, just north of my house. A glorious idea grips me and I feel refreshed – a genuine second wind. I could get back there. I could meet the group. I could get home and sleep in my own bed tonight…

8pm

Brake! I suddenly realize the caravan in front is moving much slower than I am. Shouldn’t be a surprise, as I’ve been following it for at least a mile. But I think I was asleep for a second, eyes wide open. How could that… Woah! Brake again. I can’t hear the engine of the beating of my heart in my ear drums.

Shake my head, trying to clear suddenly blurry vision. This is no good. I’m 25 miles from the Gonerby Moor services, where I should be able to meet up with the group. Or to put it another way, I’m about a dozen miles from home. And after more than 1160 miles, I’ve suddenly nearly crashed twice in 20 seconds. It’s no good, now I really do need to stop: I’ve been concentrating too hard for too long. I can say that I’ve done the 1000 miles, but now really I do need to stop.

There are 1173.5 miles on the trip when I stop outside my garage. Shortly after, I sleep.

What worked

The KTM 990 SM-T definitely worked. A big tank range sounds like the key to this kind of caper but in fact I was filling up roughly every 110 miles for food/pee/drink/stretch stops. Though I was averaging only 38mpg (the SM-T will do 44mpg when ridden more steadily) I only saw the fuel light when I'd ridden 100 motorway miles in fifth, not sixth… Doh!

The bike was superb: the engine was muscular and easy to use, without being too vibey at speed, always ready to blast a quick roll-on overtake, always ready to calm things down with smooth engine braking. The brakes – backed up with ABS for the sleep-deprived brain – were consistently excellent. When I got off the motorways, the chassis devoured the good roads, quick-steering, neutral and stable. Ergonomically, the SM-T was far better than I could have hoped: I’ve done several 900-mile days on sports tourers and big tourers and have always felt stiffer next day than I did after this 1200-mile day. 

Two bits of kit made the trip not merely possible but nearly pleasant. Klan Excess Pro heated gloves (£139, www.klan-uk.com) ensured good control without any concentration-sapping frozen finger pain. The Airhawk inflatable seat pad (from £79, www.bykebitz.com) absolutely saved me: I may never regard any other seat as comfortable, ever again. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Most of my other kit performed brilliantly too. The Rukka Arma-S suit (Jacket £1000, Trousers £730, www.tranam.co.uk) was brilliantly comfortable, absorbed everything from freezing fog to heavy rain to pleasant south-of-England sunshine with equal poise. I’d supplement it with a RevIt Athos Air hi-viz vest (£35, www.revit.eu) for extra look-at-me-ness. And underpinning all were the unbeatable Dainese Map WS baselayers (shirt £102, longjohns £85 www.dainese.com). Only one disappointment: after roughly 40,000 miles of flawless service, my Alpinestars SuperTech Touring boots decided to leak at the start of this, of all trips. Bugger…

How was it for you?

"It was hard – which I expected, but I wasn't prepared for just how bad the fatigue would be," says organiser Phil Caloe. "At one point I was so physically tired I couldn't work the gearshift properly. I couldn't move my leg. Even now, two of my fingers are numb. When we were stopped at Birchanger Services, my eyes were playing tricks on me: I could have sworn I saw green giraffes walking across the car park. It was some of the other guys in their hi-viz vests, but I was so tired I was practically hallucinating.

"I'm glad I've done it and pleased we got round safely, but I'm not going to do it again. To be honest, I wouldn't advise anyone to do a 24-hour ride – certainly not on their own or if they're not used to riding big miles. You can get so tired it is dangerous. Mind you, once we'd finished I had four hours sleep then got up and rode to France!"

"It was gruelling. I asked myself many times in the first 12 hours what I thought I was doing – I just couldn't keep my eyes open for long. I never knew you could actually ride a bike while apparently asleep. I have no idea how far I rode in this state." Kaz Smith

"My shoulders are wrecked and my eyes feel like they've been peeled with your gran's potato peeler!" Darren le Gallais

Simon Weir