The Fred Whitton is regarded as the hardest sportive in the country. I’m sure there are sportives that are longer or have more climbing, but it is the sheer severity of the climbs and the rolling nature of the rest of the course that really saps the strength.

For most it is also one of the hardest to gain entry to. It sells out in double quick time so my friends who live in the lakes print off their entry, then hand deliver them to “Lofty’s” door (the organizer).

I have done the event for the last 2 years now and for me it’s really special. My family come to watch and help, and for those who have never been to the lakes this is a showcase of what the area has to offer.

The route starts in the lovely town of Coniston, where you can set off at any time between 6 and 9 am. Actually you park on the football pitch where I played many a game in my football career.
From Coniston you roll towards Hawkshead Hill – this isn’t long or steep, but it settles everyone down nicely as you climb gently towards the famous Drunken Duck Inn.

The route then rolls to Clappersgate, then back towards Windermere, where you pass the Low Wood Hotel. You then take a left and find the small gears for the sharp climb into Troutbeck village. It’s at this point that I begin to wonder if setting off with the elite pack was a wise idea. Troutbeck’s post office will make you teas, and the Mortal Man pub is great for food, but not today!

As you drop into the climb of Kirkstone pass all the nervous chatter has stopped and everyone is concentrating. This is possibly the longest climb at 3 miles and the highest point on the route, but it is by no means the hardest.

The descent needs caution. Last year some poor guy took it to fast, collided with the wall and had an open chest wound.

The next section is where you can relax a bit, take in the beautiful views as you pass through Glenridding and marvel at the stillness and tranquility of Ullswater.

In getting over Kirkstone with the elite pack you can be safe in the knowledge you can get a bit of a tow through Keswick to Honister Pass, mentally a good barrier at roughly 45 miles, a third of the route done. But then you hit Honister – 25%. I described it to my dad that it was like some one had dropped a hand grenade into the pack, some people seemed to be climbing with apparent ease, some started going backwards and some sideways.

Heart rate maxed out, every sinew straining you fight to keep the bike moving forward. My head drops, checking to see if I’m really in my lowest gear (34-28). Once you get over the cattle grid the gradient eases, you can compose yourself a bit and make your way to the top.

Now this descent needs extreme caution! For the last two years I have descended here to find somebody getting a close up view of the Lakeland dry stone walling (hope it wasn’t the same guy!)

Roll on a bit further and you’re at the first feed stop, refuel but go easy on the cakes, and then after a few hundred yards you turn right onto my personal favourite climb of Newlands. Not sure why I like it really but I find it suits my riding style.

With the sharp Classics-style kick complete at the top of Newlands you can enjoy this fast, 51mph descent. Just a sharp hairpin and a tight bridge to be mindfull of lower down the road.
The climb of Whinlatter is next and it has to be said I don’t really get this climb. It could be the constant change in gradient or it could be that once you get to the top, the route becomes a rolling mental battle.

At the top you receive the biggest cheers from the biggest crowds on any of the notable climbs.
On you go past Loweswater and through Enerdale. It is here that the more secluded and remote parts of the lakes reveal themselves.

If you’ve expended to much energy early on it’s Cold Fell that will let you know. The views of the Western coast remind you of the miles that you have put in your legs and the feed stop at Calder Bridge can’t come to soon.

Now you can only think to what lies ahead.

The roads that lead to Hardknott are pretty non-descript, you hit the odd little incline that only serves to tail off people that are sitting on your wheel getting tow.

As you get nearer you have the feeling that the valley is closing in on you, almost coaxing you in, tempting the naive, waiting to break another person on the steep slopes that are Hardknott and Wrynose.

The heart rate starts to rise now – not because I’m on the slopes yet, but because I know the tight right, then left over the bridge will lead me to the last part of the valley road before Hardknott reveals itself.

And reveal itself it does, you look up and see the initial ramp and wonder if those dots are people littered on the road. Stretching your eyes further you strain to see where the road might possibly break through the mountain.

Already in the small chainring you pass over the cattle grid. My odometer says 98 miles.
The twinges in my legs are telling me that cramp is imminent and I’m trying everything to stop this from happening. I climb seated, then standing, then over compensating with the left leg, then the right.

Grown men are sat at the side of the road looking drained and confused. Some are stretching, some shouting in pain. It’s strange how seeing others in pain and broken gives you the extra edge to carry on.

After the initial steep section the road flattens. It’s here you compose yourself and gather your depleted energy for the steepest sections of Hardknott – the hairpins.

The shouts of encouragement are dulled, the vision narrows and the heaving sound of your breathing echoes louder as the body starts to shut senses down. Strangely the acrid stench of cars clutches becomes stronger, your only hope is they don’t cause you to stop because getting going again would be impossible.

You crest the top to see the mountain rescue team looking at you like a pack of hungry wolves, wondering if you’re one of their victims.

The descent here cannot be described as a road, it’s more like a mountain bike singletrack.
Without the time to gather yourself you are on to the drag climb of Wyrnose, with its steep kick at the end.

Again caution on this descent, the fatigue makes your reactions slower and it would be a shame to can it now.

You have one little steep dig out on to the Coniston road, then it’s a couple of miles back to the Start/Finish where friends and family are waiting with smiles and pats on the back of proud accomplishment.

This is just my recollection of the Fred Whitton sportive as a keen cyclist.
Thought should go to the reason why the event exists, the charities having all the more poignancy this year after my Mum having been diagnosed with cancer.

Keep smiling, Keep cycling, but most of all stay healthy.

[Well done Paul, and I'm sure lots of us hope to join you one day on this most epic of epic rides - http://www.fredwhittonchallenge.org.uk]