The Yak Attack 2018; grabbing Nepal by the horns

The world health organisation defines pain as “an unpleasant sensory or emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage or described in terms of such damage” 

I have been dealing with pain for close to 3 years now if not longer. I have always tried to get on with it, even on my worst days. When pain from my lower back radiates into my legs, gluteals, hamstrings all the way down into my knees. Some days my wrist hurts and my feet feel like they have knives in them. On bad days I struggle to get out of bed in the morning. I believe however that if I am not sound enough to work, I am not sound enough to ride my bike, and riding my bike is ultimately what makes me happy. I have this attitude that I would rather be on the bike in pain than laying in bed with pain. So I just keep going. I get up, and I move but the fact that I do that does not mean my pain is any less.

This year I have felt my resilience has been running on empty and after a long lasting pain flare up during the summer I have been struggling to find the motivation to keep riding. It was draining me. With the Yak Attack on my calendar I knew that I had to stay fit, and for a while it was touch and go if I would make it to the start line. I am very lucky to have a great support network in my physio Morgan, coach James and recently added chronic pain guru Rob Friel. Rob educated me about the ins and outs of chronic pain pathways and gave me an insight and trust that things would improve. But it meant I had to work hard on desensitising my central nervous system. Which in my case meant no more massive adventures for a while. 

setting off in Besisahar

With this in mind I headed to Nepal for one more final crazy MTB stage race of the season well knowingly it would have a heavy impact on my body and that after the race I would have to take a step back for an indefinite amount of time. Making me determent to soak up and enjoy every split second of this incredible opportunity to come up close with the giant peaks of the world.

I spent my first few days in Nepal riding into the mountains on my own to try and catch up with Cory, Karen and Patrick who were riding high in the mountains to acclimatise. I was used to exploring new places on my own having roamed around the world by myself for years, but I felt unusual anxious the first couple of days. “what if my bike breaks” “what if I crash” “what if I get sick” what if I cant find anywhere to sleep” I imagined myself being swept away by waterfalls. My head filled with unhelpful noise. I didn’t see many tourists and each time I passed the permit check points the same repertoire played out which did not help the situation “are you alone?” -yes “no other people” -no “no guide?” -no “no guide?” -no “no guide?” -no. A moment of silence and a stare “no guide?” - still no. Obviously not something which they were used to!! As I was moving higher into the mountains I felt more at ease and my mind finally became quiet. The scenery was spectacular and I befriended mountain guides and listened in awe to their amazing stories of adventures. I rode as high up as the Upper Pisang at 3200m, run into other mountain bikers along the way and the word “crazy” kept on coming up when I mentioned I was in Nepal for the Yak Attack!! 

road traffic

The lady of my hotel insisting on cleaning my bike 

chicken soup for the soul

Life was so simple and I felt at ease in my own company falling in love with the beauty of Nepal and its people. But this did not last. A few days before the start of the Yak Attack I woke up to very sad news from Scotland. I felt extremely heartbroken for my friends who were affected the most. I wanted to jump on a plane, head home and be there for them. I decided to dial Karen’s Nepalese number at 6am in the morning and for a moment the stars aligned and within a 5 minute phone conversation after days of no reception, our locations were shared and I headed down the mountain to meet my friends.

the colours of Nepal

rest day in Chame

Glad to be with my friends after receiving sad news, photo taken by Patrick Means

We were now about to start one of the most extreme races I had ever done and I was trying to make sense of a year which involved so much sadness and heart ache. It were my friend Kerry’s words which really hit home to me and gave my experiences with pain in the last 3 years value in a way I had not valued them before. Whilst she was in the midst of grieving the loss of her soulmate, she took the time to write to me these words of support; 

“when you feel pain on the bike, just remind yourself its not real pain. Your pain is of gaining life, gaining experience, connectedness, the world and freedom.Real pain as you have likely experienced in life already, is loss and the finality that comes with it. Remember what real pain is when your mind starts to wander. Will be thinking of you and use those as happy thoughts”

And I repeated Kerry’s words in my mind during the darkest moments of the Yak Attack, giving me strength and courage when I needed it the most.

room with a view 

My Yak Attack race plan was simple, I would ride the first two days as easy as possible to feel as little fatigued as possible once at altitude. Considering we were going from 800m to 3500m altitude in 2 days this was not as easy as it sounded. 

Imagining I was going to be swept away by waterfalls 

I had ridden most of the route towards Manang therefore the first couple of days felt mentally easy and I had riders around me most of the time to keep me focussed. The terrain was extremely slow going with endless climbs but as we made our way up the mountain we were rewarded with breathtaking views. I was in the company of the Italian duo for a while who made me laugh by joking that I had two Italian body guards to keep me safe. Then I rode up to friends Brett and Tom towards the end of the first day and the first half of day 2, who were both great company to be in and ended up playing a massive role in me riding over the finish line on the final day. On the way I learned that South American Fabricio was an off road triathlete with little MTB experience, and I played cat and mouse with Alan in the final 15 kms of day 2 making the suffering a little easier when our bodies started to scream for oxygen. I had cuddles with adventure dog Mia who herself impressively walked over the pass. I got to know Cory’s cousin Ali and her boyfriend Brad who were volunteering. I loved the stories that started to unfold and how quickly an international bunch of adventurous strangers felt like life long old friends. 

Animal therapy after a tough day on the bike 

For me the suffering started on stage 3 where we rode up to 4500m altitude in 16kms. After two solid stages and a relaxing rest day my body had nothing too give and I was grateful for the company of Christian who was struggling potentially a little more than I was with the thin air. For some reason I lost my head in the final kms of this stage and reached Thorang Pedi being an emotional mess. I was reminded of the camaraderie which forms during stage racing when people all around me quickly organised warm clothes, food and a place to relax. Although I was anxious about the effect the altitude had on me, the evening was spent so cheerful with everyone that I went to bed with a positive mind. Trying to block out the slightly scary talk we were given by an American specialist in emergency medicine about the deathly consequences of altitude sickness. 

Leaving prayer flags for Lewis 

After a restless night it was time for the mighty crossing of the pass. After only 4 days we were heading up and over 5416m altitude, climbing almost a 1000m in 5km. And where my first hour of the early morning was spent at a solid enough pace with other riders in reach enjoying the spectacular surroundings, the lights suddenly went out when I reached 5000m. I ended up in a physical and mental state I have never been before. It was like every cell in my body, every organ every muscle was screaming in pain. I could only take a few steps at a time before taking a break, using my bike to keep me upright. I had to vomit a couple of times and wanted to lay down and go to sleep. Lucky I had seen one too many Everest movies knowing that was an absolute no no. I could not control my thoughts imagining my remains being found at the 20th anniversary of the Yak Attack. I caught myself singing songs I did not know I knew the lyrics to and felt the sickest I had been in my whole entire life. I was waiting for the doctors behind to reach me and pick up the pieces but little did I know that they were slightly busy helicoptering a very ill Christian off the mountain. So I kept going one step at a time, until after many hours of suffering I could see someone waving at me from what seemed the top. It wasn’t until they asked me if I wanted some tea that I realised it wasn’t a fiction of my imagination but an actual person standing there. I made it up to 5416m, the top of Thorong La. My natural instinct was to get of that mountain as soon as possible and treat my body with the oxygen it needed but I had promised Kerry I would leave prayer flags for Lewis at the top. And whilst I clumsily attached the flags with my frozen hands to the thousands of other flags already there, I promised Lewis I would look after Kerry and make sure she would keep chasing dreams and find her happiness again. That I would be there for her to get her through this. I looked around but the beauty of the mountains and the intensity of the moment did not really register. I started to make my way down the mountain with eyes flooded in tears and a head so dizzy I was worried I would ride myself of a cliff but feeling better the lower I got filling me with an incredible sense of accomplishment.

Descending from the of Thorong La

I was more worried for the final and 5th stage than I was for the high pass. I had been so sick that I wasn’t sure if I had enough time to recover. My whole body hurt like it had never hurt before. I desperately wanted to complete the Yak Attack so it was as simple as going into survival mode. Which proved a lot harder than intended!

nothing left in the tank

On the last day everyone rode away from me as if I was standing still and I was at a point of despair at around 20kms when suddenly out of nowhere Brett appeared in the corner of my eye. “Here is your personal photographer” he said “YOU ARE HERE!!!” I sighed (a little too loudly) in relieve. I was so so so happy to see him. “I am just taking it easy’ he laughed. I couldn’t quite figure out where he had come from not realising he had been behind me the whole time. I jumped on his wheel and did my very best to keep up with him, my mind going in overdrive “please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me” repeatedly in my head and then the gap widened and tears streamed down my face whilst Brett became smaller and smaller in the distance. I saw him look back and ease up. “he is waiting, he is waiting, he is waiting” I was an absolute mess, I felt so sick. “I am not sure if I can ride the 20km downhill to the hotel after the finish” I mumbled to Brett. “lets get you over the finish line first” he answered. “Gosh I must really look bad” I thought to myself. And matters went from bad to worse. I really did not think I would get there. 

And if it hadn’t been for Brett I probably would be still out there somewhere wondering around aimlessly in circles. His patience, positive attitude and calmness guided me through the worst moments I have ever had on the bike. Kerry’s words in my mind “this is not real pain” and many tears I tried to hide from Brett. The last few kms were just a blur. The finish line in sight, the whistles, Brett waiting for me and then it was finally over. I felt so incredibly sad, stumbling to a place where I could sit down. Cameras in my face, people everywhere, voices and this incredibly overwhelming feeling of sadness. I thought I was going to pass out when I felt Tom shaking my arm trying to put my jacket on. I suddenly had to laugh. I spotted Brett. I wanted to give him a hug and thank him but I could barely hold myself upright. I was utterly, wholeheartedly, properly, insanely cooked like I had never been before.

adventure dog Mia

When I got up the next morning I was overwhelmed with the reactions from fellow riders and support crew, complementing me on my resilience. Such kind words from everyone made me feel more like a hero then the looser I thought I was. When I feared petty in their eyes I read admiration which refilled my energy levels to make for a pretty cool final day back to Pokhara. What a cool bunch of awesome people.

crossing the bridges when feeling dizzy is very scary!

The Yak Attack has been on my bucket list for such a long time and I am utterly proud I have been able to complete it. I have never felt so many emotions at once and it was truly an incredible experience and a race which should be on the bucket list of any adventurous mountain biker. A huge thanks to everyone for making it a week I will never forget. Especially a big thanks to Brett for not leaving my sight during my darkest hours, Ajay for being so super helpful an showing impeccable organisation skills, Corinne and dog Mia for the hugs and endless support, Ali for making me laugh again on the jeep ride back to the hotel after the finish and Karen for being the perfect room mate. And to all my people at home Michael, James, Morgan and Rob for all the continued support helping me chase dreams. Completing this event was definitely a team effort!

broken at the finish line with some of my favourite people

Time to get this body back on track again giving it the attention it needs to heal. Therefore 2019 is a blank page for now with may be some mini adventures to keep my mind happy. 

"Never give up, when your heart becomes tired just walk with your legs- but move on" P Coelhe