Dales Divide 2025: Rookie Reflections

Amanda Wishart, DotWatcher’s Web Editor, is new to ultra-distance racing. Having never competed in a solo ultra-distance race before, she headed into Yorkshire for the 2025 edition of the Dales Divide, where she finished as second woman.

In this piece, Amanda reflects upon the turbulent emotions, feelings, and thoughts that can arise during a race. She explores the varied terrain and gradients on the Coast-to-Coast route, whilst contemplating the why of ultra, and how a rider transforms into a racer.

Why the Dales Divide?

My decision to enter the Dales Divide as my first solo ultrarace was made extremely last minute, based mostly on the amazing spring weather we were granted in March. Having spent all winter avoiding my mountain bike, I dusted it off for a bikepacking trip in the Dales with my partner Rhys, who wanted to do some kit testing prior to the race - one that he’s been excited about ever since competing last year. I completely fell in love with the terrain, the views, the lambs and the scone café in Askrigg, so with a gentle nudge from friends I put my name down for the event. Choosing to be tracked was for some accountability, as I genuinely didn’t think I could get around the full route but might be more motivated knowing that my friends and DotWatcher colleagues would be watching.

Photo credit below: Amanda Wishart

With less than three weeks notice, I would be relying almost entirely on the fitness I had begun building up for Dead Ends & Cake in June, but I did make sure to do some upper body strength work to the tune of a half hour kettlebell session, hoping this would make 600km off-road feel a little less destructive on my back and arms. I also upped my weekly volume, which included a three day adventure on the Badger Divide and another two day overnighter around the Dales, all in the spirit of kit shakedowns and bike fit.

Photo credit below: Amanda Wishart, The Badger Divide

In the days before the race I formed a loose plan that seemed overly ambitious. This was to get to York, grab a hotel so I could have a full and proper sleep, then on day two get as far into the North Yorkshire Moors as possible and sleep in the bivy bag. Beyond that was subject to how well I would sleep in a bag on the floor by myself, and how ruined I was. I made notes of where all the train stations were on route, and Rhys said he would get in touch with all the train companies and tell them I’m a dangerous criminal. I deleted the list of train stations and added more potential hotels and bothys.

Friday 18th April

When the day arrived, I had been around in circles in my mind with how I thought the event would go. I wanted to get to York on day one, but having realised I’d never ridden a mountain bike over 200km before I suddenly felt stupid for being so ambitious. I had a good sleep system with me and what I believed to be a good list of notes on my phone for useful information like shops, taps, toilets and shelters, so I decided not to overthink it and just ride. This was, after all, my first ever solo ultra race, so I expected the duration of it to be a lesson in what not to do.

Photo credit below: Kitty Dennis

I spent the first few hours of Friday on such a high that I forgot I was supposed to be racing. The technical climbing and fast flowy descents were such a treat despite a raging headwind that I was so consumed with joy I just… rode my bike. No overthinking it, no efficiency worries, no denying myself a conversation with someone else on course. I had a good stock of homemade flapjack to keep me going and plenty of electrolytes to keep me hydrated.

At a café around 80km in, Courtney, who I had never met before but had to introduce myself to so I could admire her colour coordination, told me that she had been feeling quite low but after watching me pedal up Cam Road overtaking a stream of men on gravel bikes, her spirits were lifted. This in turn gave me a small confidence boost, and I thought I might just make it to York after all.

Photo credit below: Kitty Dennis

Somewhere along the way I learnt a valuable lesson about saddle packs - you need a minimum of two rolls on the closure or the bag will work its way open after a few back tyre buzzes. Having retrieved my sleeping bag from a field just as the rain started, I hurriedly rearranged my baggage and realised that I needed to do a better job of it, or else I had no snack carrying capacity. This struck me as a ‘later in the day’ issue, so I put my waterproofs on and carried on my quest to York. Thanks to my amazing breathable-yet-very-waterproof jacket (Albion Zoa Rain Shell) I actually really enjoyed riding in the rain. We still had a brutal headwind, which was not to ease off until turning around in Scarborough, but I was warm and dry-ish. There’s something very mischievous about carrying on a ride when the weather has turned sour.

At Bolton Abbey I refilled my water, ate a very dry scone I had bought at the café 40km prior, I saw a heron and I also caught up with Steve Bate. Steve is a good friend from Hebden Bridge, but he’s better known for being a gold medal winning track cyclist in the Paralympics. He chose to ride his fat bike this weekend and not be tracked, probably in relation to his bike choice. We rode next to each other for a while, chatting about the fun we’d had earlier in the day and observing the rain not letting up anytime soon.

I reached Summerbridge Stores at 8.30pm and bought a can of Coke.

At 9.30pm I started seeing hedgehogs in the road, but they all turned out to be my eyes playing tricks on me. One was a leaf, another was a piece of rubbish, and I wondered if I was tired enough to be hallucinating or if I was just struggling without my glasses. I have a very strong prism in one eye, and I gave up wearing my prescription glasses in the rain because they fogged up.

Saturday 19th April

Within the first 5 minutes of my ride I saw a real hedgehog, and I remembered I’d brought headphones so I put some music on. I recently learnt that listening to nostalgic music can trigger the release of endorphins, so I settled for Sum 41. As it happens, the lyrics to most of the tracks on All Killer, No Filler can be quite applicable to ultracycling.

With nothing on my back

It's still enough to bring me down

My mind's about to crack

'Cause what I thought could not be found

Translation: My hydration bladder is empty and I’ve run out of snacks. It’s nice that my backpack is a bit lighter but I could do with refilling it. My notes had a water refill around here but I can’t find it.

Nothing's new (everything's the same)

Keeps on draggin' me down (It's getting kind of lame)

Falling further behind (there's nothing to explain)

No matter what you say, nothing's gonna change my mind.

Meaning: Somewhere between York and Scarborough I realised just how shortsighted it was to bring a mountain bike without any aero extensions. I fought into a strong wind and imagined all the gravel bikers already in Scarborough buying icecreams and saying ‘imagine doing that on an MTB hahaha’.

'Cause I'm in too deep, and I'm tryin' to keep

Up above in my head, instead of goin' under

I’m past York now, so I just need to get through this headwind. It’s all downhill from Scarborough isn’t it?

For the most part, my journey through the flatlands between York and Scarborough was uneventful. At one point where the route went alongside some crop fields, I was riding against the tide of a running ultra and I almost had to stop to see which bag I’d packed my patience into. Around 70% of the participants were staring at their feet, so I repeatedly chimed ‘hello, hi, rider, HELLO, hi there, look up’ and was met with disgruntled scowls and exaggerated surprise. One woman shouted ‘we’re trying to race here?!’ to which I couldn’t hold in my laughter, and I immediately felt better about the whole ordeal.

In Driffield, I was sitting on the floor outside a bakery when my friend James appeared looking very vacant. I told him the pasties were good, he pulled a face and said he didn’t know what he wanted but was sick of eating sweets, so I mentioned again that the pasties were good. He didn’t react, so I told him to buy a pasty and then talk to me about what was wrong. Half way into his pasty, his big smile returned and he stated that he’d just needed a pasty. I left feeling quite giddy that the flatlands were nearly over, and on my way out of town a real life DotWatcher was standing on the pavement cheering, so I high fived him.

Just when you think you’ve been tortured enough with the relentless flatlands and constant headwind, you get to Scarborough. And of course, what better way to celebrate Easter than a scooter rally? Fortunately I’d anticipated this being a busy area and I knew to just get through the coast road and keep going until I got the Coop food on the way out. What I hadn’t anticipated was the amount of heckling a woman on a bike can get in the space of 2km, especially when traffic is so bad you can’t even weave through the cars to escape. Heckles aside, I did have a very intellectual conversation with a bloke drinking Monster Energy.

Man with can of Monster: I’ve seen a few bikes like that, is it an event?

Me: Yeah

MWCOM: Is it a race? Where did you start?

Me: Arnside

MWCOM: Don’t know it

Me: It’s a coastal town

MWCOM: Ahh right, is it north of south from here?

Me: West.

MWCOM: Eh? [looks at the sea]

Finally at the Coop, I was fretting about where to put all the food I’d bought when Jade turned up, trusted me to guard her Garmin, and then joined me on the floor. I asked her questions about how she manages her sleep during races, to which she explained that she was trying a new tactic this year and was currently feeling great. Positivity is contagious and this brief encounter of semi-normality was a nice reward for surviving Scarborough.

On the Cinder Track (a straight greenway with no views, characteristics or charm of any kind), I needed a wee so badly I thought my eyes might pop out. After a while I had to take a detour down a steep ramp and hide under a bridge. When I churned back up the ramp, I realised how much power you lose when holding in a wee. I told myself to be smarter and not leave it so late next time.

In Egton Bridge I went into a pub for a Coke and to refill my drink bladder. This was the last place on my notes that would have been suitable for a huge bail-out hotel and a 10 hour sleep. In contrast to how I expected I might feel at this point, I was really excited to get onto the moors.

The North Yorkshire Moors was my favourite part of the whole weekend. I was briefly reunited with Jade, who was riding with Carl at this point. We had some intermittent conversation between navigating bogs, ruts and gates. They carried on in Goathland where I stopped to use a toilet and eat a pocket pasty I’d carried from Driffield.

I’m not sure when I lost my marbles, but I’d hazard a guess that I dropped a few of them on Blakey Ridge - a high up road where the strong wind returned and appeared to come from every direction but behind me. It was so cold I was trying to work out if I could wear my sleeping bag, but just as it almost became unbearable I arrived at the Lion Inn, where I planned to use the outside tap for water and get my waterproof overgloves out to help with the windchill. Whilst faffing, Jade appeared and told me it was nice and warm inside, ‘not great for racing though’. I still didn’t consider myself to be in a race, so I went inside and ordered a vegan burger, ate the side salad and about 4 chips, then set off again having forgotten to fill my water bladder.

Photo credit below: Amanda Wishart

I dropped a few more marbles as I fought the freezing cold wind and sporadic technical descents on the moors. Jade, Carl and Danny were there, and then not, and then back again. Jade was starting to flag a bit and between us we had a completely nonsense conversation. Is it better to voice the sleep-deprived thoughts or let them consume your mind? Better out than in, I reckon.

James appeared again, just in time for me to watch him ride the steepest, rockiest section of the entire route in the dark whilst exhausted. Not too long after this, there was a naturally formed pump track with dirt jumps that we rode as if we weren’t 400km+ into our journey. At the end of this section we entered some woods, James spotted a road gap on a downhill trail and I had to stop him from pushing up to ride it. I lost one of my favourite gloves somewhere around here. (I found out after the race that James had seen my glove on a gate post the following morning, but decided it couldn’t possibly be mine because I was ahead of him, as was this glove.)

We stayed together all the way to Lord Stones Country Park, which I’d marked on my notes as a great camping spot, only I wasn’t ready for beddy yet so I carried on and left James in some long grass. He was contemplating carrying on, but I really wanted to ride on my own for a bit to see how brave I was, so I told him as much and this helped him commit to setting up his tent for the night. He planned to have 6 hours sleep, and to my surprise I thought that sounded like far too much. It’s unbelievable how quickly I adapted to the sleep patterns of an ultracyclist.

Shortly after leaving James I got so lost that I decided to zoom in on my Garmin map screen and retrace the line I’d ridden to ‘reset myself’. I got even more lost, climbed up the same tussock field twice, and eventually got my phone out to look at OS Maps. I’d been repeatedly going in the right direction.

Sunday 20th April

I was almost out of water and checked my notes. Northallerton was next on the list for a refuel, but it was 1:00am and I didn’t fancy my chances, so I decided I’d sleep just before it for 4 hours and then go to the Coop which opened at 6:00am. This was a great plan until I cruised into Northallerton 20km earlier than I expected to, because I’d been reading the wrong number on my notes. I sat on a bench listening to the drunk logic of 20-somethings on their way home, and smiled about how big their problems seemed to them. A particular favourite was the girl who insisted to her friend that she would ‘literally die’ if they went home without any chips.

After realising that I couldn’t sit there for 5 hours, I formed a new plan to refuel in Catterick. There was a 24hour petrol station on Google Maps, but I didn’t trust it to have the shop open for 24hours and had a fleeting genius idea of using the Air and Water machine to get my hydration bladder filled up, but I didn’t have any coins. So the new plan was to sleep just before Catterick.

I realised as I pedalled along a bridleway that I’d miscalculated again, and I really needed to stop riding if I wanted to get more water in the morning before a huge section of remote off-road riding. Just as I had this thought, a little white owl started flying low, swooping from the bridleway then over a hedge to a field. ‘Are you the night owl?’ I asked it out loud, and then promptly declared myself far too tired to be making decisions and followed it into the field. I threw my bike into the hedge, set up my bivy, mat and dry sleeping bag in front of it so I’d have to be stood on if someone were to try and steal it, and I got tucked in. This whole process took me around 7 minutes (I timed it, because I had now become a racer).

I set a 4 hour alarm, but woke up after 1.5 hours feeling brand new. Some bike lights twinkled through the hedge and I thought it must be Jade, and I realised that if I just got up and kept pedalling I could maybe make the podium of my first race. The shops still wouldn’t be open but there was no point lying in a hedge wide awake, so I got up.

Photo credit below: Amanda Wishart

Within 10 minutes I arrived at the 24hour petrol station that did, in fact, have a 24 hour shop.

Catterick Garrison was a really easy start to the day. As I entered a field full of gorse bushes, it exploded with little bunny rabbits darting around as I disturbed them. I found a cartridge case and picked it up to give to Rhys.

On the descendulating tarmac between Catterick Garrison and the Dales, Chris caught up with me and said he was having a tough time waking up properly, having slept in a shelter at the barracks. When he found out I live in Hebden Bridge, it was as if his morning shell cracked open and he giddily told me that his best friends own a coffee shop there. I know them, so the excitement escalated and eventually I’d powered him up enough for him to drop me on the climb onto the Dales.

Photo credit below: Sarah Barr

Something clicked as I got to the first bothy, and I suddenly got extremely motivated to finish the ride. I am very familiar with the remainder of the route, so there were no nasty surprises, and in particular I really love pedalling up Cam High Road. It’s my favourite gradient.

At the second bothy, I could hear a siren but couldn’t locate it. I wondered if my efforts would be stalled to a halt by a wild fire but I eventually realised it was coming from a megaphone at the bothy. I rode over and went inside to find Chris sitting inside with a big smile on his face, lit up by conversation and camaraderie from the bothy fairies. I asked Alex from Restrap how long it had been since Jade went through, and he said he hadn’t seen her. I wondered if she was motoring to the finish line thanks to her new sleep tactic, so I tightened up my saddle bag straps in anticipation of a fast descent and left.

Cam High Road had the sun shining on it and in my mind, it was the last climb of the route. Rhys had told me it was downhill from the top of there and I’d believed him. I got a new PR on the climb, which I would later regret but I felt great at the time. Kitty was on the descent with her camera and I didn’t stop to say hello because I was too busy hopping over the gravel rollercoaster mounds.

Photo credit below: Kitty Dennis

The remaining 50km of the route were the hardest. Punchy climbs, nowhere to fill my water up, more climbing, another climb, and just to really toughen me up I discovered just how little power my brakes had on a fast tarmac descent toward a busy road. I decided that crying might help, but it didn’t, so I stopped. I then realised I was so tired I could just cry on demand, which made me laugh, and I feared I might be going mad.

There was a very steep field I hated so much I have made a note of it for next time. That’s right - next time!

As I rode the coast road toward the pier, I was so dehydrated I started to get what felt like deja vu, but it was constant and it wasn’t much fun at all. Eventually I saw the pier, rode past Chris and wondered when he’d passed me, and I looked around for Jade to congratulate/thank/hug her. As it turned out, I had spent all day hoping to make third place but I was actually second female.

Photo credit below: Kitty Dennis

I had my photo taken by Vicky, my friend who I share an unwritten mutual agreement with to always be at the end of each other's races with a good snack, and she handed me a marzipan chocolate egg. I suddenly felt very sad that I didn’t have any more bike riding to do, but almost as soon as I had this thought my brain delivered the news to my legs and they started stiffening up.

Photo credit below: Vicky Chapman

Looking Back

As far as a first solo ultra race goes, I really couldn’t have hoped for a better experience. Any low points were short lived, quickly replaced by pure happiness for having nothing else to do but ride my bike. My kit choice was spot on, I didn’t suffer with any saddle discomfort and I fuelled the event well enough to have only felt thirsty in the last 5km, and at no point did I upset my stomach. The stand out thing for me was how well I adapted to riding with very little sleep. It wasn’t my plan, but it naturally happened and I feel really lucky that I'm able to have a power nap in a hedge and genuinely feel refreshed by it.

Ultimately, it turns out that making it all up as you go along is a good way to approach an ultra race, because there’s no way of predicting how you’re going to feel by set milestones.