13 is unlucky for some...

For 7 long, miserable days, the weather gods punished cyclists in Macclesfield; thunderstorms had almost washed away the painted lines which strictly define our sacred hillclimb courses. Even at 9am on the very morning of battle, the torrential rains stubbornly returned to hammer the valleys, prompting nervous newcomer Afzal Khan to message the organizer with abrupt, understandable concern: "Hopefully the rain will stop". Yet, our faith in the mountain holds strong. As Friday's hour of truth ultimately approached on the evening of June 12th, the furious heavens miraculously parted for our peloton. Breaking through the stormy gloom, glorious rays of sun cascaded across the moors. The bitter headwinds had pivoted completely, blessing the battlefield with the holy grail of racing: a booming, pure westerly tailwind and rising temperatures, peaking and plateauing right as the first rider approached the line. This shift was a vital blessing for veteran riders like Martin Bullen. Facing down the long, relentless grade, he admitted, "I am hoping the forecast back wind will go someway to offsetting ancient legs and just-ticking-over form" as he readied his machine. For those fearing a damp road, history offers absolutely no comfort. The supreme overall course record of 17:45, forged during our event in September 2019 by former World Tour professional Matthew Holmes, was laid down upon brutally soaked tarmac, with debris washed onto the road. It was, however, heavily assisted by a similar gale so violently potent that the participant Alastair Ribbands dubbed it 'Hurricane Bhima' to salute the organizer. Tonight, with the legendary winds roaring once more, a wet surface in places could be no excuse!

Living up to his perfectly timed surname, Nick Gale marveled at this recurring meteorological miracle at the meeting point. He noted that this divine weather intervention was the ultimate theme of our 2025 season: an entire working week could be a miserable, torrential washout, yet without fail, the heavy skies would perfectly clear just in time for Hillclimb Friday.

Our riders, it seems, possess the meteorology skills of ancient seafaring navigators. Watching the weather trackers and hilltop webcam with hawk-like precision, an incredible 30 entries came crashing through our digital doors in the very closing hours of registration. In total, a colossal, swelling host of 65 combatants formed the final vanguard.

Upon the closing of entries, there was heartbreak for many, though the true scale of the siege remained hidden until cellular signal finally returned to the far-flung organizer's phone the following morning. 10 late warriors still hammered upon the sealed gates, looking to swell our ranks to well over 70, which would be a record-breaking host for us on this legendary course. We are profoundly humbled that so many incredibly fast, powerful riders are eager to support our events. However, the first of these riders honestly confessed their ascent might take up to 40 minutes. With the starting slots already forged, many existing riders were strictly locked into their battle schedules due to real-world commitments. Consequently, granting late passage to the rapid riders meant we would be morally bound to re-open the floodgates for slower latecomers, too. Tacking a mighty 40-minute epic onto the extreme rear of the timesheet would cruelly abandon our stationary finish-line marshals to the freezing winds long after the racing veterans had crossed. These vital guardians had already been promised their duty times. To fiercely protect those volunteers who hold this entire realm together, the startsheet had to remain closed. We deeply appreciate the intense eagerness to race, but beg future challengers: claim your places early! We will gladly refund you if you withdraw beforehand, but a timesheet set in stone simply cannot be rewritten.

Yet, even for those safely locked within those rigid start times, extreme logistical urgency remained. Pleading for an earlier start due to a rapidly approaching railway deadline, Harry Richardson of Hull City Road Club staged a desperate race against the timetable of public transport. Originally high up the roster, he was hurled onto the starting blocks wearing the historically ominous, highly superstitious race number 13. Establishing what would become a deeply mystical theme for the entire evening, Harry's twilight ride became a breathtaking dual-war against both the gradient and the ticking clock! He had exactly 53 terrifying minutes to launch, conquer the entire route, secure his finishing time, and frantically plunge back to civilization to catch his 8:06 homeward train. Meanwhile, the railway networks had seemingly plunged into sheer, gridlocked chaos! Trains were brutally delayed. Countless routes were entirely canceled. Did he make it home? The truth remains shrouded in mystery! It seems the cycling gods themselves perhaps possessed the transport timetables, delaying the masses to mercifully ensure his escape! 

Despite the absence of lightweight heavyweights who missed the entry window, an undeniable National Championship aura draped heavily over the start line. In merely 4 months' time, glory will be fought for upon the long, brutal inclines of Porlock Toll Road in the south. Naturally, true conquerors from all borders traveled to our famous, equally relentless Cat & Fiddle climb to hone their mighty engines over a longer effort. Approaching the meeting point in the crisp afternoon, newcomer Matthew Last of the Manchester Bicycle Club stared out at the bustling kingdom he was entering, following in the footsteps of teammate Nicholas Smith who powered through round 1 with great success. "Been meaning to ride one of your events for a few years now," he said, radiating excitement. "Incredible what you've put together!"

But perhaps no traveler commanded as much quiet awe as Geoff Ware. Ascending as an esteemed organizer of the upcoming Porlock Nationals for Minehead CC, this living legend's appearance on the start list immediately sent waves of excitement through the ranks. Indeed, former National Champion Chris Myhill could scarcely contain his delight upon seeing the rosters, exclaiming, "Geoff Ware! Absolute scenes having him on the start sheet" as word of his arrival spread. Yet, while most adversaries cloaked themselves in space-age, aerodynamic skinsuits tightly hugging every limb, Geoff rejected the rules entirely. Possessing an unparalleled, grassroots ethos, this farming titan stepped into the furious winds prepared to scale the endless gradient clothed exactly as he arrived from his daily toil: in an unyielding work shirt and deeply aerodynamic-resisting baggy shorts! Will the mountain break him, or will his honest cotton armor prove entirely invincible?

Joining the hallowed migration was hillclimb royalty, Rebecca Richardson. Owning the prestigious title of a National team champion from 2019, Rebecca arrived burdened by a haunting history upon these very slopes. 5 years ago, on this exact tarmac, she brutally claimed the female senior course record... only to hold her newfound throne for a fleeting few seconds before the very next finisher snatched it back. That doomed August evening was notably a Friday the 13th, proving the sinister magic of that number. Returning at last to completely exorcise this ancient numerical ghost, she utilized a brilliant supernatural loophole! By striking on the evening of June 12th, she staged her rebellion merely hours before midnight could awake the curse once more. She was not waging this war entirely alone, however. Spectating proudly from the sidelines was her partner and expert mechanic, Rick Bailey. A staunch Yorkshireman rarely seen without his distinctively shaped flat cap, Rick was immediately recognizable tonight; he had simply swapped that signature cap for a mountain bike helmet featuring the exact same pronounced front peak! Rick's unyielding encouragement during our earliest promotions gave us the confidence to launch this entire racing series, making his familiar, peaked silhouette on the banks deeply special tonight. Riding onto the asphalt, Rebecca faced an astonishing gauntlet of female powerhouse rivals. Guest Women's champion Alice Larkin was there, fiercely hunting a 3rd year of unbroken sovereignty; while Tammy Lewis Jones, triumphant on Round 2, plotted to conquer the gradient once more. Meanwhile, fiercely guarded by 4 screaming allies from the unstoppable Station South invasion, the lethal Rebecca Bowler also set off into the screaming sun.

Beyond battles of wind and wattage, Kathleen O'Donnell arrived to shatter a mysterious hex of her own. Until tonight, a bizarre curse ensured every warrior chosen to grace the weekly promotional poster magically missed their heralded race! Taking the start line, this week's 'poster girl' proved that our photographic champions truly exist in the flesh!

Slicing entirely through the fierce westerly gales to shatter her ancient ghost, the undisputed Queen of the night was indeed Rebecca Richardson! Seizing sovereignty of the peak, she crossed the line with a monumental 21:49.237, a commanding victory despite lying merely 22 seconds shy of her legendary PB. Behind her, a fierce gap of 51 seconds yielded to a magnificent newcomer: Sophie Kirkby, who secured an astounding 2nd place with 22:40.661. Sophie did not march upon these moors alone; alongside her rode her husband, Hamzeh Alsamawi, who waged a mighty campaign of his own to claim 7th overall with a blazing 20:13.310. Traveling from across the borders of Huddersfield, they unquestionably established themselves as the supreme 'power couple' of the night, their lengthy northern journey proving to be worth the effort. Rounding out this ferocious podium was Tammy Lewis Jones, who fought to a 23:53.329. Though mysteriously shedding exactly 13 seconds from her Round 2 effort despite the raging tailwinds, that cursed number making itself known once more, she graciously claimed her 3rd-place honors, and importantly, immediately championed the glorious post-race flapjacks awaiting her!

Just beyond the supreme overall podium, Alice Larkin waged an intense, deeply personal campaign to slay internal dragons. Bedeviled recently by an untimely bout of illness, dark thoughts had thoroughly convinced her that her mighty hill-climbing engine was lost. Throwing down the gauntlet, her grand design for the night was one of total psychological warfare: to banish those creeping demons. Seeking to utilize the monumental tailwinds, Alice completely vanquished the whispering doubts in her legs! She phenomenally matched her Wattage goals from last year, claiming brilliant honors as the 3rd Veteran overall amongst an incredibly fierce onslaught. Confessing her pacing was perhaps slightly too disciplined before her final, savage sprint for the line, she missed her all-time PB by only 4 seconds! Utterly vindicated and proudly declaring how immensely glad she was to finally be "back on the horse," the peloton is hereby warned: Alice Larkin has emphatically returned to the warpath!

Deep in the midfield ranks, some deployed sheer madness. Commuting all the way from Warrington, Sophie Baker of Wild Bikes CC possessed legs that were theoretically exhausted from her intra-county trek. Standing before her first ever hillclimb, she did not face the looming mountain alone; she had her friend Wesley Raynbird-Tilbury stationed exactly one minute behind her to serve as a relentless, ticking source of motivation. Sophie completely ignored sensible, cautious doctrine. Stripping away all sanity, she threw herself onto a wonderfully suicidal pace immediately off the blocks, surviving by absolute willpower alone to escape her pursuer and etch a terrifyingly defiant maiden marker of 28:08.109.

Buoyed by the roaring westerly tailwind off the start line, Robert Tracey of Glossop Kinder Velo Cycling Club brazenly fell victim to early hubris. Admitting his early miscalculation, he recounted: "Felt like I was God's gift until I got to the mill stone statue in Walker Barn and realised the Cat and Fiddle is a longer climb than it appears." Yet, despite wrestling with this bitter mid-climb reality check, his raw endurance violently answered the call. Striking the finish line 24 seconds faster than his Round 2 campaign, which itself had completely annihilated his previous year's time by an entire minute, Robert is shaving away massive chunks of time. Dropping minute after minute, brick by brick, the Glossop gladiator is carving a path directly back to his absolute peak.

Elsewhere on the timesheet, other bitter rivalries absolutely refused to yield an inch! Behold the fiercely competitive 'brothers in arms', Rob and Billy Gittins. How exactly they share actual biological bloodline remains a mystery. But their racing destinies are hopelessly, brutally locked together. Last week, upon the explosively short, violent gradients of Smith Lane, mere fractions split their finishing times. This week, ascending a colossal, 10-kilometer mountain? The staggering gap remained almost exactly the same! A razor-thin 16.5 seconds separated their roaring machines. It completely defies logic! It masterfully proves how entirely different physiological engines process extreme suffering. One man thrives on sharp, anaerobic power. The other unleashes relentless, high-altitude endurance. Different terrain dictates different tactics. Yet, when the sheer, blistering times are calculated at the summit, neither man surrenders an inch of ground. Their claustrophobic, intense warfare heavily rages on!

Further up the road, a bloody multi-year feud reached boiling point, purposefully orchestrated by the grand master of the event himself! While we cannot reveal specifics, the tongue-in-cheek trash-talk between Nick Brownbill and Alex Whitmore was reaching high levels by lunch time. Informed of this rivalry, looking forward to his front row seat, and feeling that 'Hurricane Bhima' tailwind upon his back, organizer Bhima Bowden looked directly toward the cursed shadow of his own past. Chasing the night's relentless omen, his ultimate target was a mythological personal best forged exactly - you guessed it - 13 years prior in 2013, a standard remaining miraculously unbeaten despite his own ever-increasing fitness, lighter equipment and huge resurfaced sections. The reason? A decade of sub-optimal weather. Reserving the dark magic of caffeine for only the most special ceremonies a few times per year, he nervously drank a coffee, hoping beyond hope that "tonight would be the night". Utilizing the inbound war between Alex and Nick as a psychological cattle prod to keep his own Wattage agonizingly high, the desperate gamble resulted in an unexpected, crushing silence. The mountain struck before the whistle even blew!

High at the treacherous summit stood Alex Whitmore. The fragile, lightweight climber had planned a swift warmup descent to his start line. But the howling heavens had other plans. Fierce crosswind gusts violently battered the exposed corners. They instantly turned Alex's aerodynamic, deep-section wheels into a lethal liability. His machine became completely uncontrollable in the wind. Time rapidly evaporated. Realizing he could never survive the terrifying plunge to the valley in time, Alex surrendered. Playing it safely, he remained at the peak as a mere spectator.

Down below, ignorance fueled the fire. Standing blindly at the starting block, Bhima desperately stoked the flames of the feud. He stared Nick directly in the eyes. "I need you two to climb like your lives depend on it," Bhima demanded. It was a mastermind plot. Nick would viciously hunt Alex, and Alex would do the same to Bhima, pushing all to the next level.

Then, the terrible truth rippled through the starting area: Alex was nowhere to be seen. The glorious, high-stakes tension instantly popped. Without his nemesis to hunt, Nick simply put his head down and unleashed his engine. Relishing his naturally higher raw power, Nick brutally commanded the flatter, exposed sections of the moors. Unbothered by a phantom chase, he laid down a phenomenal 19:17.732 to allow him to stand on the 3rd step of the podium.

Ahead of him on the road, Bhima raged against the lengthening golden hour shadows under the trees. For the first 5 brutal minutes launching out of Macclesfield, he unleashed hell. Burning 6.5 to 6.75 Watts per kilo into the steepest asphalt stretches, by the Bull Hill Lane turn, he clung to within mere seconds of the overall winner. But physics is a cruel, unforgiving master and this most challenging climbing section, where pure climbing speed mattered most, was only the first quarter of the climb. Desperate to capitalize with the hard start, it had taken its toll. Bhima was forced into desperate strategic recovery upon the flatter middle tiers. Here, the heavier, more powerful juggernauts mercilessly reeled him back in.

He arrived at the summit with a 19:50. It secured a deeply hard-fought 4th place immediately behind Nick. But his numerical glory had turned to ash. He missed slaying his fabled, 13-year personal best by just 8 heartbreaking seconds. Seeing his minute-man Alex stood at the summit safely spectating in plain clothes, the bruised organizer could only wonder: Without Alex on the road, the vicious, desperate chase had evaporated. Was the furious ghost of Alex Whitmore the final, missing ingredient needed to claw back those long 8 seconds? Despite arriving upon the Eve of the 13th, it seems the grand, ancient curse mercilessly gripped Bhima's back wheel once again!

The brutal reality of his desperate, fluctuating pace was witnessed first-hand. It fell upon the fresh eyes of newcomer VET, Steve Hodgkinson. Steve joined the Macclesfield Wheelers just two weeks ago. It is his first cycling club since he was fifteen. Waiting nervously at the bleak base of the climb, sheer existential dread set in. Looking up the looming road, he thought to himself, "OMG, what have I let myself in for?" Yet, the heroic starting crew quickly steadied his shaking machine. Being physically held up on the block for the very first time offered immediate, profound reassurance. The whistle blew. He launched into the fray. Suddenly, a hurtling Bhima shot past him at terrifying speed. But on the swift downhill drops and exposed flats, Steve fiercely fought back. Proving Bhima's strategic weakness on the rolling gradients, the newcomer powerfully clawed back the ground! This thrilling cat-and-mouse warfare lasted for miles. That is, until the savage final bends near the summit. The sheer gradient spiked, and Bhima simply vanished up the mountain. Thoroughly surviving his mighty debut, Steve heavily praised the phenomenal support crew. When the final numbers were tallied, the true scale of Steve's phenomenal debut was revealed: a staggering 1:12 personal best, shattering a private training effort he undertook upon these very slopes exactly 4 years ago to the day! A survivor of the climb and a true victor over history, he famously admitted the post-race flapjacks awaiting him were so unbelievably good he almost demanded a second helping!

Steve's swift induction into the brutal hillclimbing realm was partially forged by VET powerhouse, Fred Wardle. In recent weeks, Fred has welcomed newcomers like Steve into the club ranks. But tonight, there were no friendly favors granted on the hill. Fred arrived carrying lethal, unrelenting form. Gazing nervously into the moody skies at the start line, he quietly muttered his battle-plan. He simply hoped to get near, or perfectly equal, his lifetime personal best of 26:22. He exploded off the line. He violently crushed the tarmac. Boy, did he deliver! Stopping the ruthless clock at 26:22.935, Fred missed his lifelong standard by a truly agonizing 0.826 seconds! Nevertheless, a spectacular ride. Yet the regular racers know the ultimate truth. Beneath the cruel timing equipment, a staggering sub-26-minute ride is burning within his legs. Next time, that fabled '25' will definitely be his!

Meanwhile, echoes of an older, dominant era rumbled through the Veteran factions. Ascending proudly in the colours of Congleton CC, regular racer Warren Jackson found his side newly fortified by the sudden reappearance of his teammate, Gary Wilcox. Unseen upon our starting lines since 2023, Gary's unexpected return immediately sparked whispered campfire tales among the seasoned guard regarding the 'good old days'. Back in 2022, Gary and his son Ashley launched a comical reign of terror, storming every single battleground with unbreakable attendance. You could set your watch to their race entry and warmup schedule. It was a flawless invasion that gifted Ashley the ultimate opportunity to completely dominate the overall leaderboards more than any other rider. Though Ashley's modern whereabouts remain steeped in deep, enduring mystery, the return of his father meant an old Congleton power had undoubtedly been awakened - perhaps more of them will eventually resurface too? Announcing his glorious resurgence with an undeniable show of force tonight, Gary pulled off an incredible 27:52.480, capturing a brilliant 53-second PB! Lore decrees that a younger, vastly fitter Gary once soared this exact mountain at effortless, blistering speeds. Yet, those forgotten eras produced no digital records; thus, tonight's spectacular suffering stands alone as the ultimate, reigning proof of his power.

This returning threat only added to the monstrous tension already gripping the elite Veteran leaders. Igniting the fires of anticipation 24 hours prior, super-fan Phillip Coates sang chaotic psalms across social media. When questioned regarding his joyful, public sermons, Phil proudly defended his unyielding fanaticism: "I love this series it's so much fun, and at 51 years old to find something that makes you laugh and smile as much as this does I feel inclined to yap about it"

Yet behind the excitement lay sheer terror. Slotted on the timesheet immediately in front of massive legendary juggernauts Paul Whitaker and Thijs Geurts, Phil plunged headlong into the maelstrom of what he dubbed 'Pressure Central.' To survive, he enacted eleventh-hour alchemy upon his steed, tweaking saddle height and gearing directly before the fray. Finding ultimate harmony on the machine, his mindset was hardened: push viciously off the blocks for 10 seconds, then bind his soul steadfastly to a grueling 310 Watt average. The flawless doctrine yielded a masterclass of redemption from previous blunders. Gazing nervously over his shoulder into the gales, he witnessed a miracle. Though Paul rode a supreme 'pearler' to inevitably best Phil's overall time by a staggering 50 seconds, he failed to catch him upon the road, looming just metres behind Phil's wheel as the summit neared! True survival, however, was broken only by Thijs, who mercilessly overtook him. Try as Phil might to latch onto the passing juggernaut's wheel, he could not match the unnatural velocity. Re-centering his mind to his pacing plan, Phil conserved exactly what was required to brutally empty his remaining tank over the final corner. Thoroughly ecstatic to survive the hunters, his unwavering, monastic resolve immediately plotted his impending weeks: "So it's back on the trainer for me to try and up that power, then back in the kitchen to try to lower my weight."

Standing sentry on the banks and watching Phil and his daughter Lily partake in these glorious uphill crucibles was esteemed photographer, Adrian Pennington, renowned across the scene as "Cheshire Cycling Snaps". Staring through his camera lens as the warring host swept by, Adrian captured the ultimate, poetic truth of the evening's warfare, observing: "Phil and Lily, father & daughter, great to see such an inclusive sport when anyone on any bike can take part, the stopwatch doesn't care about your ethnicity, beliefs, FTP, how much you've spent on your bike, fitness, age, and many other factors"

Yet what Phil's pre-race prophetic scriptures failed to record was the shadow of an even greater monster closing from the deep rear. Lurking as the ultimate, sweeping gatekeeper of the Veterans was Chris Myhill. Owning both the 2007 and 2009 National Veteran crowns, Myhill set an awe-inspiring 19:50 VET record on this specific hill in 2008, a standard of raw strength that survived unvanquished for 13 desperate years! Again, that pesky, cursed number found another host! Organizing the impending Longstone Edge hillclimb next week, Chris sought to rip the engine open upon our asphalt to jumpstart his racing instincts. When these mighty Veteran kings met at the windswept top, the gaps separating them were finally etched into history. Surging out from the fray to snatch the VET crown for the men was the unrelenting Thijs Geurts! Smashing an incredible 32-second PB, he stopped the clocks at an agonizingly brilliant 19:59.986, magically sneaking beneath the legendary 20-minute barrier by a razor-thin hairsbreadth. Not far behind his roaring engine was the creeping terror of Myhill, who definitively asserted his dominance as by far the strongest in the 50+ Vanguard. Cresting in 20:14.734, Chris revealed his untouchable 19:50 VET course record was actually three seconds slower than his lifetime Senior PB forged way back in the mists of 2004! Meaning he was a mere 27 seconds down from his ultimate youth over two decades later. Catching his breath under the cooling skies, the National Champion looked upon the roaring finish line with reverence, blessing the battlefield by declaring: "Great event tonight. Your contribution and commitment to the hillclimb community is peerless."

If the sheer pedigree of our elite wasn't enough to strike mortal fear into our local heroes, a dark, continental terror was also waiting at the rear of the overall Senior timesheet. Slotted to launch second-to-last, striking profound nervousness into the hearts of our regular climbers, was the legendary Danish crusader Casper von Folsach. Forged within the mother of all marginal gains factions at 'Wattshop', the retired professional has embarked upon a ruthless show of power across the country. Free from the high-stakes pressures of his old National squad, he is currently laying joyful siege to the UK time trial scene for pure sport. Facing down a titan of European racing lore, our local kings could do nothing but grip the bars and pray their legs would somehow answer back.

Answering that very call to arms with earth-shattering authority, the true zenith of the evening arrived as our reigning local hero, the relentless Jack Morris, launched his fierce counter-siege! Setting out upon the road just 60 seconds behind in relentless pursuit of the Danish powerhouse, Jack summoned the ride of his life. As they materialized through the backlight of the setting sun at the summit's final sweeping corners, the gathered crowds stood utterly breathless: Jack had ruthlessly hunted his prey and was closing with such devastating, impossible speed he could practically reach out and physically touch Casper on the very final turn! Casper safely secured a massive 19:13.502, coming in fast in a slick aero position unlike anyone else present. But Jack unleashed absolute ruin upon the mountain. Obliterating his own lifetime PB by an unthinkable 1 minute and 13 seconds, Jack crossed the peak to stop the clocks at a monumental 18:28.699! Surging above a vast battlefield of scattered personal bests, it stands officially as the 4th fastest time in the entire history of these events, inevitably catapulting his name straight into the hallowed Top 10 pantheon of all-time Cat & Fiddle ascents. Bending the legendary gales to his will, Jack proved once again that on this sacred tarmac, he is the untouchable King.

The mountain also forged brand-new youth warriors in the Senior's mighty wake! Stepping boldly onto the violent scene was youngster Harrison Phillips. He didn't just survive. He brilliantly read the battlefield! Riding with the tactical mind of a seasoned professional, he explained his mastery of the pacing: "the start of the race was challenging and then the downhills were great for recovery". He absorbed the brutal opening gradients, and ruthlessly weaponized the descents! Basking in his high-altitude glory, Harrison declared his spectacular debut run to be entirely "awesome", proudly praising the "amazing" roadside support throughout the savage climb. He arrived an unknown rookie, but left a conqueror!

Harrison wasn't the only rookie deploying sheer tactical genius! Enter young Sophie Merchant. Making her glorious debut alongside her father, Mike, they rode to the top upon a sprawling tandem machine. A full thirty minutes before their own launch, the duo wisely scouted the battlefield. Standing dead-center at the starting block as Rider Number 1 departed, they launched into intense espionage. They studied the start procedure. They watched the holder. They meticulously analyzed how everything worked. Armed with undeniable confidence, this early reconnaissance paid massive dividends. Acting as one highly synchronized unit, they dragged their heavy, two-wheeled battleship over the final punishing gradients, slaying the giant with an astonishing 31:25.737, permanently etching their epic maiden voyage into the history books!

Breaching the summit directly amidst these roaring youths was the unstoppable Junior prodigy, Edward Stubbs. Seizing a devastatingly fast 20:09.439, Ed demolished his own limits to claim a staggering 94-second PB! As the magical numbers were announced to him and his father at the peak, their faces instantly erupted in sheer delight. Yet across the road, a grand mystery of our era finally unraveled. Seb Hines, Ed's fierce generational rival, successfully secured an immense 48-second PB of his own, clocking a mighty 22:08.900. However, the fabled gap between these two young warriors, which once required microscopes to separate by fractions of a second, has now inexplicably widened to mere minutes. As Seb and his father made their weekly, frantic rush away from the mountain to attend yet another pre-booked engagement, the whispered truth among the crowds has become glaringly clear. Between endless barbeques, VIP parties, and high-profile soirées, the exhausting social calendar of being a 'hillclimb celebrity' might finally be taking its terrible toll upon Seb's racing legs! Such is the heavy price of fame!

The unfolding spectacle of these surging youngsters, including the 'fabulous, hardcore' tandem, was actually witnessed firsthand on the mountain by our aforementioned poster girl, Kathleen O'Donnell! Waging her own eccentric war against the clock, Kathleen openly broadcast a highly specific, manifesting goal of 35:59 to everyone on the start line. Yet, her preparation tactics defied all conventional cycling logic, steeped in sheer cross-discipline madness. To recover from round 6, she incredibly undertook both the brutal Pen-y-Ghent and Boar's Head fell running races earlier in the week to 'oil the engine and hone the hams.' For 'final sharpening' on the very morning of this race, she staged a pair of savage hill-runs up Tegg's Nose to ensure 'the titillating of the quads for an explosion to the summit!' Loaded on half a carb bar and exactly 5 ceremonial Haribos scoffed at the start line, Kathleen relished the sheer joy of cheering on her incredibly strong friend Lily Coates and the hurtling tandem as they overtook her. However, as the infamous summit tea room crept into view, pure terror set in: she had merely 5 minutes to survive the rest of the peak to smash her PB. 'I hoped someone would pass me so I could shout out... and draft them, but no one came!' she laughed. Denied a vital slipstream because she was obviously going far too fast for anyone to catch, the titan of the moors pushed mercilessly on through lonely willpower.

Reaching the high, sunlit plateau after tens of thousands of metres of total agony, 10.291km to be exact, the lungs expanded violently under the settling sky. In light of an unexpected 65 mouths crying for calories at the finish, the culinary hero of the evening stepped out from the kitchen. Armed with an immense wooden spoon, flapjack magician Bluebell abandoned a calm evening to feverishly mass-forge 4 overflowing trays of glorious recovery! Coasting gracefully down from the hills they had just violently wrestled into submission, 65 elated rivals traded stories while heavily armed with generous squares of sugar and syrup.

Some gladiators, however, outright refused to wait for the afterparty. Planning to descend directly down the far side of the peak to return home, James Summers enacted a pre-race heist! Snagging his starting number, he quickly grabbed a glorious flapjack and ran, brutally cramming the syrupy treasure deep into his pocket! Carrying extra gravitational ballast upon a monstrous climb defies every single law of hill climbing. But the dense sugary cargo failed to hinder him! Firing off the blocks, James dragged his smuggled bounty up the entire mountain to claim a jaw-dropping 10th place overall!

Afterwards, the feeding frenzy continued. Over the moon with his own ride, Hamzeh Alsamawi quickly secured his baked prize. He immortalized his feast, demanding a glorious photograph with the magical baker herself, texting the organizer praising the "decent flapjacks!"

But every heroic tale requires a tragedy. High on the treacherous mountain, the organizer's physical labor continued long after the final wheel crossed the line. Stripping down the signage in the wind, Bhima and timekeeper Lia exhaustedly hauled everything back to base camp. Surviving the chaos, he yearned for sweet, sticky, flapjack salvation. But no! The grand feast was completely annihilated... Staring down at empty crumbs, the identity of the final thief was painfully revealed: none other than Kathleen O'Donnell! Usually notorious for her highly cautious mountain descents, she had suddenly unearthed blistering, terrifying downhill speed! Braving what she later deemed a 'highly challenging and hairy descent' like a descending falcon, Kathleen had mercilessly beaten the heartbroken organizer to the table by mere minutes! Secure with her bounty at the bottom, she raised her spoils high, unapologetically declaring Bluebell's iconic cherry, coconut, and date flapjack as the ultimate 'refuel of legends!' For the starving organizer, left completely empty-handed, the betrayal was complete.

Minds and spirits wholly tested, next week calls us elsewhere for yet more pain... Ensure you're entered early! We'll see you upon the great sharp slopes of Barlow Hill in Wincle.

Full Results: https://hillclimbproject.co.uk/race/?c=qKVFRDoWm4
Photos/Videos: https://hillclimbproject.co.uk/shots/2026-06-12/
Photos from Cheshire Cycling Snaps: https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipPYi4MM6XOEE6NULxt1fYHoOBtFrF4U4le6QXL3p5Juh2c2oyrS4c7itmxVutScRw?key=el8xWFpGclZ1ZlhDUlRzRXlCZ1pVeVZjcjFmdFJR
Photos from Paul Jones (£1.25 each and all proceeds go to his Monday night track series):
Zoom: https://www.photodesport.co.uk/time-trials-1/cat-and-fiddle-cam-2-120626-1?ct=2
Wide: https://www.photodesport.co.uk/time-trials-1/cat-and-fiddle-cam-1-120626?ct=2