The Man at the Top of Hardknott Pass

I still don’t really know where he came from.

I never saw him pass me on the way up.

I never saw him pass me on the way down.

But somehow, at the exact moment I needed him, he was there.

This story happened on day 6 of my Cycle For Sanctuary challenge in 2025.

I was camped in a small patch of woodland just off the Leeds and Liverpool Canal, somewhere near Wigan, and I was still over 100 miles away from my next camp at the base of Scafell Pike.

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/760d95_34ce12d750d946dd89d7773bbdd20a4c/1080p/mp4/file.mp4

^ Blair Witch Camping

The day before, I had cycled my furthest ever distance.

113 miles (181km).

I needed to do another 100 to stay on schedule.

That was the plan anyway.

If I got the miles done, I could wake up the next morning and climb Scafell Pike. 

If I didn’t, I would be left with the horrible combination of cycling and climbing on the same day.

Not ideal, but It would be done.

For most of the trip, the weather had been ridiculously kind to me. 

The sun was out again, and I knew I would be covered by it from sunrise to sunset.

Early in the day, I found myself back on familiar roads and paths from my Land’s End to John O’Groats challenge. 

I passed through Preston, then Lancaster, and eventually made it into the Lake District.

By the time I reached Windermere, I still had time in the bank.

There were a few hours before sundown.

As long as nothing went wrong, I would be fine.

Then something went wrong.

I took a wrong turn.

Cycling through the Lakes was incredible, even with the mistake. 

I was annoyed because I’d messed up, but also looking around thinking:

“This is unbelievable.”

That wrong turn led me into one of the most challenging few hours of effort in my life.

Once I realised I had gone the wrong way, I spoke to someone at a nearby campsite to ask how far I was from my intended camp at the base of Scafell Pike.

He looked at me and said something along the lines of:

“You won’t be getting there tonight. There are two huge passes on your way. You’re best checking in with a nearer National Trust campsite and trying to switch your booking.”

That would have been the sensible thing to do.

Instead, I thought:

“I’ve done worse than this.”

I hadn’t.

The first pass was Wrynose Pass.

^ Not my photo.

It was brutal, but manageable. 

I just had to be patient. 

Just slow, steady pushing.

The bike was heavy. 

I had my tent, sleeping equipment, food, cooking kit, tools and everything else loaded onto it. 

Eventually, I made it over Wrynose.

One down. One to go.

I still had time to reach camp before sundown.

Then I saw Hardknott Pass.

It looked ridiculous.

^ Not my photo.

The road zig-zagged up the hill in front of me, and I knew straight away I needed a strategy.

Do one zig. Stop. Recover.

Do one zag. Stop again. Repeat until the top.

To get any momentum at all, I had to lean right over the handlebars. My hips were practically resting on them.

I was falling forward and hoping the bike came with me.

And somehow, it worked.

For a bit.

I got nearly halfway before I completely gassed out.

Then it got steeper.

Every zig became a water break. Every zag became a salted peanut break. 

At one point I remember almost laughing to myself at the sheer price I was paying for not planning the route properly.

This was the scenic struggle in its purest form.

Beautiful.

Brutal.

Entirely my own choosing. 

I must have spent 60 to 90 minutes getting up Hardknott Pass.

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/760d95_069473637ae74f9d90e36166eb884cb1/1080p/mp4/file.mp4

^ Top of Hardknott Pass.

And normally, after a climb like that, you’d expect the reward to be the descent.

Not this time.

This is where the hero of the story appears.

As I got near the top, there was a man standing there with his bike. 

He told me he was training for an endurance cycling event where he would be riding through these passes and more.

Which, to be honest, is sickening.

But he clearly knew what he was doing.

And at that exact moment, he gave me some of the best advice I could have received.

He told me that because of the weight on my bike, I needed to control my brakes the entire way down.

No letting it run.

No building momentum.

No relaxing into the descent.

Just control it from top to bottom.

The gradients were savage. 

In places, they were easily over 30%, and with the extra weight on the bike, any momentum would have sent me flying.

He was right.

The descent was terrifying.

Every time the bike started moving freely, it felt like it wanted to take off. I had to stay switched on the whole way down, because going off road would have ruined me.

Or worse, ruined the bike.

And that would have been the real disaster.

What still gets me now is this:

I never saw him cycle past me on the way up.

I never saw him cycle past me on the way down.

He was just there.

At the top.

Exactly when I needed him.

Right person. Right place. Right time.

That happened to me twice during Cycle For Sanctuary.

But the second story can wait for another day.

^ Scafell Pike in the distance. I JUST made it to camp before sundown.

^ Strava stats for the day. 🤢

Story Context

What was Cycle For Sanctuary?

Cycle For Sanctuary was my 2025 ultra-endurance charity challenge, where I cycled from Leicester to each of the National Three Peaks and climbed them along the way.

I completed Snowdon on day 3, Scafell Pike on day 7, and Ben Nevis on day 11.

In total, the challenge involved over 700 miles of cycling and three mountains climbed.

Who are Leicester City of Sanctuary?

Leicester City of Sanctuary is a local charity that welcomes asylum seekers and refugees in and around Leicester.

Their mission is to help people rebuild their lives, develop skills, and feel part of the community, supporting around 150 people each week.