A Polaris challenge for two misguided missiles
Both my readers are no doubt sitting glued to their computers waiting to hear how A.J. and I got on at the Polaris Challenge at the weekend. Are we are still wondering the Derbyshire Dales, lost and alone? Or did we manage to find our way home again?
Let me quickly ease your agony and say we survived – in fact, we thrived, and had a bit of fun to boot. The campsite was a windswept field in the middle of nowhere, somewhere near Youlgreave, a town we never saw. On Saturday morning 200-odd (yes, for most, odd is the right word) teams or individuals set out in search of 35 checkpoints scattered across the furthest corners of OS Landranger Map 119. We were tagged electronically and given seven hours to complete our quest. Right from the start we risked disqualification, because A.J. somehow managed to forget his compass at home. Fortunately I had mine, and no one checked our assortment of nuts and fruitcakes.
Sunshine and Buttercups on the Polaris - but which one is Buttercups?
We headed from the start to a staging area where we were given the day’s checkpoints with a list of score values, from five to fifty points. The further and more difficult the checkpoint, the higher the score. At the bottom of the checklist is saw a note: “Emergency phone number 1234 56789. Do not ring if you are lost!” Hmm. I couldn’t think of any other kind of emergency.
We started conservatively, heading for the closest five-pointer, which looked easy enough along a marked bridleway. Well, somehow our way and the bridleway parted company, and for about 15 minutes we cast about trying to locate our location. Eventually we discovered where we had gone wrong, chalked up our five points, and headed north. Over 60km we chalked up nine checkpoints in all, totalling 140 points, and headed wearily for the finish in a shade over six hours. “Best points tally so far …” the marshal informed us “… out of the four teams that have finished.” In the end we were 145th out of 191, and headed contentedly for the beer tent.
It rained most of Saturday night, and Sunday’s five-hour ride was more interesting for the mud and puddles, and the occasional spots of rain that washed the checkpoints off our map – it turns out that my pen wasn’t waterproof after all.
A.J. decided he needed an early break, so punctured on a rocky downhill – some people will resort to anything to skive off. In the end we decided to be even more conservative than the previous day, and managed four checkpoints for a total of 70 points. Our way home was along a former railway line that made riding enjoyable, avoiding the big uphills that we had faced on Saturday, and we got back with an hour to spare. We decided that to strike camp while it was dry, and an hour later, as A.J. closed the car boot, the rain began in earnest. Now, all we have to do is find our way back to the M1. Directions, anyone?