A weekend in the Peaks

How much up is too much up?

"How much up is too much up?" is a question I seem to ask with alarming regularity.

It echoed through my head almost daily whilst climbing Tenerife’s volcanic slopes, and then made a dramatic return on Saturday as I wrestled my way through the relentless gradients of the Peak District.

The ride in question packed over 2,400m of gruelling elevation into a measly 100km.

In short, it was disgustingly hilly.

But more on that later. First, allow me to set the scene.

It was Friday afternoon and I was itching to close my laptop and hit the road. Glorious weather had been forecast for the weekend and Sean and I had planned to pack up the bikes and head north for a bit of an adventure. Whilst we were fairly confident that sunshine would be on the cards, the actual temperature was anyone’s guess, so in true British style, we panic-packed for all four seasons and hoped for the best 🤞🏼

I’d only been to the Peak District a few times before, but had vivid memories of majestic landscapes and brutal 20%+ climbs. I expected this time to be no different, but was excited for the challenge.

Ever since my disappointing result at the Equinox Omniloop I’d been beating myself up: “you’re not training enough”, “you’re being too lazy”, “you’re never going to complete LEL”. You know, the usual shebang.

But the truth is, I’ve been busy. Busy with work, busy with life, and busy trying to get Jethro up and running in time for this summer’s adventures. But all of that busyness has meant training has taken a back seat. And I don’t know about you, but as soon as I get myself into that kind of slump, it’s very hard to get out of it. Believe me, I totally appreciate that action sometimes needs to come before motivation—we can’t spend our lives waiting to feel ready—but that shit is hard.

So a weekend in the Peak District felt like exactly what I needed. Good weather, good views, good vibes, and a healthy dose of type-two fun. It had been a while since I’d been out on a ride and actually enjoyed myself, so my hopes were high.

After finally reaching the top of a climb that took me approximately 573,983,422 minutes

If you’ve never had the joy of visiting the Peak District, allow me to set the scene.

Tucked away in the heart of England, it’s one of the country’s most beloved national parks—and it’s easy to see why. With dramatic moorlands, lush green hills, and charming villages that look like they’ve been plucked straight from a postcard, it’s a place that feels both wild and welcoming. The park is roughly split into two parts: the rugged, windswept moorlands of the northern Dark Peak, and the gentler, more pastoral scenery of the southern White Peak..

We were staying towards the south in a place called Ashbourne. Whilst not technically within the Peak Distinct itself, it offered a perfect base to explore in all directions, without the added cost of staying in some of the more touristy areas. Head north and you’re on the fast track to struggle town, head south, and you’ll find the gentler, rolling hills of the Derbyshire Dales. It was the best of both worlds.

P.S there’s also a couple of awesome-looking campsites nearby (here and here) if you’re on a budget, wanting to feel a little closure to nature, or looking for a starting point for an epic (but hilly) bikepacking adventure!

Fast forward to Saturday morning and we awoke to the striking amber glow of sunrise and a hazy blanket of mist lingering over the nearby fields. It was quiet. And it was beautiful. A far-cry from waking up in Hackney.

Caffeine downed and breakfast demolished, it was time to get out there and see what my legs had to offer. I’d planned a 100km route into the heart of the Peaks, ticking off a few iconic spots along the way: Goyt Valley, Pym Chair, and a handful of other thigh-burning highlights. Things kicked off promisingly: the sun was out, the climbs were still kind, and my legs were playing ball. And my favourite part? A turn of the head left or right was almost guaranteed to result in sightings of newborn lambs or other highly distracting wildlife.

See exhibit A.

Exhibit A

As I rolled down long, winding descents, and spun back up the other side, I could feel the grin on my face spreading wider and wider. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d ridden just for the sheer joy of it. No time pressures, no leaderboards—just me, my bike, and the freedom to stop whenever and wherever I liked. It was pure, unfiltered fun.

But, as every cyclist knows, fun is fleeting.

Up until now, I’d managed to conquer each climb without too much drama, even feeling quietly smug about the numbers my legs were putting out. I almost let myself believe it: “maybe the hills aren’t as bad as I remembered…”

And right on cue, the Peak District snapped back.

“Oh really?”

As it dropped me unceremoniously at the foot of Pym Chair.

Now, it’s always a challenging task to describe the true horrors of a climb. I could mention the 90-degree bends, the way the road seems to rise like a wall in front of me, or how my front wheel starts to lift slightly with each pedal stroke. But none of these things will ever truly do it justice.

So I’ve decided to show you a visual representation of the climb profile instead. Note: an audible gasp is the correct reaction.

‘Disgusting’ in visual form

Needless to say, the sheer joy I’d been basking in moments earlier quickly morphed into full-blown panic. I’d run out of gears, my legs were screaming, and I was locked in a full-on battle with an unrelenting headwind that seemed hell-bent on slapping me backwards down the hill.

By the time I hit the two-thirds mark, I was completely at my limit. My heart was thumping out of my chest, and I genuinely couldn’t fathom where I was supposed to conjure up the extra ‘oomph’ to get through the final stretch.

Then the road kicked up again. I felt my pedals slow, my cadence stall, and the dreaded wobble begin. I gave one last desperate push, but it wasn’t enough. Gravity won.

And just like that, I was tipping sideways in slow motion, defeated by the infamous slopes of Pym Chair.

Having to walk the final stretch was a humbling reminder of my recent lack of training. “When I get back I’ll do better” I promised myself, as I remounted the bike and enjoyed the swooping descent into Goyt Valley.

The kind of views that make it all worthwhile

The rest of the ride passed without too much incident (bar needing to stop for an emergency coke), but my legs had gotten progressively weaker. As I neared the safety of Ashbourne I was starting to bonk; the sight of any kind of incline, no matter how small, sent me straight into my granny gear. I was exhausted—in that deeply gratifying, bone-tired kind of way.

I don’t know about you, but few things feel more satisfying than rolling to a stop after a brutally tough ride, legs toast, body tired, knowing there’s a hearty pub dinner and a warm, cosy bed waiting for you. That’s exactly how my Saturday night ended—and honestly, it couldn’t have been more perfect ✨

Eating back ALL the calories

Sunday came around quickly and this time we made the decision to stay clear of the Peaks; Sean had raced the day before and we were both keen to protect what little energy we had left, whilst still getting in some back-to-back miles.

Instead, we opted to head south into the Derbyshire Dales, which turned out to be an absolutely stellar choice 👌

Not only was the route ridiculously stunning, it was also relatively flat. This meant that we could simply kick back and soak up the country air without worrying too much about the state of our legs (or lungs).

The hours passed as we rolled and dipped and surfed across the wave-like landscape, stopping to say hello to every baby lamb and calf (and alpaca?!) that crossed our path. The sun was shining and all was right with the world. London felt like a distant memory—another life entirely. Here, there was no noise, no pollution, no rush-hour chaos, no endless to-do lists. Just open skies, quiet roads, and the steady rhythm of wheels on tarmac. I could’ve stayed there forever, soaking in the peace and pretending that Mondays didn’t exist.

My faves

But alas, reality always has a way of reeling us back in. And whether I liked it or not, Monday was very much still waiting for me on the other side.

With the route complete, we carefully loaded the bikes back into the van. There was a quiet satisfaction in the task, a sense of contentment in knowing we'd taken full advantage of the time we had. As we started the journey back to London, I couldn’t help but think about how much that short escape had given me.

I realised that sometimes it’s the little moments that linger the longest after the wheels stop turning 💜

If you’re interested in planning your own trip to the Peaks and want to test your legs against Pym Chair, or say hello to the alpacas in the Derbyshire Dales, I’ve linked my routes below:

1. Pym Chair - distance: 113km, elevation: 2,400m

2. Derbyshire Dales - distance: 55km, elevation: 580m

Happy riding!