It was three days before I was due to arrive in Pembrey, and I'd just panic-bought a winter sleeping bag. The changeable weather of the British Isles means that although we are now in spring—and a couple of weeks ago I was out in bibshorts—a sudden change of wind was bringing icy temperatures down from the North. I needed to make sure I didn't freeze whilst camping out in my tent on the coast of South Wales. I tried out the new sleeping bag in my living room on the Friday evening, which wasn't an adequate test of its resilience, but convinced me that it was probably comfy enough. Once I'd woken up from this impromptu nap, I spent the rest of Friday evening cooking and eating dinner and packing everything I'd need for camping as well as racing.

Saturday morning, 10.30 am, I was out the door, backpack overstuffed with camping gear and cycling kit. An hour later I was on a train from Paddington heading to Pembrey where the weekend's activities would take place. The next few hours sitting on the train allowed me to think about the race, my goals and my expectations. A few days prior I had been asked whether I'd been training for this – I admitted I hadn't. This was not a target event for me this year. My goals for 2022 are so much more and this was still quite early in the season and the first race back after my post-cyclocross break. My goal for Battle on the Beach was to go faster than last year and have a blast. Any good result that came out of it would just be icing on an already sweet enough cake.

I arrived at Pembrey & Burry Port Station five hours after I had set out. It was raining. Of course, it was raining, it's Wales. Every time I've gone to Wales it has rained—at least it's consistent. Ten minutes later, only partially drenched, I arrived at Pembrey Country Park, checked into the campsite, set up my tent and sleeping gear and headed off to registration. It stopped raining, I didn't know whether to consider myself lucky or unlucky.

In the event village I bumped into various groups of friends and acquaintances, and the usual debates on bicycle and tyre choice ensued. I took some friends on a recce of the beach elements of the race and then filled my time socialising until Saturday evening's main event, Battle in the Dark. A 10km time trial over sand, singletrack, double track, fire roads and anything else they could throw at us. There was a lot more sand than I recalled from the previous year, which made sense when I was later informed that the course had changed somewhat.

Spot prizes in the dark

The main lesson to be learned from Battle in the Dark was that an 1100 lumen light fixed to the bike will get you around the course just fine, but you probably also want a head torch. Just over half an hour after crossing the start line, I was done. My lungs were burning, and I had miraculously managed to not lose my contact lenses even though the cold, dry night air had tried its best to steal them from my eyes (another lesson there, I must wear my cycling glasses). I finished 120th overall, which meant I won a spot prize – these were awarded to each placing that was a multiple of 10 – truly the only time I'll be pleased to have come 120th!

A well-earned dinner of a Welsh beef burger and chips in the event village finished off the evening, and so I was off to my tent to see if my sleeping bag was up to the job of holding off the rapidly falling temperatures. I awoke several times throughout the night—that’s typical when I'm camping, but I got a decent sleep overall. The following morning my smartwatch was even reporting that I was well-rested and ready to take on the day's events (I haven’t yet decided whether this is just a placebo). The winter sleeping bag had done its job, even though it had, unbeknownst to me, partially unzipped itself during the night (I'll have to investigate why that happened and how to prevent it for future trips.) The temperature overnight dropped to -1°C, but it was now 3°C, so I was ready to get up and find breakfast. The weather was sunny with some light clouds, and the temperature quickly climbed to around 9°C, relatively speaking you could almost describe it as balmy.

Split up by the sand

At 11.30 am I headed down onto the beach ready to claim a prime spot in the seeded riders’ pen. Looking around at the sheer number of riders (more than 600) getting ready for the mass start didn't feel overwhelming. The first lap out across the beach usually separates the riders into groups of similar speed, then the technical trails once you've left the beach split things up even more.

At noon, the starting shot sounded, and we were off. The first hundred metres were absolute carnage, riders were crashing and tripping all over the place. Several people crashed into me but I was still on my feet and running – yes, running, there was really no point trying to ride in this mess. I even hurdled a guy who fell right in front of me, him having tried, and failed, to ride through the loose sand. Once I was clear of the rabble, onto the firmer sand and back on my bike, it took me a couple of minutes to settle into a reasonably paced group for the 5km smash along the beach. We were flying, there was much less headwind than last year. I looked down at my computer and we were averaging about 27kph.

Around 5km later I was once again running through the soft sand to leave the beach and head onto the trails. Despite the previous days' rain, it wasn't muddy, the sandy soil having drained quite well. A guy on a fat bike flew past me up a very sandy hill—there, and in the loose sand on the beach, are where those chunky hoops come into their own. A tandem pair came past on a fast section of doubletrack and I recalled the couple I had sheltered behind last year when the cross-headwind on the beach was far more brutal (I also remembered to be grateful that it wasn't so bad this year). The climbs, though short, really took it out of me and dropped my speed to a crawl, but my ability to fly down the twisty descents meant that I wasn't losing too much time. I was especially thankful in those moments for the abilities I'd developed over years of riding inappropriate bikes on MTB trails.

“At least sand doesn’t hurt like tarmac.”

Onwards to lap two, re-entering the beach I got too brave and thought I could ride through the loose sand, I crashed spectacularly. My bike went one way and I went the other. Oh well, I had tried, and at least sand doesn't hurt like tarmac. I was up and running in a matter of seconds with a massive grin plastered across my face.

Skipping ahead to the final lap, this had a detour that took us into some alternative trails, these were better suited to the MTB riders. Several close shaves with stumps and roots had me asking myself how on earth I had managed to ride these same trails without crashing during the night race.

Some minutes short of two hours later and it was all over. I was back in the event village congratulating the other riders who had finished ahead of and around me and getting ready to cheer my friends on as they came across the line. I then sneaked off to shower and change – the perks of staying in the park campsite, rather than the event's field camping spot, which was shower-less. I returned to the event village to hang about for the awards, cheer for the podium placers (and collect my spot prize). After waiting an absolute age for a pizza (definitely the most popular post-race meal, given the massive backlog of orders) it was time to head back to the campsite to pack up my stuff. A rider who was camped near me spotted me returning and asked if I was happy with my result. Well, I was more than 25 minutes quicker than last year (surely that can't all be down to the headwind!) so I told him "yeah, I went faster than last year, so I'm happy with that".

The life of a weekend racer

I rode back to the train station to commence the 5-hour journey home. A man on the train spotted my bike, race number still zip-tied on, and asked if I had been racing, when I confirmed I had, he then asked if I raced for fun or results, without hesitation, my response was “both”, because, genuinely, if it’s not fun I’m probably not going to be doing it.

I was home by 11 pm and ready at my desk first thing on Monday morning. The life of a weekend racer.