From Dan McKeown…
Saturday was the renewal of ‘The Drop’ in Leeds: contestants are put on a bus, blindfolded and ditched 15 miles from race HQ, with no navigational aids, and tasked with finding their way back. The organisers don’t set dogs on you, taser you or physically attack you, but I suppose there’s only so much they can lay on for the price.
After coming second last year, I had unfinished business with this event (you may read that as taking the overall victory or – more probably – getting very badly lost).
Joining me on this escapade was John Hayes, who had clearly been insufficiently daunted by my report of the previous event.
As was the case last year, we could get a pretty good idea of which way we were heading from the sunlight filtering through our blindfolds on the bus journey. The bad news was, it wasn’t going to be our dream drop of Swinsty / Fewston, but it wasn’t going to be the Mordor-esque nightmare realm of Cleckhuddersfax either. We were heading pretty much directly towards the sun, which meant Pontefract-ish direction and, so long as we had wit enough to follow our own shadows, finding our way back in the general Leeds direction shouldn’t be beyond us.
The bus eventually belched us out into a large puddle on an unprepossessing lane. Last year’s winner, Kristofer Collier, shot off like a scalded cat while John and I were having a wee in a bush, so following him seemed to be out of the question. We joined another group heading down a bridleway, then splintered off to follow a road to Pontefract.
At this point, I gave John a bit of a refresher on the rules of pub cricket (see last year’s report) and he opted to bat first. I was a bit worried about playing against a lawyer, and anticipated several heated arguments about what constituted a leg. I needn’t have worried – a career scrutinising small print has rendered John incapable of spotting anything written in a font larger than 6pt. A couple of very eligible scoring pub signs passed unremarked.
We went past Pontefract Racecourse, and headed for Castleford. We were still locked at 0-0 in the pub cricket and we were faced with a decision: follow the Leeds Road out of town, or head north and join the River Aire.
I thought I’d rather go home and tell my better half about the delights of running through RSPB St Aidans than regale her with tales of the A639. John was more intent on taking home the story of a famous victory, so we wished each other luck (with tolerable sincerity) and went our separate ways.
The River Aire path was sloppier than a pig’s breakfast in places, but did afford a few bird sightings, as well as the Mountain Rescue Team who were doing exercises in the river, just in case they get redesignated as a Valley Rescue Team, or something. Always good to have a side hustle.
Eventually, I made it under the M1 bridge (4 miles to go), past Thwaites Mill (2.5 miles to go), Leeds Dock (less than a mile) out onto Boar Lane and a sprint back to Race HQ at Up & Running, where I wasn’t tremendously gruntled to find not only Kristofer waiting for me (AGAIN) but also John, who had made good on his route choice and come second. His time of 2:30 was quicker than last year’s winning mark, but Kristofer, familiar with the locale, had smashed out a 2:12 to win in very fine style.
John, to his credit, did stand me a MacDonalds lunch. Less nobly, he tried to claim runs for a pub he’d seen *after* we parted. Out of breath though I was, I was still able to tell him:
a. It didn’t count
b. ‘The Three Horseshoes’ don’t have legs – they have nails.
John Hayes adds…
The Drop was an excellent, if a little bizarre, experience. For anyone wondering, I should clarify just a few things arising from Dan’s race report:
1. Everyone on the bus was blindfolded except the driver.
2. Although Dan and I pondered running back keeping the blindfolds on, the hazards of road crossings, rivers, pedestrians, dogs and getting over the M62 made that idea untenable.
3. When Dan and I went our separate ways near Castleford, it was an entirely amicable split. Being British, we didn’t hug one another. But we shook hands and headed off in different directions. Dan’s parting words to me were, “the race is on” or something similar.
4. For anyone who doesn’t know the rules of “pub cricket”, I had to score “runs” by spotting pubs with names of animals with legs. I accept (begrudgingly) Dan’s ruling about the Three Horseshoes. But when I got home I made a discovery whilst poring over the track of the route I took. Strava maps have pub names on. So I messaged Dan claiming runs for The Brown Cow, The Mad Ox and The Old Red Lion (among others) all of which I’d run past. However, Dan bluntly replied that I was too late!
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1. Kristofer Collier 2h12
2. John Hayes 2h30
3. Dan McKeown 2h41