Meaghan Hackinen and NorthCape4000 in 2019

Meaghan Hackinen, 35, a writer and endurance sportswoman from British Columbia in Canada, has been riding ultra-distance cycling events since 2017. Here she outlines her planning and strategy in the NorthCape4000 in 2019, when after 13 days and 13 hours in the saddle she arrived at the northern tip of Europe in fifth position overall (of the 65 finishers from 141 starters) and first woman. 

The NorthCape4000 is an unsupported, ultra-distance ride that starts in Italy and finishes at the ‘North Cape’ in Norway, following a different route each year. The 4000 in the title refers to an expected 4000 kilometre distance. See more about

As well as a formidable ultra-cyclist, Meaghan is a writer. Her debut cycling memoir South Away: The Pacific Coast on Two Wheels (NeWest Press, 2019), has been shortlisted for the 2020 Kobo Emerging Writer Prize (Non-Fiction) and the 2020 Book Publishers Association of Alberta Book of the Year (Trade Non-Fiction). It is available for purchase in paperback and eBook.

You can follow Meaghan at her website www.meaghanhackinen.com and Instagram

 Photos courtesy of Meaghan Hackinen and NorthCape4000.

First a bit of form:

Meaghan Hackinen: I come from a background of fast-paced, full-contact team sports. It suited me well: as an adolescent, I turned any game—from badminton to Marco Polo—into one of force and contact. I played rugby throughout high school and transitioned to flat-track roller derby once I moved to Vancouver. I love the camaraderie and sense of purpose that come from working together as a team towards a common goal.  

Unsurprisingly, adult-onset cycling came into my life when my physiotherapist suggested biking as a way to strengthen my knee after my first ACL surgery. Commuting led to touring, which led to randonneuring. In 2016 Lael Wilcox’s Trans Am Bike Race win put ultra-endurance racing onto my radar, and perhaps it was the sheer badassery of a female winner that persuaded me to throw my name into the ring for the 2017 edition— and I didn’t even own a road bike. [The Trans Am Bike Race is a 4200 mile (6700km) self-supported cycle race across the United States, starting in Astoria, Oregon and finishing in Yorktown, Virginia on the Atlantic coast.]

While ultra-endurance cycling and combative team sports are massively different, there has been some useful crossover. For instance, I was intimately familiar with pain: I knew how to differentiate aches that could be dealt with via a handful of Ibuprofen from a more substantial injury that could take me out of a race. I also knew how my body responded to training and recovery, and the importance of entering an event with a strategy and a desired outcome in mind.

The Trans Am was an incredible initiation. The race saw a multitude of firsts for me—new gear like aerobars, cycling shoes, bike-packing bags, electronic navigation, and a Lycra jersey with pockets I soon discovered to be the perfect dimensions to store the sleeves of Donettes donuts I came to rely on. The experience forced me to dig deeper than I thought possible, but also exposed my weaknesses: I was a shoddy map-reader, a terrible climber, and neglected to pack enough cold-weather gear to survive the Rockies without purchasing additional layers at a thrift shop en route. I made it to the finish in one piece, but only barely. I credit the unlikely friendships I made along the way—in particular, with a German cyclist named Matthias who possessed immaculate tan lines and a quiet determination that I admired—for helping to maintain my motivation on the tough stretches, and navigate the series of crises that composed each day. 

Next Steps
The next year, 2018, Matthias and I entered the North Cape-Tarifa Adventure as a pair [7300 kilometres self-supported from the top of Norway to the most southerly point in Spain]. We had so much fun between bouts of suffering in the Trans Am, we figured “Why Not? What could possibly go wrong?” Insert laughing emoji here.

We scratched at the halfway point, in Bregenz, Austria. Though we were both faring poorly, Matthias was in worse shape. He insisted that I shouldn’t DNF as well—I could, theoretically, continue solo and finish with an asterisk attached to my name.

But truthfully I simply couldn’t go on: I wasn’t confident enough on European roads to travel alone. Accustomed to the straight, uncomplicated North American highway system—the 600 km brevets I’d done in the Canadian Prairies had only five or six turns—my unpracticed navigational skills, coupled with an irrational fear of roundabouts, left me verging on a nervous breakdown by the time we hit Bregenz. Luckily, I had the opportunity to cover plenty of terrain overseas later that summer—10,000 km, in fact— and eventually I gained the confidence and skillset to travel without a safety chaperone.

Once empowered, I fell devastatingly in love with the European continent in all the silly, clichéd ways that North Americans always do—hopelessly enamoured by the cobbles and quaint churches, fresh crêpes and espresso served out of real ceramic (instead of Styrofoam takeout containers), and lonely switchback cols without traffic or guardrails in sight. By the end of the summer I had my mind set on returning to the North Cape, solo. 

What was NorthCape4000 2019 like? 
The NorthCape4000 (NC4K) is a journey to the end of the world. The finish line in Nordkapp (as it’s called in Norwegian) marks where the continent ends, and the most northerly road in Europe comes to an abrupt halt on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic and Arctic Seas. Established in 2017, the NC4K partners with Specialized and follows a different itinerary each year, the four constants being that it starts in Italy, finishes at the North Cape, passes through four gates (checkpoints) and covers a set route of approximately 4,000 kilometres—though the author would like to note that in the year she competed, the route amassed 4,550 kilometres. 

The event is designed to test your limits whether you’re a first time participant or an ultra-endurance veteran. The terrain over the first few days is challenging, with several big climbs and plenty of punchy hills; in the far north the route becomes increasingly remote, so instead of difficult geography, riders battle the wind and the cold. However, without a strict closing time on the checkpoints, participants are free to ride at their own pace, enabling novice riders to complete the route in a more leisurely schedule than those hammering out the miles for a fast finishing time. With their devotion to fresh routing and challenging terrain each year, the event organisers see many repeat entrants; combined with fabulous media coverage and caring, compassionate event coordinators, the NC4K offers a worthy challenge for any adventure-seeking cyclist.

It is important to mention that the NC4K is not actually a race, but an event: while it retains a competitive edge, riders are not discouraged from drafting or riding together. As of 2021, new time limits have been imposed, although technically the event still does not refer to itself as a race.

The 2019 edition kicked off in Turin, Italy, with the route winding north through Switzerland, France, Luxembourg, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and back into Norway for the finish. There were two important ferry crossings: one from northern Denmark to Norway—the official route offered the choice of three crossings, though most riders opted for Frederickshavn to Oslo (crossing time 9 hours) because it skipped the most land mileage—and a second in Norway, from Bodø to the Lofoten Islands (crossing time 3.5 hours). The timings of these ferry crossings were critical: the boat from Frederickshavn leaves just once a day; the ferry from Bodø four times daily. 

We departed on 27th July from the magnificent Court of Honour in the Reggia di Venaria Reale, Turin. The route took riders into the scenic Aosta Valley, providing brief respite before broaching the formidable Col du Grand St-Bernard. The following days through Switzerland, Luxembourg, and Belgium were rife with hills, with riders tackling the Vue des Alps as well as the “Green Hell” of the famed Ardennes. Fortunately, the Netherlands, northern Germany, and Denmark offered solace with fast, flat going and convenient bike paths; Sweden and Norway were characterized by long days through remote terrain in the land of the midnight sun, though in the northern latitudes nighttime temperatures plummeted close to freezing.

One of my personal highlights came on the eve of the send-off, when I found myself surrounded by riders from around the globe. I wanted to know their stories, past experiences, and who they were in the world. But there just wasn’t the time. Instead, I joined fellow Canadian Patrick Day for an espresso, then returned to my Airbnb to do some final route planning before the big day.

Were you as prepared as you needed to be?
By the time I signed up for the NC4K I had a solid idea of what it took to prepare to succeed on both the athletic and logistical side of things. I knew I could endure the distance, and with takeaways from both my successful Trans Am race and my DNF in the NorthCape-Tarifa, I registered for the NC4K with a clear goal in mind: to race competitively. I aimed for a sub-14 day finish, which would require a minimum of 325 kilometres/day.

In addition to structured indoor and outdoor training sessions on the bike, I took a holistic approach to training, considering everything from a 360-degree perspective. For instance, I met with former Trans Am Bike Race winner Evan Deutsch on a visit to Portland to pick his brain about his ultra-racing philosophy; I hit the gym to build upper body and core strength, since I’d previously faced debilitating pain in my back, neck, and shoulders; I practiced planning and following routes on my eTrex so that I wouldn’t end up hopelessly lost in some corn field. Another major focus was saving money: between February and May, I averaged 50 to 60 hours a week between two jobs to set aside enough to invest in gear, purchase a handful of plane tickets, and take the summer off to cycle in Europe.

Though work kept me busy, I began to log longer rides in April, including the full brevet series required to qualify for Paris-Brest-Paris in August [the 1200 km, non-stop, unsupported ride in north-western France which Meaghan competed in 80 hours just a week after finishing NC4K…]. In late June—exactly one month prior to the start of the NC4K—I arrived in Vevey, Switzerland to stay with Coach Brian Welsh of JSNT Endurance Coaching, where I set about my final preparations under the guidance of someone with substantially more knowledge and expertise of endurance sports than me, without the intrusion of work. Coffee chats and post-dinner ramblings with Brian, his partner Stacey, and the other athletes have become conversations I will treasure for a lifetime. In addition to the gorgeous, leg-crampingly steep training rides Brian and I undertook through the Swiss countryside, I completed a couple of longer shakedown rides with full race kit, enabling me to practice fueling and bivvying on the road in race-like circumstances.

The one hitch in my plans was that I agreed to crew for a Race Across America team in June. This took a three-week chunk out of my training, replacing time in the saddle with time in the driver’s seat of a follow vehicle and a diet of Red Bull and Snickers bars. I did get a lot out of the experience, though the timing was far from ideal. In terms of prep, the only other issue was that the carbon aero wheels I’d recently purchased kept busting spokes, and I ended up replacing them in the final hour with a mismatched set of wheels composed of a loaner rear from Brian, and a front wheel purchased under duress in Brussels after my aero wheel blew up on a shakedown ride.

With everything dialled in, I pedalled to the start line in Turin. At 260 kilometres, the journey provided an opportunity to pivot from daily life into race-mode, and settle into the appropriate mindset. I kept an easy, unstrained pace, enjoying the mountain views as I mentally reviewed my game plan, considering how I would respond to challenges that were likely to pop up over the following weeks.

How did your race go?
My race went very much according to plan. At first glance that sounds rather uneventful, but over the course of 4,550 kilometres, the result was something like a prolonged aura of deep satisfaction. I managed to exceed my daily mileage goal and remained cognizant enough to take in the passing scenery. 

In the first few days I found myself among the race leaders, more as a result of chance than any tactical manoeuvre: I continued late into Day One in hopes of finding a dry spot to bivvy and avoid the 3 am rainstorm that was forecast. Unfortunately, every covered fountain or picnic shelter I came across had been claimed by a speedier rider, and so I found myself pedalling longer than expected. The following night I continued well past midnight again after discovering that my rear lights were water-damaged from the heavy downpour: one wouldn’t turn off, and the other refused to turn on. So again, I pedalled deep into the dark hours, aiming to squeeze the most from my one functioning light before it failed. That morning I awoke in a top position and charged gleefully toward Luxembourg to replace my busted lights, happy that my bad luck had actually turned out to be a blessing.

Aside from bouts of heavy rain during the first couple of days, I managed to avoid wet weather almost entirely. The European countryside didn’t disappoint either, as I found myself charmed by the architecture of churches and houses once again, marvelling at the changing scenery as Belgium’s hilly Ardennes transitioned into the Netherlands’ pancake-flat terrain. I was pleased that, unlike the year before, I could navigate from place to place safely, and solo. I arrived in Frederickshavn for the ferry to Oslo with time to spare and celebrated by raiding a tiny bottle of chardonnay from the minifridge of my harbour-front hotel room, which I savored with a hot bath.

Up until the final few days of the race, my setbacks were mostly mechanical. The spoke nipples on my front wheel kept loosening off, and I stopped countless times to tighten them and try to get the wheel to run true (it refused). In Sweden my rear shifter cable blew; a few hours after a shop repaired it my front shifter cable blew as well. I rode to the finish without the use of my large chainring, reasoning that I too worn down to miss the extra gears anyways.

Accumulated fatigue eventually took its toll. As I approached the North Cape, I found myself riding slower and slower and, in an attempt to make up the time, sleeping less and less—a terrible idea, in retrospect. An unforgiving north wind blew an icy chill into my joints, and my final days in Norway were spent in shivering exhaustion, despite the full array of cold-weather gear that I’d come prepared with.

Regardless of my reduced pace and the cold, I managed not only to continue, but enjoy myself. I subsisted almost entirely on cookies, yogurt, and a brand of Norwegian energy drink called Battery. The exceedingly long daylight hours buoyed my spirits, and I savoured the cascade of colours as the sky transitioned through endless hours of dusk and dawn. To me, northern Norway remains a magical place: a sparse land of majestic fjords and mountain ranges punctuated by reindeer, fireweed, and solitary dwellings.

What strategies did you use in the event?
My race strategy was to maximize time on the bike by keeping refuel stops brief, eating in the saddle and monitoring the excessive social media dilly-dallying that I’m prone to. I aimed for four hours of sleep a night, with the intention of bivvying most nights and taking a hotel room every third of fourth to wash my kit and charge up my power banks. Music and podcasts to keep me company in the long expanses of highway; caffeine pills and energy drinks to keep me alert.

I maintained my bivvy/hotel strategy throughout the ride, taking just three hotel sleeps during the event. I was grateful that I’d opted for a sleeping bag instead of the more packable (but less insulative) liner that I’d considered, as the nights plunged to low centigrade as I approached the Arctic Circle.  

As the race progressed, I found it harder to keep my stops short and sweet. I would enter a store only to be overwhelmed by unfamiliar options. At other times I simply wanted to linger: given a taste of relaxation, my body craved more.

Unfortunately, this was a race (or, more accurately, an event that I was treating as a race) and I needed to remain focused. I was not fast enough on the bike to make up lost time. To solve the problem of slow stops, I used the minutes on the outskirts of town to prepare a mental checklist of what I needed, considering the distance to the next resupply and what my body desired. I gave myself non-negotiable parameters for how long the stop should take, which I followed with a heartfelt pep talk, my inner voice coaching me to stay strong, stay focused, and use my stop-time efficiently. 

This self-talk strategy proved so successful that I began to employ it in all aspects of my ride. When I awoke feeling groggy and tired, I coaxed myself onto the bike with promises of hot coffee and astounding views from the next hilltop. When I fought to maintain momentum into the night, I cheered myself on with the uninhibited gusto of a fanatical Tour du France bystander. I discovered that being kind to myself—rather than dwelling on my shortcomings—helped boost my morale. And since I move faster and more consistently when I’m full of stoke and good cheer, the impact of these positive affirmations cannot be understated.

What was your lowest moment? 
By the second to last day, 600 kilometres from the finish, my body was failing me, succumbing bit by bit to an unshakeable fatigue that gripped tighter with each bend in the road. It was on this morning that I awoke to news that a high school acquaintance had passed away. Ken was a devoted rock climber and friend of my sister. He wasn’t someone I knew well, but the news of his passing in my Facebook feed—without explanation or context—unleashed a depth of grief I didn’t know I possessed. In my fragile, worn-down physical and emotional state, I was in no way able to deal with something of this magnitude. I threw my head onto my folded arms on the coffee bar in the gas station and wailed. Eventually, I convinced myself to get rolling, and spent the day fighting both headwind and tears.

What were the good moments? 
While I relished tackling the route alone, my highlights involve other people: my coach and friends in Switzerland surprising me as I passed through Châtel-Saint-Denis on the first evening, and my former race partner Matthias joining me for the stretch into Strasbourg on Day Two. 

Another memorable achievement was squeaking onto the last ferry of the day from Bodø to the Lofotens, creating a gap between myself and a handful of others (mostly Italian riders) who had to wait for the morning sailing. I refer to this as my “Juliana Buhring moment,” in reference to the time, documented in Inspired to Ride, that Buhring caught a late sailing across the river and left her rival Italians stranded in Illinois while she pushed ahead into Kentucky.

Otherwise, I simply savoured the moments when my body felt strong and steady, enjoying the quiet solitude of the journey accompanied by the knowledge that I was witnessing infinity more than I would have had I remained at home. Chomping through pounds of chocolate, crossing borders and riding into nightfall—that moment when you switch your bike lights on and recommit to the day’s mileage target—became familiar daily high points.

What did you learn? 
Unlike Wilcox—my initial inspiration—I didn’t win the race. But winning wasn’t my objective, or even something close to being within my reach. Instead, I learned that I was capable of competing at the pointy end: I finished in 13 days / 13 hours / 07 minutes, placing 5th overall in a field of 141 competitors and first of only two solo female finishers. 

At times, I wonder if I could have done more to finish higher in the order, but on reflection I recall my devastating fatigue, and I acknowledge that I’d indisputably reached my limits. While I wish I could have attacked during the final days, to push ahead in the rankings, I found myself struggling to hang on—both mentally and physically—a takeaway being that cutting sleep is not a strategy that works for me. 

Additionally, I learned that I enjoy the challenge and adventure of solo racing. In daily life, I seldom face the obstacles that one encounters during these types of events. It is gratifying to push through difficult circumstances and discover a reward within the experience itself. Unlike previous races where I have ridden alongside others, I derived greater satisfaction from competing alone, however lonesome at times it may be.

Jenny Tough and the Atlas Mountain Race 2020

Jenny Tough, 31, is an adventurer and endurance sportswoman who specialises in running and hiking expeditions in mountains around the world – currently she is completing a run through a mountain range in each continent. Oh, and she also takes part in the occasional extreme cycling race, in which she often places first. Here she describes her winning ride at the Atlas Mountain Race 2020 in Morocco.

The inaugural Atlas Mountain Race was an 1145 kilometre unsupported bike-packing event with 20,000m of elevation gain. It was held over a fixed route through the Atlas Mountains between Marrakesh and Agadir on the Atlantic coast, over gravel tracks and single and double-track mountain trails (and the occasional rock-strewn or relentlessly sandy stream-bed).

You can follow Jenny Tough’s adventures @JennyTough and jennytough.com. See more about the Atlas Mountain Race, which is sponsored by PEdALED.

First a bit of form
I'm a runner at heart, and I've pushed myself really hard in running expeditions that have honed my mountain survival skills and endurance abilities. I think that's why I manage well in events where the survival aspect is as important as the pedalling, like really remote bike-packing events such as the Silk Road Mountain Race and Atlas Mountain Race.

I only really started "proper” cycling three years ago. Before that I had been bike touring for a few years and would go off on two wheels to new countries each summer, but gradually I found that in addition to the element of exploration, I was really enjoying the sport itself, riding hard (even with panniers and a beast of a steel touring bike). So somewhere along those adventures I began to wonder how far I could push myself on a bike. I bought a road bike and – reluctantly - some lycra shorts and shoes I couldn't walk in, and got quickly hooked. As I gained confidence I started dabbling in off-road, too, and found so much joy bike-packing. I'm not a racer at heart - I'm simply not competitive enough - but I found an incredible tribe in the ultra bike-packing community and that's what keeps me coming back to these events.

Why the Atlas Mountain Race?
I ran across the Atlas mountains in a solo, unsupported expedition a couple of years ago, and it was a really mega challenge for me. I left a piece of my heart in those mountains - and I also left a few demons up there as well.

In 2018 I raced the inaugural Silk Road Mountain Race and it was so much fun experiencing the challenge with the other riders, and really I just wanted to be at the Atlas Mountain Race for more of that community vibe. Plus returning to the Atlas Mountains, this time not alone, but with friends.

What is AMR like? 
The race course takes you to pretty remote and exposed areas, and so getting from one resupply to the next can feel like running the gauntlet, particularly when it comes to water. The riding changes a lot as you go, from sandy tracks to frustrating riverbeds in the oasis valleys to long switch-back climbs into the mountainous followed by thrilling single-track descents. Apart from the beauty of the mountains, the main thing for me was that it was fairly social. There were 185 riders on a fixed course so we were never alone for long. 

Nights are long in Morocco in February, but the brilliant starry skies are amongst the best you can see in the world. I usually bivvied on a sandy patch off the trail, looking up at the milky way for a few seconds before passing out, totally exhausted, for 2-3 hours. Then I would ride for several more hours in the dark before the best sunrise you've ever seen would gradually show up. Days were scorching hot with zero shade, nights fairly cold, but always dry!

Nelson organises good events, and while you're very much left to your own devices to survive, you're also definitely 'part of something' together. It creates a great competition/challenge.

Were you ready for it?
I don't think I would ever say yes to that - I always wish I could do more. And with the event being in February, it’s hard to put in long rides in the months beforehand, so I wasn't feeling very confident. I had been riding a lot, and felt good on the bike, but I hadn’t managed to do anything more than a few hours since the New Year.

I do think it was an advantage that I knew the Atlas pretty well, so mentally I did feel prepared for what we would encounter and I didn’t have to spend time researching.

How did your race go?
My aim was to have a good first day and reach CP1 before dark, and that luckily went pretty well. After that my goal was to keep my shit together and keep moving! I was actually having a decent ride without any problems, but then I got a surprise period, which ended up being quite a disaster. The route is remote as it is, but in North Africa tampons are difficult/impossible to find anyway for cultural reasons. Then there are no toilets or privacy or running water, so that created a logistical issue and cost me a lot of time, on top of painful cramps, problems with heat regulation, and saddle sores. It set me back probably half a day in the end.

I was riding a Shand Stooshie with 650b wheels and Panaracer 1.90 Gravel King tyres. I loved it, though with all the climbs I could have done with bigger gearing.

What Strategies do you have?
A consistent schedule helps, so I tried to sleep around 1 a.m. each night, for just 2-3 hours, depending how I felt. Food wise, on such a remote course you just have to get as much in as you can when it becomes available, and the same for water.

Mentally, I've built up a lot of coping techniques over the years to keep me both positive and motivated. It was a little easier on AMR as there were so many riders around to keep me company and also set a fast pace.

I listened to music half the time, as well as a couple of podcasts and I even called my parents once when I had signal for nearly an hour. I seemed to have a smile on my face most of the time, despite the gruelling course!

What was your lowest moment?
Right at the very end. I finally believed it was almost over and that I could clinch the win, but then the last 10km was deep sand and impossible to ride. I got really frustrated trying to push the bike, always looking over my shoulder for Andrea to catch up to me! I just wanted to be done and be holding a cold beer… it felt like the longest segment of the ride. I guess I had already ‘let myself go’ when I saw I was so close to the end, and that’s why it was affected my mood so much. Certainly I didn’t complain during equally difficult segments earlier in the race.

What were the good moments?
I met some great people and caught up with friends from past races, and that was definitely the best part for me.

We also got amazing sunrises and sunsets each day, and stunning starry skies. It was easy to find gratitude in those moments.

What did you learn?
I realised I didn't have the confidence in myself that I should have had. I always assume I'm the weakest rider and unlikely to keep up. I learned I need to back myself more and believe in my abilities.

Guillaume Chaumont and BikingMan Portugal 2019

Guillaume Chaumont, 31, an engineering company manager from Brussels, stepped up from recreational to long-distance cycling only in 2019. He entered three BikingMan events in that year, the IncaDivide in August, Portugal in September and Taiwan in November, placing second in the BikingMan series for the year. Here he describes his race in Portugal.

BikingMan is a series of six bike-packing events of between 850km and 1600km held in countries around the world. Riders are unsupported: they may buy food, mechanical repair and even beds for the night, but only if these are publicly available. See more about the Bikingman series.

Guillaume Chaumont has partnerships with Canyon Bikes, Restrap, for bike-packing gear and Peloton de Paris, a cycle community cafe and clothing brand. You can follow Guillaume at Instagram and his website, guillaumeultracycling.blogspot.com

First a bit of Form
I’ve been involved with competitive sport all my life. I have played football since I was a kid and still play futsal (a hard-court version of five-a-side) with friends. As a child I was a fan of motorsports and my main sport became karting: I drove competitively from the age of 12 till I was 20 and twice I was the Belgian karting champion. I competed in the European Championship many times and twice in the World Championships. 

After my karting career I wanted to remain in shape, so I started running, but unfortunately knee issues meant I had to stop. Cycling was a logical step and in 2016 I started mountain-biking, though it wasn’t long before I discovered road cycling. I was a recreational cyclist until 2018, riding out with friends on Sundays on the road- or mountain-bike. We made trips to the French mountains including the Vosges and Jura, but I never took it further than this and that seemed fine.

But then, at the end of 2018, I don’t really know why, I decided I wanted to achieve something on a bike, perhaps a race of some sort, and a friend, Xavier Massart, mentioned the BikingMan series. He had competed in two races and told me it would be a perfect way to get into ultra-cycling. For work reasons, the first race I could enter was the IncaDivide in August… It was quite a call: the IncaDivide is the most difficult race in the series by a long stretch and, given I had no experience of the discipline, I didn’t even known if I would like long-distance racing. Eventually I decided to go for it. I registered on 30th or 31st December and started training pretty hard from 2nd January. There was no time to lose.

My first solo bikepacking trip was in 2019 as well. I rode from Brussels to Lisbon in Portugal and back (5500 km in 26 days in total and 2100 km in the 7 days of the return ride). It was a hell of an experience to cover such a long distance in a very short time in constantly changing countryside. Also, on a personal level it was a great experience: I met a lot of nice people along my way.   

Why BikingMan Portugal 2019?
I was looking for a race… I considered entering the TCR (TransContinental Race), but the registration process was quite onerous and then Xavier suggested BikingMan. I decided to go for the IncaDivide, but saw that I could register for 3 races for a reduced price, so I entered Bikingman Portugal and Taiwan aswell.

What was BikingMan Portugal like?
First of all, it was great to be back with the Bikingman team as they are really nice people. I arrived a week before the start to rest and enjoy the city of Faro. There were five other athletes there who had raced the IncaDivide and it was great to see them again too. Finally, I had a different bike from the one I rode in Peru and I wanted to set it up correctly. 

The race looked much easier on paper than it turned out. I knew there would be some very good riders and with just 950 km to cover with 11,000m of elevation gain, it was expected to be very fast. Navigation was not an issue as the course was mandatory and we just had to follow it on our GPS. My plan was not to sleep too much and cover the distance in less than 48 hours.  

This distance was new for me, but not because it was too long, rather because it was a sprint distance (Peru was 1600 km and it took me just over seven days to cover). I knew that if I wanted to do well, I would need to cover the distance in one stint, or sleep in very quick naps. Any race like this is about finding the right speed. Too slow and you lose a lot of time; go too quickly and you’ll burn yourself in the first hours. 

What sort of training and preparation did you do?
I didn’t really have a structured plan to get fit for Portugal, but with the IncaDivide to aim for, I knew I had seven months to be as ready as possible. So, from early January I trained hard, almost every day, at the gym or outside in the snow, mixing short intense sessions indoors with long rides outside. And in April I left Belgium for my five-week solo bike-packing trip to Lisbon in order to work on my endurance and test my gear for the races. When I returned from that trip, I carried on training hard until July when I headed to France for a month to train in the mountains (MTB and road bike). I don’t run any more because of the knee issue, so riding my bike was my main training.

After the IncaDivide, there wasn’t really time to train specifically for Portugal. I was also exhausted after Peru so I decided it was better to take a break for 2 weeks and I went travelling with my girlfriend. In fact, I still hadn’t quite recovered by the time the race started.

What strategies did you have during the event?
My strategy was to stop as little as possible. As we were in Europe, I knew food and water would be pretty easy to find (at least during the day) and that’s how it turned out. When riding, I mainly ate power bars and sandwiches. I tried to stop twice a day to eat something warm or more substantial and to refill my stock of sandwiches. Other stops were only to refill my water bottles. During the night (from 10pm to 6am) it was pretty easy: there was no chance to buy water or food, so there were no decisions to make. The only stops I made were for power naps or just to rest for a few minutes. 

As I planned not to sleep too much, I took nothing to sleep in and I didn’t book any hotels. I knew the only place I would sleep would be on the side of the road for a quick nap.

What was new for me though, was riding the whole night and coping with sleep deprivation. During the first night all went well and I slept for one hour, but the second night was epic – I took just 30 min in the grass on the roadside. I hallucinated - I saw a dinosaur lurking between the trees. I fell asleep twice in the saddle, so I took the decision to stop for five minutes, eat and drink something before going on.

What was most challenging moment?
I mentioned that the course looked relatively flat on paper. What I did not expect were the very steep climbs in the first few hours. This totally burnt me, and so after just 100km and all the climbing, I was totally exhausted and I found it impossible to develop a good rhythm. A lot of riders began passing me, which was mentally very hard. I arrived at CP1 in 18th position and yet I had been aiming for a top 5. Fortunately, as I decided not to sleep, I quickly climbed back into the top 10. 

Physically, the toughest moment was probably the first night. It was much colder than I was expecting. I was carrying only a light jacket and some arm warmers, which was clearly not enough. It felt like the night would never end. I didn’t know I could long so much for the sunrise! At one point, I considered taking a hotel for the second night as I did not want to go through the same experience for another night! But riding with Leo (see below) helped me through this and motivated me to keep riding through the second night in order to get the best time possible. 

What was the best moment?
I would say it’s the fun we had riding along during the first night when I was with Leo and Rodney Soncco. It was a laugh sleeping on a bench alongside the road for an hour. More generally, it was the time I spent with Leo. At CP1 he asked me if we could ride together as he had no GPS and didn’t want to ride in the dark without a navigation device. I agreed, and had no idea that from that moment we would stick together. We cycle at a similar pace and so we just decided to continue to the end of the race. He also had some issues with his lights so it was probably a good idea he had someone with him. And he is such fun to ride with; he is always smiling! You should know that the guy comes from Brazil and has very little money and takes nothing for granted. He crowdfunded his plane ticket to Portugal. It is a life lesson I will never forget.

What did you learn?
When I left CP1 with Leo, we quickly fell in with Rodney Soncco (the series winner in 2018 and 2019) and rode along together with him for a few hours. At one point the three of us decided to stop. I learned a lot about sleeping during races like this - how to find the right spot, how to set up your “camp” quickly and then get back on your bike as quickly as possible. 

I also learned not to underestimate a race because of what it looks like on paper, especially when it’s a BikingMan race!

Amelia Ashton Jones and TCRNo7 in 2019

Amelia Ashton Jones, 44, a Programme Manager for the British Olympic Association, has competed in the Transcontinental race twice, in 2017 and in 2019. Here she gives a very thoughtful account her 2019 race, from Burgas on the Black Sea in Bulgaria to Brest, the most westerly tip of France, a journey which took her 16 days, 7 hours and 51 minutes*. She may make light of the race, but be in no doubt that cycling 4000 kilometres and climbing 40,000 metres is an immense achievement.

The Transcontinental, or TCR, is an ultra-distance bike-packing event held each summer in Europe. It crosses the continent, usually in a zig-zag pattern, via four checkpoint and mountain passes that change each year.  The TCR is self-supported; competitors may buy food, equipment, mechanical repair and even hotel rooms along the way, but according to the rules it must be from commercial sources available to all riders. See more about the TCR.

* Race time per brevet card; time stamped at the finish in Brest. It is not official as it is just outside the 16 day General Classification cut off.

First a bit of Form
Amelia Ashton Jones: Sports and challenges are an integral part of my daily life. I cycle to work, I am a member of a local running club and regularly run the Wimbledon parkrun. Sport is also part of the day job, my current project being Tokyo 2020 Games.

I began cycling gradually nearly 20 years ago when living in the New Forest. A friend lent me a road bike and took me for a ride. I didn’t take to it initially as it hurt my head when I went over the cattle-grids. When I moved to London I joined a triathlon club and found myself entering increasingly longer races. I did my first Ironman, Sherborne, in 2008, followed by Bolton in 2009 and then Outlaw in Nottingham in 2010. In 2010 I also did my first multi-stage cycling event, the Deloitte Ride Across Britain (1000 miles from John O’Groats to Lands End).

Alongside other cycling adventures, including the Fred Whitton (a gnarly cycle over the hills in the Lake District), the Marmotte and regular commuting to work on my Brompton, I’ve run the Race to the Stones (100km run) and completed the Scilly Isles Swim (16km swimming and 10km walk).

Why TCR 2019?
I was regularly going to adventure talks in London and decided I needed to stop listening to other people talk about adventures and go on one myself. In 2015 I attended an event at the Rapha store where Emily Chappell was facilitating a panel discussion on women in endurance cycling (the speakers had ridden the Race Across America, the Transcontinental and Trans Atlantic Way). I caught Emily on the way out to say thanks, mentioning the Ride Across Britain that we’d both ridden, and she asked me which of the events I’d heard about that evening I’d be keen to do.  For want of an answer I said TCR.  I can’t remember what drew me to it but I like the idea of not relying on others (which ruled out RAAM) and TCR seemed more of a challenge than TAW. Shortly after, the application process opened for TCRNo5 in 2017 and inquisitively I had a look.  The online application process was fun to complete - parts were like a Geography GCSE paper - and without too much thought I filled it in and hit submit. 

My 2017 race ended after 2,500 miles at Checkpoint 3 in the High Tatras in Slovakia. Two days before arriving I was mentally finished, riding towards the mountains in the distance but not finding a reason to keep pedalling towards them. At the checkpoint I contemplated my options for an hour or two, but then went into ops mode for getting home; booking a flight, looking at train times etc. As soon as I got on the train I felt I’d made the wrong decision.

The desire to finish the TCR was the underlying reason for entering in 2019, but I also was excited by the route – east to west (coming home) and through France. It fulfilled a romantic desire I’ve long harboured to cycle through France.

What is the Transcontinental Race like?
The fact that the TCR is a race at all, rather than a ride, is an important dimension of the event. It adds a level of excitement and an element of risk. The spirit of the race is what makes it the TCR. People ride it because they buy into the values which are core to the race’s DNA.  The rules, whilst simple, aren’t all black and white and the grey space means that over the 4000km of their route riders are constantly making judgements.

Whilst the TCR is a self-supported race the sense of community is a defining feature and interactions with other riders and people on the journey are high on my list of highlights. I instinctively cared for the wellbeing of other riders, though it was nice to be released from the natural sense of obligation to help someone with a puncture or bike issue (which is against the rules) and conversely not feeling guilty that someone was sacrificing their race to help me.

The sheer distance and physical, mental, logistical and emotional challenges test people in a way that most sports events can’t.  Since the race format is relatively new, I think we’ve yet to find what makes the ideal TCR rider.  In its current state of maturity, this means people like me can be very much part of the race and it’s fun to be part of the evolution.  

Having done TCRNo5 I had an idea of what to expect, but over 4000km, nine countries, 16 days and nights there is so much more you don’t and can’t know.  I was a moving part in a constantly changing landscape and responding in the way that felt right at the time while also trying to force a pre-defined plan onto the unfamiliar environment.

What sort of Training did you do for TCRNo7?
Physical training - Not much. My Garmin history suggests I rode 400km in 2019 prior to the race (150km in May and 250km in June).  I assume this excludes my regular 25km round trip to work and is mostly a 100km lap of the Isle of Wight and a few laps of Richmond Park.  I had done quite a lot of running, however, around 1300km over the same six-month period.

I didn’t do anything in terms of nutrition and conditioning.  I had been struggling with low iron levels so tried to boost this with red meat, orange juice and less caffeine. On the plus side, I did focus on getting enough sleep, so I went into the race relatively well rested. This was a big confidence boost and a lesson I learned on TCRNo5.

 
And Planning and Preparation?
There is a huge amount of prep and planning that can be done, but at some point you reach a level of diminishing returns. Eventually you need to get comfortable with the sense you’ll never be ready.

I was ill-prepared for TCRNo5 and took comfort for TCRNo7 in knowing that I couldn’t be less prepared. I’m a big advocate of doing things better second time around and even without huge amounts of additional preparation in 2019 I was mentally in a much more positive place.

My kit and equipment were quite similar to what I’d used in 2017 but with a few upgrades borrowed from friends (e.g. lighter aerobars, a proper handlebar bag vs my 2017 DIY drybag effort). My bike was the same (a £300 Genesis bought on gumtree) as were my shoes, garmin, sleeping kit etc.­

My route planning was ‘light touch’. Half a day on Komoot to get the outline route and another half day checking and tweaking. I spent half the plane ride to Burgas checking the end of one section connected with the start of the next and plotting my rough daily schedule. I wouldn’t advocate this approach and suffered particularly in the latter stages with endless ups and downs on country lanes and unnecessary battles through French windfarms which I could have avoided.

What strategies did you have during the event? How well did they work?
Riding rhythm - I started with a daily plan to ride 4 hours on, 15 mins off, 4 hours on, ½ hr off, 4 hours on, 15 mins off, 4 hours on, then sleep (i.e. 16hrs’ riding a day). This lasted for 2 days and whilst short term, was good to have a routine to get me started. After that my routine became unstructured.  Limiting faffing was a regular battle and I’d like to have managed this better, if only by moving unconstructive thinking to when I was riding. Easy in hindsight but I could have clawed back numerous hours by cutting out the ‘just 5 more minutes’.

Food – finding food was never an issue to the point where it became a worry. It took me until about day four to have a proper meal (i.e. not garage/grocery store food) and I didn’t do this regularly enough, as mentally and physically I was so much stronger after a proper meal.  I ate a lot of nectarines, ice lollies, pain au chocolat, cheese, biscuits and nuts.  Oddly, for the first two days I found it a struggle to eat (I had a dry mouth and no appetite), so I had to almost force down food with slugs of water. Towards the end this wasn’t an issue and I ate better and more. When I returned home after the race I was almost gluttonous for the next 3 months, eating two of every meal.

Drink – I did become a bit obsessed with having enough water.  Rarely was it actually an issue, but I filled up whenever I had the opportunity.

Sleep – I had planned on a combination of sleeping in hotels and outside, aiming to be in a hotel every three nights, to charge my electronics, wash, rest better etc, and this was roughly what I did. I spent five nights in hotels (albeit one was a sauna), three in a bus shelter (my preferred arrangement), eight in the elements (none of these were very good).  There’s a balance between the time saved by sleeping outside vs the comfort and recovery in a hotel room.  Typically, I got between 4 and 5 hours of sleep a night; falling asleep instantly but often having broken sleep as my legs seemed to keep turning.

Power – Getting power for charging was probably my biggest ongoing worry. I didn’t have a dynamo and was reliant on power packs. The impact was time wasted in garages etc. trying to charge devices and losing the capacity to take photos when my phone didn’t have charge. In hindsight I should have prepared better in this area, having a dynamo option for the essentials (lights, gps) and ensuring I had effective power packs/cables etc for use on the continent.

How did the race go for you?
For all the challenges (see below), excitements and dramas I LOVED the race. I got to the finish and felt a wonderful sense of inner calm and achievement.  I missed the GC cut off by about eight hours and, 6 months on, this bothers me a bit more than it did at the time, but it’s a small downer compare to my overall feelings of total enjoyment from the race and I wouldn’t swap any of the experience for a few extra hours back. I look back at every day, each interaction, each leg-sapping climb and each rain-soaked day with a general sense of happiness and fondness. It certainly wasn’t always fun, but I never felt that sense of ‘can’t find reason to continue’ that I felt prior to scratching TCRNo5.

What were the most challenging moments?
Because I didn’t ever feel hopelessly low or the worry about scratching, coping felt so much easier. I had a sense of managing a physical/logistical response vs the mental battle. There were some challenges though, for sure.

Physical Challenge No 1 – saddle sores from day three.  Without going into detail, they were raw and agony for the ENTIRE ride and a daily challenge to manage seat position, padding, hygiene etc. It was partly my fault, for using a new untested seat (which I thought couldn’t be worse than the one that gave me saddle sores on TCRNo5), but combined with heat, rain, long days on the bike, it was horrible.

Physical Challenge No 2 – I cartwheeled off my bike when I misjudged a curb going onto a cycle path, and landed on a rocky path: blood was pouring from both knees and my right arm and I broke my nose.  Wonderful and kind people offered help; a lift to hospital etc but, knowing that if I went to hospital my race would be over (no doctor would encourage me to continue), I did the British ‘I’m fine’ thing, and got back on my bike gingerly to demonstrate.  To some extent I was fine, I knew I hadn’t broken any bones that would stop me riding, but I was in a fair amount of pain, and more so as the adrenalin wore off.  I had a nice moment a few days later when arriving at Checkpoint 4. A number of riders and volunteers were congregating at the hotel in Bourg d’Oisin and I started to get sympathy for my injuries.  A fellow rider who I’d met at various points came up to me and jabbed his oily dirty thumb into my cheek just below my eye socket.  Initially this seemed odd, but reassuring once he mentioned he was a facial surgeon and my broken nose wouldn’t cause lasting damage. 

Mechanical Challenge – waking up at Checkpoint 3 to a volunteer asking ‘is this bike yours?’, while shaking the back wheel from side to side. Yes mine, and no, I’d no idea how to fix it.  I got to a sport shop 50km away, and after initial resistance the mechanics were fantastic - TCR bike chat can pull interest and favours.  An hour later, I was on the road with the bike purring better than when I started the ride.  Unfortunately, later that day was when I crashed, which knackered the gearing, which I was more cross about (as I was heading into the Alps) than my broken nose. I had another stroke of luck the next morning: it was pouring with rain and, not having much luck finding a bike shop, I knocked on the window of a white van to ask the driver if there was a bike shop in the village.  He directed me down a forest track where I came to a workshop (like something out of a 60s film with motorbikes and parts everywhere). The mechanic (aged c.70+) was dodging the rain and getting into his van but with my broken German I managed to convince him to look at my gears. Fifteen minutes later he had my bike fixed.  And in the process hadn’t once taken the lit cigarette out of his mouth. Beyond these two mechanicals, I had no problems with my bike and not one puncture over the 4000km.

Scared – cycling through an industrial area in the back streets of Sofia I had my ‘dog experience’. It’s almost a rite of passage, but not one you can prepare for and my biggest fear before the race.  It was late (c.midnight) and I wanted to get most of the way round Sofia before sleeping. I passed an industrial building and two big, angry, snarling dogs came out and started chasing me; one on either side of my back wheel.  Then I saw another dog about 50m ahead, streaking in from the left to join the attack. For all the advice – bells, water, sticks, stones, and my favourite; “getting off and putting your bike between you and the dog!”, I couldn’t do anything except pedal like a cartoon character and scream ‘please go away’. They gave up when a car came the other way and they lost interest in the ‘game’, but for two minutes I experienced a parallel sense of total fear and total adrenaline.

And the best moment?
There are so many; but here are three highlights:

I felt a wonderful sense of bonding with some of the other riders.  They came and went as companions over stages of the journey and often a meeting would be a quick hi at a petrol station, but so many of these meetings were highlights of a day and in hindsight are the highlights of my race. Two meetings in particular:

Tom and Adrian – riding as a pair, typically talking the whole time, strong on the flats (when they overtook me), but faffing, aka enjoying the experience, a lot (which is when I overtook them).  I met them a few times over the middle sections of the race. One evening, after I’d had a coffee at a questionable bar half way up a hill, I found the perfect bus stop to sleep in. Solid, big, dry, in the middle of nowhere but not eerily so. I got myself ready for a few hours’ kip and just as I was about to lie down, Tom and Adrian showed up, thinking they too had found the perfect bus shelter... They weren’t going to stay - I truly meant my offer of sharing, the bus-stop, but it really wasn’t big enough for three - but for a few minutes we shared daft stories and it was like I’d invited friends to mine for a catch up.

Lucie and Jimmy – I loved it when one of these two rode past. They weren’t a pair, but two or three times they happened to be together as we passed one another and I could sense them coming. They bought an air of fun and laughter and made riding seem easier. The morning of my birthday I woke early and rode hard for four hours to get through Lyon before the morning traffic. Having sacrificed breakfast to make it out the other side of the city, I was ready to find food by about 0900. And pedalling alone on a random quiet road, who should I bump into but Lucie and Jimmy?  Such a treat and I was smiling and laughing in an instant. Jimmy’s laughter was punctuated by getting a puncture, so Lucie and I rode into a little town with a wonderful bakery and coffee shop. I learned from Lucie that it was quite acceptable to buy five croissants in one sitting (and eat three of them immediately) and we sat happily in the sun eating breakfast and raising a coffee to my birthday. 

Galibier – The good moment was the joy of the climb relative to how I thought it was going to be, particularly as I sat at the bottom with nothing in the tank.  After a day of heavy rain, busy roads and scaling the Col de Telegraph, I couldn’t fathom how I’d possibly get up it. And it didn’t start well – as I was descending into the town at the bottom of the climb, I drifted to a sleep on my bike and careered across onto the wrong side of the road. Luckily the oncoming car was going slowly but it shook me into getting off the bike taking a power nap.

I still don’t quite know where the mojo came from, but it’s a simple fact of realising you don’t have an option better than getting on the bike and pedalling. As I set off a host of factors made me think luck was on my side. I counted six positives: my bike was purring (not bad after my crash two days before); the climb turned out to be only 20km (I’d misread a sign and thought it was 36km); climbing took pressure off my saddle sores; I found somewhere to get a coffee and ice cream after I thought I’d passed the last refuel point; it was undoubtedly a beautiful climb and the gradient wasn’t as steep I thought it would be (max 10% as opposed to the 15-20% I was expecting in places). 

The Finish - The ending of my journey was almost perfect. Brest isn’t beautiful by most people’s admission, but as I rounded the final bay I started to feel emotional.  I’m not great with my emotions – I cry without reason - and for the first time in the race I felt myself well up.  I didn’t want to ride into the welcome of riders at the finish crying so I stopped myself before the finish came into view. And then it did come into view and it was wonderfully underwhelming.  No fanfare, no banners, no cheering crowd. Just 5 riders who’d hung around Brest and a lot of grey. Brest may not be beautiful, but this finish was. 

The TCR is understated. It’s not about the finish, it’s about the personal journey, and the quiet ending bought this to home.  I had a beer, and then a second. An hour later I was back on the bike, heading to Brest station for the journey home. 

Lindsay McCrae, Winner of Revolve24 in 2018

Lindsay McCrae, 48, is a relative newcomer to road biking, having started racing only in 2014, but he has certainly made his mark in endurance cycling events in Scotland where he lives and increasingly around the world. Here he describes his 24-hour Revolve24 Circuit Challenge in 2018 in which he covered 433 miles and ascended 37,000 feet.

Revolve24 stages a series of cycling races at Brand’s Hatch each September. They include individual rides and relays for pairs and teams of 4, 6 and 8 riders, held over 6 hours and 12 hours, and - their premium event – 24 hours. In the 24 Hour Circuit Challenge, cyclists ride as many laps as they can of the 2.4 mile circuit in 24 hours. Revolve24 stages a similar event at the Bend Motorsport Park near Adelaide in South Australia. See more about Revolve24.

Lindsay McCrae rode a J.Laverack J.ACK titanium bike in the 2018 event. Having placed second in Bikingman Portugal 2019, he will be riding Bikingman Oman in February 2020. You can follow adventures on Instagram and Strava.

First a bit of Form
I’ve known the outdoors forever. I grew up on a Highland estate in Argyll, on the west coast of Scotland and I was a recreational mountain biker for many years. The longest ride I did in those days was when I was away working in Chile. In 2005 I headed up to the TransRockies Challenge in Canada. The race no longer exists, but at 600 miles over 6 days it was billed as the toughest MTB race of its time. I finished the race and enjoyed it but didn’t take things further at that stage.

I moved back to Scotland to work in Inverness and in January 2014 I bought a road bike on the Cycle to Work scheme and then I took part in some local sportives over that summer, Basically I got the bug. In 2015 I entered some longer races and did ok. Interestingly, I also tried some shorter British Cycling races, but I found I was less suited to them. The longer the race, it seemed, the better I would do. So I carried on entering longer races, including some multi day events, and started training specifically for them. I won several, including The 3 Pistes and Tour of The Highlands, arguably Scotland’s hardest sportives.

Why Revolve24?
In 2017 I decided I should really test my theory that I was an endurance racer, so I looked for events that would do this, though finding races longer than a few hours was difficult. There are almost none apart from 12 or 24hr time trials. I looked at these, but the training and equipment is very specific. 

I came up with Rat Race’s City to Summit Ultra Duathlon (running and cycling from Edinburgh to Ben Nevis), which I managed to win by half an hour, in some pretty atrocious conditions (only 50% of the field finished the race). And then I heard about Revolve24. The logistics were simple (especially on my own with no support) and it was easy getting to.

I took 3rd place at Revolve24 in 2017, equalling the old course record, which I was very happy with. My results were a bit of a surprise to be honest, as I was competing in an international field of very good athletes; certainly better than anyone I had raced against to date. They confirmed I was ok at the longer events. I was lucky enough to win free entry to the next year in the raffle, so this became my main focus for training for 2018.

What was Revolve24 like in 2018?
I put slightly more pressure on myself on my second outing – in 2017 there was no real expectation, just to finish - whereas in 2018 I wanted to do well, possibly even win it. I had a much better idea of what was required and what strategies did and didn’t work. The forecast was to be sunny and dry but with a gusty wind for most of the event.

Unlike the first year when I was truly “solo”, there were a few familiar faces in the pits in 2018. I had a friend in the 12hr race and I knew the guys from Laverack Bikes, who were there with another competitor on one of their bikes.

It was nice to see them, though it is somewhat fleeting - once you start - you are out on track for the vast majority of time. It can be quite a solitary race. I was only in the pits for 3 refuelling stops of around 15min each over the 24hrs. Out on the track you do see the same faces again and again, but due to different strategies, speeds and the teams in the different races, you never interact with anyone more than the occasional nod or “How’s it going?”

What sort of training did you do?
Riding. Lots of it. I covered 10,000 miles in the year (including races). Often this broke down to short turbo sessions in the garage, of 1-2 hrs 3-4 times during the week and longer rides of 2-4 hrs at the weekend, with the very occasional ride of 5-6 hrs, though these were few and far between and more to practice nutrition strategies than training the legs. Once you go over 4 hrs you pass the point of diminishing returns. This is where you are building up additional fatigue for no real benefit to fitness, taking longer to recover and train properly again.

I attended a talk by ultra endurance cycling legend Mark Beaumont about his various challenges. He talked about riding the North Coast 500, a 518 mile scenic route around the coast of Scotland, starting and finishing at Inverness castle, and it got it into my head: “Couldn’t I do that…? Living in Inverness, wouldn’t it be logistically easy?” A seed was planted. When I discussed it with an old school friend, he offered to be car support if I wanted to give it a try. Unfortunately, a typical Scottish summer ensued and very few of the gaps in the weather landed on a weekend.

Then, about a month before Revolve, the weather looked like it might improve enough for an attempt. It would be an excellent opportunity to see how the body and mind handled such a distance and time in the saddle. On the Thursday we agreed to go for it and on Friday night my friend drove up from Edinburgh. We set off at 8am the following morning. It went pretty well for the first half, until I turned east at Durness and hit a headwind – which lasted for 120 miles, all the way to John O Groats. My spirits lifted a bit as I turned south, homeward bound, but then the last 3 hours were marked with biblical rain. It was easier to relate to mentally because I was on familiar roads, but it was tough mentally and physically all the way to the end. I finally finished it in a total of 33.5 hrs, just 2hrs short of the current fastest time. However, this did confirm that I could do the distance and also what I could eat through the various phases. I found out that food in the first 10 hrs differ vastly from the last 10 hrs. Important info!

I also changed to an LCHF diet (Low Carb Healthy Fat). This helped me to adapt to burning fat as a fuel at a race pace. As I found I could not ingest enough food/fuel to fully balance off what I was burning. Therefore I could effectively “under eat” and not hit the dreaded wall and bonk.

What strategies did you have during the event?
Initially the plan was to stop every 5 hours as I thought I could carry enough food and water for just this length of time. But as I got 5 hours in I realised I still had a little water and food left, so I eked it out to 6 hours. I decided that if I could replicate this throughout, I could save time by cutting one stop, so that’s what I did. I knew the pace I had to hold and tried hard to maintain it. Once or twice I found myself trying to keep up with other solo racers (easily identified by their race numbers) - I was panicking slightly that they were lapping me - but I forced myself to forget them and slowed to my race pace again so I didn’t go into the red.

For food I had a mix of oat bars for early on and then moved onto softer foods like 33 Shake Chai seed pouches. I had some precooked meatballs and yogurt drink for a quick splash and dash during pit stops. Electrolyte tablets for my bottles. I didn’t use any gels or high GI supplements/foods.

Physical vs Mental
One of the hardest things is to hold back in the opening hours. After all the training and tapering before the event you feel fresh and hyped up and want to blast it. This, combined with the presence of riders moving faster on shorter races and relay teams, encourages you to go for it. You have to fight the urge to “race” them. Ideally you want to start at a pace that you can sustain all the way from the first to last lap. Initially this can feel like you are just trundling round and that you could go so much quicker. But go too fast and you will blow up at some point, meaning you’ll slow down to a crawl or you will have to take an extended stop.

I found a few key moments are harder mentally. Like reaching halfway. It wasn’t a “Yay! I’m halfway” moment; it was more like “Oh s*it, I still have 12 hours to go!”

Riding through the night can be strange too, as you only really have the corners of the track as reference points to gauge your progress. In the darkness there is less stimulation on the slower parts of the track, so your mind can begin to wander. But then you hit a fast descent and your senses spring back into life as you focus wide eyed on the beam of light from your headlight, looking for the apex of the next corner looming up in the darkness.

What was most challenging moment?
The weather was a big factor. It was pretty hot at times. And that, coupled with a head wind on the back straight, which was also a slight drag uphill, made it tough going. And because the track is relatively short you are on that section a lot. In my case, 189 times to be exact.

And the best moment?
As I was out on track most of the time, I did not check my position on the leader board. I knew I had been lapped, so I thought I was possibly in fourth. But on my last stop I asked one of the Revolve staff in the pits what position I was. Her answer was a surprising second. A couple of riders had blown up during the night and had to stop for a sleep and refuel to recover. So, I headed out with a new found flush of energy, determined to catch first place. This lasted about a lap, when I realised I had to return to my allotted pace if I was going to make it to the end in one piece. With four hrs to go my friend started shouting from the pit lane as I passed by, telling me my relative position to first. The leader was stopping much more often and getting slower, while I was maintaining my pace. I decided that if I could just keep going, I might actually win. And that’s how it played out. I won the event by 8 laps. Incidentally my friend won the 12hr race. So a good day all round.

What did you learn?
The right bike and fit is vital in endurance cycling: comfort is king! Big thanks to the guys at Laverack for producing such a good bike.

Otherwise pacing is everything. Just keep the pedals turning and stay on plan. Keep faff to a minimum during stops, as time will disappear rapidly if you don’t. The body is an amazing thing.

Bjorn Lenhard and the Transcontinental Race 2018

Courtesy Camille McMillan

Bjorn Lenhard, an accomplished ultra-distance cyclist, entered the Transcontinental Race for the third time in 2018. The event, approximately 3800 kilometres long, is non-stop and unsupported, and crosses Europe via just four checkpoints. It took Bjorn 10 days and 36 minutes to cover the distance.

TCR 2018 ran in a zig-zag pattern from Geraardsbergen in Belgium to Meteroa in Greece, setting off south to Austria on one side of the Alps, then crossing to Slovenia (just across the border from Italy) on the other side. Next it went north to Poland (just over the border from Czech) and then south to Bosnia, before a final run down to Greece. Cyclists must decide on their own route between checkpoints and canny road choice can make all the difference. It is reckoned that competitors covered approximately 4000km and ascended some 35-40,000 metres in all. As an unsupported race riders cannot receive outside support, resupply or lodgings that are unavailable to other competitors.

In 2017 Bjorn Lenhard placed second in the Transcontinental Race. He would love to have improved on this, but in the way of these races, as well as some pieces of good luck, he had two major problems and in 2018 he placed third. Here he talks through the ups and downs of his race.

For more information about the Transcontinental Race, see their website here. Photographs courtesy Camille McMillan and Max Libertine. Björn Lenhard has been a brand ambassador for Canyon Bikes, Apidura and 7Mesh clothing since 2018

What was Transcontinental 2018 like?
Bjorn Lenhard: It’s a really tough race anyway, but the Transcontinental 2018 was much cooler than last year, when it got to 45 degrees in the day. This time it only reached 35, which is still warm but manageable, though it got cold in the mountains. The level of the competition was about the same as in previous years.

Were you as prepared as you needed to be?
I think so. I didn’t suffer as much as I have in previous years. The only time I really suffered in this year’s event was mentally, first in Czech and then when I was in Bosnia, where I ended up on an unsafe road and I had to ride an additional 200 kilometres to get back onto a usable road.

I had the usual minor problems. I got some chafing, though actually that wasn’t too bad. I should have stretched a bit more before going to sleep. I have been to a physio this year and this has really helped me to get over a problem with my back.  Finally I ended up with no feeling in my fingers and toes, but that’s usual. It will return to normal around Christmas. It’s funny how your body manages to hold it all together during the event, but then as soon as you finish a race things everything falls to bits.

Courtesy Max Libertine

What was the race organisation like?
Perfect. They did a great job with everything. It’s important for riders to know there is a good structure behind them in a race like this. Last year, after the death of Mike Hall in Australia, they were a bit worried. This year it was great. Registration was smooth and we went through our bike-checks in about 45 minutes.

Obviously we don’t expect much of a fanfare at the end of the race as we all arrive at such different times. They keep it small and simple. I finished at about midnight and there were just a couple of people at the bar.

How did your race go?
It took me two or three days before I really got into the race, but in fact the first two checkpoints, down to the Alps, were fine. I got three hours’ sleep each night.

I hit my first big problem between Checkpoint 2 and 3. I found myself on a Czech road where there should have been a hard shoulder but there wasn’t - it was really busy and basically too dangerous. I had to choose another road and then I got caught up with roadworks and it all began to go wrong. I ran out of water and food and I had no Czech money to buy anything - I carry just Euros and a credit card. I really suffered.

I couldn’t think straight any more and I was absolutely at my end. I made the decision to stop and I slept for 10 hours. The result was that Checkpoint 2 to Checkpoint 3 took two days and I probably lost six or seven hours. Also, I was only about 200km away from home in Dresden. I considered throwing the race in – staying for a few days to watch the other competitors come through CP3 and then just cycling home - but I couldn’t do it. After that I had a little problem with a rear tyre near Checkpoint 4, but I was lucky and it was sorted out very quickly.

In Bosnia I hit my second big problem. I chose a road marked on google maps which turned out to be gravel after about 25 kilometres. It was already dark but I kept going for a bit, asking about the surface of the road wherever I could, but nobody could speak any German. I climbed to 1200 metres and it got really cold. In the end I had to turn around and return to the village, then head for another road, which turned out to be closed. And then the next road, down to Sarajevo, that was far too busy with traffic. I did about 200 extra kilometres and that really hurt.

Bjorn on the long haul up to CP4 in Bjelašnica, Bosnia, Camille McMillan

What of Sleep and Nutrition?
I slept between three and five hours a night. It’s unpredictable, and it doesn’t necessarily depend on what happened the day before. Sometimes I set the alarm for four hours and I wake up early and I feel strong enough to get back on the bike. Other times I try to get up and I need another hour before I can get going again.

I didn’t have a problem with food. I found all I needed in petrol stations. Of course it’s nice to have some fresh fruit, but in the end I visited only one supermarket during the whole race.

My discipline was pretty good. I didn’t waste much time while I was out there. I ate on the bike a lot and I didn’t stop much either. It gets harder towards the end of the race and of course when things are going against you, then it is definitely harder to keep good discipline – drinking and eating properly.

What were the good moments?
There was a really nice moment when I was forced to stop in Bosnia. I was in a restaurant, chatting to the people there and it felt great after my problems. The other fantastic moment was to see the scenery around CP4 near Sarajevo. That was spectacular.

What did you learn?
There were just a few things. I will carry a bit more foreign currency after my problem in Czech and I will carry a spare valve after my problem at CP3. I will also carry a bit more food with me in future.