Move forward, drink, eat - Adventure cycling in the Pyrenees

I was standing under a village streetlamp when I fell asleep and fell over. The crossbar caught me and my phone clattered onto the pavement. I’d been searching for a pizzeria or snack bar or late-night corner shop – anywhere I could buy food. But this was rural France at 2am. The nearest open restaurant was probably in Barcelona.

Since 10am the previous day I’d travelled 200 km with my bike, mostly off-road, with 5000 m ascent. Travelled with, rather than ridden, because the first checkpoint had been located on a mountain called Fourcat that was totally unrideable. Yesterday’s breakfast, now a distant memory, had been a croissant. During the whole ride I’d eaten just three cereal bars.

I wasn’t well-prepared for this ultra-cycling race. But to be fair, I hadn’t planned on doing a race at all. When I signed up I envisaged a sociable off-road rally: rolling around on mountain tracks, chatting over campfire coffee, toasting marshmallows, reading a book, picnics with nice views, maybe a shared bottle of wine in the evenings… the kind of relaxed cycle touring that I’d looked forward to after retiring from pro sport. That stressful world was behind me, and cycling was now all about enjoyment, experiences, riding with friends, and eating nice food. No more bike races ever again. I insisted on calling my sturdy Sonder Camino Ti (which incidentally is still going strong 6 years later) an all-terrain bike because it travels over more rocks and mountains than gravel.

It was going to see quite a few mountains at Further Pyrenees. This event was the creation of a passionate cyclist / artist called Camille. At the briefing, he announced that Further was unequivocally a race. Everyone else on the start line looked like the kind of gnarly ultracyclist who will ride non-stop for a week before taking their first coffee break. I decided not to ask if anyone had brought marshmallows.

And so it came to pass at the end of the first day I fell asleep standing up, too hungry to lie down and rest. What’s the point of stopping in a village that doesn’t have a bakery?

I had to stop though. I found a patch of grass between two cars and tried to sleep despite the cold. Setting off before dawn meant I got to the village of Val-de-Sos exactly when the boulangerie opened. After ordering two coffees, two pieces of cake, and three pains au chocolat, I confused the baker by sitting at a small table alone. He couldn’t believe I would eat all that.

I did, and then I went back for another two pastries to stuff in my pockets. I didn’t intend to get caught out snackless again. At a corner shop I bought a bag of crisps and a multipack of snickers, just in case.

The hiking path up to Port de Rat at 2,540m made Fourcat look like a stroll in the park, with the last 700 m of ascent to the French-Andorran border too steep to ride. But I was getting used to carrying my bike and now I was fed: I had a stomach full of coffee and buttery pastries and a calorific reserve of ¼ kg of peanuts and sugar-coated in chocolate. There was no hurry and the day was not yet hot. The views were fantastic. And how amazing to be crossing the Pyrenees from one country to another like this? My bicycle and I were a team that could go anywhere! True, it was faster to travel by the more orthodox method of the bike carrying me, rather than vice versa. It weighed heavy on my shoulder. The aches, chafing, and weariness were painful. But they didn’t bother me all that much. I’d accepted the discomfort and could focus on a few simple tasks: move forward, drink, eat.

I’ve come to recognise this calm happiness as the joy of bikepacking. For me, it usually arrives on day 2 or 3 of a trip. It’s not much influenced by speed, distance, weather, watts, winning, or any of the other factors that used to concern me when I raced. However it is quite strongly influenced by food, or lack of it. I don’t like to think of eating as ‘fuelling’ – there should be more joy to it than that – but it’s clear that riding (or carrying) a bike all day requires a lot of fuel. Luckily the hunger makes almost anything taste absolutely amazing so most food on a bike trip is, in that moment, the best ever. Best ever pain au chocolat, best ever cheese sandwich, best ever bag of crisps, best ever second pain au chocolat, etc.

I crossed to Andorra and then the next pass to Spain, my ride punctuated by whatever food I could find. Cheese sandwich, pastries, snickers, pasta, snickers. The final border crossing of Further was the Port d’Aula between Spain and France. It’s a steep hiking trail. I carried my bike up it in the dark, before dawn on the third day, and got to the top before the stars had completely faded. I sat on a rock to watch the pinkening sky and eat my penultimate snickers. It seemed ungrateful not to pause and appreciate the awe and beauty of that lonely place. Also, I needed the sun to edge a little closer for the descent – my front light wasn’t great and the headtorch was fading.

But my one final Snickers wouldn’t be enough for another day’s riding. I found a bakery and bought another five pains au chocolat. It turns out I quite enjoy the shocked reaction when a Boulanger witnesses how much I can eat.

It’s a testament to Camille’s genius that only eight riders finished the first edition of his race. Nobody seemed too bothered though; scratching is a normal part of ultracycling. I’ll forever be grateful to him for the Further adventure because it showed me how amazing travelling by bicycle can be. It was a sort of redemption of bike racing. And strange though it might sound, Further was the most fun I’ve ever had on a bike.

The story continues, along with some recipes for bikepacking snacks, in the book Oat To Joy – available online and in all Alpkit stores from the 11th April.!