A first-timers perspective on racing a long way
Lessons from an emotional rollercoaster like no other.
Why on earth do people ride bikes a long way? Is it for kudos? Is it to prove something? Or is it just for the love of bikes?
I thought all of these to be true until I took on my first Ultra. A 1,000km unsupported race across The Netherlands, to The Ardennes and back.
Somehow the world of ultra distance riding (not particularly racing) had always interested me, albeit very low key. I had set goals to ride a 200km brevet this year and looked at various audaxes with interest (whilst not reacting with utter disgust, - the usual reaction when people talked about their experience or adventure). Did I see something in this? I wanted to find out for myself why people do this, what are they searching for, and what can be found.
So when Laka was sponsoring the Utrecht Ultra and wanted to document a beginner racer at the event, I knew this was the push I needed to jump in at the deep end. With a busy job and a child, you rarely get the opportunity to embark on an adventure on your own, especially when it requires a significant amount of preparation. When I hesitantly floated the idea of doing this race with my family, the unconditional support I received as a response served as the last bit of motivation I needed.
Little did I know, I got much more than I bargained for. I want to use this space to help people understand that it was about achieving something, challenging myself and finding out what else. I want to give insight into the unexpected (and invisible) dimension of riding your bike for such a long time. So do not expect your usual race rundown. Instead I have used my own experience of racing, photos and voice notes I sent to my friends to show a realistic account of the emotional rollercoaster you encounter when racing a bike for a long time.
With only six weeks to prepare, I used the opportunity to try and get a feel for what the race would be like. Long rides in the evenings, back-to-back days and a few little adventures.
Heading south from Frankfurt after a few days working, a colleague, Joost, and I took on my biggest ride yet. 400 km in 36 hours. Looking back, it wasn't that far but at the time it felt absolutely huge. It was my first experience of riding late into the evening with no idea where I would sleep, trusting that everything would be okay, and hiding out in a bow and arrow camp while the rain came down around us. Feeling totally weird, but living all the same. This adventure prepared me to just let go, and keep pedalling.
What struck me most was the emotional rollercoaster. A journey you go on when riding a bike for long enough to get lost in the rhythm, a journey where thoughts drift off. A place where you are happy, sad, hungry and full. All constantly alternating. If you can manage to let go of consciously analyzing everything around you, slowly losing awareness of everything around you - you might actually love it.
During the trip in Germany, I started to believe I could race. It grew my confidence levels, physically it was doable. Mentally I was still quite unsure. In terms of logistics, my bike and all the gear, I was stressed. The following weeks were filled with bike rides whenever I could and preparing all the kit I needed, as well as getting my bike in order. Being on the bike, it felt like I was moving, making progress and getting stronger but being off the bike was tough.
The last day or two before the race were filled with apprehension, nerves and endless thoughts, I can’t remember when I felt so nervous. All scenarios had been playing through my mind almost non-stop, moments of confidence alternating with total despair. Getting to the start line resulted in mixed feelings of excitement and imposter syndrome as people around me expelled confidence out of every jersey pocket, Deep breaths carried me through realising I had absolutely no way of slowing down time.
Finally! I got on my way, clipping in, comfortable on my bike, happy to have started. . Holding pace with people around me, even for a little bit to keep things interesting, As the hours dripped by I started to care less about others, and more about the race ahead. Singing, smiling and driving my legs as fast as I could. I moved my focus inward, instead of out. This is where it all started for me, was it a ride or a race?
Stopping the next day, realising how tired I already was, having ridden until 2am and spending a few hours sleeping under shelter as the rain pelted down.. Stopping to buy cucumbers and Coke. Munching down on two croissants with my head down at a bus stop taking deep breaths, I really had a long way to go and I was already feeling so tired, but this feeling changes constantly. Feeling unsure how to navigate this, I remembered how terrible I felt in Germany after not much sleep and lots of riding and realised what I needed was sugar.
On day two in Germany, we felt horrible, just riding and not communicating. We stopped at a supermarket, and I consumed more sugar than I’ve ever seen, not stopping until I felt better. It's quite amazing, if you have never experienced it, what an impact food has and how easy it can be to eat. Despite the feelings being overwhelming, I knew I needed to actively manage my emotional state, if in doubt always eat. I hadn’t relaxed enough to appreciate it, just feeling knocked sideways by rainbows and rollercoasters. The wave. Up and down. At this point still aware of other riders, passers and glances from onlookers wondering what on earth are all these people doing.
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On the way to CP1 I started to believe I could. As the heat grew, so did my confidence. I was rolling through hills and along paths. Smashing through a flooded road, another rider tip-toed around. And then I was at the start of Parcours 1, where I thought I'd be at CP1, but there was more climbing ahead. I realise now, there was actually so much going on - so much ahead and so much behind, so much concentration it was hard to feel bored. I clicked through music but unable to really know what it was, just cruising. Absolutely starving and CP1 being packed I went to buy more cucumbers, babybells and packets of haribo. Something changed, I made it up Mur de Huy and I suddenly realised I loved hills. No longer something to fear. On to CP 2 and enroute was a pizza vending machine.
Joost told me I was in 7th, I ate a pizza, and took one with me, one hot and one cold, [little did i know cold meant uncooked] as the delirium overtook me I ventured on the road. Having eaten pizza, the sudden feeling of confidence came over me once again. Knowing I was doing well, full and almost halfway there. As the sun set, I just kept pedalling up a hill and the view was amazing. Almost immediately I was back snacking knowing the pizza would not carry me that far. Joost and I voiced noted. Little updates. Emotional waves, rainbows, and rollercoasters. I was racing, I was happy. Looking forward to getting to the next checkpoint, some company and the promise of yet another Coke.
From here on in, things got strange. Reflecting now, I’m slightly unclear on what was true, what was in my mind. Riding through the dark when the rest of the field were asleep, felt easy, enjoying the quiet and making progress. Parcours 3 was up and down, up and down. After a few hours of sleep, riding through the sunrise, pink clouds, birds and the smell of fresh air, The race really started.
While the others slept my confidence grew - a little boost really helps. Again realising that the thing I was most afraid of, the climbs I absolutely loved. Because of the rollercoaster, nothing stays the same, everything around you and your feelings change so rapidly. No longer tired, well fed and not too far to go. Slipping into a place of just me, my thoughts, my mind, not too scary just rolling through the hills. Some tunes on, dreaming not a care in the world, just a happy human on a bike in the middle of nowhere.
At the bottom of the hill, some rogue route planning took me through a wood. Although CP3 was not far off and the beds were very tempting I felt I had more in me - deciding to ride into the night I stopped in Eupen to stock up on much needed dinner, yet more pizza and snacks to make sure I would not be in trouble for whatever amount of hours on the bike might be ahead of me. Shwarma shop to the rescue.
Once I stopped I felt absolutely exhausted . Every step feeling tough and realising I definitely had saddle sores. Taking the opportunity to reset, I pulled on my new bibs and everything felt better, but putting my old bibs back in the bag brought me to tears, the clip was too tough, the sun too hot, tears started to roll down my face. But only for a minute. Back on the bike I felt calm. But there was no flow anymore, just pain. When I checked my phone and saw notifications from my friends, I was in awe of what I could do.
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As I planned, I rode off quickly to CP3. It was breathtaking, up a cobbled climb in the most beautiful village, getting off quickly to walk but quickly getting back on when it was less steep. Into CP3 washing my face, getting a stamp, eating some pizza and moving. Desperate to get on and ride into the night.
I'd like to do this bit again. I was a natural wave of dreams, and surging energy trying to get up. I sent a message saying I was in heaven as the sun started to set, the light between the trees kept me going. But still my mind couldn't focus or find the climbs, desperately trying to follow the route. I climbed the climb, enjoying the challenge of the cobbles, the elation of almost being there and still feeling strong.
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A couple of hours after CP3 after a climb up to Hammer, I put on a jacket stored in my cargo vest. I kept pedalling, and then I realised I'd lost my saddle bag. What to do now? Could I carry on? I was in a total tailspin... I tightened the bag at CP3 so how did this happen? I was desperate to crawl into my bivvy, my safety blanket. I was so happy it was almost time; now it never would be. Feeling tiny somewhere or nowhere. I called Joost, he persuaded me to turn back, maybe it wasn’t far away. After retreating back up the route for what felt like hours, convincing myself over and over that I could see it in the distance only to be disappointed, it was time to give up.
I screamed into the darkness blaming myself, so upset and so tired. Starting to get chilly, the night ahead felt so long. Picking up the phone again, this time just for company. The mist made it tricky to know where I was, the rocks started to look like faces and everything became quite bizarre. Was I scared? Perhaps but not of being alone, or anything happening more scared of how I would cope with the rest. Could I make it? I’d already been riding since 5am. Knowing sometime that the sun would rise and I could rest.
But when the sun came up I was flying, it was beautiful. Pink clouds. Deers jumping. Being awake and outside 24 hours a day.
Riding endless flats along rivers, trying to eat as much as possible. Getting really tired.
But then the Wahoo died. It had run out of battery. I sat in the road, waiting for a charge, realising I had nothing left. 300 km to go. The flat—left and right between fields—felt endless. I hated it. I ran out of wet wipes. Saddle sores were killing me. Stopping in Velden for yoghurt, cucumber and a Coke. Sitting on the side of the road. I was stopped and a lady said did I realise I was cycling on the wrong side. Then my phone died and nothing was left in the power bank. I bought an ice tea, sat there staring into the abyss while a man put a pot of flowers on the table, felt like sitting in a fancy restaurant next to a vending machine. After what felt like hours, we were in the woods, back to climbing, legs feeling strong, up and down, up and down. Again, I was refreshed by the shade, but I still started to lose sense of reality.
All day feeling sad, losing confidence, pain. I was not eating enough and slowly slipping into delirium. I was worried about who was ahead, terrified of who was behind. Sun shining should have been amazing, but it felt just endless; maybe I should have stopped, maybe I could have? I was struggling. Why did I care? Should I sleep? Should I eat? Should I give up? Sipping chewing and inhaling sugar. Anything to keep me moving. Then onto the flats—the endless flats with the heat rocketing— I cried and cried. I kept going. Next, stop at a gas station. Red Bull, water and carb powder in one. Haribo. A Snickers. I just had to get there. Was I upset it was soon to be over? How did I feel - I couldn't work it out.
As i approached the finish, people cheering sounded like screaming. A right-hand turn and a left... Wrong side of the river, right side of the river. It felt impossible and I couldn't even find the finish. And suddenly I was done. Everything stopped. Everything done. It was over. The best thing I've ever done. Everyone there, it felt so quiet and so loud. Stood over my bike frozen. What was next? Time to leave the vortex.
In the following days, I constantly asked myself and the people around me if they could believe I did it?! It was a feeling so surreal it took me a while to believe I actually did.
Perhaps it's because I get little time to prioritise myself, continually juggling too many things, or wistfully on the lookout for childhood simplicity but I really love the vortex.
The vortex is a culmination of this journey and may others like it. I'm unsure what causes the vortex or how you get to it. Is it too much sugar, lack of, limited sleep, empty legs or is it the outcome of tunnel vision for the task at hand? What Ido know is it's a physically and mentally challenging world which is tricky to describe but it's a place everyone should get the opportunity to experience.
Of course you are judged, shuffling around supermarkets stinking, breaking down in tears because you can't do your bag up, but somehow you are beyond caring and that is the best feeling in the world. It's not always a good place. It can be overwhelming, claustrophobic and beautifully wonderful. The ups and downs. Riding rainbows at first which quickly become a terrifying lurching rollercoaster and quickly back to rainbows.
You can’t go there all the time, it makes you evaluate everything good and bad. It's too simple of a world to always live in but it makes for the perfect trip. What a privilege to strip away the labels mother, the job, the admin and just getting on a bike.
After a few days rest, it was time to go home and this is when the pain really started. If you have been on an adventure, possibly the best thing in your life, the highest high - and then the lowest low. It’s never talked about how to recover both physically and mentally, which as a first time racer was quite shocking. Your world has been shaken and now you need to tidy. It took me a week to get back on the bike and probably a month to feel happy again. It’s not that I don’t like my life but simplicity is more beautiful.
On the road you don’t just get to experience new places and have cute chats - you get access to the vortex. All long distance racers have a place - the race reality with no sense of it. It’s a place I had already been to in Germany but just a month before, but I hadn’t learnt what it means to me or how to handle it. Welcome to the Vortex.
I have tried to share what it felt like for me, before, during and after. But the reality is, nobody could possibly understand without being part of the adventure. I tried to tell you all how I felt about this but I can't - go do it!
Check the full photography gallery here.
Interested in racing yourself? I did write you a letter with a bit more practical advice, read it here.
