Northcape 4000 Earlier this year Sophie Gateau joined the DUE SOUTH adventure from Nice to Mallorca as the ‘stagiaire’ of a long distance trio. Two months later, as if to prove her qualification as a fully accomplished Audax rider, she decided to take on one of the longest events in Europe – the Northcape 4000. It all started with a story of mutts. A fear of the stray dogs of the Balkans, those same ones who bite the calves of cyclists who dare pass in front of their muzzle, made my decision to register for the Northcape 4000 and not the TCR. A self-sufficient adventure of 4500 kilometers connecting Torino in Italy to North Cape in Norway following a fixed route. By choosing this event, my ferocious beasts will be reindeers not wild canines.July 27, 08.00, Torino. We are 141 cyclists ready to rumble, a motley mix of long distance experts and newbies like me and my friend Myriam. An untimely puncture 100 meters after the start and we will hardly see anyone again. The leaders of the race will ride nearly 400 kilometers per day. We on the other hand will stick to a more modest 200. Our humble goal is merely to reach the end.The first 2000 kilometers are quietly conquered, spread out between Italy and Denmark with two mandatory checkpoints : Strasbourg in France and Bastogne in Belgium. The highlight of these festivities : an epic arrival at the top of the Great St. Bernard Pass by having to walk the last 20 meters because the wind is too strong to stay on the bike; the subsequent descent into the clouds; the crossing of the Jura mountains by a pass so busy that it deserves to be forgotten ; and the rugged and beautiful course of the classic Ardennes Liège-Bastogne-Liège, also known as 'The Green Hell'. Adding a Classic as a short interlude in the whole parcours helps give a sense of perspective of this challenge. It’s longer than most.Landscapes change quickly. The hills disappear, leaving the flat fields open to the advances of the West wind. Dutch brick houses, their flower gardens, their lawns mowed with precision, then to the endless German and Danish agricultural plains where wild animals frolic. In Denmark, villages stuck between fields of Christmas trees and low lands of cereal crops, are fewer and fewer and smaller and smaller, with a constant: there is often nowhere to get food, but always a hairdresser. It’s all about priorities.The routine of the ride is now firmly installed. To ride, to find a coffee, to ride, to find something to eat, to ride, to look for a place to sleep. Simple. The big winner for a night’s sleep is the sandbox under the pirate ship in a children's playground: a four star ranking in the guide to the best roadside bivouac locations. This routine is set to repeat. 10 days in a row. August 7, 18:30, Oslo. Crossing the Skagerrak Strait allows us to rest for 9 hours. Myriam decided to stop there, whilstI continue solo. More than half of the participants have already scratched. Buck up old chum! I hit the road right away becauseI know that if I spend the night in the city, the departure will be harder. Here is my adventure! I do not know what to expect except the certainty that the weather will deteriorate and the distances between the villages will drastically lengthen. To ride alone does not frighten me, rather the opposite. The time, distance and fatigue will be now be managed in my own way.The unknown. Scandinavia is a new playground whose rules I do not yet know. Having not taken a tent, but only a bivvy bag, places to camp become difficult to find. With the cold and humidity that has settled, this is another strategy to set. An attempt to sleep on the side of a Swedish lake infested with mosquitos proves quite catastrophic. On the positive side, it provided the nicest and improbable meeting with Marine, a Parisian hiker on vacation who took pity on my forlorn soaked state and fed me a warm meal. And she promised to follow my journey to the end by dot-watching on the tracking site. Motivation levels were reset to 1000!After a quick traverse across Norway(such is the length of this event), I enter Sweden, which is a different story entirely. The crossing of the country is nearly 900 kilometres long. Wild nature, fir and birch forests, colourful wooden houses and pink, mauve, white and yellow flowers that grow randomly along the road ... I got the impression I was riding through the set of a film by Ingmar Bergman. I meet my first reindeer. They don’t bite.Villages are a scarce commodity. No more on-the-road improvisation. I must now plan from one day to another where to find food and sleep because the food supplies are sometimes spaced more than 100 km from each other (options vary from gas stations, coffee shops, a hot dog stand and liquorice candy supplier, a fishing tackle merchant). The region is full of campsites, most often cute little wooden cabins with all the modern comforts, that is to say, a heater which is immediately transformed into a dryer for rain soaked kit, and a kettle. They will be my godsend. It takes little to be happy.Back in Norway, the beauty of the landscape, the respect of the drivers towards the cyclists and the many messages of encouragement that my buddies send me re-motivate me. Too much euphoria, and my first mistake of the day. I aim for a long day and a sleepless night to catch the first ferry 300 kilometres away, in the early morning. But it's been 17 days on the road. At 23:00, exhausted, I stopped and settle in a bus shelter. To avoid getting out all the bivouac equipment, I give it a try with only my bivvy bag and a survival blanket despite the cold night. Spoiler alert: it does not work at all. I leave at 3 o'clock in the morning, it is already daylight. I have hardly slept, but I tell myself that the boat will give me the opportunity.Second mistake, I failed to study the map properly. Yes, there are only a hundred kilometres left, but with a mountain in the middle. An icy rain comes in a deluge during the ascent, there is no shelter. In the middle of this misery, a magic moment, an elk emerges from the fog in front of me. Even so, I start falling asleep on my bike. Although I wear all the clothes I have, I'm frozen and my feet and hands are soaked. Desperate times call for desperate measures, I take a nap of 10 minutes in the rain that turned into Norwegian drizzle and then wrap my survival blanket under my waterproof jacket for the remaining kilometres. A silver, gold and yellow armour that will get me to Bodø harbour. I arrive at my destination around 13:00, book a hotel and go directly to bed. The boat can wait half a day.The next morning I land on the Lofoten Islands, just before the start of the Artic Race of Norway, the UCI Continental race for pros. Roads are blocked, except for bikes, and roadside supporters are wondering what I'm doing there, two hours before the peloton. The landscapes are breathtaking, the vegetation is luxuriant, the fishing villages are traditional, the sun is back and all seems promising for the last 1000 kilometres that lay ahead. I pass through the Troms area, even more majestic than the Lofoten, with its spectacular fjords surrounded by snow-capped peaks. Reindeers are more and more numerous, gray wagtails swirl in front of my wheel, the roads are empty, the pleasure of riding a bike is concentrated in these few moments.The end of the adventure approaches, I enter the austere region of Finnmark and its arid tundra of stones, moss and small crooked trees. The only people I meet are the employees of the few gas stations and some cyclo-tourists: our roads all converge on the North Cape, a symbolic magnet. The last of the countless tunnels crossed is in front of me, this one is out of the ordinary : 7 kilometres dug under the sea, in the obscurity, with a descent followed by a 9% climb out to reach the island of Magerøya. I feel as if I am entering the darkness. The temperature dropped by 15 degrees Celsius in 5 minutes and the water flowing on the interior walls is frozen. Let's get out of there as soon as possible. After a short night in Honningsvåg, the northernmost city in the world, I leave at dawn to enjoy the last 30 kilometres alone. The journey is crazy, the harsh landscape is hilly, the wind is icy and clouds rise along the cliffs. Emotion grips me as I see the North Cape building in the distance. It's August 21st, the sun is rising, and I just reached the end of Europe. Torino - North Cape : 4631 km / 40754 D+ / D24 H22 M42

THIS IS FURTHER It’s 6pm on Mont Fourcat, some 2,001m above sea level. (That 1m counts just as much, if not more than the 2,000 before it.) Camille McMillan is clad in white linen, as if to stand out like a beacon against the hues of green, brown and grey that make up the surrounding Pyrenean landscape. Founder and race director, Camille, is literally standing out on the edge of the mountain, looking for the first riders to approach the only checkpoint of the race, where they must meet and greet him in order to advance to the next obligatory sector. They are some three hours behind the anticipated schedule.The first rider, illustrator Tim O’Rourke, is spotted as the bike on his back catches the sun that has been burning bright all day. He moves for another ten seconds then sits down exhausted. He’s been hiking that bike for an hour already and although he’s within sight and only a mere kilometre and a half away from the summit, it will take him another hour to actually get there. This…. is Further.Seven months ago Camille started the process of building a new race. The parcours, its shape, its diversity of surfaces and routes, the twelve obligatory sectors to be completed, all became an obsession. Seven hours ago, the carefully selected group of riders competing in the race’s first edition ran across a field in the plains below the mountains in a Le Mans style start : tipping the hat to the petrolhead endurance events that take place further north. Those riders did not know the parcours like Camille, but that was part of the appeal. A race to take you to places, physically and mentally, that you had never been before, beyond what is available in the ultra-endurance calendar but in a localized loop rather than the more popular point to point format. Comparisons to the infamous Berkley marathons were made in jest, fear or maybe knowledge. No-one was quite sure.Back on Mont Fourcat, having spotted three dots below (both with eyes and the race GPS trackers) Camille took his place beside the IGN stone and traditional cairn that marked the highest point. For such a slow-moving part of the race it was providing incredible tension, culminating with two riders appearing over the horizon from different directions. Lissen Hockings, competing in her first bike-packing race, came from the west, whilst Tim had continued his battle up a section of the north face which Camille had declared impossible just one hour previously. Already, riders were pushing Further….. And arriving together created a mise-en-scène in a race where both sexes were competing against each other on equal footing. Because, well, this is Further.Emma Pooley, former Olympian and multi-discipline World Champion, and Angus Young were third and fourth to arrive at the checkpoint. Emma, also in her first mixed surface bike event, was comparatively fresh whilst Angus was sick and suffering badly. He and Josh Ibbett had been simultaneously vomiting due to heat stroke earlier in the afternoon. Josh had scratched whilst Angus forged on, dropping his saddle bag off his bike in order to make it to the top. This forced him to retrace his steps down the north side of Mont Fourcat and take a different route around to the next sector which started after traversing the Pont du Diable – the Devil’s Bridge.With riders stretched out all over the course, before and after the checkpoint, Camille stayed alone on the summit until dusk. It was forbidden to ride above the tree line after night fall on this particular part of the parcours. On the descent from the summit, he passed Ingeborg Dybdal Øie as she made her way into the rocky mountain refuge beside the shepherd’s hut. Having realized she wasn’t going much further on day one, she’d left her bike a few hundred metres down the mountain slopes to search a place to sleep. Camille nervously asked her if she hated him. The response was luke warm. She has a high-powered job in Cambridge, but no matter how eloquently she might recount this experience in the board room or next to the coffee machine, not many would understand. She’d made it further than the second half of the field and could make the Checkpoint at sunrise the next day to keep the chase on.Whilst Ingeborg and the others were sleeping in their various shelters and bivvy bags, the race for the win was forming. Emma and Angus were the two riders who pushed through the night through the next part of the parcours. Sector 4 was a gravel climb through forests leading to the next sector, a classic road climb up the Col du Port. It is testament to the brutality of the race that a 17km climb that has featured ten times in the Tour de France is almost regarded as a liaison between the real tests of the race. And the next pinnacle (pun intended) of the Further parcours lay just due south of the Col du Port – the Port du Rat and into Andorra. It was ‘only’ the sixth sector out of twelve but it turned into the critical point of the race for most riders.There are only two paved roads in and out of Andorra. Needless to say, the race went the other way. The Port du Rat is 2,540m high, and according to the race director the top section of the sector, “maybe more brutal than Fourcat”…. The French and Andorran governments had agreed to bore a tunnel through the mountain here, but the mountains obviously kicked back because there is no tunnel. There is just a rocky trail through the scree slope and over the top (after you’ve ridden the 20km climb of tarmac and gravel up the valley). Taking the race where other vehicles can’t go, this was the second punch-in-the-face reminder that this is not just a bike race. It’s hike-a-bike ultra-endurance. And once you reach the other side the only way out is more of the same or a very long ride around the mountains back home. Many riders realized this and the prospect was too daunting. They scratched and made the long ride back to base at Zero Neuf where individual racers melted back into the community of supporters and friends. Camping out beside the farmhouse, telling tales, watching the remaining dots and speculating about who would win.Meanwhile, Emma chased Angus up the valley and passed him near the top, with both of them making it into Andorra by early afternoon. This was important strategically as it enabled them to traverse the principality and get into Spain before nightfall, when border crossing was banned by the rules of the race. And for good reason. On the Spanish side the dirt track that was sector 7 lead to the village of Tor, famous for having 13 houses and 3 murders in recent years due to tobacco smuggling. But Emma and Angus were pushing on and crossed the border well before the police and customs officers would be investigating anyone moving on the mountain. Which meant the next move was to be the first to make it over the Port d’Aula back into France.That would be no easy task. Sector 8 was a luxury, in relative terms, being a surfaced road. However, it took the riders as deep as it is possible to go into the Pyrenees. The sector ended at the bottom of an almost vertical kilometer of mountain leading up to the Port d’Aula. It wasn’t an obligatory sector however the next one, Sector 9, started at the top. So the only other option was to take the 160km of paved roads around the mountain and climb up to come down. Which doesn’t really seem like a viable option given what has already passed before. In the early evening, Emma messaged Camille via WhatsApp to ask if there was an option to sleep at the top. This is self-supported racing. Camille refused to answer feeling that any advice he gave would influence her decision and effect the outcome of the race.Two riders, two days deep into one of the toughest races of their lives, playing cat and mouse up a wall of mountain in the middle of the night. Angus didn’t stop. To watch the replay of his tracker is to see a 5 hour slog up the steep slopes towards the summit. Emma made a different choice. She bedded down around 10:30pm then woke at 3am and zipped up like a mountain goat, passing Angus to reach the top by sunrise. It’s an extreme way to get a great Instagram photo. She was in her element, her next message to Camille declaring the Port d’Aula to be one of the most beautiful places she’s ever been on a bike. Camille got out of bed at 3am to drive down and greet the leaders on their return to civilization in Pont de la Taule. Emma was seemingly on a high of endorphins and in the zone. Angus, who followed a few hours after was running on empty. The sickness of the first day and all-night hike had taken their toll.To say Emma's ride to the finish was easy would be a sweeping understatement. But she made it look that way. There was more tarmac on the run for home but there was also sector 11's ascension of the 'Wall of Peguère', then a mix of gravel and tarmac through the forests to the Prat d'Albi and a final gravel section that went, ahem, Further that it maybe needed to. 'Damn you Camille', were Emma's exact words. In her wake were six other riders. Racers, yes, but more in a personal battle against the mountains, the map, the mental questions of why they should push on any more. Angus had gone so deep it was a crawl to second place. Behind him Mathieu Davy had silently gone about conquering the course, Philppa Battaye rode the whole thing with a smile, whilst the the only pairing to finish - Daniel Peat / Maurice van Roosmalenmet - were still encountering actual smugglers on the Port du Rat, proving that this race was traversing the most remote places of the Pyrenees, on foot. The podium presentation, prize giving, and television interviews didn’t take very long. Probably because they didn’t exist. Instead there were the hugs and the smiles and the almost-tangible respect from the riders who scratched, the beers from friends. There was the BBQ and the late night party, illuminated by the mayflies putting on a performance beside the light. Mayflies have a short life, but the seemingly live it intensely. Which seems to be a fitting comparison for those that went Further. For those who weren't 'dot-watching' during the event, you can click on the 'Replay' button on the map below and see how the each of the protagonists went Further and how Emma and Angus exchanged the lead many times.

ありがとう 2018年9月、4名の友人同士が何を期待すれば良いのかも分からないまま、バイクでの日本横断を決意しました。この冒険が生み出したのは「ありがとう」。大阪から東京まで、悪名高い日本最標高にある道路乗鞍岳を越えて行く様子を記録したショートフィルムです。バイクパッキングに比較的慣れている私たちによっては、知らない土地での困難な状況に直面することには対応できます。日本は想像を遥かに超えた驚きがありました。この旅を表現する言葉を選ぶとすれば、暑さ、湿気と雨、友好的、急勾配、便利、美味、穏やかさ、でしょうか。台風が来た時を除けば、ですが。ランドスケープを調査した際に、大阪から東京までの知られていないロード、特に２大都市間の大きな迂回であった乗鞍岳をバイクで超えていくことに関するデータがあまり得られなかったため、映像に記録することにしました。数人の友人同士が現地の言語や動植物、ランドスケープの知識もなくバイクで国を横断し、経過を楽しむ様子を記録し、人々に伝えるのに最適な方法だと思いました。理想としては、慣れた土地を離れ世界の美しい場所を発見するインスピレーションとなればと思っています。撮影にはSony RX100 MK3、Mavic Air Drone、Goproを使用しました。持ち運び可能なカメラのゴールデントライアングルと言えるこの3点を使うことにより、素晴らしい結果を生み出すことができます。ソニーのカメラは防水100%テクニカルバッグに収納し、ドローンはドライバッグと Rando バッグラージサイズを使用。GoproはJosephもしくはJonのハンドルバーに常時取り付けました。全ての機器は200マイルにわたる4週末をかけてテストを行い、機器選択が正しいか、変更する必要がるかどうかを確かめました。全員カフェ・ドゥ・シクリステのマティルドビブショーツを着用し、Nathanはビブと合うフルーレットを選びました。サイクリングキャップ も素晴らしく、Nathanと私は着用頻度が低めですが、JonとJoeはサーディンキャップが大のお気に入りでした。私は速乾性に優れ、蒸し暑いクライム走行と川にも対応可能なマリーナ メリノウールジャージを選び、Joeはモニークを、Jonはビブと合うマティルド ビブショーツを着用、 Nathanはビブと合うフルーレットを選びました。サイクリングキャップ も素晴らしく、Nathanと私は着用頻度が低めですが、JonとJoeはサーディンキャップが大のお気に入りでした。 バッグに関しては、 Restrap の防水性と軽量性に優れたCarry Everythingコレクションを選択し、厳しい走行でも快適さを保ちました。NathanはRandoバッグラージサイズとand Pelago フロントラックを生産前に試用することを希望しました。これ以上話すとフィルムを観る必要がなくなってしまうので言いませんが、１つ言えるのは、美しい国にいつか再び戻り新しい場所を発見しに行くことは間違いないでしょう。我々が製作したものを楽しんでくれることを願い、見知らぬ土地で冒険したいという気持ちが高まることを期待しています。文： Alex Dyson写真: Alex Dyson、 Jon Hicken このストーリーをシェアしてくれたRestrap に深い感謝の意を表します。

MORVAN – パラダイスの一角 ホームタウンGravierよりもパリからさらに遠い2 番目のオプションであるMorvanをPCR GravierのJulien SommierとSteel Cycle Coffee Shopが紹介してくれました。Morvanは、時が止まったかのようなパラダイスの一角です フランス西方にあるMorvan地域自然公園は、マウンテンバイクで知られています。1990年代に、400キロ以上にわたる森と湖を抜けるダブルとシングルトラックで構成されたGrande Traversée du Morvan（GTM）が建設されました。コースは非常に優れており、フランスサイクリング連盟によって認可されました。マウンテンバイクを念頭に置いて作られたコースですが、より大きなタイヤと多少の整備をすれば、グラベル バイクにも理想的なルートだと言えるでしょう。フランスでクランポンと呼ばれる滑り止めを着け、GPSにマップを設定して、楽しんでください！パリの南からディジョン3時間の旅になるため、車でスタート地点に行きキャンプをし、翌朝早く出発しました。早寝、早切りとでも言うのでしょうか。バイクを担いで歩く場所はなく、比較的スムーズなコースですが、テクニカルな箇所が多くあります。水分補強が非常に大切なコースでもあり、水を補充できる場所はありますが、村はほとんどないルートです。それが長所とも言えると思います。 Settons湖にはペダルボート、カヌー、バイクレンタルがあり、レジャーセンターのような楽しさがあります。バイク洗浄場もあります。自然の状態に近い湖もあります。ルートを外れて山頂からの絶景を楽しむことができるMont Beuvrayを登ってみてください。グレートクロッシングを終え、天候が良ければキャンプに戻り夕日が沈む間泳ぐことができると最高です。

ホームタウンGRAVIER ホームタウン：出生地、幼少期を過ごした場所、または現在の定住地。 フランス国境で語り継がれるひねりのあるストーリーの数々に関わらず、PCR Gravierは地平線に山の影１つ無いアスファルトの上、間違いなくパリで生まれました。 ロードバイクの中心地であり、ツールドフランス（Tour de France）の発祥地である場所に住みながら、太いタイヤと冒険を避けることは不可能でしょう。 We click West ! 西へ！現地での探検。 夏が到来し、ホームタウン周辺を走行するのは8月に行う予定のスロベニアへの旅へと向けて調整するのに最適だと言えます。問題は、「バイク走行の幸福度」は走行中に遭遇する車の数と工業地域によるということです。結果、西へ向かうことにしました。 パリの西部はヴェルサイユと近接していることもあり、工業地域が少なく、美しい家々が立ち並ぶのではないかと考えています。 実際には風に理由があります。パリでは主に西から東へと風が吹きます。その結果、西方は産業煙による汚染が最も少なく、街から逃げ出し楽しむ目的地としては最適です。「パリを出るのは賛成、でも方法は選んで！」 rue Crozatierで朝9時にパリを横断するために待ち合わせ、 リヴォリ通りを介し「フランスらしい」 エトワール凱旋門を通ります。現地の人々がエイリアンを眺めるかのように我々の太いタイヤを眺めた「ハムスタークラブ」と呼ばれるロンシャン競馬場を通り、美しいPasserelle de l'Avreを介してセーヌ川を渡り、ヴェルサイユへと向かいます。ここで遂に文明とお別れです。グラベルトラックと小さな森のロードとの間には、Chevreuse Valley へと続く数キロのl’Aqueduc de Bucがあります。スロベニアに持っていくバイクを使用中ですが、フレームに取り付ける10キロの荷物無しだといかに速く感じるかに驚愕しています。Bièvresでは、パリへ戻る前の最後の自然豊かな場所であるSaclayの平野とVerrièreの森へと出発する前にカフェイン入りのラビトがお勧めです。エッフェル塔がナビゲーターの代わりとなります。100キロのバイク訓練の後は、太陽が降り注ぐセリーヌ川岸での冷たいビールが最高です。スロベニア旅の準備はまだまだですが、1キロ以内に撮った写真の数は記録的です。心配はありません、全ては夏が解決してくれるでしょう。

The Transcontinental Race No7 The Transcontinental Race is a magical mountain. A mountain littered with traps which require riders to combine their physical prowess with a sense of cunning; of strategy, and calculated actions to avoid the pitfalls laid down by the organisers all along the route. This year, the traps were numerous.No5, No6 and now No7. This time around it was longer than ever before; my final distance covered would reach 4158 km. The metres climbed figure was eyewatering, especially along the pieces of compulsory route. Longer, harder and more perilous than ever. Something notable from this year’s route was the amount of “Hike a bike” sections. It provoked much debate during and after the race and whilst there are arguments for and against it, the one thing that is undeniable is that it adds yet another mental hurdle to overcome – riders pushing their bikes up interminable walls; it’s a stark reminder of nature’s power.You can’t pre-order weather. I can’t remember a single day without a headwind, without storms, without rain or intense heat. Sometimes, we’d have all the elements at once. Just one more thing the riders had to overcome.Everything changes In the previous editions we’ve always started in Belgium and headed into the unknown. The multitude of routes available and the night “départ” meant each rider quickly found themselves alone facing their destiny. This year was very different.Starting from the unknown, heading towards Brest, in France. A giant “diagonale” joining the Black Sea to the Atlantic Ocean. The daytime start was new, as were the long sections of compulsory routing which reduced every rider's options considerably. This meant that up until about CP3 in Austria we formed a sort of giant peloton, spread across the Balkans then into Tyrol where it became very common to bump into other competitors. Bulgaria, Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia, Austria, Italy and back into Austria. The summits and the borders passed by like episodes in a good TV series. This left only Switzerland before we made our final border crossing into France, where, according to the frequent radio bulletins, a big storm awaited us…Riding these events, my default setting from the first few kilometres is one of solitude and introspection – I ride fully aware that a couple of weeks of soul searching lay ahead. This year, the fact that we had to follow a more set route, meant that there were more opportunities to meet fellow riders and forge new friendships, as well sharing in some unforgettable experiences. Whether it was stopping on a Bulgarian summit; bivouacking in Serbia; an Italian pizzeria; a French service station; a terrifying storm in the middle of a Slovenian forest; or the climb up the Col du Galibier in the middle of the night; each experience was made all the more poignant knowing that I was sharing it with my fellow riders.Everything went well, except… All four check points complete within the time limits, I embarked upon the final section. A long diagonal stretch from the Alps all the way to Brest. If I’d managed to defeat the weather in the Balkans and in the high mountains, it was a very strong headwind, sprinkled with rain, that would wear me down over the next four days. I’d only planned for three. When coming up against the wind there are two options. Either you have the required athletic ability to overcome it, or you grit your teeth and grind it out. I grit my teeth, and lost time.Riding into the wind for days on end felt like coming up against a ghost who’s trying to rugby tackle me, hour after hour, day after day. It wore me down. Physically, mentally, emotionally…Seeing my goal slip away by only a few hours, defeated by some invisible opponent. It hurt a lot, and it somehow felt like I’d been there before. But ultimately, it didn’t beat me: 16 days, 14 hours and 10 minutes. Brest. Friends, a shower of beers, hugs, cries of joy. A joyous finish. I wanted to finish twenty-four hours earlier, but who cares? The Transcontinental is a magical mountain, full of happiness and misfortune in equal measure. But like nature, the TCR always has the last word. I owe it to myself to do my best, but beyond that it’s important to accept the outcome and take from it all the memories and moments it has given me.I’ve always liked this word, “trilogie”. It has an air of fantasy. An epic journey. With all its twists and turns, and heroic protagonists, there is a side to the TCR which is more Star Wars than bike race. But there it is – the trilogy is complete.From the heartbreak of 2017 in the High Tatras, Slovakia, to the tears on Mangart Sedlo, Slovenia, in 2018, all the way onto this year’s wind on the flat plains of central France, each edition will remain etched into my memory forever. Without doubt TCR has given me some of the most thrilling memories in my cycling life.

雲の上 – 富士山のBサイド 富士山のクライム走行をする企画が持ち上がり、数え切れないほど経験したことがあるにも関わらず、日本一高い山に登ることへの興奮が高まってきました。舗装された道路としては、乗鞍岳が日本で最高地点ですが、富士山が最もアイコニックなクライムと言えるでしょう。富士ヒルクライムレースには、毎年世界中からライダーが集まります。富士ヒルクライムレースのメインルートは、山の麓から5合地点まで続く富士スバルラインです。富士山北東にある南アルプスが一望でき、ツーリストにも人気がある場所です。富士スバルラインは富士山の神秘的な壮大さを感じるのには最適な場所とは言い難く、東京を拠点とするサイクリスト達にアドバイスを求めました。彼らは、走行にドラマを加えるグラベルロードを含む、あまり知られていないいくつかのルートを教えてくれました。 東京から富士山はそれほど遠くありません。都内の出発地点にもよりますが、富士駅は100キロほど離れた場所にあります。多くの東京ライダー達は、一日かけて道のりを走行します。トラックを借りて、山の近くのコンビニをスタート地点とすることにしました。日本ではあらゆる場所にあるコンビニで待ち合わせをすることは珍しくありません。郊外や田舎にもコンビニはあり、食べ物の質はほとんどの外国人の想像を遥かに上回ります。 富士山の北西から5合まで登り、富士スバルラインを下降するルートを計画しました。街や人混みから離れ、森を抜けるコースは、山の中で迷ったような気分を楽しむことができました。富士山の北西から5合まで登り、富士スバルラインを下降するルートを計画しました。街や人混みから離れ、森を抜けるコースは、山の中で迷ったような気分を楽しむことができました。グラベルにさしかかると、ハイライトである富士山頂を垣間見ることができます。5合付近になり稜線を辿ると、雲が濃くなり数メートル先までしか見ることができません。下降するにつれ雲が晴れ、急降下を楽しむことができました。脚注： 写真＆テキスト：Sogon Yoon

富士山：世界の山々 #12 富士山は、他の山々とは違った独特の雰囲気を持っています。標高3776メートルという高さのみならず、地理的な位置や歴史、文化も関係しています。日本の国土約73%が山で覆われています。富士山のある中部地方には、1998年の冬季オリンピックの開催地として知られている素晴らしい長野の高地もあります。長野の東南、東京から約130キロ西へ行くと、平地と湖に囲まれた富士山が見えます。遠くから眺める富士山は雄大であり、雪に覆われた山頂が雲のうえに顔を出す様子は威厳があります。日本人は古代より富士山を崇め、山にまつわる伝統や信仰が今でも伝えられています。観光客の増加により、富士山の神秘的で神聖な側面は消えかけていますが、まだ人にそれほど知られていないエリアや道を通ると、山の神聖さが感じられます。東京のサイクリスト達にとっては、富士山へのアクセスは比較的簡単です。東京から富士山までの普通電車賃は安価であり、特急を選べば最寄りの駅まで1時間半で行くことができます。日本の電車では、バイクは完全にバッグに収納しなくてはなりません。安く簡単に入手することができるRinkoバッグ（バイク収納用ナイロンバッグ）が便利です。富士山を通常走行で登った場合、スタート地点にもよりますが、五合目で2,500〜3,000メートルの獲得標高が見込まれます。富士ヒルクライムレース(www.fujihc.jp) の公式ルートである富士スバルラインを通って五合目まで行くことができます。スバルラインの平均勾配は5%ですが、距離が長く、途中にある4つの休憩所を利用して調整することをお勧めします。スバルラインの他にも、五合目へ向かうルートがあります。中にはフェンスを越えてグラベルを走行するものもあり、通常地図には記載されていません。これらの隠れたルートを知る現地の知り合いがいる場合は、是非試してみてください。富士山の醍醐味はこのようなルートにあると言えるでしょう。世界の山々シリーズで、世界中のアイコニックなクライムについてお読みください。 CLAIM THE BADGE

POINT IT TO THE BREAK – Two-Wheeled Wave Hunting A wise man once observed that other people's obsessions are fascinating. Surfing and its disciples are a prime example. To the non-surfer the behaviour of those chasing waves is intriguing. It seems that the hunt for the best break and the details of said hunt is as much as an obsession as the catch itself.That said, one obsession is not exclusive to all others. How many cyclists are also surfers? Two sports, two lifestyles and one love of the outdoors means these worlds overlap for certain people. 'Outside is free' might be a slightly over-used viral hashtag but the essence remains and it’s often this very reason that sparks new adventures.Surfing and cycling offers a fine combination to channel the outdoor spirit and Sami, Ollie, Amy and Rémi all decided it should be the basis of a long weekend. Ride the back-country, set up a seaside camp, surf until sunset and then do it all again at the break of dawn. Location? Asturias, Northern Spain.The Asturias coastline is well known as an area with multiple great breaks and stunning scenery, making it the perfect option for the surfing cyclist. Compared to the Côte d'Azur, the vibrant greens of the Costa Verde are a refreshing change yet like the Riviera it has mountain backdrops beside the sea, albeit in a more open, wider format.The Picos d'Europa are not far away and Ollie has just come from a week-long gravel adventure riding slopes that go up above 2,000m. That's why he's first nomination to tow the trailer. Sami is the other volunteer, quite possibly due to a desire to protect the new board she made with her own hands in a surf shop owned by friends in Barcelona.Why tow a trailer full of surf boards? With bicycles, the hunt for the best waves is simply enhanced. Surfers meticulously study coastal maps and detailed shipping forecasts to try and find blue gold. The more remote the location, the better. It is, of course, practically identical for the adventure cyclist – planning routes, checking for rain storms and headwinds and finding the next new destination are part of the process. On this trip the magic mix is to find the best roads and tracks that lead to the best bay with the best waves. Subject, of course, to what Mother Nature might serve up along the way.In Asturias, it is not plain sailing to the beach. Following Komoot's route to Playa Balotta takes us onto backroads and double tracks and the ups and downs are sharp. The 20kgs of trailer, two surfboards and a dry bag full of wetsuits and fins seem manageable until the road becomes corrugated cement and serves up a 20% gradient. It raises questions on the logic of the bike-surf set-up which firstly go unspoken and secondly are erased when the summit is reached to reveal a view of mountain peaks curving towards dramatic coastline.They say that adding luggage to a bike changes a cyclist’s state of mind; it slows things down, makes you enjoy the surroundings, extends the possibilities and heightens the sense adventure. A trailer full of surf boards at the top of a climb like that only adds more purpose.Descending from the foothills of those mountains, the waterways become more abundant. Small towns are formed around steel bridges crossing river tributaries filled with fishing boats and pleasure craft. The closer the coast becomes the smaller the roads get. They turn to gravel and rise upwards with the cliffs that front on to the sea.Arriving at Playa Ballota for a balcony view down to the bay is stunning. The surfers of the group do their thing; it’s a long silent stare at the sea below, that to a non-surfer, would appear to simply be a moment of quiet contemplation. But there is a lot being observed – is it a left, a right, an A-frame, a close out? Where is the lip, the peak, the pocket, the impact zone and the shoulder? What’s the breaking speed? Unfortunately though, the waves are simply not there.So it’s another 10km down the road to find a spot for the night. Down a track, across a field and planted at the edge of a cliff which overlooks a bay with it’s own mini-island, camp is established in a five-star location. We can cope with no waves. Just as when a cyclist stops in the mountains for whatever reason, being here is enough.Round the stove, Amy turns the tables. She is 85% surfer, 15% cyclist and has many, many questions. Is bike-touring now the trendy thing, why are clipped in pedals called clipless, what’s the easiest way to go to the toilet when wearing bib shorts, which gear and cadence is right for the hills and, of course, the leg-shaving question…The break of dawn and clamber from the tents to do one thing; watch the sea. And again, no waves. And again, the soft light of sunrise and beauty of the surroundings placates most of the surfing stress.But there is a sense the growing anxiety amongst the group. The hunt will continue and there is increased questioning about wind direction and swell predictions. The outcome of some research points the crew back towards the original starting point of San Vincente de la Barquera, more specifically to Playa de Gerra on its eastern side.It’s not that long in distance but map reading reveals a lot of it can be done on gravel that tracks the land side of the coastal ridge. It’s a no-brainer decision and one that rewards with a rolling parcours across the country side. Ollie leads the way popping jumps and skidding tyres on what is relatively easy riding compared to his previous week’s mountainous tour. Arriving in San Vincente de la Barquera Amy and Sami decide on coffee. Then immediately change their minds to martinis because it’s only 10km to the beach. No-one argues with them.The wind makes that final stretch a bit more difficult than anticipated on the bike but aids with the surfing conditions. Finally it’s time to unpack wetsuits and hit the water. The locals arrive and the bike-surf set up immediately provokes conversation and jokes. Noticeably, they are on long boards, whereas the bike trailers are full of much shorter equipment. What the outsider sees is the immediate connection between the surfers, the flow of conversation based on the essiential questions about the whys, the hows and the wherefores that led to this meeting. A bit like cyclists really.Playa de Gerra faces north west and whilst the swell is not big the break is consistent. As the most conditioned surfing cyclists of the group, Sami and Ollie paddle and battle the waves on boards that are slightly too short for the conditions. The locals glide frustratingly by on their long boards but Sami persists and bonds with the new board.Whilst the surf might not be the best anyone has ever experienced that somehow emphasises the point of this trip. The group stays in the water for two hours, long enough to see the sun set from the comfort of their boards. Literally immersed in nature it’s worth the cold and dark change into dry clothes before another session exploring each others obsessions around the stove. As a surfer would say, there were some seriously good vibes on this trip. Photography : Chris McClean

ローリングからローラーへ 自然の中で過ごす週末ほど素晴らしいものはありません。バイク、サーフ、キャンプには、未来へと繋がるようなアウトドアの醍醐味が詰まっています。

オダックスの起源 Audax (adjectif latin): audacieux, qui a de l'audace. Voir aussi: hardi, intrépide, aventureux, déterminé, courageux. Randonneuring、耐久サイクリング、長距離、ウルトラサイクリング、ブルベなど、様々な種類があります。私達はオダックスを優先しています。定義には僅かな違いがありますが、共通項は長距離です。いつから長い距離が好きになったのかわかりませんが、今ではDNAの一部のようになっています。 例えば 地点から地点への走行、もしくはチュリニ峠を一日中走り回るにしても、多くのルールは設けません。身体の限界に達するまで走行するのです。コミュニティの歴史は100年以上にわたり、走行カタログが存在します。友情を大切にしたライダーや独走を好むライダー、競争を好むライダーなど、真に美しい情景を垣間見ることができます。オダックスは1897年にイタリアボーダーをまたいで始まりました。バイクレースの人気が高まり、人々はクラシックなものとは違うスタイルを求めるようになりました。可能性の限界を試し、障害を乗り越え、ライダー同士の争いを減らすフォーマットです。ペーサーもなくサポートもない、ライダーがロードとただ向き合うサイクリングのピュアな形。 Vito Pardoという名の男性が先頭に立ち、ルールが決められました。ローマからナポリへグループ走行を18時間以内に行うものです。エントリー費は5リラ、完走するとバッジが授与されました。距離は230キロ、現在の長さと比べると短く感じますが、当時のロード状態と使用可能な装備を考慮すると、レースが「zinzins」（狂気）と呼ばれた理由が想像できます。18時間後、9人のライダーがナポリに到着しました。新聞が彼らの達成を、「Audace」（大胆）と称しました。オダックスはここから生まれたのです。ナポリ側も負けてはいられないと挑戦し、数週間後には20人のライダーがローマに到着しました。両サイドのグループが集まり、オダックスの距離は200キロ、日没前にグループで完走する事が決められました。オダックスイタリアはこうして生まれ、イタリア中にオダックスグループが形成されました。国境を越え、フランスにもオダックスのニュースは流れました。前世界記録保持者であり、ツールドフランスの初代オーガナイザーであるHenri Desgrangeがフランスにグループがいないことを嘆き、レースから引退したライダー達の新たなチャレンジとしてぴったりだと思いつきました。1903年の夏、オダックスイタリアのグループがパリまで走行することを決めました。Desgrangeは完走可能なライダーを厳選したグループを形成することを提案し、イタリアグループの先を走るよう計画してl’Auto新聞に追わせました。 1904年には、Desgrangeはオダックスフランス協会を設立する声明を発表し、同年春にはAudax Club Parisien (ACP)の設立と最初の走行を成し遂げました。パリからガイヨンのルートで、37名の参加者のうち29名が完走しました。各自メダルを受け取り、オダックス走者として称されました。以来オダックスは、フランスのサイクリングカレンダーに記されるイベントとなり、ツールドフランスやパリ〜ルーべと同じように新聞に掲載されます。オダックスの人気が高まるにつれ距離も長くなり、1908年には400キロ以上となりました。しかし、全ては上手くいくばかりではありませんでした。1921年にACPはライバル新聞l’Echo des Sportsのイベントサポートを行いました。その後Desgrangeは、ACPのオダックス公認権利を廃止しました。それまではオダックスはグループでの一定スピード走行でしたが、Desgrangeが作り出したこのルールを使用できなくなったACPは独自のルールを生み出しました。Brevet des Randonneurs Francaisの誕生です。ライダーは自分の好きなペースで自由に走行できる決まりを作り、時間制限さえ守ればいいものとしました。 パリ・ブレスト・パリのようなイベントには２種類の形式が存在するようになりました。１つはランドヌール、もう１つは毎時20キロのオダックスルールのもの。以来、オダックスには主に２種類あり、ランドヌールと、伝統的なグループ走行の Euraudaxとして知られる形式です。オダックスは世界中で知られるものとなりました。各国にオダックス協会があり、それぞれ個性を持っていますが、ローマからナポリへと走った当初の哲学は保っていると言えるでしょう。フランスを斜めに横断、もしくはロンドン・エディンバラ・ロンドン、パリ・ブレスト・パリ、TransOz、TransAm、TCRであっても、全ての走行でライダーは「audace」（大胆）であることが求められます。正当な精神を持ち、信頼性のあるブルベカードにスタンプを押すことが求められます。オダックス走行にはある種の精神状態が必要です。レースに勝つことが重要ではなく、新しいことを発見することが大切なのです。可能性を知り、限界を感じて自己発見をすること。新たなロードを見つけ出し、新しい仲間に出会うこと。現実逃避の目的もあるでしょう。参加し目的を分かち合う、競争だけではない魅了がオダックスにはあります。

Italy Divide: Napoli – Lago di Garda, April 2019 It was a cold December Sunday afternoon in the UK. Post-training, I was surfing for a new adventure to banish the gloom of the boring winter day and suddenly there it was. I’d heard of Italy Divide. I knew that Transcontinental racer and 2nd place finisher in 2018, Matt Falconer had ridden it last year, and loved it. I was looking at the 2019 edition, laid out in front of me: 1200km, 15,000m elevation, 85% off road. Starting in Napoli, heading north through the Appenines, the mountainous backbone of Italy, to finish at Lago di Garda having climbed the edge of the Dolomites. I had no idea what I had let myself in for. For the first time ever, I would have to pick my bike up, put it on my back, and walk up steep goat tracks.Day One: Where did I put those leg warmers?Have you ever been to Napoli? If you haven’t, go! Incredible food and kind people. Located 230km south of Rome, the bay is one of the most beautiful in the world.Upon exiting the city I had to chase on to the front group and avoid some un-welcome drafting. The pace began to take its toll so I strategically stopped to load up on food and water as I was planning to ride most of the night. As the event entered the first off-road sections and the groups finally split.As dusk was setting in, tearing down a rocky descent I punctured. Having not learnt my lesson and slowed down, a mere 200m later I punctured again. On the plus side, it’s an opportunity to stop and layer up. Searching in my packs, no sign of the leg warmers. There I was, two-time Transcontinental Race winner and I’d forgotten to pack leg warmers. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d feel like a schoolboy on this event.As dusk turned to dark, I reached the first really tough sections. 30% ramps forced me off my bike and to hike all 18kg of it up the hill on my back. Italy Divide had properly introduced itself. I was set for a baptism of fire, for which I’ve found an apt definition: “A first experience of something, usually something difficult or unpleasant.”Day Two: One road actually leads to Rome The day began at night, as I hadn’t stopped. Very early on a Friday morning, I found myself bouncing down the 2,300 year old Via Appia into Rome. This is where the Roman general Crassus crucified 6,000 slaves along this road having crushed Spartacus and his rebellion. The cobbles were worse than Flanders. I was heading into Lazio and then for Tuscany and the start of the famous ‘Strada Bianche’ white gravel roads. Here is a confession: I thought that the whole of Italy Divide would be more or less a mixture of idyllic white gravel roads and bike paths. How naive! While passing through Viterbo, I diverted to buy some leg warmers. As I was pulling into the carpark, I rode though a deep puddle and right into a hidden low kerb. Face over handlebars and smack into a bollard. Thankfully I suffered only a bruised ego and a broken time trial shifter. Day turned to night and I was on the lookout for a hotel to stop for three hours sleep. After a few hours searching, turning down each vague possibility in hope of something better, at 04:00 I settled on an abandoned house. Here’s the silver lining: to my very pleasant surprise, when I entered the house there was a sofa, and nothing else. A gift. A quiet day of good progress : the calm before the storm.Day Three: Vicious Italian sheepdogs and a drunken Jimi Hendrix tribute. I woke up shivering and cold. I had slept for just one hour after 36 hours cycling 583 km. I decided the best way to get warm was to get back on the bike.The stretch of road ahead of me, through Tuscany, was a worry. This was where Josh Ibbett had been bitten by a dog last year.In the dark of the night, I heard barking. My bright light caught a hundred pairs of sheep’s eyes. Their enraged dog guardians were standing on small hills in the field. When they saw the light, the dogs went into an absolute frenzy. I retreated a little. They calmed down slightly. I started pushing the bike. They ran towards me. I got on the bike and now, they were running alongside me, though on the other side of a barbed wire fence. I would be okay, wouldn’t I?All of a sudden, one of the dogs leapt over the fence just in front of me. I went into full sprint mode. Another dog jumped the fence and joined the first one and then a third. It seemed to go on and on but eventually, they started to drop back as I left their territory. I have been chased plenty of times by dogs but this was easily the worst. Absolutely terrified, I was on edge for the rest of that night.As dawn broke, the incredible beauty of the area became apparent. A wonderful sunrise with an extraordinary inversion cloud layer. I was now riding into Sienna, the route was really grippy, these were those white roads in the Strade Bianchi. I got into Siena at about 08:00 and found a cafe to start to sort myself out. I had some digestive problems during the night and the results weren’t pretty. So, I found myself in a supermarket toilet having to clean myself and my kit. Very glamorous!I hit Florence in the early evening tourist rush. What a city. Then, the route became really difficult. It was dark and I had all my lights on. Due to the low speeds, my dynamo was not charging my battery pack for my lights and the world around me was becoming darker. The climb I was about to tackle would take me up to 1,000 m. Decision time : stopping was the sensible and best option.I rolled into the town. Every hotel was full. Turned out there was a big motorbike race the day after at the nearby Mugello circuit. Plan B: I found a pizzeria. Ordered two pizzas and two desserts. Then Gino, drinking at the bar, got friendly. Hey! Come and stay at my place!An hour and a half later I wake up. It’s not because of my alarm. It’s because Gino has come home and is now playing Hendrix on a guitar and didn’t want to stop. All my batteries are fully charged, I leave him to it and head out into the night.Day Four: Mountains and Mirages I resumed the race at 0130 on Sunday morning from Piero a Sieve, nearly 60 hours since my departure from Naples Thursday afternoon. I’d covered 760 km, climbed 10000 m and burnt 25,000 calories. My immediate challenge was a very tough climb into the Apennines and soon into it, I went past one of my rivals. Five minutes later, he came alongside me. It was Sofiane Sehili, a well-known off-road specialist from France. We rode together for a while before the climb really started. It was another ascent that required some hike-a-bike. As we got to the top, I had pulled out a bit of a lead on him.I started off down a rough descent on my own. In the first town I found a cafe with self-service croissants and doughnuts. Sofiane joined me soon after and we rode off together for a bit. He went ahead. He’d been telling me about problems with his Garmin. I then saw this problem in real life for him as he went the wrong way.Late in the afternoon, I arrived at the race checkpoint at Governolo. My idea of getting a good feed was quickly shattered. The race organiser told me that 30 km back I had missed a section of the road. I turned around and rode back. I was back within 90 minutes and I had lost my race lead. I sat down to a huge plate of pasta. I knew it was going to be a long ride into the night and perhaps I wouldn’t even stop again. There was 300 km to go, in my mind I was racing for the finish.Unsupported racing requires rest and food. I couldn’t possibly tackle the final climbs without food but I had none. I spot a vending machine. It’s not a mirage. Incredibly it’s full of calorie rich yoghurt drinks – 600kcal in 500mls! I bought 12 and drank six immediately.After a visit from two visibly confused Carabinieri, I sat alone thinking about what I had ahead of me. Two climbs: almost 3,000m elevation. Then downhill to the finish. My last sleep had been 90 minutes on Gino’s sofa 24 hours earlier. In fact, I had under three hours sleep in the last 90 hours.What would actually happen on the final day is an experience I will never forget.Day Five: Mud, rain, snow – the race to the finish I’ve been chasing Sofiane since my routing mistake. It’s 2am, I’m full of yoghurt and very short of sleep. The first big climb began almost straightaway. I started falling asleep, my mind started playing tricks on me. I know this feeling and knew it wouldn’t last.At night, off road, it is pretty hard to see where to go and I found myself going along the bottom of an embankment. My wheels were rim deep in mud. I knew if I stopped, I would be stuck. Soon my bike had become completely clogged in the mud. I found a stick and scraped away enough to get going again.The track led me to a desolate and closed petrol station. Then I saw a cyclist already there. Of course, it is Sofiane, slumped half asleep, sitting on a step, looking absolutely shattered. As I arrive, he wakes up.I find a tin bath, a watering can and a brush and start scrubbing away. It works, sort of. I jump back on my bike and head off into the night. Sofiane jumps on too and catches up with me quickly.I’m not really sure if Sofiane is ahead or behind me. I get to 1,000m and the rain begins. I have been pushing my bike up a horrible single-track and then start heading across a field. I’m now at 1,200m, it’s six in the morning and my heart sinks as the rain turns to snow.Visibility drops down to 10m. I’ve only got cycling gear on and I know that I must climb to 2000m. I make a big decision. I must stop and find somewhere warm to shelter.I look up local hotels. I call both of them. No answer. I leave the race route and head for the closest one. It’s absolutely dead. I try one final call. There is an answer. Although he doesn’t understand English, in 10 minutes he arrives at the hotel. I take a shower, no rush, I sleep for three hours. For me, at this point, the race was gone. I was going to wait out the storm and then complete the course, safety first.I woke up to my alarm and opened the curtains. Clear blue sky! Soon I’m on my way. It’s just 90 km to the finish and I will not be stopping. I knew that Sofiane had made terrible progress and was only 15 km ahead of me. However, given the terrain, that’s maybe two and a half hours. I get back on the race route and I get climbing on the difficult single tracks. After not too long the snow is knee deep. I get off the bike and start pushing.This went on for a long time. As I struggled along, I can see where Sofiane had ridden. I could even see where he had fallen off. The same happened to me. I must’ve fallen off 15 times. Most of the time, I just jumped up and got back on the bike.Eventually I found myself riding downhill on tarmac. By now I was just 30 minutes behind him. This was an incredible amount to make up over such a short distance, but he must have been very tired. I stopped and pumped up my tyres for the tarmac.Race organiser Giacomo had come out in his car and he told me ‘Take it easy, this descent is like the Stelvio’. I tore off and it was amazing. Switchback after switchback. I was really excited because I knew that I couldn’t be far behind. Also, the final climb was all on tarmac.I started that climb at a ferocious pace. It was 18 km to the top and I thought that I could catch Sofiane. After 16 km at the highest effort I could sustain after all that had gone on before, there he was. I buried myself to get behind him. Then, I just attacked him, with absolutely everything. He finds the pace and comes back to me. I attack again. He comes back to me a second time. I attack once more and open up a 10m gap. I can see the top; the road is covered in snow.I stopped and so did he. I said, ‘How do you feel about riding in together?’ He says ‘Yeah’ and that was it. The race was over. I knew what he’d been through and I had endless respect and admiration for my fellow racer.We headed off together, walking through the snow. We arrived at Torbole, on the North end of Lago di Garda in the dark, together. A fitting end to an incredible race with an immense bike rider.Writing this, it’s a week since I finished, and life is slowly returning to normal. I have been sleeping a lot! My legs are working again. The nerves in my left hand are settling down and the use of it is returning.Being able to finish at all is testament to the equipment I ride, my bike and clothing. Dom Thomas at Fairlight has designed one hell of a bike.I was racing in Cafe du Cycliste kit for the first time, it stood up to some terrible conditions. All day rain, snow, heat, we had it all. I was comfortable at all times.Full ride on: STRAVA

PUSHING LIMITS James Hayden’s rise to the top of the world of endurance and adventure cycling world started with the famous picture of his Shermer’s neck on the TCR and, like his cycling, hasn’t stopped since then. Café du Cycliste is proud to partner with James for the Summer of 2019 and share his distance adventures.As the winner of the past two Transcontinental Races, you are ‘Mr Ultra’ - how did that happen? I just like riding my bike. It might be a cliché but it is the simplest and most honest answer I can give. The path has been from falling in love with the bike whilst commuting, winning the first club TT I ever entered, getting recruited to the club’s U23 racing team and setting a goal of becoming a pro by 2012. That didn’t happen, but before the self-imposed deadline I had already started to become attracted by other challenges. I’d known about TCR for a year or so. It was in my brain and I was intrigued. It was the natural next step for me.How do you go faster than others? I believe it’s because of focus. Racing unsupported is for people who are masters of all – fitness, route planning, equipment preparation are all important but, come the event, focus is key. Time management is really important during events, especially your stops, which comes with experience. My first TCR I tried to have almost no sleep, just catching 20 minute increments when I could. For my first TCR win I was sleeping for 3hrs every night. It took discipline to make myself stick to the plan. What attracts you to long distance? The challenge of it, the scale of it. Pushing your limits and seeing new things. Yes, you have to focus the whole time, but there is a lot to enjoy at the same time. The most enjoyable thing for me is the sense of fulfilment at the end.Route planning is fundamental, right? Yes. Before my first win on TCR I did nearly 100 hours of route planning. It needs a good understanding of maps and to not have tunnel vision towards one route. You have to look at the bigger picture and different options, but also be aware of your strengths and weaknesses – how well you climb being an obvious factor in deciding on the shorter more mountainous route or taking the flatter longer option. It’s also about attention to detail. I’m an engineer so that definitely helps. But you don’t have to be perfect because on the day, things never go perfectly.And what’s your secret to kit preparation? You prepare for everything. I take less than I used to, but more than others. It’s a personal thing. I don’t weigh everything – obviously I don’t take the heaviest option, but I take what I need and what I know works. It is what it is – I ride with what I decide I need. Experience refines your requirements. I’ve thought about it and tested so much in training and on events enough that I don’t even make lists anymore. How do you deal with the weather? I plan to ride 24h a day. The only way to do that is to carry every piece of clothing that you need. I can’t control the weather. I’ve seen it all – day-long rain, freezing cold, extreme heat. The 2017 Lucifer heat wave is a standout memory - 55 degrees in Serbia and I remember descending from 1,000m at 3am in the morning in shorts and short sleeves. But those are the kind of moments that make this discipline so great.You’re not riding TCR this year? No. It’s time for a new challenge and to up the ante… Quickfire questions : What is long? Long is when you see both the sunrise and the sunset Why is long? To see new things; to adventure and to challenge yourself How is long? Experience and respect for the distance, the time it takes and the conditions you encounter.Follow James on Instagram @jamesmarkhayden or via his website - http://jamesmarkhayden.uk/

TIZI N’TICHKA – Via The Caravan Tracks To drive North Africa’s highest road is to realise that Morocco is changing. The Tizi n’Tichka is the main obstacle on one of the main arterial routes that runs from Marrakech to Ouarzazarte. Arterial routes in Morocco are mostly single carriage, usually with a covered surface, sometimes they are still in gravel format. But that, need we say it, is part of its attraction. It’s ironic then that when approaching the summit of Tichka you find four freshly laid lanes of tarmac carving their way to the 2,260m summit. You might guess that it’s a working example of the trickle down effect. Get the hardest, highest bits done and the rest will follow suit. These new dual carriageway lanes almost feel more like a city ring-road than an idyllic mountain pass. But simply the other side of the armco is the majesty of the Atlas mountains. At 2,000m there are no trees. There are, remarkably, no animals to be seen by the naked eye. There is lots of wind. And traffic. Construction lorries meet transport lorries meet tourist vans meet local buses, official or otherwise. All life is here at the Col.As with all trips, it’s the white lines on the map that hold the secret to success. These are the minor roads that take you through real country, back country, beautiful country. Ironically for the Tichka, the alternative route starts in a tourist trap at the bottom of the Ounila valley. Some 30km outside of Ouarzazarte, the Aït Benhaddou kasbah is a maintained Moroccan example of how things were when this road was the caravan route between the Sahara and Marrkaech. It's a touristic pilgrimage for many.This is the modern day trade for many parts of Morocco. Before that, money was made here in a different way. Just as the river Ounila itself gives rise to the green oases found throughout the valley, this road and the taxes imposed for passing give rise to many kasbahs and one very rich family.The small commune that sits on the other side of the river from the kasbah is split by the white line we saw on the map - the P1506 - filled on each side with hotels and restaurants ready to accept the incoming revenue. But travel five – no – one kilometer up the road and immediately all that is left behind. Because 99.9% of the tourists seemingly go no further. Suddenly rural Morocco and its ambience takes over.That ambience is to feel alone in another world, whilst simultaneously (if you have previous experience of this amazing country) knowing that there are always eyes watching and that around the next corner, there is a village in crevices of the Atlas where you thought modern life was not sustainable. That's because this is not modern life as we know it. And that is refreshing.After Aït Benhaddou there are eight listed civilisations on the Google map before you arrive at Tiz n'Tichka. Viewed correctly and positively, that’s eight opportunities to turn another ride through the mountains into a memory for a lifetime.Approaching each village you will cross locals on foot, on donkeys, or on mopeds. Said mopeds are frankensteins of the highest order. A black market melange of Yamaha, Kawasaki and Suzuki becomes a 'Yamkawazuki'. And they appear entirely natural in the context in which they are encountered. Even when they are transporting anywhere between two and five people – men, women, children. Sometimes goats. There’s a nice set of switchbacks 35km up the road and we meet a gaggle of three Yamkawazuki’s, which turns into a race when it becomes apparent that the power-to-weight ratio of a tired 125cc engine carrying two humans versus Côte d’Azur trained legs on a carbon bike are, roughly, equal.The outcome of this race is not win or lose. It’s smiles all round and an invite for tea. Literally, everyone is a winner. Tea is backwards, down again to the last village below the switchbacks. Illogical but perfectly acceptable in the circumstances. And the reward is the best mint tea in the world, accompanied by the best bread and olive oil in the world. Double win. Served by the most gentile people in the world, who don’t mind having cameras poked in their faces to make photo memories. Triple win. And the blue tiles on the wall reflect the cycling jersey on our backs. All is so well-aligned in this moment it’s tempting to stay. But North Africa’s highest col awaits. The Altas mountains on this road unfold gently. They are more like the Alps mostly with gradual gradients. After remounting the switchbacks, a rise and fall run around the mountainside and through the gorge beside the river, the road turns 90 left with intent. There is what seems like a trading post on this corner. A stopping point for essentials to feed the settlements that hide between and behind the surrounding peaks. It’s a small distraction before what lies around the corner - the valley of a thousand shades of reds and browns, dappled with greens, dissected by a perfectly-laid snake of bitumen. If you’ve travelled by bike you might recognize this feeling. It happened to us on Little Peru during the Torino-Nice Rally. You do not know where exactly to focus your eyes because nature is putting on such a show.The slope is kind and progress is effortless. The road tops out before falling onto the flats of the high mountain plateau where Telouet sits. The big school with kids pouring out of it suggests we’re in an Atlas heartland, the main street says otherwise.This place was once the seat of the ‘Lord Of The Atlas’ – where the family of most powerful Pasha to serve the Sultan outside of Marrakech made its fortune. The El Glaoui family dominated the olive, saffron, and salt trades due to Telouet’s optimal placement on the caravan trail. Thami El Glaoui ruled as the ‘Pasha of Marrakech’ until he helped staged a coup to dethrone the ruling Sultan, only for the nastiness to bounce back on him when he fell foul of the Moroccan Independence movement in 1953. Since then Telouet has not been able to reinvent itself and the dilapidated Kasbah stands as a symbol of the town’s fall from grace. Watching the locals in djelebas, the laden trucks, the stray dogs and the loaded Mercedes vans pass along the main street is to see a raw Morocco that is seemingly standing still in time. Maybe that’s what makes a tagine in Telouet so memorable.Going from Telouet to the top is to make the transfer to the high Altas. As the road snakes, the view back towards the plateau and the mountains on the other side give a sense of scale. Big, colourful and unique. Twenty kilometres of mountain riding perfection under the spring sun. Tarmac, gravel, tarmac, river crossing, small hamlets. Then bam! Road works. The reconstruction of a washed-out bridge, but more than that. Re-working of the road's foundations tells us we are close to re-joining the main Tichka road. One last gravel secteur and then corrugated concrete (which always seems to mean steep gradients) leading to the freshly laid tarmac that takes you to the top.The Col sign is no ordinary marking of the pass. It's symbolic of all of Morocco's grandeur and history and deserving of the highest road in the country. We suggest you take the alternative route to get there and experience the best this land has to offer.Footnotes: Photography : Matt Wragg

PCR Gravier – Paris Chill Racing PCR Gravier is a cycling collective born out of a shared passion for adventure on two wheels and a taste for tracks and trails off the beaten path. Created on the streets of Paris, they've spread across the globe, from Copenhagen all the way to Belo Horizonte.PCR Gravier was born out of Paris Chill Racing’s urban beginnings. Tell us about PCR's beginnings and its evolution.The letters PCR stand for Paris Chill Racing. It all began with the fixed gear movement. As fixed gear bikes grew in popularity in Paris in 2010, we decided to start social rides on Wednesday nights.Chill was in opposition to pro cycling, riding for fun rather than racing. At first it was a good excuse to drink beers, chat about bikes and cruise through the city. It's evolved a lot since, got bigger and bigger, but the core is still the same : having fun on a bike, whatever the bicycle, the journey and who you are riding with. PCR has been organising events for nine years now. Alleycat races, ultra alleycat race, cyclocross, social rides, bingo... yes bingo.PCR gathers together the French urban cycling community, passionate people and friends, using public space to create a collective of free spirited people. What was the journey from fixie, traffic-carving craziness to mountain wilderness, gravel adventures? We still enjoy riding the streets of Paris or other big cities. But as soon as we can escape town for a day, a weekend or even a week, we try to discover new horizons, which can only be reached by taking small tracks, gravel roads or sometimes even dirt roads. There are so many directions that you can choose once you are off-road. The world becomes an even bigger playground. What does ‘gravel’ riding mean to you?Gravel for us means escape, wilderness, the unknown and freedom.Riding off-road is nothing like riding on the road. The sensations are different. It's another world. We now prefer riding far from the main roads, the cars and being closer to nature. Listening to the birds. It's good for the soul.What is the closest off-road adventure to the centre of Paris?The closest off-road adventure to the centre of Paris would be the Morvan. A national park similar to Canada, with lakes, forests and great off-road tracks.The GTMC MTB trail which stands for 'Grande Traversée du Massif Central' is not too far either and is a continuation of Morvan’s track. It’s a 800km off-road map which takes you from Clermont Ferrand to the beach in Sète.You were there for the first Torino-Nice Rally – how was it?It was our first real gravel adventure. We had discovered gravel when we climbed the Col du Parpaillon the previous year, but the Torino-Nice Rally really made us discover the joys of an itinerant journey, and taste a new dimension of cyclingBreathtaking landscapes, the unique feeling of being alone in the world, far from people, cars and noise. The route allowed us to discover some of the most underrated passes in the Alps, and some of the most incredible roads we have ever ridden. In retrospect, it was quite a challenge for a first outing of this kind, but we were very lucky with the weather, and to have no major mechanical problems. The only frustration was that we only properly bivouacked once during this trip, the rest of the time we used campsites (we were still a little nervous at the thought of not being to take a shower in the evening). We've stopped caring so much about showers now... If you have the opportunity to ride the TNR, or its route, don't hesitate. Just do it!Luggage solutions go from mini-bar bags to huge pannier set-ups. Where do you find your sweet spot for your journeys?Show me how you load your bike and I'll tell you the kind of person you are…In reality it depends on a lot of things: travel time, weather, relief, whether you want to cook your own haute cuisine each night etc.As a group, I would say that we all apply the same principles to how we load our bicycles. We have this basic setup which includes a handlebar bag, frame bag and saddle bag. For the rest, it's a matter of taste. Some load the forks while others prefer 'food pouches' hanging everywhere on the bike.The real difficulty is finding ultra-light and compact equipment to be autonomous in all conditions.To sum up, I would say that the sweet spot is the one that allows you to enjoy both the moments on the bike, but also the moments off it!The phrase ‘More photos than kilometres’…. We’ve noticed there are some serious photo geeks in the group – so it’s not just about Instagram likes, right????We give a lot of importance to the photos taken during our travels. To tell the truth, several of us in the group work in a profession related to photography: directors, cameramen, graphic designers... it was therefore natural that our imagery should be taken seriously.We actually love to use film, (so much to say that Instagram is not the priority during our trips). This ranges from using disposable cameras to Mamiya 7 medium format cameras. Each year we compile these images into a printed micro-publication and share the best shots on social media.That said, on our last trip we carried a 5D canon digital SLR to be able to publish an Instagram story of the trip in real time with something other than photos taken on the iPhone. So we do mix it up.What are your views on the great 650b v 700c debate?You don't need a doctorate degree to understand that if you multiply the volume of a tire, you also multiply the fun factor.... So I would say that we simply favour fun!We actually think it depends a lot on where you ride, but also on the way you ride. In our group we ride on both 650b and 700c but we have one thing in common: we favour testing the off-road capabilities of our bikes rather than winning medals on the road with them...However, to give you a straight answer, for two of us in particular, using 650b has been a game-changer. You get so much more comfort and grip and at the same time, we can still keep up with the boys riding 700c on the tarmac so I think it's a win-win situation.It's an endless debate...we'd just recommend trying both and seeing which you prefer! Finally...do fat tyres make you happy???Hell yeah they do!!

南山 – ソウル：世界の山々#11 現代の街並みが形成される前の朝鮮王朝時代、ソウルは外壁とゲートに囲まれていました。ソウルの南境界は南山、北の境界は北岳山でした。これらの山々は、外からの侵入から守る存在でした。朝鮮戦争により、多くの建築物が破壊されましたが、外壁が今での残されている場所があります。昔の要塞を再築すべく街全体が勢力を注ぎ、山々を都会の中心に立つ歴史的な自然公園として設立しました。韓国は山に囲まれており、厳しいサイクリングルートが多く存在します。ソウルに住む人々にとっては、街を離れてこれらのルートを探索することはそれほど簡単なことではありません。南山と北岳山は比較的身近なルートです。標高約300メートルですが、２つの山と間にある小さな丘を合わせると、約1000メートルほどの標高を得ることができます。全て市内で達成できることも魅力です。この便利さが、２つの山が韓国でのStravaルートとして最も人気のある理由と言えるでしょう。通常サイクリストは漢江の南側、盤浦大橋付近からスタートします。南山と北岳山へ向かうサイクリスト達のミーティングスポットとして有名な場所です。盤浦大橋は２層になっており、下層は北側までバイクレーンが続き、川岸のルートまでそのまま辿り着くことができます。バイクレーンを走り、漢江を渡った後にはサイクリスト達は多少不安を感じるかもしれません。ものすごい交通量のロードを通り過ぎ北へ向かうことができれば、南山のエントランスが見えてきます。山頂にはNソウルタワーがあります。 Nソウルタワーへの道はバイクと天然ガスを利用したツアーバスのみ走行可能となっています。安定した4〜5%勾配で、話しながらでも登れるスロープです。途中で美しい景色を眺めながら休憩するスポットもあります。降下しソウル中心にある光化門広場へと向かいます。ここには共和国になる前の最後の朝鮮王朝王宮である景福宮のゲートがあります。王宮の周りを走り、現在の大統領が居住する青瓦台を通過し、２つ目のクライムである北岳山へと向かいます。山頂へ向かうロードは北岳山スカイウェイと呼ばれており、公共交通を利用することができるため、様々な自動車等が通過します。比較的長めのクライムであり、国内の他エリアまで行くことなくクライム距離を獲得することができます。山頂に到着後、ほとんどのソウルサイクリスト達は同じルートをスタート地点まで戻ります。これらの山々は韓国で最も高いわけでも、景色が素晴らしいわけでもありませんが、最も人気があることは間違いありません。多忙なサイクリスト達に便利なロケーションであることも理由の１つでしょう。ソウルのサイクリストは、世界中の都心に住むサイクリストのように毎日忙しいスケジュールで働いています。これらの山々は、タイトな時間の中で1000メートルのクライムを達成できる場所なのです。中には日々の通勤にクライム走行を取り入れるライダーもいます。 世界中のアイコニックなクライムについては、our 世界の山々シリーズでお読みください。 バッジを獲得する STRAVAを使用する 脚注： 写真＆文：Soon Yoon

Week-end prolongé: LA Add an extra day (or two), breathing room to find riding space somewhere special. Or simply somewhere simple. Get up, kit on, ride out kind of trips. Cycling for the soul. Wikipedia says a donut contains 452 calories and 38% of your recommended daily fat intake. In 16 fluid ounces of beer on average you get 204 calories. But that's ok if you're about to ride the Figueroa Mountain Loop.A long weekend in Los Angeles. So much to do, but so little time to do it; we have two days to ride. Meeting up with friends who call this place home, and explaining our predicament, they take about five seconds to decide where we'll be going. 'Baldy and Figueroa.' Sold. Who are we to question the experts?Mount Baldy is the biggest cycling celebrity in the county, due to it's annual time to shine during the Tour of California. At just over 20km and with over 1,300 metres of climbing at an average gradient of 7%, it's quite a daunting prospect, and here's the kicker (literally) : some of that average is made up of 22% gradients. Regular, it ain't. Fortunately we're not here to set KOMs, it's simply about sharing the road amongst friends. The ride out from town is not entirely straightforward. LA certainly lives up to its reputation in terms of traffic and why some may be fooled into thinking the city sucks for cycling. However once you hit Glendora, the traffic, the noise and underlying stress fade away. Motivation for the task ahead seems to come largely from chat about where we'll find the best beer and tacos. Then, the climb to Mount Baldy Village reminds everyone that it's work first, reward second and suddenly everyone quietens down a touch.Sometimes it's easy to think you've seen it all, or at least ridden it all. You could be trapped into thinking that the world's roads are ultimately the same, it's only the scenery which changes, but somehow they always conspire to surprise you. From the Col de Braus to the High Atlas, you'd think we know how to read the contours of the road as it traverses the slopes towards the summit. Maybe it's the jetlag or the surprisingly high temperatures or the excitement of a new world; but we are less aware of what's around the next corner.And so the final part of Mount Baldy smacks us in the face like the heavyweight hitter it is. Whether you're trying to set a PB or just there to spin your pedals, unless you are at WorldTour level the steep gradients demand effort. Remember that feeling that you're in the wrong gear only to look down and discover there are no sprockets left? A series of 10 switchbacks, which somehow crescendo with gradients from 13% to 22%, lead to the ski lift at the top. Should have taken the lift.The descent back down from Mount Baldy is perhaps one of the best in the world. Glendora Mountain Road offers views for miles, and somehow has an air of Provence about it - aside from the 'bears crossing' sign of course. It's a landscape that appears dry and rocky, but when you actually look around it's covered in trees and fauna and we're told that in summer you can even hear the sound of cicadas singing.And so to the aforementioned rewards. On this occasion the eating took on a whole new dimension. Wikipedia says a donut contains 452 calories and 38% of your recommended daily fat intake. In 16 fluid ounces of beer on average you get 204 calories. Needless to say at The Donut Man's beautifully American street-side kiosk, there are no calorie listing. We suspect it's maybe above the global average, and all the better for it.Once the dust (or icing sugar) has settled, we head back into town to rehydrate, debrief and plan day two. The word 'beast' gets used a lot when describing Figueroa Mountain, but it's decided that one more beer can't do any harm. We'll burnt it off tomorrow right?Situated in Santa Barbara county to the north of LA, the Figueroa Mountain loop consists of almost 1,500 metres of climbing. That should put the Donut Man in his place and it's also enough to know that it won't be a simple amble through rolling Californian back country.A striking feature of riding Figueroa Mountain is how quickly you feel isolated. There is almost no traffic to speak of, and as you climb and look out over the endless landscapes, civilisation feels like a very long way away. Empty roads and endorphins sometimes result in sprints. LA lesson number two - never take on a state champ. America is big and the pool of talent is deep.As we approach the summit the views begin to disappear behind trees, and by the time we're at the top there is nothing to see other than the trees in front of us - shades of our own Turini. And just like Turini, within minutes of descending the views return, stretching out for miles.Once we reach the bottom The Donut Man is a long way from Figueroa Mountain, but it turns out the local brewery is an award-winning beer craft beer heaven. Like the gear-choice on Mount Baldy, it's obligatory.Sixteen fluid ounzes isn't enough. The debrief continues. Who did actually win that sprint? Can a bear really run at 35mph? Were those the best donuts in the world? Is riding in LA as good as the Côte d'Azur? Well, we can't be expected to disloyal, but for sure we can confirm that it doesn't suck.Footnotes: Photography : Christophe Rousseau

Mount Baldy: Montagnes du monde #10 Despite its reputation as an automotive town, L.A. is home to a robust and diverse cycling culture that rivals the most bike-centric of cities. The seemingly-never-ending urban sprawl combined with a desperately-lacking public transportation system has long since spurred a community of self-powered commuters. This, in turn, has given rise to an entire subculture of unsanctioned midnight riders, marathon crashers and fixed gear racers.</p> But carbon conscience commuters and fast flying fixie racers only tell half the story. Escape the maze of one-way streets that make up DTLA (that's Downtown LA to us Euros....), and you’ll find out just how much this town doesn’t suck for cycling at all. Even for those born and raised here, if you haven’t spent much time on two wheels, you might find it hard to believe that the town we call La La Land could be home to some of the best road cycling climbs in the country but the fact remains — it is.Mere miles north of the smog and insomnia that defines the Los Angeles basin sits perhaps the most prime example — Mt. San Antonio, or as it is colloquially and more commonly referred to, Mt. Badly. Nicknamed for the absence of trees near its summit, the majestic mountain rises above the Angeles National Forest to a peak of 10,046 feet, which marks the highest point in both the San Gabriel Mountains and Los Angeles County. On clear days its oft-snow-capped peak dominates the skyline to the north, rendering the city’s man-made monuments diminutive by contrast. Two paved arteries approach the peak before eventually converging. One stout and unforgiving, one scenic and unforgettable. Both iconic in their own right.     Serious riders on the hunt for a pure and potent climb aim for Mt. Baldy Road, while Glendora Ridge Road by way of Glendora Mountain Road provides a meandering route for the endurance inclined. Both have played host to some of the biggest names in cycling with repeat appearances in the multi-stage Tour of California. The Mt. Baldy Road climb is among the most difficult in the region. Ascending first gradually and then almost vertically, with an elevation change of 4,600 feet over 12.7 miles, it contains segments that have drawn comparisons to the famed Alpe d’Huez. Choose the picturesque Glendora Mountain Road route (better known to locals as GMR) to dilute your rate of ascension but, elevation evasion being a zero-sum game, you’ll pay it all back in distance. Following the GMR route all the way to top you’ll cover approximately 27 miles and undergo an elevation change of over 5,000 feet. After 10 miles of twisting upward on perfectly manicured bitumen, take the right side of the fork in the road to transition to Glendora Ridge Road. It’s here that the hum of motorsport hobbyists becomes a distant drone soon replaced by breathtaking panoramic views that will crane the necks of even the most pious watt watchers. After a 12-mile traverse over the undulating ridge, just when you’ve consigned the City of Angels to oblivion, you’ll breathe in one last heavenly view of the now-distant metropolis before gliding into the town of Mt. Baldy and onto its eponymous road.Baldy Village, as some call it, is a prohibition-era watering hole turned ski resort town. With its four 1952-installed lifts still operating, the vintage winter town comes alive in the snowy season. Come warmer days it feels more like the scene of a zombie apocalypse, only the army of undead are fully equipped with Garmins and Bonk Bars. Should you find yourself low on rations, Mt. Baldy Lodge is the place to carb up. The perfectly preserved 1970’s alpine relic is frequented by cycling transients for its solid if straightforward breakfast fare but, if you plan to make it to the top, don’t weigh yourself down just yet. Instead, top off your bidons at the filling station out front and keep going. For those who came to earn their stripes, the famed Baldy ski lifts, just under 5 miles up the road, mark the final destination but don’t be fooled by proximity. This last stretch of road will no doubt be the toughest part of your day. Take into account that you’re starting from an elevation of 4,200 feet and what energy you’ve already expended to get to this point and the matter is only compounded. Ascending over 2100 feet in approximately 4.6 miles with an average grade of 8.6%, this final segment has served as the mountaintop finish for the Tour of California’s queen stage where it was officially dubbed a Hors Catégorie climb. Between Icehouse Canyon and Manker Flats, you’ll find the infamous Baldy Switchbacks, whereupon the surrounding vegetation distinctly morphs, but most find it hard to notice or care as they rise over 1,000 feet in under 2 miles. Then, as if the thinning air weren’t punishment enough, the final approach ramps to an average pitch of 15% in what almost seems like a last-ditch effort to deter you from the prize at hand. Your angle will level off markedly upon reaching the parking lot but continue on to the lifts to truly and fully culminate the climb. Once there, stop to catch your breath and appreciate what you have just accomplished. Snap a few well-earned shots to begin your own career as an L.A. cycling evangelist and if you’re up for even more elevation gain, take the lifts to the Top of the Notch Restaurant. If you’re not in a rush to get back to the big city grind, choose GMR for your descent. With its broad sweeping curves, epic scenery and a perfectly cambered blacktop that lets you carve into each inside turn with confidence, it’s one you won’t soon forget. That this precious terrain is a product of the geological fault lines running beneath it is incidental, but it bears mentioning if only to point out the irony —the very reason so many would never dream of putting down roots in this city is deeply intertwined with the very reason some would never dream of leaving. An idyllic blend of mountainous topography, urban energy, and sun-soaked coastline make it an unlikely playground for weekend warriors and other split-personality types. Is it perfect? Far from it. In fact, it sucks for a lot of things, but cycling just doesn’t happen to be one of them.Read more about iconic climbs around the world in our Montagnes du Monde series. CLAIM THE BADGE VIA STRAVA Footnotes: Photography by Tyler Isaccson // Video by Unbundled Underground

A short form of adventure It’s 0715 and we’re packing up camp when the dogs arrive. Their owners do not. Instead the whine of a whistle from behind the trees summons the dogs back. Suddenly, just as seat-packs and frame bags are closed, a rifle shot pierces the silence to the west. Before we know what’s happening three more crack on the other side of the valley to the east, filling our camp spot with reverberations of gun shots. We are IN THE MIDDLE of a sanglier hunt being conducted by men clad in bright orange camouflage clothing. And we are all in black and navy kit and carrying tan coloured luggage, Simon is even on a camo green bike with matching camo green shoes. Time to ride, fast. Adventure. In the days of navigation computers full of carefully plotted GPS files, border crossing ultra events and customized guided tours, it’s easy to feel the need to go long and far to find adventure. More can be more but that requires time commitment, that is not always possible. Sometimes adventure needs a rethink. And so it is that we found ourselves riding a gravel double track through a mountainside peppered with men pointing rifles through the bushes at every moving object that might be turned into stew. It makes the climb back up the DFCI (remember them from Ventoux’s G-Side) to the Col de l’Espigoulier more focussed.Credit and inspiration for this micro adventure from Marseille to its mountains behind goes to James Olsen and Andy Cox. James is the founder of the Torino-Nice Rally and Andy Cox aka @doubletrackfanatic is a nomad adventurer of Europe and, currently, America. Both suggested the ‘over-nighter’ during discussions last summer. ‘You can leave your desk at the end of the working day and be setting up camp for sunset in a matter of hours’. Escape civilisation, dine on a grassy terrace at sunset, marvel at clear star-lit skies, wake up with the birds, brew some coffee on the stove and then ride back to be at your desk before you can say ‘Trans Continental’. Currently in France, adventure can start as soon as you get out the door. The Gilet Jaunes’ campaign of disruption is in full swing and in a town with a history like Marseille who knows when things might boil over. But Simon and Matthieu are residents and they are not perturbed. Simon is a Parisien who, since his arrival in the South has fallen in love with the adventure side of cycling. Matthieu did so some time ago and is a two-times TCR veteran. Both of them are designers and both of them love drawing traces far and wide from Marseille’s centre. Arriving in Gémenos after the suicide run out of Marseille through industrial estates and commercial centres is like crossing a great divide from city to rural Provence in an instant. It brings that feeling of leaving all the clutter of work and city life behind. Gémenos has only one open boulangerie, a central fountain and low winter sun casting light and shadows on pastel coloured walls that are peppered with classic coloured wooden shutters. It’s too tempting not to take a coffee and watch local life sleepily canter by. Don’t get comfortable. Not only does that ethos apply to the café stop, but it touches on the ethos of the trip. To never stop adventuring in whatever form that might be. It’s that constant state of wonder mentality, which is assisted by the slower pace of a loaded bike. Added to which is the practicality of testing equipment for the longer haul.The Col de l’Espigoulier is only 40km north of Marseille and is the peak of Massif de la Sainte-Baume. Having featured in the Tour de France, Paris-Nice and the Tour de la Provence, it’s as fine an example of French road building that you will find this side of Mont Ventoux. A perfectly smooth surface with curves that gently wind their way up the hill, punctuated by a set of switchbacks lying like a dormant snake in the middle of the mountain. It’s known to every self-respecting cyclist in the South’s infamous town as the get out of dodge climbing option that offers panoramic views of the bay below. With a gravel chemin laid on the south face, it’s a fitting destination for the compact camping escape. As with every all-road adventure, the ride doesn’t stop at the tarmac summit. Because there is a D.F.C.I. - les voies de défense des forêts contre l’incendie - you might remember the D.F.C.I. from our Ventoux G-side adventure. They are the double-track solution to finding space and quiet. And in this case, a great camping spot tucked in the wrinkles of the south face of the mountain. This particular piste serves up a set of switchbacks that offer a picturesque panorama of the bay of Marseille as they traverse a ridge. The sun is on its descent and it’s one of those evenings when the sky is sandwiched between the sea and a blanket of cloud, creating contrasting layers of soft light refracted into a spectrum of grey, blue and orange tones. Exactly what the mini-adventurer ordered. Camp is to be made. And it is found beside the Refuge de Tuny, a typical French communal shelter in which there is a fireplace, a wooden table and an old cupboard dresser with assorted left-behinds of condiments, dried meats and half-packets of pasta. It smells of smoke and dirt but in the mid-winter we imagine that there are more animals than people through the door each day. Tents are raised, lightweight mattresses inflated and sacks of smart synthetic fabrics are put inside one another to ward off the cold. And the fire. Camping man must make fire… Not in December. Wood, unless prepared in a shelter for many weeks, is fundamentally and permanently damp. After many attempts, no spark will catch and a rechaud (camping stove) replaces the real thing as dark becomes darker.Turning in, the wind begins to howl. Not constantly, but in waves that seem to trace the contours of the mountain. It catches the tips of the trees first, then begins to shake them to the trunk before seemingly attempting a twister on the empty ground between the tents. This is Marseille, and this is the mistral. It’s only at 2am that thoughts begin to wonder towards the dry stone walls of the refuge just metres away. But that would mean de-camping everything and letting the cold in. Better to snooze it out as best as possible. Waking, sleeping, waking, sleeping, snoozing, waking, sleeping, waking, snoozing. And then first light. If anything is worth sacrificing your double mattress and duvet for, surely it is first light. Just make sure there is coffee. Out here it doesn’t need to be the finest crema-laiden espresso. As long it’s hot and with a hint of caffine, it is good. And then came the dogs, and the guns and the fear of imminent death. Arriving back at the Col and the mistral is blowing from west to east so strong that it’s hard to ride. Time to get down to the flat. Descending the Espigoulier is to understand why the moto-riders also flock to this road. Fast and flowing down the mountain means operating systems are now fully awake at the bottom. There is work to be done back home, but not quite yet. Let’s take the long way back to town, via Cassis and the Col de la Gineste. The Gineste gets the day’s effort on the bike done and then serves up views of Marseille as the road swoops down towards the city. At the bottom of Avenue du Prado we pass a replica statue of Michaelangelo’s David, made by local sculptor and Marseillais philanthropist Jules Cantini. It’s one of many copies of the famous man; a likeness of the original. For visitors to the city it’s a noteworthy surprise in an odd location. Back at their desks, bright eyed and heads showered, Simon and Matthieu begin to draw the forms of all their 2019 Adventures. Each has his idea of the perfect form but there will be many different likenesses created, including more ‘compact camper’ mini-adventures like this one. Footnotes: Photography by Benedict Campbell

Toros de Gravel Sa Calobra, Puig Major, Formentor, Soller. These are what Mallorca is known for. Until, that is, the first edition of Toros de Gravel which promised to open up the looser side of The Island. With a new base in Palma and a penchant for the rough stuff it was an event we could not miss.A festival style camp had been erected in Sineu for the long weekend which centered around the 140km main event. Maybe only the organisers truly knew what lay in store as a mixture of industry influencers, gravel connoisseurs and local ‘newbies’ crossed the start line. The Mallorquin countryside revealed itself gradually as the early morning mist lifted. As always, initial excitement and adrenalin meant the first sector to checkpoint one passed quickly. A “trozo” of ensaïmada, a traditional Mallorquin brioche-kind of pastry, served as brunch but it wasn’t enough for one Catalan who decided it was beer time. With another 110km on the clock, it was a brave choice. From Campos to the coast was the first introduction of steep climbing and white-knuckle descending. It’s savagely beautiful landscape and the riding reflects it. This gravel is rough and technical and things begin to get really difficult. Enjoyment has to be merited to a certain degree by a mixture of fitness and bike-handling abilities. Eventually the topography softened, terracotta fields are outlined by the white dusty tracks upon which we glide. Sheep were strewn among the olive trees, their wool tainted rust by the dust. The gravel has taken us away from the main arteries of the island into a landscape where time has evidently stood still for many years. The mid way food station came as a relief and a necessity. It is, in keeping with the event, not your ordinary sportive offering. Bread with olive paste, sweets, vermouth and red wine made for an eclectic lunch. You could be excused for kicking back and relaxing, if it were not for extremity of the first gravel section.The beauty however, and the reason for gravel bikes instead of MTBs, is the ability to enjoy rolling on the tarmac whilst getting a substantial block of kilometres under the tyres. We ride on the coast, almost blinded by the reflection of the sun on the Balearic Sea. As enjoyable as it is, it was time to re-engage gravel mode. We headed for the hills…What is for sure is that 10kms of off-road sans suspendu is worth at least 20kms on surfaced roads. For the uninitiated riding gravel in the mountains takes its toll and some begin to abandon. But the fun is in the mix of the technical and the physical challenge found on the tracks.In between the trees we not only find respite from the onmnipresnt wind but also the endorphin highs of adventuring into somewhere completely unknown. It’s a special feeling, made possible by this event and the bikes we are riding which are built for the job out of more forgiving titanium. We find a placebo effect in their aesthetic allure. Anything to get us to the finish line. Eight hours in and we reach the final checkpoint which offers wine, vermouth or water to wash down the salt and olive oil bread. Sense prevails, thankfully, before the final off-road test. Maybe to inject adrenalin into tired bodies, the organisers have included a rocky single-track descent. It works, for a while, until a ground tree causes an unplanned somersault. It's the highlight of an incident-packed day. Despite the dusk, the silhouettes of the Sineu rooftops were perceptible beyond the fields. Mounting lights at the start of the day was a good idea, as we ride into town and begin to hear the sounds of festivities of those who finished ahead of us. After a neo-trademark victory lap around the Sineu Velodrome, encouraged by earlier arrivals, we finally unclipped. Queue inner relief and a budding sense of pride. The only things still to be ridden: the mechanic bull and the train home. Photography : Arrière du Peloton