You know you’re in a sorry state when you’re sat by the trailside scoffing a sharing bag of crisps, legs and body completely fried. 

That was one such moment when I bikepacked the Trans-Cambrian Way in Mid-Wales, a 174km route with a smidge over 4,000m elevation earlier this summer. 

The route starts in Knighton on the English-Welsh border, taking you deep into the Cambrian Mountains via Rhayader and the Elan Valley, before finishing in Dovey Junction. 

It’s recommended you spend three days riding this route, but I planned to do it in just over a day and a half, starting on a Friday evening. 

Why? Simple reason – because there are only two trains a day from Dovey Junction on a Sunday, one at 09:54 and another at 14:07 (thankfully since riding the route, it seems as though Transport for Wales have added more trains). 

If you think that sounds torturous, there’s a method to the madness. 

I’d be riding Mother North in Norway three weeks later – a 1,008km gravel ultra-endurance race with a mammoth 17,000m elevation. Completing the Trans-Cambrian Way under these gruelling conditions would make for a ‘perfect’ last training ride. 

Read on to find out if I made it onto that 14:07 train or if I got stranded in deepest, darkest Wales… 

Horse for the course

I rode a Kona Ouroboros, a gravel bike I’d received to review for BikeRadar just nine days prior. 

Since I was considering using this bike for Mother North, I needed to do some kind of extended ride to know it wouldn’t give me any grief – another reason why I chose this route. 

The Ouroboros is rather unconventional in that it straddles the line between gravel and cross-country mountain biking. 

The front end is suspension-corrected for a gravel suspension fork, although this CR/DL model wears a rigid carbon fork with a whopping 29×2.5in / 63.5mm tyre clearance. The rear end is less generous with a 29×2.1in / 53.34mm clearance. 

It also differs from most gravel bikes in that it’s built around larger 180mm disc brake rotors and a chunky 31.6mm seatpost to accommodate a wide range of dropper posts. 

Somewhat paradoxically, the Ouroboros CR/DL comes specced with a 2x SRAM Rival eTap AXS Wide groupset – despite 1x drivetrains on gravel bikes being de rigeur now. 

I also happened to be carrying out a ‘wide gravel tyres’ group test at the time and swapped the bike’s stock 45mm Maxxis Rambler tyres for 50mm Continental Terra Adventures.

Prior to this trip, I’d had mixed feelings on these Contis – I thought the grip was commendable but they felt rather draggy. If there was going to be a fitting course to get a definitive verdict on this tyre, it was this one because Continental claims the Terra Adventure bridges the gap between gravel and cross-country. 

As for luggage, I ran my tried-and-tested Tailfin CargoPack (formerly known as the AeroPack Cargo), as well as the brand’s Long Top Tube Pack and Frame Bag. Since this was just a weekender, I went without a handlebar bag. 

I also wore an Apidura Racing Hydration Vest with a 2L bladder to get me through the remote 88km section after Rhayader where 27ºC+ temperatures were forecast – tropical for Wales! 

Given the route’s remote nature, my plan was to wild camp so I wouldn’t be tied to staying at pre-booked accommodation and arriving by a certain time. I took my trusty Big Agnes Fly Creek HV UL1 bikepacking tent, with a Sea to Summit Ether Light XT Insulated Air Sleeping Mat, as well as their Spark Ultralight sleeping bag and Aeros Premium Pillow. 

Finally, I relied on my trusty Garmin Edge 1040 Solar for navigation.  

First, the worst

After a traffic-ridden Friday evening journey from Bristol, I parked in a free Forestry Commission car park in Kinsley Wood, just outside Knighton – big mistake because it was at the top of a very steep 130m elevation climb which I’d have to tackle on fried legs at the end. 

Starting at 7pm, things get off to a relatively mellow start with an undulating 7km road section before a very rude first off-road climb, which I’d undoubtedly rate as the hardest of the entire route. 

It might have been an issue with the GPX file I was following, but I think I was taken further down a descent than I needed to – I was routed onto a narrow and steep footpath with plenty of gates to negotiate before being taken onto the climb proper. 

Once I was off the footpath, a view of a near-vertical hill emerged. Even walking, my heart was racing going up this – I hoped I wasn’t going to be in for 100 miles of this nonsense…  

The rest of the evening continued through slow-going, sheep-shit-infested fields where the navigation wasn’t always obvious. 

The joys of SRAM

A real lowlight was experiencing a grisly chain drop ten miles into the route. 

I was descending and could see the trail was going to go back up very steeply, so I pre-emptively shifted down to the inner chainring and the SRAM Rival eTap AXS Wide front derailleur chucked the chain in between the chainring and the bottom bracket, gouging the shell. 

When I realised I couldn’t free the chain because the crankset was in the way, I thought I was a goner (you need a long 8mm hex key to undo the crank bolt and rather a lot of force) and have to do the ‘walk of shame’ back to the car. 

I then thought I could try undoing the preload bolt, praying it was wound in enough to shift the chainrings out a little – luckily, that worked! 

I was glad I experienced this issue now because I knew I couldn’t rely on a front derailleur for Norway. 

Mechanical sorted, I trundled on and the light was starting to dim after 9:30, but I was still trapped in the sheep field – I wanted a sheep-free night’s sleep. 

Before long, I passed a house and spotted an empty field shortly after – it was more exposed than I’d like but I could see the next section was going to be road, so this’d be my camp spot. 

27km ridden, and what a wholesome way to spend a Friday night! 

Remote preparations

After a rather restless night’s sleep (I need to be really banjaxed to sleep comfortably in a tent), I got up at 6am. The plan today was to tick off as much of the remaining 130km as I could and camp again close to the end. 

The first 20km were more of the same as yesterday evening – sheep-infested fields with tons of difficult-to-negotiate gates. 

I arrived at Rhayader just after 9am and had a substantial breakfast, before resupplying at the Co-Op and a bakery. 

I could see there was going to be little civilisation from this point until a shop in Staylittle, which Google reported closes at 6pm. 

I was hoping I’d make it there to resupply again, but after knowing how difficult the route was so far, I wasn’t taking any chances and brought enough with me in case I missed it – a bloody good job I did. 

All in, I carried 4.2L of fluid. 

A tough stint in the chair 

The aptly named Puke Hill lived up to its name, starting as a steep road climb that then transitions into a singletrack off-road rockfest. You know it’s tough when you get repeatedly overtaken by a trail runner. 

At the brutal hill’s summit, I could see the mellow cycle path that follows the Elan Valley that I’ve ridden in the past. This troublesome alternative climb had taken a lot of willpower and I burnt into my supplies, inhaling my lunchtime pasty, as well as downing a Coke. 

Yet more technical singletrack followed, which then turned into an undulating trail with endless water crossings and aggressive rock gardens – another fitting test for the Terra Adventures. 

Don’t bother trying to carefully negotiate these river crossings – it’s a guarantee you’re getting wet feet. 

I kept yo-yoing a load of motocross riders who were also negotiating this section while being slowed up by the numerous gates. 

Before the steep tarmac climb up to the Claerwent Reservoir, my water situation started to become severe. I was still ages away from Staylittle, so I started rationing – ironic considering I was next to water! 

The reservoir section is described as one of the route’s more forgiving parts, but it still required concentration – the rough surface means line choice is critical. 

It was also completely exposed to the baking heat, which made my water situation even more desperate. At one point, I immersed myself in the reservoir to try and combat my thirst. 

I was very grateful to a pick-up truck driver who I passed who happened to be carrying a tank of water in the back, who kindly allowed me to refill everything. 

Another bout of desperation

The rest of the afternoon was equally hard-going in the sweltering sun, and I became increasingly run down.  

I necked two gels to try and recombust myself up a prolonged ascent and I had to have a sit down shortly after where I smashed down the aforementioned sharing bag of crisps to get some salt into me. 

More slow-going technical terrain ensued and I was getting desperate for fluids again at the 120km mark on what seemed like an endless fireroad. 

I was very fortunate to spot a campsite where the kind landowner let me use the tap – the fact I guzzled 2,250ml of water in one sitting shows my desperation! 

After a tarmac stint, the sheep fields made a return, and one particularly tall gate that couldn’t be opened proved particularly tricky where I had to hoist my loaded bike over it. 

At the 143km mark, I found an excellent camp spot in another field at the top of the hill. I had 27km left to tick off in the morning – but knowing how slow-going many sections of the route are, I reckoned I’d be on the afternoon train. 

Morning mission

Once I’d awoken and packed everything away, I set off just after 7am through yet more sheep fields and technical singletrack. 

This section culminated in a steep and slippery shale-infested descent, where I had to exercise considerable caution as I picked my way down. 

The route then picked up some narrow, earth-strewn lanes where I was able to make quicker progress – it was at this point I thought I’d try making a beeline for the 09:54 train. 

I had to make a split-decision when I could see I was being taken up another off-road climb – do I stick on the tarmac to the end or finish the route proper? Seeing as the climb didn’t look significant, I thought I’d finish what I started. 

The Dyfi Forest ascent was relatively calm, followed by a fast downhill back to the road. With minutes to spare, I sprinted for Dovey Junction and made it by the skin of my teeth for the train to Shrewsbury – mission accomplished! 

Don’t underestimate this route 

The Trans-Cambrian Way proved a memorable weekend adventure and was just the training ride I needed ahead of my ultra-endurance race. 

Underestimate this route at your peril – of the UK bikepacking routes I’ve completed, it’s up there with the toughest. 

Aside from the chain drop, the gravel bike I rode proved perfectly up to the task, but a mountain bike would be more fun on some of the more technical sections. 

Bear in mind you’ll lose lots of time negotiating obstacles such as rock gardens, deep river crossings and tricky descents – I’d definitely advise this as a summer-only route. 

And I can’t not mention all of the gates, – I counted 88! That works out to almost a gate every mile, but my arms are sadly not Arnold Schwarzenegger-like after bikepacking this route. 

I’m also unsure of the advice to take three days riding this route – you’ll be in a tight spot for food after Rhyader at 50km unless you make a lengthy diversion off the route. 

My advice would be to end your first day at Rhayader so you can have dinner and breakfast there in the morning, and then stock up for the rest of the journey. 

You may also want to consider packing a water filter or purification tablets for the remote sections, but I’ll chalk my water woes down to bad luck in that I picked one of the hottest weekends of the summer to attempt this route. 

Still, I’d thoroughly recommend the Trans-Cambrian Way for the scenic mountain views and varied terrain, but perhaps not the sheep!. However, be warned – it’s not for the faint-hearted. 

Earlier this summer, I rode the Traversée du Massif Vosgien, a 408km bikepacking route running through the Vosges mountains in Alsace, France. 

The predominantly off-road route snakes its way from Wissembourg, a picturesque town on the German border, and finishes in Thann, close to the city of Mulhouse. 

I rode with my friends Rob and Jeremy – Rob and I have been on many bikepacking trips together and I used to regularly ride with Jeremy when we worked at a bike shop together. 

This was an excellent trip – I really enjoyed the varied route that increased in technicality each day and the laid-back French culture. 

What’s more, it was my first time cycling in France – sacrilege considering I live in the UK and I’ve been seriously cycling since 2013.  

From relying on baguette and pizza vending machines when entire towns were closed to encountering a raunchy shoot while riding a remote trail (it seemingly all happens in France!), read on to learn my key takeaways from riding this route. 

What is the Traversée du Massif Vosgien? 

Although Rob initially encountered the route on Bikepacking.com, the Traversée du Massif Vosgien dates all the way back to 1897, where it was designed by Club Vosgien (a hiking club) to celebrate their 25th anniversary. 

In 2005, it was officially mapped by the Alsacien chapter of the FFCT (French Cycle-Touring Federation). 

White and orange placards with TMV lettering can be regularly found along the route (but don’t solely rely on them!), which is 85 per cent unpaved, with the highest point of the journey 1,248m.   

The route is best described in three sections – the first 90 miles or so is punctuated by short and sharp hills that rarely rise above 400m elevation. You’ve then got around 70 miles where the climbs start to extend up 800m elevation and then for the remainder of the route, you’re in the Vosges proper as the ascents head above the 1,000m mark. 

Bikepacking.com rates the route as a five out of ten on its arbitrary scale, and suggests it will take six days to complete the route – advice we ignored. 

Gravel or mountain bike? 

Delve into the comments section on the Bikepacking.com route and you’ll see there’s a pretty even split between those who rode the route on a gravel bike and others on a mountain bike. 

I’m pretty confident on a gravel bike, so that felt the obvious choice – ideally a model with generous tyre clearances that could handle the more aggressive terrain. 

Unfortunately, none of the test bikes I was thinking might be contenders for this route materialised, and my 3T Extrema Italia (with its massive 57mm tyre clearance) was out of action while I waited for a hard-to-find lower headset bearing to arrive.  

So I rode my tried-and-tested Niner RLT 9 RDO – a familiar gravel bike and my other main testbed for anything gravel-related I review. 

It accompanied me on the Seven Serpents ultra-endurance race I completed in 2024 and the King Alfreds Way, among other epic day rides. 

The bike runs a Campagnolo Ekar groupset with Fulcrum Rapid Red 500 wheels, paired with a set of flared Easton EC90 carbon handlebars, a bump-taming Roval Terra seatpost and a Fabric Scoop saddle. 

I’d recently started a ‘wide gravel tyres’ group test for BikeRadar, so I fitted a pair of 50mm Vittoria Terreno T50 tyres onto the bike for more comfort and control on the technical sections, otherwise I kept things mostly as they were already. 

As for luggage, I ran a predominantly Tailfin set-up, including their recently launched AeroPack Cargo rear set-up. 

I ran fork packs instead of a handlebar bag, but the 5L Tailfin ones I had were too small, so I thought it’d be a great opportunity to test the Old Man Mountain Hemlock fork packs I was recently sent. 

Since there were remote sections without civilization, I also wore an Apidura Racing Hydration Vest with a 2L bladder, in addition to two 750ml bottles. 

All of the equipment worked perfectly – except for the Ekar rear derailleur. Riding what appeared to be an unassuming trail on the third day, a large stick managed to find its way in between the derailleur cage and cassette. 

With the offending stick removed, I couldn’t get the rear derailleur to work optimally in all 13 gears despite extensive trailside fettling. I ended up replacing the rear derailleur after the trip.  

All the weather 

We experienced a real mixed bag of weather from baking heat to torrential rain. 

Things started off perfectly, with the first day a dreamy 21ºC –  what more could you ask for? 

But the rain arrived late at night and we woke up to heavy, cold and miserable rain. It was a good job we camped under the cover of some trees in the forest, rather than on an open castle moat we’d considered camping in beforehand. 

The first half of the second day was rather character building, with heavy and at times, torrential, rain. 

We were all very grateful for a mid-morning stop at a house run by a hippie that advertised free coffee (yes, really!). The generous lady had to dash off part-way through our stop and left us alone in the place, encouraging us to make a charity donation, which we did with our loose change.  

The weather U-turned from the third day onwards when the heat arrived. While not as oppressive as my Badlands odyssey, it was pretty uncomfortable when you were in the sun, but fortunately large portions of the route are in shaded forest. 

A memorable moment on the final day was when we had just crested an Alpine-like mountain and came across a fountain. We all immediately dunked our heads under it, much to the amusement of some onlooking hikers. 

Speaking of water, I was very grateful I’d packed a hydration pack. While I was never desperate for water, I felt reassured knowing I wouldn’t need to constantly fill up (although there are several fountains dotted throughout the route) and I’d suggest you do the same if you ride this route in summer. 

It’s not a race

Over the past 18 months, I’ve been getting into ultra-endurance racing, completing the aforementioned Seven Serpents in 2024, as well as Badlands. 

Since this was my first extended bikepacking trip of 2025 (by the way, I’d never recommend working for a straight six months without any annual leave ever again), it was difficult to get out of ultra-mode. 

I wanted to finish the route and to do that, I aimed for us to get a set amount of distance done every day. I also treated this trip as a training ride for the 1,000km Mother North ultra-endurance race in Norway that was looming in August. 

But when things didn’t quite work out, such as the aforementioned rain, that plan started to go out the window. 

It’s all well and good having a plan but you need to balance this with fun –  this is a holiday after all with friends. It’s not just about the riding – it’s about the evening restaurant or campsite meals, exploring picture-postcard French towns and just having a laugh. 

What I will say though is always bear in mind the recommended length of time to do the route – we were overzealous with this and we should have had one more day to build in a buffer for bad weather. 

Always have enough food for a day 

I described the French culture as ‘laid back’ earlier on – and that’s definitely the approach they take to opening hours. 

While I expected shops to shut at lunchtimes and be closed on Sundays and Mondays, I didn’t expect establishments to be closed, well, all the time. 

There were multiple occasions where we were let down, where entire villages were shut –  they must all be millionaires in the Alsace region. 

The French counteract this by having vending machines – yes, you read that right. 

Many small villages with nothing open had vending machines which the local boulangerie had stocked up that morning – baguettes, loaves of bread, cakes, you name it, it was there. 

On Thursday, it was a bank holiday (Ascension Day) and when there was nothing to eat for lunch in a local town, a local pointed us to a pizza vending machine. 

Having made it known he was hungry for some time, Rob gorged himself silly by straight-on inhaling two full-size pizzas. 

However, he may not quite have realised the enormity of the 400m climb in the baking sun we’d have to go up afterwards… the sight of Rob wheezing up that brute of an ascent after his gluttonous pizzafest will be a memory that will long live in my brain. 

But poking fun at myself, I admit I got ratty in a town later on the next day (Friday wasn’t a bank holiday, but what’s the point of working for one day before the weekend?!) where there wasn’t any breakfast. Luckily, after some searching, we found a baguette vending machine and order was restored. 

With all this in mind, I’d recommend carrying enough food with you for a day, should the worst happen. It came in handy for us multiple times, for example when we shared a baguette at the top of an energy-sapping climb, or some cake as a much-needed pick-me-up. 

That said, when we got to eat ‘real’ food, most of it was excellent. One thing’s for sure, the French know how to bake and some of the restaurant meals we had were top-notch too – I had one of the best steaks (an entrecôte) I’ve had in a while in Wissembourg. 

You’ll long for the quiet 

Save for the towns of Saverne (the route skirts the town, but we diverted into the centre) and Châtenois, most of the places the route passes through are small villages. 

On our fifth day, we were taken on the road up to Bike Park du Lac Blanc and despite the fact we’d previously yearned for places to be open, what we didn’t expect was a noisy busy main road with people everywhere.

After four days of peace and quiet, we yearned for idyll again and it was blissful once we’d headed off-road after this section. 

Sometimes, you want to get away from the hustle and bustle and be at one with your thoughts, and if you stick to the route, the Traversée du Massif Vosgien will give you that. 

Take brake pads 

The thrilling, prolonged fireroad descents and technical sections really do a number on your brake pads on this route and both myself and Jeremy had to replace ours part-way through. 

I knew I’d need to change mine because I intentionally started on half-worn pads, but Jeremy’s were pretty new. 

It goes without saying you should always carry spare brake pads on a bikepacking trip, and while we knew this, it was interesting that we had to replace ours so quickly into the trip. 

Worried we’d wear another set out, both Jeremy and I stocked up at a bike shop in Châtenois. I didn’t want to not finish the route because I didn’t have sufficient spares, but I certainly paid the price – €50 for a set of Campagnolo brake pads (although admittedly they were the fancy DB-410s with an aluminium backing plate)! 

Expect the unexpected 

I mentioned how this trip was my first time in France, but that wasn’t the only first I ticked off. 

Never in my wildest dreams did I expect we’d encounter a raunchy forest shoot while on a bike ride. There we were, idly riding along a remote fireroad where we suddenly saw a 4×4 parked up. 

Nothing dodgy there but to the vehicle’s side was a giggling lady and a man, lumberjack shirt hastily half-buttoned back up, with a third man quickly tucking a camera into the 4×4’s boot.

It took us all a moment to process what we’d just witnessed, but clearly the Vosges region is a fine location for a porno. 

A French fancy 

The Traversée du Massif Vosgien proved an excellent route that I’m still looking back fondly on and a fine introduction to cycling in France. 

The route has everything you could ask for – tough, but not insurmountable climbs, wide open vistas and delectable French cuisine. It’s also distinctive for the obvious German influence the Alsace region has, which stands it apart from other areas of France I’ve visited.  

Take Bikepacking.com’s advice though, and budget six days to complete this trip to really savour the surroundings. 

This route has got me itching to return and explore more of France and I highly recommend it to experienced bikepackers. 

“Badlands is the only ride where 1km is like riding 2km,” fellow rider Josep Santoyo emphatically exclaims, as we slowly struggle our way to the top of a 1,000m col in the aggressive 32ºC heat. 

Tales of the brutality of Badlands, perhaps Europe’s highest-profile gravel ultra-endurance race, have not been exaggerated. I can confirm this 790km epic through Southern Spain with an upsetting 16,500m of elevation was one hot and arduous but very memorable undertaking. 

I somewhat knew what to expect going into this after completing the Seven Serpents earlier in the year, but Badlands proved quite a different flavour. 

While the terrain was challenging, the blazing temperatures significantly complicated proceedings and after suffering the beginnings of heatstoke twice, the only way I could realistically finish the race was to become a vampire, with the sleep deprivation eventually taking its toll. 

That said, despite my suffering, I felt incredibly honoured to arrive at the finish line. Badlands has provided me with lifelong memories and (save for that outrageous final 120km), I think I’d like to do it again. 

From tactics to coping with the heat to experiencing major sleep deprivation, here are the lessons I learned from racing Badlands. 

What is Badlands?

Badlands starts in Granada, Spain and traverses through the Gorafe Desert and the Cabo de Gata coastline, before heading back inland through the Tabernas Desert and finishing in Capileira, a small town in the Sierra Nevada mountains. 

The route is the brainchild of David Rodríguez, who previously co-ran Transibérica Ultracycling with Carlos Mazón, behind races such as Transibérica and Transpyrenees.  

It’s worth noting that the route varies each year, but you can expect the stats to be around the 800km mark with 16,000m elevation. 

I finished Badlands in 121 hours and 12 minutes, placing 132nd out of 213 solo riders. To put into context how tough the race is, the 2024 edition saw 69.7 per cent of riders arrive at the finish line. 

In addition, 88 riders rode as pairs in a separate category. While my result is nothing to write home about, I was simply glad to finish this epic adventure. 

This year’s race was won by Alejandro Martínez, who finished in a barnstorming 42 hours and 18 minutes, closely followed by Team Amani’s Kenneth Karaya in 43 hours and 58 minutes. Cara Dixon was this year’s winner in the women’s category. 

Horse for the course 

I rode a 3T Extrema Italia – a bike I reviewed for BikeRadar which I’d specifically cherrypicked thinking it would be the ideal tool for the job. I was right.  

The Extrema Italia stands out from the crowd with its colossal 57mm tyre clearance – it’s essentially a monster aero gravel bike. I love the way it bulldozes its way down descents – it simply rips its way through terrain you’d typically exercise caution on the vast majority of gravel bikes.

Further sealing the deal was the mullet drivetrain – SRAM Rival shifters paired with a Force power meter crankset and GX AXS Transmission out back, with a whopping 10-52t cassette. The derailleur does away with a conventional hanger, so in theory, there is no derailleur hanger to worry about bending. 

Tailfin very kindly decked me out with a full suite of bikepacking bags, which I’d heavily tested prior to the ride. 

The only real chink in the 3T’s armour was the fact I couldn’t run a Tailfin, or any modular handlebar bag. 

3T specs its Aeroghiaia Integrale handlebars and because the tops have an aero profiling, there isn’t enough of a rounded section to fit a mount. This meant I used fork bags instead which were more than fine, but I had to pack more intelligently to avoid a weight imbalance. 

Because of the lack of handlebar real estate, it also meant I had to mount my Exposure Maxx-D light under my Garmin Edge 1040 Solar, so I’d have been scuppered with a strap-on handlebar bag, too. 

But the set-up ultimately worked, even if I made some compromises. 

I started the ride on new 50mm-wide Pirelli Cinturato Gravel M tyres, as well as a new chain to eliminate any potential issues.  

One thing I learned in the Seven Serpents was to stick with familiar equipment, so I made sure I got used to the bike over many months and I had it fitted, to reduce any chances of injury. 

I’d suffered with a knee injury for more than half of the Seven Serpents, and there was no way I was going to put myself through that turmoil again. 

You can’t prepare for the heat

Badlands is famed for its fierce temperatures and it’s very easy to come a cropper from dehydration. 

This was an element of the race I was particularly worried about – I don’t do well with heat, especially since I’m accustomed to the UK’s rather temperate climate. 

Many riders had trained specifically for racing in the hot weather – I even heard stories of people sitting in saunas. 

It’s rare for temperatures to exceed 30ºC back home, so I made a point of getting out when it was hot and wearing less breathable clothing to try and simulate the race – for example, wearing a midweight jersey rather than a lightweight summer-specific option. 

But despite my training and eating, drinking and religiously applying suncream, none of this really helped. The scratch rate was high this year and I was even aware of many native Spanish competitors struggling with the heat. 

Going up a climb about 100km into the first day, my body started to feel tingly as I crested the top in the blazing heat. I decided to take shade under a tree with four other riders, and a German chap (I didn’t get his name) looked in a terrible state. 

This was the right decision and having half an hour to recompose myself made a big difference. I felt rather shaky for the next 30km until I stopped at a restaurant in Gorafe – this was no doubt the beginning of heatstroke. 

The next day, I made a point of sitting in a bar in the lively town of Gor during the hottest hours – I didn’t want to experience this sensation again, especially because the section following this town was completely remote for 110km. 

Unfortunately, this tactic didn’t work on the third day, where I’d been targeting a village to stop at lunchtime.

Little did I know when I foolishly told fellow rider Steve Midgley (who was in a worse state than me at this point ) that it looked like the town was just coming up only for a brutal unrideable climb to stand in our way. 

When I eventually got to the village, nothing was open and the thought of another 16km in the blazing early afternoon heat was not well-received. It’s safe to say I ransacked the supermarket in the next village and if I’d have had to have ridden for another ten minutes, I reckon I’d have been sick. 

This experience came back to bite me later in the day – I suddenly felt terrible a few hours later and had to stand by the side of the trail in the shade to compose myself. 

Become a vampire

It was at this point it became evident I couldn’t handle the heat – if I was going to finish and I didn’t have the benefit of daylight, I’d have to go longer into the night (I’d already been finishing after 1am the previous two nights).

After my first (and as it would later transpire, only) hotel stop of the race, I strategised by taking regular ‘shade breaks’ up climbs so I could make some progress during the day but then get the bulk of my riding done at night. 

This was the tactic I used on Collado Colativí, a long and steep climb that rises up to 1,387m from the coast, and I hit it in the late morning. While the town of Nijar was a serene place to watch the world go by, it felt a waste of time to wait all day so I thought I’d scale the climb in sections.  

As I descended into the Tabernas desert (the backdrop to films such as Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade), it was my first time I’d ever been roasting while descending. 

I would go on to ride through the ramblas (Spanish for dry river beds) until gone 3am that night, before I bivvied half-way up yet another monotonous climb, where I hallucinated there was a vicious dog in the distance. 

I’d like to thank a Spanish family who invited me onto their patio for refreshments at 11pm, where I joined two fellow Malaysian riders (Rozaimi Suladin and Hajjaj Mustaffa) I’d been yo-yoing throughout the race – a very kind and selfless gesture. 

Sleep is everything 

It was eye-opening to see just how much faster my competitors could ride when they’d properly slept. 

Rozaimi and Hajjaj had had a bad day on that fourth day and told me they got eight hours of sleep at the Spanish family’s house. 

The duo caught me up the next day when I’d been running on less than three hours of shut-eye. They slept wherever they could – in Tabernas, one of them even had a lie down at the back of the restaurant we ate at. 

Next time, I will sleep for longer. I got myself into a proper state during the final 24 hours and I’ve learnt it’s better to stop and rest because then you’ll go much faster if you choose to soldier on. 

The Malaysians proved that point by finishing a couple of hours ahead of me on far more sleep. 

Don’t expect the finest Spanish cuisine 

Sadly, Spanish tapas were nowhere to be found on the menu on the Badlands route. 

Instead, riders had to settle for bocadillos (ham sandwiches) and tostada at breakfast (toasted bread drizzled with tomato sauce and olive oil). While I was happy enough with tostada, bocadillos just didn’t cut it, especially when you carried a spare sandwich for later in the day and the contents had been in a salty, sweaty pack, or when you wanted a hot meal at lunch or dinner. I quickly got sick of them.

My largest gap between a hot meal was from the afternoon of the first day to the night of the third day, where I had a gluttonous seafood feast at the coast. Boy, was I thankful for that meal. 

Fortunately, the food from that point in improved considerably, with more bars and restaurants along the way. Regularly stocking up at supermarkets also proved a godsend. 

The last 120km is outrageous

After most of the pack are finished off by the heat and ferocity of the course, the last 120km packs in a cruel 4,200m of climbing to kill off any remaining survivors. 

Aggressively steep 1,000m cols, near-vertical roads between mountain towns, hike-a-bike and endless nadgery off-road climbs – this section had it all. 

To put into context how tough this section was, I rode a measly 100km on the fifth day, having started at around 6:30am and finished at almost midnight. 

I was so tired that I had to stop for three hours of sleep on a bench outside a church 36km from the finish because my body had completely shut down and I just couldn’t carry on. 

Some say that the 110km remote section after Gor is the hardest part of the race – I’d argue it’s definitely this final stretch by a long shot.  

I think I’d ride Badlands again 

I didn’t go into Badlands in the best frame of mind for various reasons and although I was determined to finish, I didn’t have anything to prove after my Seven Serpents victory. 

But Badlands really proved to be one hell of a character-building experience, despite my suffering. 

Certain images, in particular the Gorafe desert section, have been burned into my mind and I’m still thinking about the race fondly six months on – I haven’t reflected back on the Seven Serpents anywhere near as positively. 

Badlands taught me a lot not only about my strengths as a cyclist but my character as a person. It’s since inspired me to carry on pursuing ultra-racing and I’ve signed up for two events this year – Mother North and Across Andes. 

I’m itching to go back and soak up the rugged Spanish scenery again. Whether that be in the form of racing Badlands again, or revisiting the course in my own time when the sun is less fierce, I’m not sure but Andalusia has really captured my heart. 

The West Kernow Way is an 236km off-road bikepacking route with 4,000m elevation, devised by Cycling UK and historian / cycling journalist Guy Kesteven, connecting many of Cornwall’s landmarks and trails. 

It officially starts in the town of Penzance and the route takes you on a figure-of-eight loop around the western peninsula of Cornwall. The route includes diversions to the Minack Theatre and Land’s End and The Lizard Point, with other points of interest including Cape Cornwall, The Loe and the mining trails around Redruth, before ending in Marazion in front of St Michael’s Mount.

Having completed the King Alfred’s Way last year, I caught the bikepacking bug hard. Cycling UK announced the route in Autumn 2021 and seeing as September worked well for last year’s trip, I aimed to complete this route at a similar time. 

I was originally going to ride the West Kernow Way with my friends, Rob and Charlie, who I rode the King Alfred’s Way with last year. However, that dwindled down to just myself and Rob nearer the start. 

Having learnt last year that 80 / 90 mile days are rather difficult to adhere to in the daylight, we decided to ride the route in three days so we could also enjoy the sights that Cornwall has to offer. 

Day 1 would see us ride approximately 60 miles from Penzane to Porthleven, with stops to explore both The Minack Theatre and Land’s End. 

Day 2 would be a shorter but equally hilly 45 mile day from Porthleven to Falmouth. Falmouth isn’t on the official route but B&B’s can be few and far between in Cornwall and that was where we happened to find one. This would mean an additional 5 mile downhill diversion from the village of Longdowns. 

After a 5 mile ride back up to Longdowns, Day 3 was to be a 50 mile jaunt to the end of the route in Marazion. 

The Bike

I once again used a gravel bike for this trip and Cycling UK recommends the route as suitable for both gravel and mountain bikes. My Niner RLT 9 RDO with a Campagnolo Ekar groupset made for an excellent companion on the King Alfred’s Way last year and I had planned to ride it again for this route. 

However, I was commissioned to test and review a Berria Belador Allroad for BikeRadar. The Belador Allroad is the first gravel bike from the Spanish brand, with a significantly racier agenda compared to my Niner. It most notably features a pivot at the seatstay junction called the ‘Active Flex Concept’ that delivers 26mm of movement. The bike features a SRAM Rival eTap AXS XPLR electronic groupset, carbon Zipp 303S wheels and a fully integrated front end. 

Although it’s a gravel race bike, Berria says it’s suitable for bikepacking, so what better way to test that claim than to take it bikepacking? 

I’d ridden around 400km on the Berria prior to the West Kernow Way and had a good idea of how it handled. I was a little apprehensive as my initial impressions were that it wasn’t the most comfortable, nor particularly composed over seriously technical terrain. 

As for how it performed, you can read my full review over on BikeRadar. 

Although I used bikepacking bags from Miss Grape last year, I was lucky enough to receive some Apidura Expedition bags. I used the Expedition Handlebar Pack in a 9-litre volume, 4.5-litre compact-fit Frame Pack and the Expedition Saddle Pack in 14-litres, which all performed close to faultlessly. 

One mistake I made was forgetting my preferred Rapha Explore Powerweave shoes (I’d left them at my parents), meaning I had to ride in a pair of Fizik Vento Ferox’s, which I’d tested for BikeRadar and didn’t particularly get on with. 

Rob also rode a gravel bike and his happened to be new, too. Earlier in the Summer, he had placed an order for a Reilly Gradient and it had arrived a couple of weeks prior to this trip. The Gradient features a titanium frame and offers a significantly more relaxed geometry over the Berria. The spec includes a SRAM Force XPLR eTap AXS electronic groupset with Miche wheels and Continental Terra Trail tyres. 

Preparation 

I’ve been on particularly good form this year, having moved to Bristol back in April for work. Although I’ve covered roughly the same distances as the last couple of years, what’s boosted my fitness are my 8km work commutes three times a week. It may not seem like a lot but it all adds up. The riding around Bristol is far more undulating than Berkshire too, where you can choose to ride a pan-flat route or head into the Chilterns or Surrey Hills which are typically shorter and steeper than the Cotswolds, Mendips or Wales. 

My tactic for the King Alfred’s Way paid off last year and so I replicated it again this year. I don’t have a problem with riding these distances off-road but it’s a different story when you’re doing this consecutively over multiple days.

For training, I did some long rides over three or four days and started to taper down a couple of weeks prior to the event. I’d also been fortunate to ride a Canyon Endurace in Sardinia back in July, which helped with elevation training. 

On the afternoon before our first day of riding, I met Rob at Bristol Temple Meads station and we embarked on the 200 mile journey down to Cornwall. Being a Friday evening, we inevitably got stuck in some pretty grim traffic on the M5 and I had to put the pedal to the metal of my tin can Ford KA to make the hostel we’d booked in Penzance before the check-in closed at 10pm.

We just about made it in time and after getting my bikepacking bags packed for the morning, I attempted to hit the hay. Hostels really aren’t my bag but this was the bargain of the trip at £30. Fortunately, the next two nights would be at B&Bs.  

Luckily, the room that could sleep eight wasn’t at full capacity and we just had two others to share the room with. Still, it was pretty ferociously hot and opening the window didn’t really achieve anything so I didn’t have a particularly good night sleep. 

Day 1 

After a rather hearty breakfast at the hostel (although not as substantial as Rob’s cereal, followed by full English, then toast and pastries!), we got everything packed. 

We thought we’d try our luck by seeing if we could leave the car at the hostel for the three days but that plan failed. Luckily, I’d been tipped that you can park at the Sainsbury’s in Penzance via the YourParkingSpace app for just over a tenner. 

We made the short journey to Sainsbury’s, parked the car and got the bikes ready to go. Between us, we’d taken three pumps – I had a Silca Tattico mini-pump and a larger Lezyne digital mini track pump, whereas Rob had something in between size-wise. We decided that as we were both riding relatively new tyres and Rob had tubeless bacon strips, should the worst happen, that I’d carry the small Silca pump. 

Onto the bike and straightaway, a bus gave me some ‘encouragement’ as I turned out of the supermarket car park, clearly unhappy that his journey would be inconvenienced by 30 seconds. After about a kilometre, we arrived in the centre of Penzance which is the official start of the route. Rob and I made sure to take a photograph at the start overlooking the picturesque beach. 

The route was reasonably flat through Penzance as it straddled the paved coastline and about 5km in just before reaching Mousehole, I noticed Rob only had one bottle on his bike, having left the other in the car. Rather than turn back and retrieve it, Rob decided that if we came across a bike shop, he’d buy one. Despite Rob only having one large bottle, we had roughly the same amount of water as the Berria’s bottle cage clearance with the Apidura frame pack was pretty wanting, so I had two small 500ml bottles. 

Riding through the charming town of Mousehole, Rob briefly stopped at a bakery to see if he could buy a plastic bottle of water to carry but to no avail. The hill out of Mousehole was pretty disgusting, although at least it was paved. This was followed by an equally steep and twisty descent into Lamorna. 

We’d reached our first off-road section of the day, which was a brief but picturesque climb through the trees up to a road. A reasonably undulating but steady 10km or so followed before we diverted to the Minack Theatre.

We were welcomed by the mesmerising views of Porthcurno beach, one of the top rated beaches in the UK. After a photo opportunity, we explored the spectacular open air theatre perched on the cliffs overlooking Porthcurno beach. After an explore and brief sit-down to watch part of a rehearsal, we had a quick coffee and then got back on the bikes as it was already midday and we’d ridden 20km. 

Rob suggested the prospect of lunch at Land’s End but that was only going to be roughly 32km in to a 96km day, so we agreed we’d try and eat at around the half-way mark. 

The route to Land’s End was virtually all on the road, bar one muddy trail where the Vittoria Terreno Dry tyres were called to the test on my Berria. It wouldn’t be unexpected to report that grip wasn’t ideal. 

We reached the route diversion for Land’s End as we met the A30 and turned onto it. After a kilometre or so of road, the route takes you on The Cornish Way trail, a gravel track which was glorious, with arresting vistas of Sennen Cove – one of the highlights of the trip. 

Now at the farthest point of the UK, a brief wander around Land’s End revealed the iconic signpost now required payment if you wanted a photo taken in front of it. There is a kiosk next to the sign where a photographer captures an image of you and can then send you hard copies or a downloadable file. We thought “Screw it,” and I took an image of the sign in between customers walking up to it and we then had a short stop for ice-cream. 

We followed the magnificent Cornish Way back to the A30 and decided we’d try and get a solid couple of hours riding in to make up some of the distance before stopping for lunch. 

Almost instantly after we set off, Rob’s rear tyre looked on the low side and we stopped to inflate it – this would go on to become a running theme of the trip. Rob was running Continental Terra Trail tyres and had set them up tubeless. Neither of us could find any problems with the tyre or the tubeless valve. 

It was largely more of the same in terms of terrain – lumpy road until around 42km. A few minutes before the gravel arrived, I had remarked it was disappointing there had only been a stingy portion so far. I certainly got what I asked for. 

We were faced with a viciously steep ascent on loose rock, where it could have been very easy to lose momentum if you picked the wrong line. 

This was then followed by an equally loose descent that we had to carefully pick our way down. The surface mellowed for a kilometre or so and we had another fairly rocky climb followed by another technical descent where the SRAM brakes got called into action. Additional spice featured with two walkers walking up the opposite way and whenever you’re trying to negotiate a technical descent where the slightest wrong choice could go wrong, you don’t want to embarrass yourself! 

The descent featured stunning views of Cape Cornwall and once we reached the bottom, we had a brief explore and photo opportunity. We then reached a road climb that would lead us to the town of St Just where I passed a cyclist on a carbon framed road bike sans luggage, who wasn’t particularly impressed I’d gone past with bags galore and wide 700c x 38mm tyres!

It wasn’t long before we arrived on off-road terrain again as the route hugs the coastline before turning inland at Trewellard. The terrain here was ideal for a gravel bike – a relatively fine surface with some grass and meadowland thrown in.

This turned into some seriously technical singletrack with some interesting gate designs thrown in for good measure. The paths were very narrow with frequent galleys and sharp rocks that could rip your tyres if you rode at the wrong angle. Whilst this section was fun, it was very slow-going and would probably be more suited to a hardtail mountain bike.

At one point, Rob looked like he was going to stack it as he came in rather hot on a brief drop that had a sharp rock next to it which he tried to avoid. Shortly after, I experienced a slow-motion fall where I took the wrong angle on a path and only hurt my pride briefly. It took us a good hour to ride what was 12km or so but it just shows the contrast in terrain the West Kernow Way can offer – the first 40km on the road may be fairly easy going but then you can get quite literally bogged down in singletrack and make slow progress. 

This extended singletrack section finished with a pretty epic but tricky descent that had some metal barriers every 100m or so for good measure! I was feeling both ready for some food and I was getting in quite a desperate state to refill my bottles once we hit the road. There wasn’t much around and it didn’t look like we were going to find civilisation until we’d reach the town of St Erth. 

A little later than expected, I struck gold when I spotted a service station on the map slightly off the route once we reached the A30 crossing at Canonstown. We stocked up on water and I had an enormous Cornish pasty and full sugar Coke, while Rob had a sandwich and we shared some cherry glazed cakes.

Refuelled and refreshed, we rode back up the A30 to pick the route up again which was predominantly small, leaf-stricken roads for a couple of kilometres. We experienced a slight GPX route faux pas where our navigation wanted us to head through someone’s driveway and after a brief moment of research, we worked out there was a trail that circled the property to avoid this error. 

The route continued to be a mixture of mud-stricken roads and even muddier trails, and service station stop wasn’t giving me a boost yet. One tough climb was particularly boggy and I’d somehow managed to get a stone in my shoe. I had to perform acrobatics to carefully take my shoe off, extract the stone and put it back on without my foot meeting sloppy mud.  

The route continued to be annoyingly undulating and after a pleasant heather-infested section atop a hill, we reached a rather interesting gate with a sign indicating the trail was to become a footpath. Rob suggested turning back but I stubbornly wanted to continue the route and if it meant a brief walk for a footpath past a farmer’s property, so be it. 

Once we’d walked through, we were greeted by the breathtaking view of Porthleven. The descent into the town was excellent and prolonged, before we then located our sleeping quarters for the night. 

Porthleven is an ideal place to split the route as the second half of Day 1’s route was fairly difficult and consistently up-down. Performance-wise, I hadn’t had the best of days as I found the 30km or so a real trudge in places and the service station stop hadn’t really been of benefit, other than to hydrate. 60 miles may not seem a lot but in these conditions, it’s more than enough. 

Rob and I had a beer at The Harbour Inn on the harbour to celebrate our efforts and then ate a disappointingly small and overpriced ‘large’ fish and chips at The Ship Inn – whilst the pub was rammed and had character, I’d recommend heading elsewhere if you’re after a meal. 

Total distance: 96.7km

Total elevation: 1,603m 

Day 2 

After a rejuvenating eight hour’s sleep, Rob and I enjoyed a delicious breakfast at The Harbour Inn and set off just after 10am. Today was to be a shorter 45 miles to Longdowns, followed by five or so miles to our B&B in Falmouth but with equal elevation to yesterday. With 60 miles and 1,600m of climbing in the legs from yesterday, it’d be safe to say the legs didn’t feel particularly fresh. Rain was also forecast until around 1pm, although as we started to get the bikes ready for the day, there was some coastal mist. I decided it was best just to stick my waterproof on straightaway. 

We headed out via Porthleven’s harbour and after a short 60m road climb, we were greeted by our first off-road section of the day. The route overlooks the coastline and after a relatively steep descent, you get a glimpse of The Loe. 

The Loe is Cornwall’s largest freshwater lake, separated by the sea via a picturesque beach. After some picture-taking, we diverted off the route to have a further explore and Rob suggested the idea of skipping the beach to avoid unnecessarily ruining the bike’s drivetrains. 

The route around The Loe was fabulous, the lake cutting an imposing presence – it’s a slice of heaven for walkers or cyclists who are lucky enough to live in this area. After cycling past the National Trust cafe and reaching the other side of the lake, we discovered the diversion would add more mileage than it was worth, so we decided to head back up again and cross the beach. At this point, it started to rain. 

That’s just what we did and after trundling back up the climb to where we made our diversion, we descended down to the beach. The beach wasn’t rideable so we got off and walked and I took the opportunity to get my ‘money shot’ photo of the Berria for my BikeRadar review. 

As we neared the other side of the beach, it really started to rain at this point and Rob donned his waterproof gear. An off-road climb led us to the road, which would take us to Mullion. The road was briefly interrupted by a short yet upsetting, sandy and rutted climb through a golf course. 

The route took to the trails once again after we passed through the village, and it was more of the same rutted gravel with a beautiful heather-infested backdrop. There was one particularly rocky climb that was technically a footpath that necessitated walking and we then passed over a footbridge before being rewarded with spectacular views of Kynance Cove. 

After a brief stint on the road, we found ourselves passing through Lizard’s village centre. We  diverted off the road to check out the Lizard Point before heading back for a bite to eat.

The Lizard Point was another stunning attraction with its domineering lighthouse and the view of freight ships in the distance. By this point, the rain had also more or less stopped.

We rode back into the village and enjoyed a pasty and ice cream. With all the stopping and starting, it had taken us the best part of four hours to ride a little over 30km and with another 50km or so, we agreed to try and get a couple of hours in before stopping again. Looking at the prescribed route, potential places to stop looked few and far between so we thought if we happened to ride past a cafe or pub, we’d just stop then. 

I found the next 25 miles or so to be a real slog and the route is virtually all road. It’s fairly flat-going until you reach the town of Coverack and I felt on decent form, taking a few long turns on the front to try and make up some of the distance. 

The road descent into Coverack was particularly steep and technical and after a brief stop to check out the viewpoint, we started to make our way out of the town. We quickly saw an unpleasant sign warning of a steep uphill gradient and we winched our way up the unpleasant climb. 

The gradients would prove to never be quite as steep as the climb out of Coverack as we began to traverse our way around the Helford River. Although it was all road-based, this section was quite tedious and up-down. 

We pushed on until we reached Gweek, where we stopped for a coffee and cake. Rob also brought a Kernow cake, which looked the size of a brick, as an additional fuel reserve should we need it. Although the coffee wasn’t the best quality, a coffee and cake came in at £2.50 – bargain of the ride! 

The climb out of Gweek was another unpleasantly steep one and after 25 miles or so of road, I thanked the Cycling UK gods for introducing a brief gravel track with a ford crossing before an excellent wooded section.

Our fun was briefly interrupted by an impassable bridge and Rob decided to circle back whereas I crossed the stream running underneath and surprise, surprise, managed to stick one of my shoes in the water. 

After a muddy climb, we reached the village of Constantine where Rob stopped at a shop to buy some water and we then carried on towards Longdowns. I was quite ready to call it a day at this point and the last couple of climbs up to Longdowns were far from my best moments. 

I looked at my Garmin once we had reached the end of today’s route and saw we were 180m up high. This was going to be fun in the morning…! The descent into Penryn was long and steep and after passing through an industrial park and the town centre, we arrived in Falmouth. Rob’s Hammerhead chucked another unpleasant climb at us, which we later discovered proved unnecessary. 

We then started to look for the Jacob’s Ladder Inn, which would be our B&B for the night. A work colleague of mine who studied at Falmouth warned me the B&B had this name for a reason and the ‘ladder’ would be a long set of steps. He wasn’t wrong and when we saw the steps we’d have to scale, we decided to carry on riding up the road and take the long way around, up yet another climb, to reach our destination. 

We reached the B&B and after a well-needed shower, it transpired the hotel had stopped serving food. After a quick WhatsApp message for food recommendations in Falmouth to my colleague, we headed to The Gurkha for excellent Nepalese cuisine that was far more substantial than last night’s disappointing fish and chips. We washed it down with a beer at the Beerwulf, a pub based in a book shop.

Day 2 was expectedly tough and the highlights were certainly the first 30km up to the Lizard Point. The 25 mile road drag was tedious though. 

Although we rode around the Helford river, if it’s open and running and you can spare the cash, I’d recommend taking the ferry diversion Cycling UK suggests at Helford. You’re really not missing much riding around the river and your legs will thank you for it, although your wallet might complain a little. I was reading on a West Kernow Way Facebook group that the ferryman charges around £20 per passenger per crossing, which is rather a lot! 

Total distance: 86.4km

Total elevation: 1,582m 

Day 3

After a decent sleep but not as restorative as the night before, we got the bikes ready before breakfast and sat down to eat just after 8am. I didn’t feel 100% and felt as if I had the beginnings of a cold coming but this could equally have been the result of two full-on days. 

We needed to finish the route and be back at Bristol Temple Meads station for before 8pm for Rob’s train. Taking into account how long the first two days had taken us and estimating a five hour journey back with stops, we had our work cut out! Rob suggested editing the route down but this isn’t in the spirit of bikepacking and I was confident we could get it done. 

The ride up the hill to Longdowns made for a particularly depressing start, my legs refusing to spring into action. Once we hit the official route, after a handful of lanes, we hit the first extended off-road section of the day through grass and mud. My legs still refused to wake up, although Rob was on fine form.

However, this soon changed as unluckily for Rob, last night’s Nepalese came back to haunt him. I rolled on and finally started to find a bit of form. When Rob caught up, we passed a rather picturesque reservoir before hitting the lanes again, which remained undulating in true Cornish fashion. 

This then turned into a heather-infested off-road trail and after a bit of a dicy 180-degree turn almost back on ourselves, we hit the Mining Trails. This is a 37.5 mile network of trails that span the towns of Redruth and Camborne and are also popular with walkers, horse riders and mountain bikers.  

This was a real highlight of the day and I’d love to revisit this section to explore it in further detail. 

The route predominantly sticks to these trails up to Portreath, with a few faster roads thrown in for added variety. Although only 40km in and feeling strong, Portreath seemed like the sensible place to stop for lunch.

We quickly found a bakery and we both had a steaming hot pasty each – this may have been the pasty of the trip for me and the beef was excellent quality.

The route out of Portreath was tranquil and after passing through a modern estate, we quickly hit the mining trails again. Annoyingly, my form seemed to have disappeared again and I was back to square one, really struggling in places. I can only think this was down to the sizeable lunch. 

We passed the picturesque Carn Brea and the off-road sections started to become more rugged, yet still undulating as we left the Camborne area. I was really running on fumes and getting quite frustrated with myself. I’d eaten and drunk a fair amount and had kept topping myself up, so there should be no reason for this lack of performance. 

This carried on for a couple of hours or so and I then miraculously found some form again. At one point heading through a village, we passed two other rides on hybrid bikes, embarking on the West Kernow Way. They would prove to be the only riders we would come across on the whole trip, compared to the many cyclists I came across every day on the King Alfred’s Way. 

This part of the route generally felt more jurassic in landscape and I knew we couldn’t be too far away from the finish once the Angarrack railway viaduct came into sight. 

We rode down a particularly hairy descent which I remember feeling relieved I didn’t have to climb on the way down and we crossed a footbridge over a river. The route advised us to head straight across but this wasn’t an option. 

After a few minutes of finding our bearings, we followed the path in either direction but this would lead away from the route. This was another routing faux pas and we crossed back over the footbridge and up the bastard climb. Rob routed us on the road through St Erth, where a closed road looked like it may put pay to the day but the builders kindly let us through. 

Ten or so kilometres added to the route, we found ourselves back on course and heading for the finish at Marazion. The last 5km felt noticeably flatter and we reached the end at Marazion, with the view of St Michael’s Mount in the distance. 

After some obligatory photography, we rode the couple of kilometres back to the Sainsbury’s car park in Penzance and made our journey homeward bound, Rob making it for his train in good time.

Day 3 was a noticeably flatter but perhaps the most varied route of the three days, with no annoying extended road sections to deal with. My performance was strange and I haven’t suffered on the bike as I did in places here in many a year. I’d love to head back and explore more of this beautiful area and the Mining Trails were easily the highlight of the day.  

Total distance: 93.7km

Total elevation: 1,384m

West Kernow Way reflection

The West Kernow Way proved an excellent bikepacking trip and the route mostly delivers on its picturesque settings and landmarks. There’s certainly a lot more road than King Alfred’s Way though, which I didn’t expect, and this is why a gravel bike with wide clearances makes for the best option because it’ll be hard-going on a mountain bike. This is especially true of the numerous gates or obstacles to negotiate, where the extra weight of a mountain bike would be a hindrance.

The highlight of the trip was probably riding around The Loe on Day 2, despite it not being as large an attraction as other landmarks on the trip. 

Choosing to ride the route in three days was the perfect decision, because bar the last day, we got to explore the surroundings at our own pace and truly appreciate the Cornish sights. You could do it in two days if you missed the various stops the route takes you on but you’d be in for an unpleasantly undulating mid-section. 

Overall, I’d say I found the King Alfred’s Way a more challenging route. The hardest climb of the West Kernow Way is undoubtedly the rocky ascent on the first day at the beginning of the Cape Cornwall off-road section after Land’s End. There’s a good three or four climbs that are more challenging on the King Alfred’s Way but what saps your energy on this bikepacking route is the sheer undulation. 

Penzance makes for a good start to the route as you’ll have the flattest day at the end, and there’s good amenities for picking up supplies and car parking. 

I thoroughly enjoyed my time and I’m looking forward to planning my next adventure.

It felt rather alien yet bittersweet boarding an aeroplane abroad, after the coronavirus pandemic marked a two year period of not venturing away from UK soil. Back in late April, I ventured to northern Portugal for two weeks. I’d previously visited mainland Portugal once before, mainly sticking to the Algarve nearest the Spanish border and I’ve also travelled to the island of Madeira.

The first week of my Portuguese sojourn was spent exploring the beautiful, historic city of Porto and its surrounding area, as well as a trip to see a friend towards Leiria in the centre of the country. The second week was to be spent in the mountains to the east of Porto and cycling, of course, was on the agenda. Portugal may not hold quite the allure of cycling compared to France, Spain or Italy but as I came to discover, it is a hidden gem for cycling. 

I stayed in the picturesque Mondim de Basto, a town at the epicentre of the cities of Amarante, Vila Real and Fafe. The town is domineered by the Nossa Senhora de Graça Sanctuary, a church at the top of its mountain. It is located close to the River Tâmega, a tributary of the more well-known Douro river, and lies in a valley at around a 160m elevation. The town is surrounded by mountains in every direction that hover around the 1,100m mark so it’s a great location for getting some hill training in. That elevation is about standard for Northern Portugal, with most of the mountains hovering under the 1,500m mark. If you want to ride in hillier terrain, the city of Covilhã and the Serra de Estrela national park would be your best bet, which peaks at around 2,000m and sees snow during the colder periods of the year.

I rented a Trek Émonda SL5 Disc 2022 for four days and got three memorable rides in, choosing to spend a day exploring in each direction of the town towards the major cities. I had to take a rest day between days 1 and 2, for reasons which will shortly become evident, and so didn’t head to the North West of the town.

Day 1 – Vila Real 

Distance: 91km
Elevation: 2,103m 

The plan for the first day was a ride to the city of Vila Real and looping back to Mondim de Basto. I’d woken up not feeling brilliant with a sore throat and a headache but partially put it down to having a fair amount of excellent Portuguese beer over the past couple of days. I took a paracetamol after a hearty breakfast and headed out. 

The temperature was a warm 23 degrees and it was pretty humid. The first 30km of the ride was a climb up to the Alvão Nature Park that sits at 1,100m. The climb was generally picturesque but pretty unpleasant at the start as it averaged a seven percent with some steeper sections which then levelled off. 

Almost immediately into the climb, I suffered a sharp cramp to my right thigh. I went through a period of suffering with cramps when cycling, particularly towards the end of a longer ride and it would tend to be on a climb. I’ve since made some changes and it hasn’t been a problem for around two years but as you’ll go onto read, this ride more than made up for it! 

I wasn’t sure if I had cramped due to a poor position on a new bike, the fact I was testing some new Assos shorts for work which offer a more compressive fit or that I wasn’t feeling 100 percent. I pulled into a cafe in the small village of Bilhó around 15km up the climb to rest it a bit and see if that would help. I briefly considered turning back and aborting the ride but I have a very stubborn mindset and wanted to get my money’s worth out of the bike, as well as taking advantage of the warm weather as the rest of the week wasn’t forecast to be quite as balmy. 

After the stop, I continued up the arduous climb, passing through several small villages and a serene woodland setting. Unfortunately, resting the cramp didn’t help and I had to make a stop every 2-3 kilometres or so as the shooting pain felt pretty horrific. The final third of the climb was fairly fierce in places with gradients around 13 percent but the beautiful view at the top of the natural park was worth the effort. If I’d had more time to spend in the area, I’d love to have tried some walking up here. 

The descent to the city of Villa Real was 10km to just under 400m and was a fairly typical European-style descent, packed with hairpins. An aspect that would become a theme on future rides is that the Portuguese seem to relish having cobbled sections on the main road through villages or town centres. Some of these can rather sketchy on a road bike, even with 700x28mm tyres, which is heightened when descending. Some added spice was added to this particular descent with the inclusion of some steep cobbled hairpins.

Vila Real was a reasonable city with an attractive centre but I found it to be a little soulless in its suburbs. After a lunch stop, it was onto the second major climb of the day which was roughly 20km up to 900m. This climb wasn’t as scenic as the first and the roads were much quieter and the surfaces not quite as smooth. 

Unfortunately, the cramp continued to play up and I had to make regular stops to rest it, including a drink stop at the village of Campeã, its small centre a vibrant hub for the locals. I was in a pretty foul mood all the way up until I reached the top of the climb and there were a few moments where I questioned my life choices! 

My bad mood instantly vanished as I crested the top of the climb and was welcomed by the most majestic of views, which more than made up for the low points of the day. I was now to enjoy a circa 30km gradual descent back to Mondim de Basto and I think it instantly became my favourite descent I have ever ridden. The views just kept on coming, each topping the last. The road was perfectly surfaced with no cobbled sections and the turns were gradual and could be seen in advance, so I barely had to touch the brakes. The cramp mysteriously suddenly vanished too!

There was a brief climb of around 100m after the initial 12km and the road then headed down again back to the centre of Mondim de Basto. Today was character-building but the final descent more than made up for the first 60km of punishment. 

Day 2 – Amarante

Distance: 79km
Elevation: 1,004m 

Today was to be an easier ride with less than half of the elevation after I didn’t feel brilliant on Day 1 and the sore throat had not abated, despite having a rest day too. 

Heading the opposite way out of Mondim de Basto to Day 1 was breathtaking crossing the River Tâmega and shortly afterwards, my Garmin prompted me to turn right up what looked to be a gravel track which then joined a buttery smooth disused railway line, the Ecopista da Linha do Tâmega, or in English, the Tâmega line. 

I have a particular fondness for exploring disused railways and in the UK, I’m fortunate to have lived within riding distance of both the Phoenix Trail that links the towns of Princes Risborough and Thame in Buckinghamshire and the Downs Link, which links Guildford to Shoreham-on-Sea. I now live in Bristol, which is surrounded by various paths, most notably the Bristol to Bath railway line which I use to commute to work on three days a week. 

However, the Tâmega line blows everything I’ve ever ridden in the UK out of the water and then some. The views were terrific as the path skirts along the river, through a variety of terrain from lush green vistas to backdrops reminiscent of Monument Valley. There are various old train stations along the route, which have been lovingly maintained with gorgeous architecture. You just couldn’t ask for more and I’d never have discovered this path without the presence of a bike. I got to enjoy the path for 30km down to the city of Amarante. 

Amarante itself is a wonderful city with beautiful architecture and a grand cathedral, its imposing yet graceful presence felt across the city. The River Tâmega flows through the city and there’s a tranquil path to walk alongside the river bank. 

After a drink in the centre, the second half of the ride was to climb up to 600m, passing through the town of Lixa and then reaching Castelo de Arnoia before descending back to Mondim de Basto. 

The route took me along the main road out of Amaranate, which was nothing special as it started to gently wind up in gradient, before turning onto a quieter main road to tackle the rest of the climb. One highlight was passing a closed night club that was humorously named ‘Sin City’. 

The climb wasn’t particularly scenic but the town of Lixa was pleasant enough and in keeping with other nearby towns, it featured a cobbled surface through its centre. The roads were quieter after Lixa and more scenic as the climb made its way through a couple of peaceful small villages, which were shaded by woodland. 

Castelo de Arnoia was another highlight with a quaint castle domineering the village and some chocolate-box cafes, so I took the opportunity to make a stop. 

The descent back to Mondim de Basto was another breathtaking one and similar to Day 1, the turns were visible and gradual so braking could be kept to a minimum. I passed through Celorico de Basto towards the end of the descent, another pretty town which the Tâmega Line passes through in its outskirts, before passing back over the river into Mondim de Basto. 

Day 3 – Fafe

Distance: 74km
Elevation: 1,273m

This was my final day with the bike and unfortunately, my cold was now full-blown. On any other day, I’d have kept away from the bike but given I had already skipped a day between the first two days, I was determined to get my money’s worth out of the rental. 

The original plan was to head to the city of Fafe and slightly further afield up to a lake further north called the ‘Praia Fluvial de Albufeira de Queimadela’. However, I tweaked the route as I wanted to ride the rest of the Tâmega line and as I felt less than ideal, I didn’t want to overdo it. Rain was also forecast from lunchtime, which I was keen to avoid. 74km and circa 1,300m of elevation is not an insignificant amount on a normal training day, let alone when you’re feeling under the weather. 

After crossing the River Tâmega, I took the same gravelly path right up to the disused railway and headed in the opposite direction towards Arco de Baúlhe, where it finishes. The railway path was just as glorious heading north as it was south to Amarante yesterday. The first five miles or so were gently uphill before a descent down the rest of the path. The path is slightly more shaded heading northbound and there are even several houses gardens that sit next to the path. In keeping with the section of the path I had ridden yesterday, this section was similarly blissful. 

Arco de Baúlhe, the end of the Tâmega Line, was a highlight with a staggeringly beautiful train station that is an attraction in itself, with a section of train track at its terminus, adorned with older unused trains that seemed in good condition. 

At the end of the line, I headed out via the train station into the town centre, which was also rather pleasant with a selection of cafes but as rain was forecast, I chose to carry on. I was now to start the first climb of the day, a 17km affair which would rise to 700m before dropping back down to 500m and then heading back up to 650m before descending to the city of Fafe. 

The climb wasn’t particularly scenic as it was on a main road in its early sections and I took the climb very easy and kept hydrated to keep my cold under control. The 200m descent after the peak was a particular highlight as it swept through some shrouded woodland. The 12km descent into Fafe was good fun, with a now customary cobbled section through a village towards the bottom. It was at this point of the ride it started to rain, so I headed for a drink in the city centre. 

Fafe is a fairly well-kept city with a pleasant centre, although Amarante is far and away my pick of the cities that Mondim de Basto is sandwiched between. It drizzled throughout my stop but luckily, the rain calmed down as I left to ride the final section of the ride. This was to be another climb up of 10km up to 750m before a 19km descent back to Mondim de Basto. 

In keeping with the first climb of the day, it wasn’t particular scenic until its later sections which featured more greenery. The descent, on the other hand, was wonderful. It was fast and flowy but like other descents, with turns easy to anticipate. The descent passed through the village of Gandarela de Basto which left a quaint impression and then snaked under the A7 motorway. The second half of the descent was in keeping with the first back to Mondim de Basto and luckily, I had managed to mostly avoid the rain throughout the ride, although it was still forecast to bucket down for the rest of the day. 

Whilst I didn’t feel great and riding with a cold is always to be advised against, I’m glad I rode today. This ride wasn’t as scenic as the first two but getting to ride the rest of the railway path and the final descent made it more than worth it. 

Summary

Cycling isn’t as prominent a sport in northern Portugal as it is in other European destinations. Other than a handful of small groups that I spotted throughout my stay, the sport doesn’t seem to have taken off in this region of Portugal.

That’s also reflected in the bike rental options in this region and after a fair amount of research, I found a grand total of two rental companies, both of which were based in Porto, that offered carbon road bikes to rent. I had originally factored in driving to Porto and back to pick them up but luckily, the company I went with dropped off and picked up the bike for a fee. 

Bicycle rental pricing is quite punchy in Northern Portugal – I paid €200 for four days and then an additional fee for drop-off and pick-up. I would typically pay around the €130 – 150 mark for an equivalent bike for the same duration in Italy, for example.

The drivers aren’t as accustomed to cyclists either compared to other European destinations and some of the overtaking wasn’t the most considered. I’d love to return to the region and explore further afield and without the poor luck of riding with a developing cold. 

With its well surfaced roads, visually arresting vistas and breathtaking descents that aren’t packed with hairpins, Portugal is a tucked-away treasure for road cycling.