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.