Vast climbs. Not enough sleep. Incredible variation in weather conditions. Running out of water. Nearly being squashed by a giant military truck. Valerio Stuart manages to pack more excitement and adventure into one ultra-distance bike packing event than many of us do in a lifetime. Will he make it safely to the end though or will our hero decide that scratching from the event and living off ice-cream in a café somewhere is a better option? Read on to find out….
In July last year I took part in the Memory Bike Adventure unsupported bikepacking event. It was my first ultra-cycling race and I hated and loved every second of it. Due to a mechanical and my less than impressive pace I was at the back of the peloton from the very start and I did not see any other participant for most of the race. Nevertheless, I managed to successfully complete the event, which had a scratch rate of 50%. By the time I reached the finish - I was the last rider to do so - I could barely sit on the saddle and was mentally and physically exhausted.
For 2024 I decided to enter the 20K Ultratrail, taking it up a notch on a 1,000km and 25,000m+ course, most of it at 2,000m above sea level. I’m fully aware I’ll never be in the running to win such events, but I promised myself next time I would try to stick with the rest of the riders and make it a more enjoyable experience.
As the event approached, Memory Bike also ran for the second edition with just 7 riders completing it out of a pack of 38 starters. Was I just lucky? Was this a big mistake? The highest hill in the Peak District - my local playground - is barely 400m a.s.l., whereas the highest point on the 20K Ultratrail route is just shy of 3,000m a.s.l.! What was I thinking?!!
I tried to stop my negative thoughts from spiralling, packed my bike and bag and got to the airport. As long as I keep a positive attitude, the rest will follow. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Image courtesy of Radovan Cizek
The event
The 20K Ultratrail race takes riders over some of the most beautiful and highest trails and gravel roads in Europe. The first edition of the event packed 700 km and 20,000m of climbing, hence the “20K” name. The route has since evolved into a 1,000 km and 25,000 m beast of a loop across the Italian and French Alps. Small changes are made to the route every year, mainly due to how some trails cope with the weather or road closures, but sections such as Strada dell’Assietta or Via del Sale are firm highlights of the route. The Tunnel du Parpaillon, one of the highest roads in France at 2,600 m and the highest point of the route in recent editions, had to be removed at the last minute from the 2024 route due to a landslide blocking its entrance. To make up for it, a climb up to Colle del Sommeiller (2,993m a.s.l.) was introduced as the new Queen Stage of the race.
Image courtesy of Radovan Cizek
The race
It’s a hot and humid Friday evening in San Secondo di Pinerolo (Turin, Italy). A group of bikepackers from all over Europe are polishing off plates of pasta in the courtyard of the main hotel in the village. It’s quite literally the calm before the storm, as riders are about to embark on a 1,000 km journey. As rumbling thunders in the distance break conversations, people stare at each other with wide eyes.
During the event briefing Andrea, the event organiser, jokingly guaranteed everyone clear skies and good weather for the duration of the event. It’s just after 9 pm when a thunderstorm rolls in, making him - and everyone else - nervous and so the 10pm start is brought forward. I’m still faffing around with my Garmin waiting for it to load the route when horns, bells, shouts – and thunder – go off and the race is on!
Image courtesy of Radovan Cizek
Somehow, I find myself in front of everyone else at the starting line and so I blindly start pedalling ahead not really knowing where to go. My unexpected moment of glory doesn't last long - thankfully - as two other riders, Peter and Nol, overtake me while I frantically try to get my GPS unit to work.
It doesn’t take long until we find ourselves on the first climb. My adrenaline has kicked in, as a stream of lights follows us and lightning bolts light up the sky. I’m fully awake despite being up way past my bedtime. Our trio is joined by Silvio, a local rider and 20K winner and veteran, just as my power meter reminds me that keeping 550 watts is not sustainable for my legs. I decide to fall back, let the others go and set into my own pace. I’m eventually joined by a few other riders including Stefano, Andrea, Paul and later on Emil. We didn’t know at the time but some of us would end up riding together for the next few days.
The first “hurdle” is wading river Po, the largest river in Italy. Fortunately, we tackle it at a location where the river isn’t more than 50m wide and water is not even knee high. A part of me foolishly considers showing off and riding through it but the sandy riverbed and the 950 km ride to follow make me think otherwise. I can feel my bottom bracket breathing a sigh of relief. Shoes and socks off and we’re in the water.
The first hundred kilometres following the river crossing are hilly, but nothing more than a warm-up compared to what the route has in store for us. More thunderbolts in the distance keep us company and while it’s not raining, the humidity in the valleys is so high that our clothes slowly get soaked. We ride on cycle lanes, forestry tracks and gravel trails in the beautiful Langhe region I promise myself to get a glass of red Barolo next time I can, to remind myself of the beautiful pink sunset over the village of Barolo.
The ride carries on relatively uneventfully although our small group spreads out on the climbs and thanks to differing refuelling points. Having ridden through the night, it’s early afternoon when we arrive at km 270, the closest point to the Ligurian sea and barely 100m a.s.l. From there, the route picks up the Alta Via dei Monti Liguri and ventures into alpine territory, climbing over 2000m within the first 50 km. CP1 is shortly after the top of the climb. While planning my race I didn’t expect to get so far so early and I had planned to find a bivvy spot here and sleep at low elevation. But it’s too early in the day to stop and even though my legs are tired, I have no choice but to carry on.
“Most people are out dressed up for Saturday night shenanigans, in stark contrast to our group of stinking, dirty cyclists who are raising a few disgusted eyebrows.”
I start climbing along a mix of tarmac roads and gravel, roughly following the border between the Liguria and Piedmont regions. It’s not even dark when I reach the village of Col di Nava half-way up the climb, but I don’t feel up for another 1000m of climbing. My GPS has already recorded over 300 km and 5800m of climbing - a record for me and my loaded bike. It’s time to call it a day. I find a hotel, grab a room and get myself to the local pizzeria. Soon after, Andrea, Paul and Emil also arrive and join me for food. Most people are out dressed up for Saturday night shenanigans, in stark contrast to our group of stinking, dirty cyclists who are raising a few disgusted eyebrows.
The next morning, I force myself to eat a couple of half-melted protein bars while getting ready and start climbing to CP1 with Emil, followed by Andrea and Paul. The first 15 km are paved, and it doesn’t take long to warm up despite it being cold and dark at 4 am. We finally get to the off-road section, which includes about an hour of hike-a-bike. While climbing, I bump into Stefano, Marco and a few other participants who bivvied higher up along the route. We go past a herd of sheep and have to get off our bikes when a trio of shepherd dogs come minaciously close to let us know we’re not welcome. Message received! We get out of their way and continue to climb.
Image courtesy of Marco Gobling
CP1 is a basic bivouac which offers a cooking/dining space and a sleeping space with multiple beds. I get my brevet card stamped by the volunteers manning the bivouac and push on.
There’s a better equipped rifugio next-door, which has drinking water and offers a breakfast buffet. They have no idea what’s about to hit them. A bowl of granola, three croissants, multiple slices of bread and butter, two slices of cakes, one jug of espresso and a couple of sandwiches later - all eaten in record-breaking time - I feel like an F1 car after a pit-stop. And just as heavy. It must be the best €10 I’ve ever spent, although I do feel a bit bad for Emil who arrives just a few minutes later and finds the buffet table empty.
The next 40 km are on the famous Via del Sale and its white, dusty, winding gravel road, offering great views over both Italy and France. That’s one of the highlights of the route for me. All I can do is smile while I bomb down the descents, high on sugar and pretty happy with my recently purchased suspension fork which makes descending feel like a magic carpet ride.
“Here I make my first big mistake, showing my inexperience, as I get caught up in the race as I find myself in the top five.”
After the Via del Sale I descend down to the town of Limone Piemonte and find it packed with tourists looking for some shade and an escape from the midday heat. Here I make my first big mistake, showing my inexperience, as I get caught up in the race as I find myself in the top five. Instead of refuelling properly, I jump into the first empty cafe I can find (which turns out to have no good food options) so I only get coffee and ice-cream, before quickly getting back on my bike. “I still have some focaccia from last night” - I tell myself while I foolishly attempt to match the pace of the three riders in front of me “I should be ok for the rest of the day”.
The reality is that it’s way too hot to ride hard - temperatures reach almost 40 degrees C that day - and especially to ride hard while low on fuel. I’m forced to stop again and again, to resupply on water and get more ice-cream, which is the only thing I can stomach. Even the smooth road climbs I’m facing are too much for me and I keep stopping to dip my head under every water fountain I can find.
The next big hurdle is Passo della Cavalla, which is deemed dangerous enough by the race organiser to enforce a curfew: no rider can attempt to climb it between 7 pm and 4 am. My plan is to arrive at the start of the climb at night, find a bivvy spot and begin climbing at sunrise the next day. For that to happen, I first need to climb 1300m in the next 16 km, which is going to be challenging at the end of a second day of tough riding. The other issue is that it’s now 8 pm and the only place that might serve food between me and the next village is Rifugio Gardetta, a few miles after the top of the climb.
I give the Rifugio a ring, begging them to save me some food. I have a quick look online at the trackers and based on the pace of the riders ahead of me, plus some time for my inferior fitness, I anticipate arriving around 11pm: much later than dinner time on the mountains! I had not considered my fear of missing out on food though, which gets my mind to focus and the body to follow, and at 10 pm I show up at the Rifugio. My expectations are far exceeded, as I’m welcomed by not one but two plates of delicious lasagna, followed by some roast meat and vegetables. I’m truly stuffed and for the first time in my entire life, I have to turn down dessert!!!
While I’m having dinner in the hall, another race participant (Stefan, also the event organiser of A-cross the 3) wobbles into the rifugio in his underwear, merino top, headlamp and with a slightly confused look on his face. This is ultra-cycling attire at its finest! He arrived much earlier at the rifugio and decided to spend the night there and is now trying to get onto the wifi (there isn’t any) to check on his girlfriend Anne de Smet, who is also racing in the event. I later realise that Peter is also staying at the rifugio, with Silvio the leader of the race now well ahead of the three of us.
The temptation to get up super early and try to stick with the other riders is high but I decide to get some “proper” sleep and wait for sunrise. That turns out to be the right decision as I needed the rest and descending from Gardetta while the sun comes up is magical and hard to describe. I almost get emotional descending down the gravel road, as the first sunlight touches the mountains and lights them up in pink and gold colours.
After a light breakfast of french toast and nutella, I start climbing from the Sorgenti del Maira joined by Paul and his super cool and self-made steel frame bike. After pushing, scrambling, cursing and nearly spitting our guts out we make it over Passo della Cavalla. Paul is not feeling well and I drop him for a little bit while he completes the climb to the Passo.
Image courtesy of Patrick Trotschler
The way down is not much easier than the climb, but it’s a piece of cake compared to some Lake District "cycling" I've done recently. In the dark or wet, it would have been a very different affair especially considering the altitude and I understand Andrea’s reasons for the curfew.
I finally reach CP2 which is right at the border between Italy and France and stop for lunch and a chat with Andrea who’s manning the Checkpoint with his wife. Apparently, it’s not long since Stefano and Emil have left CP2, so I decide to cut my lunch short and crack on trying to catch them. Another mistake.
Stefano and Emil, myself, and Paul keep yo-yo’ing for the rest of the day without ever actually seeing each other. I get to the town of Guillestre just a few minutes after they have left, as the race tracker shows us all in the same little square but they’re nowhere to be seen.
“I ring a couple of hotels but there don’t seem to be any rooms available in town.”
I really fancy a shower and washing my bib shorts to prevent my saddle sores from getting worse. I ring a couple of hotels but there don’t seem to be any rooms available in town. The ones that are available online, don’t seem too keen on foreign tourists.
"Parlez-vous Anglais?" "Non." Thud. They hung up.
After a couple of attempts, a hotel a few kms off the route answers their phone. I explain that I would arrive by bike around 10:30pm which is a bit late for them, but they agreed to wait for me. At 10:45 I finally reach the hotel only to find it shut. Doors locked. Phone turned off. I’m really annoyed, mostly as I had to leave the route and add quite a bit of downhill to get there, which I will have to climb back the next morning. There’s a bus stop near the hotel which looks like a perfect Plan-B. I even have a private bathroom, a sink and a roof over my head!
The night in the sleeping bag is surprisingly comfy - too comfy as I don’t want to get out of it. As usual, I waste way too much time faffing while getting ready. I force myself to eat leftover pizza and the last couple of protein bars I have and then get back on the bike.
Something didn't agree with my stomach - probably the half-melted bars…duh! I’m forced to take a few stops on the climb out of Fort Queyras. My timing isn’t great either, as I make it to the village of Brunissard too early and so I keep going hoping to find breakfast. All I have left is a carb mix which I melancholically stare at as it sinks in my water bottle.
The next potential resupply point on route is Camping de Izoard, just off the world-famous road climb. I find the little campsite shop open with a few customers eating outside on a cold but glorious day. I have the audacity to ask for breakfast. "No, no, not for you" - the lady at the counter stops me as I point at some croissants on the counter “Guests only”.
Apparently, pastries and bread are for customers of the campsite only and need to be ordered in advance. After pleading my case she has pity on me and allows me to buy a croissant which I accompany with two espressos. A few days later I found out another participant had a similar experience but managed to charm his way into being served a full breakfast with pastries, butter and jam. Clearly, I must step up my sweet-talking game before the next event!
Next on the menu and new for the 2024 route is Col des Ayes with about an hour of portage. That's where Paul catches up with me. It’s a sign I’m slowing down but it’s so good to finally have someone else to ride and chat with! We exchange updates from the last two days while we ride, or I should say push, to the top of the Col. Our slow pace and strong smell makes us easy targets for swarms of mosquitoes. We are surrounded and have to surrender and join the horde. Paul actually starts calling them by name and they even pose for a selfie!
The way down turns out to be as tricky as the way up, with a lot of loose chunky gravel. This time it’s me who’s struggling, as Paul keeps dropping me on the descent. We finally manage to get to Briancon which is the last resupply point for the next 70 km and one of the largest towns on the route. After three days of riding for long hours in the heat, my saddle sores are really starting to affect me. I look for a pharmacy and using a mix of English and Italian, try to explain to the French-speaking pharmacist what I’m looking for. Hand gestures might have been used. Some of them might have involved pointing at my backside. I’m not proud of it but somehow, we understand each other - while entertaining a few customers and I leave in triumph.
Paul and I are having lunch when we get a message from a worried Stefano via the race Whatsapp group. It’s about the section out of Briancon, just ahead of where we are.
"High temperatures. No shade. No water resupply for the full 1200 m+ climb. Avoid it during the day, the heat is brutal."
It’s nearly 1 pm. We want to wait. We just can’t afford to.
We leave the cool air-conditioned restaurant for the hell-ish climb out of the city, through the walls of an old fortress and up following a gravel road into an off-limits military training area. Right from the start I’m struggling to keep up with Paul and I decide to let him go. I put that down to my sub-optimal night of sleep and the fact I’ve fully acclimated to the Mancunian weather, meaning I struggle in any mildly hot environment. The off-road climb is on a military road closed to the public and regular vehicle traffic. Once past the treeline the silence is deafening, there is no-one around, there are no birds and the only sound I hear is my breathing and the tyres crunching the unpaved surface. My vision is blurred, possibly by the mix of sweat and SPF50 dripping from my forehead.
My Garmin records 45°C during the climb.
As I go through a short and narrow tunnel carved into the side of the mountain I decide to take a break in a chilly (38°C) shaded corner. Nobody is driving through this road I think and I lie down on the road after setting an alarm for a 20min nap. It’s 19min later that I get woken up by the sudden (and dangerously close) braking noise of a big vehicle. I jump up and turn around to see the front bumper of a military 4x4 that nearly ran me over. Now perfectly awake, I get out of the way as the crew of the vehicle shake their heads in disbelief.
I squeeze the last drop of water out of my camelback after leaving the shaded tunnel and I continue climbing hoping to reach the top soon. I ride past abandoned military fortifications, surrounded by lush green mountains and face an endless winding gravel road. It’s maybe an hour later that I finally hear the heavenly sound of running water. There’s a fountain! It’s nothing more than a pipe coming out of the hillside, but that will do. I dunk my head in the stone-made sink and fill up my water bottle and bladder and carry on. The Monti della Luna are the prize for surviving the climb: lots of fun singletrack to shred, surrounded by beautiful views and absolute silence.
Image courtesy of Patrick Trotschler
The weather is now changing as I descend down in the valley. Italy is close and I have Bardonecchia on my radar, with "just" the Col de l'Echelle to climb. Thunder has now been rumbling for a while though, initially in the distance and gradually closer and I can see there’s a storm coming my way. I run out of luck while tackling a muddy section in a forest and get immediately soaked by the heavy rain. Lightning is also falling quite close to me now and I take shelter in the public toilets of a tiny village just before Col de l'Echelle.
Temperatures have really dropped and I decide to find a restaurant to get some food and wait out the storm. After a couple of tries and while getting even more soaked by the rain, I finally find an open hostel/restaurant, only to find out it has had a power outage because of the storm. They have a fixed three course menu on offer for the night - the kind that can be cooked on a gas stove - which is alright, but it takes so long for the food to arrive that the cold sets in and I’m now shaking in my wet clothes. It’s still raining outside and I feel too cold to ride again. I decide to stop there and spend the night in a crowded dormitory after a lukewarm shower and drying myself with a tea towel....at least I’m not cold now!
It's 4am when my alarm rings. I'm already awake thanks to my snoring roommates and I can't wait to leave this hell-hole. I left my wet clothes in the boiler room as the hostel manager assured me that they would be dry and toasty the next day. They're still completely soaked, which doesn’t help my mood.
It's still dark when I start climbing Col de l'Echelle in a thick fog. Part of me now thinks I should have endured the rain, taken some risks with the lightning and pushed to Bardonecchia last night as the climb turns out to be easier than I expected. Hindsight is a beautiful thing! By the time I'm over the Col the sun is rising and I can see Bardonecchia. Italy and, more importantly, breakfast are in sight!
Shops are just opening as I stop at a cafe and order breakfast. Stefano and Emil are now way out of reach and Paul has also gained a lot of ground on me. As I stare into an empty espresso mug trying to predict my future, my mood is at an all-time low and I briefly consider scratching. But I'm about to face the climb I’ve been dreaming of: Colle del Sommeiller. I’m not giving up yet.
Rifugio Scarfiotti is nested roughly halfway up the climb to the top of Colle del Sommeiller and it serves as CP3 for the event. From there, the route goes out and back on itself to then continue eastbound towards the Gran Bosco di Salbertrand Natural Park and the Altopiano dell’Assietta. I get to the Checkpoint, get some coffee and cake and crack on. The temptation to drop the bags at CP3 and make the bike lighter for the climb is high but I resist. As I leave the rifugio though, I realise I'm carrying a few wet clothes in my backpack. My only functioning brain cell thinks: “leave the clothes to dry! It's 30 degrees!“ I see a roadside fence and I hang my socks, gilet and arm warmers. My brain cell has another stupid idea: “tie something to the clothes to weigh them down so they won't fly away.” I grab a dry bag and do just that.
Image courtesy of Stefano Bartolini
The climb to the top of the mountain is beautiful and surreal. Trees are gradually replaced by arid brown and rocky soil and the smooth gravel is replaced by chunky boulders and snow. There’s a small lake at the top, surrounded by what’s left of the recent snow, with the silence only broken by a couple of motorbikes and quad bikes in the distance.
As often happens in the mountains, the weather turns completely in the blink of an eye. The sun disappears and the heavens open. I barely have time to put on my jacket and jump on the bike as I start getting pelted by hailstones. I ride down the same road I came from and many, many hairpins later, I finally reach my clothes left on the fence. They are just as soaked as when I left them, of course. The dry bag is gone. As I look around in disbelief, I realise my electronic chargers, my only change of clothes and my lightweight sleeping mat were in the bag. Oh damn.
I go to the rifugio which is just a few minutes away from where I left my clothes hoping someone might have picked up the dry bag and brought it there. Unfortunately, they haven’t seen it. I decide to stay for food while I wait for the rain to pass and not even some polenta with two other riders Marco and Chris cheers me up.
I absolutely hate myself for my poor decision-making. I feel deflated and any fight left in me is pretty much gone. There's no option but to carry on though and I make my way to Salbertrand. I ride another long and epic descent, but my mind is elsewhere and I just don’t enjoy the riding as I should. As I reach the village it's getting dark and another hailstorm hits me. It’s the last nail on the coffin. I need to borrow a charger for my devices anyway and I decide to find a campsite for the night and call it a day.
The finish line can wait.
I’m covered in sweat when I wake up in my cosy camping pod the next morning. In an attempt to dry my clothes, I forgot that I had left the heater on and I wake up in a dry sauna.
My race is nearly over. The first finisher, Silvio, is already celebrating his victory and I know I'll never catch the guys ahead of me. But, I also have a comfortable 80 km gap on the riders behind me with "just" 150 km to go. All I have to do is cross the line. I've got mixed feelings of disappointment and relief. Knowing that it’s all over is both sad and liberating at the same time. Perhaps I could have gone harder. I could have wasted less time instead of second-guessing my decisions. But it doesn't matter now. It's just a matter of time before I complete the 20K Ultratrail, and that's something I didn’t take for granted when I signed up for my second ultra race.
I pack my stuff and get on the bike. The climb in the woods after Salbertrand is relentless. My chain jams as the bike is also starting to show signs of tiredness. I decide to enjoy my day and stop at every café. The first one I find is halfway up the climb and I get some apple pie and strudel. My pace is far from fast and I get overtaken by an 85 year old e-biker. That seems to spark something in me which is exactly what I need. I “race” him to the top and win! He’s very proud of his Bianchi, which he’s going to take just off the road where he’ll then go on a two-hour hike before riding back home. If I get to his age in his shape, I’ll have won in life.
The views from the Altopiano are gorgeous and as far as gravel roads go, the Assietta road must be up there with the best in the world.
All good things come to an end though and I ride down Colle delle Finestre to drop to the valley and leave the mountains behind me. The temperature keeps rising and I stare at the tourists enjoying a swim in one of the Avigliana lakes with envious eyes. It's not all plain sailing though, there's still plenty of singletrack to keep things interesting and a few small climbs left...only they don't feel that small after so many hard days of riding!
Image courtesy of Marco Gobling
It's around 7 pm when I finally reach the finish line. I'm greeted by the organiser Andrea and some of the other finishers. I receive my medal, certificate and finisher t-shirt, but what makes finishing special is the dinner with the other riders! We exchange crazy stories from the previous days and pics of our huge swollen feet that would definitely earn us some money on Onlyfans.
I survived it. It was hard. It was beautiful.