Striking the balance between making an off-road cycling event fun and challenging is a difficult one, but some events have a reputation for making the fun aspect low down the list of reasons to sign up. Last October Valerio Stuart signed up for the Bearbones200 event in mid-Wales and just about survived to tell the tale. Was it actually fun? You’ll have to read on to find out.

What is gravel?

Recently, several routes and bike manufacturers have pushed the boundary of what gravel riders and bikes can do. Some MTB events and routes have also evolved in recent years, embracing the gravel “mania” to appeal to a wider audience. At the same time however, long-distance and allegedly gravel-friendly events have also started incorporating more technical trails and hike-a-bike sections into their routes, with the effect that numerous participants are now turning to hardtail MTBs for such events.

BearBones200 is not an event that looks to benefit from the latest trend, nor is it an event that tries to appeal to the masses. The event runs over two separate weekends where two separate groups of 40 riders take part. The 2024 event will also be run on an ‘invitation-only’ basis.

If that has captured your attention, keep reading but be warned “this ain’t a fluffy gravel ride”.

The event

The BearBones200 (BB200) is a self-supported, long-distance bikepacking event running every Autumn in Wales. The challenge is to complete the route with no outside assistance, support or back-up. Pre-arranged assistance of any sort will result in a DNF (Did Not Finish) and there is no assistance, feed-stops or checkpoints provided by the organiser along the route. The route changes every year but it’s typically 200km long with 5,000m of ascent. Most of the route can be expected to be ‘off-road’, which in the Cambrian Mountains means remote tracks, hike-a-bike sections and steep valleys. Add to the mix the Welsh weather and the organiser’s reputation for enjoying the inclusion of some “challenging” trails and one might be surprised to hear that this event sells out every year, with many veterans going back again and again.

The organiser makes it very clear that the BB200 is designed to be a true test, it’s not a social ride or a ‘tour’ and believe me when I say that is absolutely the case. Riders that complete the route within 24hrs are awarded a coveted “black badge”, with those arriving back within 28hrs and 36hrs taking home a blue and green badge respectively. 

For some strange reason, ever since I first took up cycling and started looking for UK-based events, this is one that always fascinated me. Even with the event being clearly NOT targeted at gravel riders/bikes, I assumed it would be do-able on my rigid Cinelli with 40mm tyres. Even watching the video of a well-known (and badass) cyclist/racer/influencer left in tears while attempting the event in 2021 didn’t put me off and I signed up for the 2022 November edition.

Life fortunately got in the way and I couldn’t attend in 2022, but I decided to sign up again the following year and entered the 2023 October edition with friend and pretty hardcore rider Alex Berry. In the meantime, the Cinelli had been replaced by a rigid monster gravel sporting 2.2” tyres, which looked a bit more appropriate for the Welsh terrain.

The start

Alex and I travelled to Wales on the Friday and stayed at a B&B where we met another rider, Will, busy carbing-up and prepping his full-suspension bike for the event. We put the oven on and had pizzas while discussing plans for the next day. The weather forecast was really promising for the weekend, although it had been raining for the entire week and it was still raining on Friday night - ground conditions were bound to be very wet. Alex is an event veteran and strong rider and was planning for a fast finish - around 16 hours, carrying minimal kit on a super light set-up on his hardtail. Will and I had less ambitious plans as we were aiming for an average speed of 10km/h (elapsed) and had bikes loaded with gear to survive the night should we need to stop and take much longer to complete the event.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee woke me at 5 am the next morning. Alex was up early, while I dragged myself out of bed after faffing with the bike and bags until late the night before. We managed to get to the start of the event after 7 am with several participants already on their way. We checked in and had some breakfast, while chatting and checking out other participants’ bikes. Most people were on hardtails and with several full-suspension bikes around, I really felt out of place on a gravel bike. Fortunately, someone else turned up on drop bars…at least I wasn’t the only one that brought a knife to a gunfight!

Alex was ready to go and I nervously said goodbye to him while I faffed around the bike for another 20 minutes, absorbed in some slightly negative thoughts. Was this a bad idea? “Yes”. Was I going to get stranded somewhere along the route too tired to carry on or with a mechanical I couldn’t fix? “Most likely”. Was Alex going to drive back to Manchester before I could get to the finish? “Perhaps I should have taken his car keys…”.

I eventually set off just as the sun came out of the clouds, climbing a nice hill to get warmed up. I started bumping into other participants along the route. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, although cautious about what was to come and I started feeling better and excited about the ride. 

Me and Alex ‘catch-me-if-you-can’ Berry

“It’s not a fluffy gravel ride”

The route left the tarmac to join a gravel double-track into a dense forest. Conditions were perfect, I was enjoying flying down descents surrounded by trees…until my Garmin started beeping to warn me that I was on the wrong route. “How is it possible? I’m following the track and there weren’t any turns” I thought as I circled back to the point where I was supposed to take a 90-degree turn. All I could see past the ditch alongside the forestry road were trees, a dubious opening through the forest and a barbed wire fence running perpendicularly to the forestry road. “It’s probably a Garmin glitch” I thought as I took my phone out to check the original GPX file. Meanwhile, another participant turned up, nodded at me to say hi and without much second-guessing hopped off the bike, over the ditch and disappeared between the trees. 

The route was definitely taking us in that direction and so I grabbed the bike and started following what looked like a path covered in moss. The path disappeared pretty quickly, while I tried to push through tree branches and follow what I thought was the right direction. “Surely this can’t be the route, I must be in the wrong place” I thought as I turned back trying to trace where I lost the path. I then started moving in the left and right direction hoping to find the path and a gap through the trees, without success. I was on route according to my GPS unit, but there wasn’t a path to follow.

Pushing the bike was getting more and more difficult as the front wheel kept sinking into the thick layer of moss. Carrying the bike was also challenging, as the saddle and my bags kept getting stuck on low tree branches. Covered in scratches and needles, I got really frustrated if not mildly panicked! I decided to push on, using the front wheel/fork as an axe to open my way through. After a period that felt like an eternity, I managed to escape the forest and climb up to another forestry road where I joined Allen Boardman and a few participants that I had passed a while back.

“I wonder how long I was in there for…”.

That section had dampened my mood, but I was aware that the event was known for some “odd” sections and I told myself that I had now ticked the “silly-trail” box and I could now enjoy the ride and get back to cycling. Such a naïve thought…

I was now riding with a few other participants on a bridleway in a farming area, which meant gates, mud (a lot of mud) and plenty of organic matter that covered bikes, legs and my no-longer-white fancy socks.

We eventually reached the first (and one of the very few) shops along the route, which was at Llangurig, 40km into the event. I still had plenty of food left and previous riders had already ransacked the fresh pastry section, so I just grabbed some water and an energy drink before I jumped back on the bike, leaving the small group that I was riding with to enjoy their snacks outside the shop.

I checked my phone for an update from Alex. He was now well over 20km ahead of me which didn’t surprise me at all, especially considering my debacle in the forest.

Beautiful Wales

The route took me on gravel and tarmac roads, over some hills and into some big open spaces. With the blue sky and very mild temperature, I couldn’t believe how lucky we had been so far with the weather. 

I got off the bike on some punchy and slippery sections which I didn’t mind, as I was keen to save some energy for later and used them as an opportunity to eat some food while making slow progress. The climbs repaid us with some long and fast descents, almost too fast as I got distracted by the views of mountains and reservoirs and didn’t see some sizeable drops until it was too late to slow down. I bumped into Roland, another participant, and we started riding at similar pace. We were now into a “green desert”, following grassy and boggy paths through desolated moorland. The trail required us to cross a few narrow streams, which I tried to do while keeping my feet dry with mixed results. Had I known what was to come, I would have proceeded much more quickly and carelessly.

The route took us out of the “desert” and down to Craig Goch dam - an impressive feat of engineering and a popular spot for tourists and visitors, with many people probably wondering who the lunatics on laden bikes were. I left Roland and made the most of the public toilets there to refresh myself and stock up on water.

I was now on the NCN8 [a long-distance waymarked cycle route] and then onto some tarmac, before taking a sharp turn on to a steep climb up the next hill. With the combination of gradient and loose gravel, I didn’t think twice about riding up and proceeded on foot for the first part of the climb, which was followed by more muddy trails and descents. I eventually fell victim to a bog, when I saw most of my front wheel disappearing into one! I barely managed to avoid going over the bars. Another flowy off-road descent took us to a tarmac road with the Claerwen Dam in the distance. It might have been that my legs were already fatigued after 75km and 1500m of climbing, or the really strong westerly wind blasting against us, but what looked like an easy climb took forever. Apart from the wind, the dam stood quiet, with no water flowing on its surface and no tourists in sight. A motorcyclist attracted our attention as he approached us. He turned out to be someone who had signed up for the event and was part of the second group due to be riding the following weekend. He was doing a recce of the route and taking photos of participants. Having done my fair share of dot-watching – following riders during races via their “dot” on an online tracker – I felt on the other side of the fence for once!

Brutal Wales

Here’s where things sort of fell apart for me. The gravel path we took past the Claerwen Reservoir quickly disappeared into the grassland. We were now making slow progress through Esgair Garthen, where multiple paths left by tyres merged, disappeared, appeared again going in opposing directions and then disappeared again. The GPS track seemed to take us well into the grass and away from the visible path(s) and tyre tracks and we could see several riders in the distance spread out on what seemed like a treasure hunt. Where a path was visible, it was hardly rideable due to the muddy conditions and it really started taking a toll on our legs and morale. Roland and I eventually caught up with a couple of other participants, only to get separated as we followed different paths through tussocks and bogs. At one point I saw the others disappearing behind a moor and reappearing several hundred meters ahead of me and near Llyn Gynon. This natural lake, according to the organiser, is one of the least visited lakes in the United Kingdom and for good reason. Reaching it requires at least 1-hour of walking through treacherous ground, which gets even trickier in clipless bike shoes and while shouldering a bike with bags. Apparently, it’s a great place to be for fly fishing. I can’t say it’s the place to be for bikepacking, especially when one is in a hurry.

I got increasingly frustrated as I was slipping away from the trio ahead of me. I tried riding again which didn’t last long as I came off the bike and resigned myself to walking/jogging through tussocky/swampy/boggy ground. I eventually managed to join the other riders on some grassy singletrack. It was finally time to ride our bikes again! You know things are bad when the mind rejoices at the sight of a slightly off-camber grassy singletrack and associates it with “fast” riding. 

The next milestone on the list was the Strata Florida Abbey, where I was planning to stock up on water. Glad to leave the bogs behind, a smile finally reappeared on my face, only to quickly disappear as my saddlebag broke during a fast descent. I got separated from the group again as I stopped to knock up a temporary fix with some straps and eventually managed to carry on. “This too shall pass” I kept telling myself, not knowing for how much longer my mind would be able to resist before spiralling into negative thoughts.

The trail eventually led to some tarmac but then, to add injury to insult, I got stuck behind road traffic. Road traffic in this part of Wales being a herd of sheep followed by a quad bike. I briefly chatted with the farmer while eating my nth energy bar and eventually reached the Abbey, where I found the rest of the small group refilling their bottles at a tap.

I was keen to stick to my plan of minimising stopping time and I set off again as soon as I filled up my water bladder, despite the temptation of sticking with Roland, George and the small group of riders. A nice tarmac road eventually took me onto a wide and smooth gravel road and onto a fork where a group of motorcyclists was enjoying a chat. In front of me, the track split into a rocky and wet bridleway on the left and a dry, smooth gravel road on the right. Both seemingly going into the same direction to the point I couldn’t tell which one I was meant to take looking at my GPS device. 

“You’re meant to go left” one of the motorcyclists said, struggling to contain a laugh. “A few others stopped to check and went that way, although a couple decided to take the easy road!” he continued. Clearly, they had been there for a while and must have seen a few others ahead of me. As he finished his sentence Roland arrived and we left the lovely path for the flooded bridleway. The trail was peppered with puddles, slates, rocky steps and which (and this really got to my nerves) had the smooth gravel road in plain sight on its right-hand side. 

Ahead of us lay the main obstacle along the route and something I had completely missed during my virtual recce of the event - the Strata Florida trail. Marked on the map as a gravel double-track, flat and relatively short in length, one wouldn’t think much of it compared to some of the climbs and singletrack along the rest of the course. Unfortunately, what presented in front of us was a long, mostly flooded, stretch with steep grassy banks on the sides. There was no way to know how deep the murky puddles were and with the terrain being rocky, the chances of the front wheel catching a rock and me flying off the bike and into the water seemed too high to take any chances. I tried to keep my feet dry at all costs and attempted to go through the flooded sections by hanging onto the bank and propping myself with one foot. Roland didn’t seem too bothered by the water and quickly disappeared as he plowed through the never-ending puddles. I kept losing time getting on and off the bike and trying to find ways around the obstacles where I could see an alternative and was eventually overtaken by George and another participant. We stared at each other in disbelief. Our sense of humour was long gone and profanities broke the silence.

“When does a puddle stop being a puddle?!” I asked myself, only to find a possible answer later - “When it becomes a river”. I could see a few Landrovers in the distance, their drivers having the time of their life being bumped around the rocky track, wheels half-submerged in water and their suspension being put to the test. I was now cycling in a shallow river, following the flow of the water and trying to stay upright. That’s where all my effort in keeping my feet dry proved to be worthless - the shallow river I was following merged into a proper, deep and fast-flowing river and there was no way to go around that. The bike was now back on my shoulder and I was tights deep into the surprisingly mild water. I was now significantly behind my schedule and seriously doubting that I would be able to get to the next village, Rhayader, before the local Spar shop closed for the night. Missing out on the shop would mean being left with no food/water for the night, with the remaining 60km of the route still to ride. On the bright side, my shoes were now clean and muck-free!

Not sure those socks will ever be white again...

A couple more river crossings followed the first one and I eventually caught up with Roland on the trail out of the swamp. Surprised to have managed to catch up with him, I found out that his rear axle had failed and he was slowly trying to get to the main road and arrange a pick-up. 

The trail eventually ended on a tarmac road leading to a steep (18% steep!) climb past Coed Nant and the Tywl Forest. In a different state of mind I would have probably stopped to enjoy the views as the sun was going down over the hills. But with 40km and a good couple of hours to go before I could reach the next village and my supply of snacks well depleted, I wasn’t going to take any chances, so I pushed through, hoping the worst part of the route was behind me.

The route eventually left the smooth tarmac road to join a trail into the Trallwm Forest. It wasn’t time to relax as the gravel forestry road led me to a rocky and steeply sloping singletrack. The night had set in now and I started losing hope. To make things worse, I missed a couple of turns as the trail disappeared and I got increasingly frustrated. The singletrack was now becoming fairly technical, especially for a knackered inexperienced rider with no front suspension. I had to be careful picking my line, trying to keep my speed up while avoiding a potentially disastrous crash at this point of the event. I was still soaked from the waist down and started feeling cold now that the sun was gone. 

The singletrack carried on and I was finally back on the tarmac after a section on a bridleway much more suited to horses than bikes. 

A typical Saturday night in Rhayader?

It was 9:40pm when I eventually made it to Rhayader, after 140km, 3000m+ and in roughly 14hrs. The pavement outside the Spar looked like some sort of parallel dimension where universes collided. Several fellow BearBoners and their bikes were spread around, enjoying sandwiches, energy drinks and sausage rolls. Some were laughing hysterically, others were shaking their heads in disbelief for what we had just endured. At the same time, groups of drunk party-goers stumbled towards the shop to get drinks and food. A few specimens of both groups were barefoot, although for very different reasons. Understandably, we generated a bit of interest with the local crowd and trying to explain what we were up to led to some interesting conversations.

Not going to become a foot model anytime soon....

Amongst the party, I recognised George and his mate Tom. They had enjoyed a bit of rest and were now ready to go, and so was the rest of the group. Being the last one to arrive I took my time as I had not stopped for the last 100km. I treated my feet to a dry pair of waterproof socks that I had saved for the night, hoping they would not be needed. I checked my phone, having a signal for the first time in a while, to find out that not only Alex had just managed to finish the course, but he was also going to enjoy a night in a warm bed at the local pub and a nice meal. Bonkers!

That reminded me that I had to get back and I had to do it quickly. After swallowing some egg sandwiches and a double espresso I forced myself to get up from the pavement. A good portion of the remaining 70km of the route seemed to be on road, however a long stretch of singletrack lay ahead so I tried to not get my hopes up that the riding would be easy.

Following a bit of tarmac which helped warm the legs up again, I was back on muddy and wet trails. I bumped into another participant, Pete, who was eating some more food on-the-go and we started riding next to each other. Picking the right line was now crucial as it could mean quickly getting through a slippery section or, getting off the bike and getting our feet wet and muddy for the nth time. Needless to say, my choice of line was far from ideal at this point. 

Memories from this part of the route are blurred, I remember dropping Pete and pushing the bike up some singletrack, the trail lit only by the moon and my front lights, wondering how much juice I had left in my legs and in the batteries, and which one would give away sooner. Civilisation was now far behind and I was truly alone.

Finally, the sight of a couple of blinking red lights in the distance gave me some hope and the chase was on. More moorland, more shallow rivers to cross and more energy-sapping mucky trails. This ride could have been completely different in dry conditions, but there was no point thinking about that. The lights disappeared behind a hill, to then appear in the distance at the next climb. I eventually managed to catch up with Will, whom I had met the night before at the B&B! We carried on and later joined George and Tom. The small group's frustration was already high, but it just kept growing as the route seemed to follow no clear path across fields and we found ourselves at a dead end. It turned out we had once again missed a turn in the dark. Our route followed a grassy path that eventually took us away from the main trail. That somehow kept happening, forcing us to lift our bikes over fences and barbed wire, until we reached Llanidloes and the last, long, home stretch on tarmac.

It was roughly 2am when we cycled through the village, past pubs and bars shutting down after a busy Saturday night, with their clientele stumbling out onto the streets and heading home, surprised to see four muddy madmen on bikes. Tom greeted some of them with a wave. The response involved the use of two fingers and some not-so-friendly words. We laughed.

It was far from over with a lot of climbing still to do and with my lower back starting to really ache, I decided to go full gas for the last 20km and try to not drag the ride any longer than needed. Full gas in this case being a tame 25km/h average down a long, mostly downhill, road section. Compared to the previous 19 hours I felt like I was flying.

It’s over

It was almost 4am when I finally reached the school car park at the start/finish line. My GPS unit displayed 20h9min elapsed time, 210km and 5180m of climbing. Not my longest ride but by far the hardest I have ever done.

I reached the board where finishers were writing down their times and realised to my surprise that only four riders had finished before me, including Alex who had preceded everyone else by a good couple of hours. He had kindly left his car open for me and as tempting as it was to bivvy in the kid's outdoor wooden playhouse, I decided to go for the car, reclining the passenger seat and taking a two hour nap. 

The next morning I dragged myself to the pub where Alex was staying. I grabbed a quick shower and we joined the organiser and his wife in the school’s kitchen where the delicious smell of bacon rolls and coffee was waiting for us. The room got slowly busier with finishers dragging themselves out of the holes/cars/vans where they had spent the night. People were quietly eating and exchanging notes about the route and experience. Some, including myself, were drinking their coffee while staring blankly at the walls. Nobody was particularly chatty, everyone was still clearly shell-shocked by the trial. A few heads were still shaking in disbelief, unsure whether we had just experienced type 2 fun or perhaps “2++”.

Some veterans described it to me as a classic BearBones200. Others, with plenty of tough events under their belts, as one of the hardest rides they’d ever done. I was just glad to be alive and in one piece to tell the tales.

Final thoughts

I rarely felt that my bike was completely out of place. A hardtail MTB would have probably been faster and more comfortable, but there were only a few sections where I could have really used some suspension and a dropper post. With hindsight, I probably overpacked and could have gone lighter, but things might have gone in a completely different direction if I had suffered a mechanical, injury or bonked.

Right after finishing I was incredibly disappointed by the event and the route. I had expected the route to be hard with a lot of climbing and to be slow going in places with a lot of technical singletrack. Instead, the main obstacles turned out to have little to do with cycling strengths and skills, but rather with mental resilience. There were many (too many for my liking) stretches where cycling was not possible and they seemed to be on the route purely as a hurdle for the riders, rather than as a necessary evil to reach some particularly good trails or views. I promised myself to never enter the event again and to have a good look at the video footage from the ride if I was ever tempted to sign up again.

Several months later, my brain has erased the worst memories and I’m able to reflect on the ordeal with a cooler mind. I have to accept that the event delivered exactly what it said on the tin and the promised challenge to body, mind and equipment. I know I should be pleased with my black badge and sub-24 hours finish on the first attempt, but I can’t help feeling that the route had won. It had definitely got the better of me in several places. But with some space to have thought things over (and by blocking out some of the worst memories), I’m seriously considering giving the event another go next year, but tackling it with a better mindset.

If you are considering signing up for BearBones200 in 2024 whether you have a gravel bike or a bombproof full-suspension MTB, I hope you can now do so with your eyes wide open having read this recap. Just bring comfy shoes and a good sense of humour. 

PS

I tackled the BB200 to raise money for a friend and MTBer Piotr and his family. Compared to their battle against cancer, any suffering endured during a cycling event really seems like a small inconvenience and I feel lucky for having the luxury of deciding how and for how long to put my body and my loved ones through some tribulation.

If you can, please consider helping Piotr through this JustGiving page