Tuscany. For many cyclists the word brings to mind postcard-like images of white gravel roads laid across a patchwork of wheat fields, vineyards and olive groves. A landscape on which the light falls softly and Cyprus trees dot the way to the next hilltop village on the horizon. And that village promises the perfect mid-ride cafe stop in a small piazza, or maybe under the shade of an old belltower, serving rich espresso and Italian pastries. It would be hard to dream up a more inviting place to ride your bike.

"Tuscany - It would be hard to dream up a more inviting place to ride your bike."

And then there’s Strade Bianche. Since its first edition in 2007, the race around Siena has quickly earned its reputation as an unofficial monument and helped usher in the gravel riding boom. One weekend every March the pros descend on the white roads and us mortals are treated to one of the most stunning and unpredictable races of the season. Watching the peloton rip across the gravel and whip up a trail of dust in their wake, it’s easy to see why this race has drawn comparisons to the revered and infamously brutal queen of the classics, Paris-Roubaix. And yet Tuscany looks and feels nothing like the cobbled tracks of farmyard France - the white roads and rolling hills of Tuscany hide their own unique tests. 

Image courtesy of Fiorinomud

I’d been on the lookout for an end of season cycling event. A sportive or race to take part in before the days get short, the dreary British winter sets in and riding my bike turns solely into a mode of commuting. Our AI overlords must have read my mind as I was soon served up an instagram ad for FiorinoMud, a new one-day 200km unsupported gravel event across Tuscany, taking in 5000m of climbing. This is what I needed. A fresh challenge, pushing my limits on the iconic strade bianche. I was in. I even convinced a good friend and keen gravel rider to join me. What did it matter that I’d only ever ridden gravel a handful of times? Or that my off-road bike handling skills were dodgy at best? No doubt my general roadie fitness would see me through. And the terrain? Nothing I couldn’t handle. I’d watched the pros glide over the white roads on skinny road bikes. My bike, a second-hand cyclocross racer I’d picked up cheaply and maxed out with 38mm tyres, would prove more than up to the job.

“It would be long, it would be tough, but ultimately remember to keep fuelling and we couldn’t go wrong.”

One day before the event. 

I was still living in blissful ignorance of the challenge ahead. We made our way to the pre-race briefing, a short ride from our rented apartment on the outskirts of Florence. The talk was given in Italian and while the organisers went over the course details and our fellow riders huddled around stroking their beards and looking concerned, we looked over to the food laid out for us for dinner. Later that evening Gina Luca, the event organiser, kindly checked on us to make sure we’d received our race packs and were fully prepared. It would be long, it would be tough, but ultimately we were to follow the GPX track we’d be given that day, remember to keep fuelling and we couldn’t go wrong.

Gina Luca talks through the course details

Event day 06:00. 

With bikes loaded we rolled to the starting point, a camping resort on the edge of town. Waiting at the start line we had a chance to survey each rider’s weapon of choice. I couldn’t help feeling a little under-gunned. There were proper hardtail mountain bikes aplenty and gnarly looking gravel machines sat on tyres so fat that it made my bike look delicate.

A few start line snaps for the official photographer and we were off. A group of 45 riders moving along the riverside path and onto the tight city streets of Florence. It wasn’t long before we bid goodbye to the city, clawing our way up a savagely steep cobbled lane and descending a tight technical road out into the Chianti region. If this was a taste of what was to come, it was going to be an interesting day. 

Our group filed out at the top of a climb as we leave Florence behind

The next few hours had us traversing a wider variety of terrain than I’d ridden in all my previous off-road riding combined. One moment we were on flowy dirt single track, then cutting through grass as we skirted the edge of farmers’ fields. Next, we were onto more technical stone strewn climbs and it was here I had my first of many spills as I ran out of gears and toppled over in front of a line of riders I’d eagerly passed at the foot of the climb. As they carefully picked their way up the hill and out of sight, I was relegated to pushing my bike until the gradient became more forgiving, elbow and ego sorely bruised.

“Just point the bike where you want it to go, try to stay off the brakes and let it do the rest”.

As the cloud thickened and the threat of rain grew, we approached possibly the highlight of the day. Just south of the old town of Certaldo the landscape opened wide before us to reveal fast rolling dirt tracks. Into the drops and a massive smile plastered on my face as we picked up speed and skimmed over the rolling hills. And then out of nowhere the trail seemed to fall off a cliff, as a steep straight descent appeared before us. Too late now to break and scrub enough speed off. Earlier in the day, seeing me grapple with my bike on some tame gravel descent my friend had given me a great, simple bit of advice. “Just point the bike where you want it to go, try to stay off the brakes and let it do the rest”. The words flashed up in my mind as I committed to my line. What came next was the most adrenaline fuelled descent of my life and I stayed upright! My confidence began to rise. I was learning on the job, but I was getting the hang of this.

“On any dry day the singletrack climb up through the Valle del Diavolo would have tested my ability to stay upright”

But then, what does the weather care about your confidence? By this point we’d been riding for 8 hours and as we made our way into a beautiful, forested section you couldn’t mistake the patter of rain growing louder on the tree canopy overhead. An hour later we were out of the forest and our fears had been confirmed. The rain was now bouncing off the ground and showed no sign of relenting. It was here we started the most challenging section of the course. On any dry day the singletrack climb up through the Valle del Diavolo would have tested my ability to stay upright, but with the track now reduced to a flowing river of mud we had no choice but to push our bikes for long sections over the mountain.

“Thunder rumbled overhead to confirm that yes, things were looking bleak.”

There was no denying this was harder than we’d planned for. Not only were we making painfully slow progress, we were low on supplies and losing daylight. With over 60km still to go and the prospect of lugging our bikes over the remaining mountains into the night, it’s safe to say the mood had changed. Thunder rumbled overhead to confirm that yes, things were looking bleak.

Eventually the rocky climb gave way to tarmac, we could have kissed the ground. Soon after we joined a main road, rounded a bend and at the intersection there was race organiser Gina Luca, stood waiting for us. We were told that to continue on the course route was not a smart idea. The storm that had moved in was forecast to rage all night. Our best option was to continue on the road and not re-enter the next forested gravel section. To say we were relieved was an understatement. A quick reroute on our head units, a refuel at the next village and we felt reborn.

The final few hours went by in a blur. As we rode into the night the wind, now howling, pushed and pulled us towards the coast and the promise of pizza, beer and a warm shower. The familiar feel of tarmac under our wheels spurred us on and it wasn’t long before we found a lone rider up ahead. Then, as a three, we made our final push into Punta Ala. 

“It might not always have been the picture postcard ride across Tuscany I had imagined but that didn't matter. It had been the real thing.”

We were the 4th and 5th riders across the line, with a time of 13 hours and 40 minutes. Of the 45 riders who had set off from Florence that morning, 17 completed the course. As we huddled under an outdoor heater at the finish pen, we finally had time to reflect on the day. Physically we were broken, but we were happy. It might not always have been the picture postcard ride across Tuscany I had imagined (and sold my friend on), but that didn't matter. It had been the real thing. We’d ridden through wild unpredictable landscapes, places you can’t find on the back of postcards. We’d climbed up to ancient walled hilltop towns, descended down into wooded valleys, and passed through national parks where steam rose around us from geothermal pools. No, it hadn’t been the simplistic view we’d had of riding the famous white roads, it had been much more than that.

For more information about the event, check out their website here