It would be fair to say that summer 2024 in the UK has been pretty miserable. Unrelenting coldness, greyness and dampness have been the dominant weather conditions. It was utterly miraculous then that when Claire Frecknall headed to Wiltshire to participate in the 2024 ENVE Stone Circle event, the weather gods smiled benignly on her. Nearly 160 km of champagne gravel was on the cards, but would she survive the chalk-ruts-of-doom, dodge the errant deer or avoid the crippling sunstroke? You’ll have to read on to find out….

Our alarm was set for 04.30 and by the time we had rolled over, bleary-eyed, to peep through the curtains of the van there was already a warm pink glow in the sky. The first wave of riders were nearing Stonehenge already. Others rode past us on their way up the field to the start line at Old Sarum, an iron-age hill fort just outside of Salisbury, that provided the stunning setting for the ENVE Stone Circle Gravel event. We arrived late the night before, meaning that we missed the Friday evening hill climb race, but had got there just in time to register at the sign-in tent, ready for an early start.

The 220 km ‘Monumental’ route riders were all well under way by the time the sun peeped over the horizon. It was our signal to leave the comfort of bed and prepare ourselves for the more civilised start time of our chosen ride. We had gone for the middle option of the event - the 155 km ‘Historic’ route, although the distance had sneakily increased to 159km at the last minute to detour around a horribly overgrown jungle of nettles and brambles that even a team armed with strimmers were unable to clear.

We couldn’t quite believe the day we had woken up to - it’s a rarity in the UK to sit outside making coffee at 6 am in just short sleeves and not be worrying about how many layers we needed to wear. The forecast was fantastic all day, but despite this, I still felt the need for some security and shoved my Shakedry waterproof into my bar bag just as we left for the start line, this is England after all.

We were gradually set off in waves of around 12 people between 6.30-7.30 am, which was a relaxed and stress-free way to start a large event and also relieved the pre-ride pressure on the coffee van and toilets. Without the usual stress, panic and chaos of a mass start, there was no need to jostle for position and we were able to pick our own lines, overtake safely and find our rhythm over the first few kilometres. It hadn’t started so well for the man spotted wheeling his bike back up the first hill though. He had a bike in one hand and a sealant-splattered tyre in the other. Event sponsors Saddleback did a good trade in tyres as the day went on…

After a relaxing start to the day, it was upon hitting the first grassy field where the carnage began. Coming from the South Downs means I am accustomed to riding deep chalk ruts. Accepting that your trajectory is no longer your decision as you rail along the narrow groove like a Scalextric car is hard enough when you can see the path in front of you. Add in lots of concealing long grass to the mix and you’re purely going by 'feel' alone and if you try to fight it, you’re probably coming off. Which is how over the next couple of kilometres we passed four crashes. Most resulted in just a bruised ego and a laugh, but one poor guy was lying on his back groaning as the rider who found him phoned an ambulance.

Approaching Stonehenge, there were marshals to stop traffic on the busy A road to allow us to cross (a luxury that continued throughout the day). The condition for us passing so closely by the ancient monument was that riders were instructed to dismount and walk along the path… a perfect opportunity to take the most iconic photo of the day and conveniently early in the day to get a clear shot before the coachloads of sightseers arrived. At the gate we remounted and rode past the ramshackle mix of vans and tents that form a semi-permanent hippy settlement along the rutted byway that leads along to the Larkhill military estate. This was a sign we would soon be entering the Salisbury Plain military training area for our fix of delicious ‘champagne’ gravel.

I’d previously ridden across Salisbury Plain as part of a poorly timed late-season King Alfred’s Way trip and the inclement weather we faced had made it a character-building experience. Vast, open countryside with little in the way of shelter means the headwinds here can be beastly. Luckily, event organisers Hotchillee had been blessed by the weather gods and today it was an entirely different experience with wall-to-wall sunshine and only a light breeze. 

If you’ve bought the deep-section carbon rims with the dream of riding the wide-open fast gravel roads of Kansas, but don’t have the budget for the flights (or the entry fee) this is the place to come. The miles tick by fast and dust kicks up as packs of riders steam along across the plains on wide tracks that stretch as far as the eye can see. It’s proper ‘roadie gravel’ and the surface is incredibly smooth running and pothole free, impressive given that they are regularly battered by convoys of tanks and trucks during military training exercises. Spent shell casings lie scattered on the gravel, shimmering like gold in the morning light and red flags fly at field edges signifying where live firing exercises are taking place. Uniformed soldiers sat guarding the entrances and the portaloos placed for their use proved to be a useful facility for some Stone Circle riders too. 

By mid-morning, the heat of the sun had started to build and after what seemed like an endless winter of cold grey and rainy weather, I couldn’t have been happier to feel some actual warmth on my skin. It might have been late June but it was like we had skipped the whole of spring and woken up on a perfect summer’s day. This of course meant that at the first food stop, there were a bunch of riders slathering themselves in the provided suncream and complaining about it being too hot, as is the English way.

After leaving the Plain we dropped down to Warminster, the only town on the route, but too soon after the well-stocked feed station to warrant a café stop. From here we entered the welcome shade of the tall fir trees of Longleat Forest where some short punchy climbs hit us as we approached 100km and it felt like a lot of us were starting to suffer. Conversation was dulled as we stared at the back wheel of the rider in front and the silence was only broken to question a turning and ask “How far to the next food stop?” A few riders were off and pushing on some steep sections, only lifting their heads to swig the last drops of water from their bottles.

Feed zone two was at King Alfred’s Tower at 101km and marked the route split between the Monumental and Historic routes, it looked a little like the aftermath of one of the military training exercises we had ridden past earlier. Tired riders were sprawled on the grass, bloodied arms and legs were strapped and bandaged by the medical team, while a mechanic was on hand to help with lubing squeaky dry chains or fixing any mechanicals picked up along the way. Those who got over-excited during the fast gravel section this morning were now feeling the consequences of riding above their comfortable pace to keep up with a pack and I overheard numerous conversations about dropping down to the shorter route or people telling friends to go on without them so they could ride at their own speed.

One man stood leaning against a tree looking dazed, the front wheel of his bike had folded completely in half after he’d hit a deer that ran out in front of him. He had miraculously escaped uninjured and was fortunately insured for the damage to his bike, but his day had been cut abruptly short. We later found out at the evening’s prize-giving that he had been given a new POC helmet and free entry to next year’s event and hopefully a chance to enjoy the full route rather than re-live the trauma.

The National Trust’s Stourhead estate was awash with families and their elderly mothers enjoying a jolly nice day out. Some of them looked none too pleased about the stream of cyclists passing by, but we were soon out of their way and into fields and farmland heading east again back towards Salisbury. There were a few hiccups along the way, misroutes into stinging nettles and barbed wire, the wrong side of fence lines, a group of Londoners who hadn’t quite grasped the concept of how to open farm gates and the standard issue man who felt the need to give me a gearing excuse as to why he was off his bike and pushing as I rode past him on a steep grassy climb.

On the final stretch along a long ridgeline byway we joined two other riders, one of whom was a very powerful guy who still had the legs and the one behind was visibly struggling but was the only one of the pair with the GPX route, so was desperately clinging to his mate’s wheel and was shouting directions at him as and when needed. They were pleased to have the extra support and we rode together to the end, all of us tucked in for a welcome tow from the front rider along one final bit of road before a cheeky footpath cut through back on the gravel towards the finish line at Old Sarum.

The festival atmosphere was in full swing by the time we arrived, with the komoot team on hand to offer cheers, whoops and beer vouchers to the finishers. The DJ played tunes and food trucks were busy serving hot meals, ice-cream and smoothies. Bikes lay dumped and dusty as their owners lounged in deck chairs and it’s probably the first time this year I’ve chosen to sit in the shade, although this was only partly heat related - the presence of two very cute and squiggly cocker spaniels waiting for their dad’s return was the deciding factor.

Once showered and changed, we relaxed in the sun with fellow riders, meeting up with a handful of familiar faces including one (usually über-organised) friend who had ridden the entire route in hiking boots and a pair of clip-on pedal covers after forgetting her cycling shoes - a mistake she won’t be repeating again in a hurry. More cold beers were sunk before tired riders gradually excused themselves from the party… shuffling off to bed for sweet dreams of long summer's days, golden light and dusty trails.

When we awoke that dream was over as the mizzle and wind had returned to make the previous day’s Stone Circle gravel experience seem all the more magical.

Totally ace photos courtesy of @Jo Burt