The challenge:

1001km of 95% off-road mountain biking broken up into an 8 day stage race.

Climbing to a total elevation of 21,362m.

GPS navigation needed to get me from the northern tip to the southern point of Portugal with only as much sustenance as I could carry on my bike.

Racing against 50 solid competitors from Portugal, England, South Africa, Sweden, Belgium, Holland, Japan, America, Canada and Spain.
 
After a 2 hour flight and an 8 hour coach journey I arrived in Braganca for the start, praying that my bike had survived the journey. I felt ready, but it was very scary seeing how professional everyone else looked.
I just wanted to get riding.
A short practice ride (in a thunder storm) gave us a chance to use our GPS and follow the map.
Now I was ready to race.
 
Stage 1 – 141km

Lined up at the start-line, the temperature felt pretty cool. A fair smattering of cloud was protecting us from the full force of the morning sun. Setting off down the road felt great, if not a tad daunting. Over 1000km of solid mountain biking lay ahead over the next 8 days. The previous months preparation had come down to this moment. The bike felt great and my legs felt rested and fresh.
It didn’t take long for the sun to burn through and soon enough we were sweating up the first climb. Propelled by the excitement and adrenalin I probably attacked the first hill a bit strong, but I felt comfortable on the loose track and passed quite a few of the early starters.

Stage 1 gives you a good insight into the rest of the race - river crossings, steep climbs, mud, dusty trails, loose descents, rough tracks and mad dogs that chase you off their patch.

The constantly changing conditions were already affecting the bike. The wetting and drying of the chain was causing it to suck up into the chain ring and jam the whole rear mech. Initially this was an occasional nuisance, but as time went on it started happening more often. I’d forgotten to pack my chain lube on day one (a mistake I wouldn’t make again) so couldn’t do anything about it. Eventually the chain began to jam every four or five pedal strokes, and each time I had to pedal backwards to free it. On one particularly steep climb I couldn’t free the chain and began to lose balance. I tried to unclip from the pedal and step off the bike, but unfortunately the cleat spun and wouldn’t free itself. In what probably looked like a hilarious moment, all I could do was go down with my bike, sideways, my shoe wedged in the pedal facing the wrong way. Now I was left in a difficult situation. I couldn’t ride because of the chain suck and the shoe facing the wrong way, I was still 30km from the day 1 finish point with 8km to the next checkpoint….I ended up walking the 8km to the checkpoint with one barefoot.

Not finishing the stage meant I was given the maximum time allowance of 11 hours. Annoying since I was feeling ok. I made the most of the post-stage gazebo buffet and headed for an early night, feeling a little less chipper than when I had set off.
 
Stage 2 – 111km

On paper this stage looked horrible. With the start generously positioned on a 20% hill, and with not very much to look forward to over the first 40km (uphill all the way) I wasn’t really feeling great as we raced away from the town of Freixo. Also, I now had a different position for my right foot. Two mechanics had managed to dislodge my shoe from the pedal, but the original cleat position was shredded. I had a ride-able shoe, but the new position made me worried for my knee and ankle.

After a few kilometres we rode deep into a narrow, precipitous gorge. Not feeling confident about my ability to ride the technical singletrack descent, complete with switchbacks and big drop, I chose to carry my bike. Others were more bullish, resulting in some nasty looking crashes. After pushing out from the gorge over large granite steps and overgrown, spikey thicket, we climbed up through sticky vineyards, up into the Castelo Rodrigo fortress and out onto the plains, locally known as “The Oven”. I was riding with another Brit, Paul West, who had been one of the kamikaze gorge riders, and we were making good time, averaging over 20km/hr for the last couple of hours.

I still managed to fit in my second crash in two days. Turning right at a fork in the track, my front wheel collided with the only rock in sight and sent me flying. Miraculously only a slight graze to the knee and, more bizarrely, scratches on top of my shoulder. My time for the day put me in the middle of the pack, and with my bike back on form I felt substantially more buoyed. But it was beginning to heat up, and the tan lines were starting to show.

Stage 3 – 110km

A tough start with two very steep climbs should have lead into a quick finish, however, after hitting a deep river crossing I lost the ability to lock out my Lefty fork. This dramatically slowed any early progress as the front end bounced on everything and wasted a lot of energy.

The route climbed into the small, but dramatic hilltop village of Monsanto, accessed by a technical and steeply stepped climb on large cobbles. It was well worth the effort for the views at the top. Houses set deep into the granite outcrops overlooked miles and miles of beautiful rolling Portuguese countryside. I passed through the checkpoint and began the technical descent, the final barrier to the easy finish for the day. Much like the climb into Monsanto, the descent was over big granite rocks and wobbly cobbles. Tragedy struck as my fork had finally taken enough, completely collapsing on one of the larger steps. The bike was now totally unridable, with the front wheel only joined to the bike by the brake cable on the front disc. A slow, depressing scramble back up to the checkpoint at Monsanto followed. I had to wait for all the slower riders to pass through before getting a lift to the finish. Quite a rubbish moment.

Stage 4 – 108km

My bike was now the subject of a lot of attention. Camera phones were out, and a great deal of tutting and head shaking done. Comments like “wow, I’ve never seen that happen before” didn’t make me feel much better. After a long discussion with the race mechanic and organiser, and various late phone calls to local bike shops, it was finally decided that my bike could go no further. I already knew that. So… in rolled my new ride. Borrowed from one of the course marshals, I would be continuing on a little titanium hardtail with oldschool RockShox Judy forks. Not exactly a machine built for comfort over this terrain, but I had no choice. It was also considerably smaller than my bike. So much smaller in fact that the seat post was high enough for the mechanic to express a concern that it may snap off.
Still, I had no choice and set off on the new bike.

Without doubt the most painful day of cycling I have had. The lack of rear suspension meant I was feeling every little bump in the course, every pebble. Consequently I was now putting more weight on my feet to keep my backside off the saddle. Various river crossings and the ever increasing intensity of the heat were making my feet swell. This was excruciating and meant I had to cycle the last 30km with my shoes undone, something that I would have to do until the finish.

The sting in the tail of this stage was a steep climb over cobbles and steps into another hilltop castle village. I gritted my teeth and rode into the finish with my body in pieces and thoroughly dreading the next four days.
 
Stage 5 – 160km

The longest day. Feeling weary and sore as we set off was not great. The evening before had been a manic attempt to repair my body. Recovery drinks, food, creams and massage gels – we had all turned into massive hypochondriacs. I was now paranoid to wear anything other than one pair of lycra shorts (the pair with any padding left). It was impossible to get them washed and totally dry each night, so putting on wet clothes to start each day did nothing to aid my mood.

This stage contained a few more road sections, and I made a real effort to push hard where the going was easy, and made pretty good time. Only stopping to fill up water once meant that I was suddenly a few places higher up the field and gave me the opportunity to latch on with a couple of the faster riders.

With about 30km to go my front brake fell apart, but with no technical sections left, it was easy enough to ride safely in to the finish and I probably only lost a bit of time, searching in the bushes for the part that had fallen off.

It was a tricky decision – go hard and have longer to recover, but risk burning out; or go easy and have less recovery time, but maybe feel fresher tomorrow. My competitive edge came through, and I spent the evening relaxing in the hotel swimming pool, soothing my muscles after the longest time spent in the saddle so far.

Stage 6 – 140km, fast and flat.

Not a great start to the day. I discovered on the way to breakfast that my bike had suffered a puncture on the ride from the finish to the hotel the night before. Rushing at the startline, I managed to cycle off without my glasses, so began the day dead last.

The first 20km were a flat road section so I pushed really hard and caught the lead group, thinking that I could get pulled along whilst the going was easy. Unfortunately the effort to stay attached to the group massively outweighed any benefit of riding with them, so I dropped back when the road section finished.

It was brutally hot, with an average temperature of 33 degrees and a max of 42. Stopping to reapply sun cream may have held me up, but I was grateful for the rest after the exertions of the previous day. The riding was easy, the tracks pretty smooth, and it was the first time that I felt comfortable on the new bike, well at least as comfortable as the cramped-up position would let me.

I finished quite weakly, but with a reasonable average speed for the day considering how hot it had been. The trails had changed dramatically. Any lingering rain puddles had now given way to a loose, and particularly dusty, surface. 

Stage 7 – 134km, One Foot in The Algarve

Today’s route profile looked awful. The last 40 km in particular showed some solid climbs. Including one that was supposedly the toughest of the whole week - 25% for 4km on rough forest logging roads.

I felt slow, and the first 40km were blisteringly hot, but pretty easy riding and I just ticked the kilometres over, in no mood to push myself hard.

The main climb, up through dense eucalyptus trees, was now within sight, dominating the skyline. I stuck the bike in granny and hit the main slope. I had to lean right forward to stop the front wheel coming up and rolling me backwards down the hill. I kept going up, and up, and soon was past the toughest section. I was well pleased, and thought that reaching the top in one go was well on, but suddenly all the sweat from my helmet collected in my eyes and blinded me. I had to step off. It was like lemon juice in the eye. Like doing a tequila suicide.

Mountain biking is mentally tiring as much as it is physically exhausting. You must concentrate the whole time on where your front wheel is going. Coming down a short but steep slope today, not really paying attention because the surface was really smooth, I took a bend and planted the front wheel in a deep section of sand at about 30k/hr. I lost total control, the bike jerked wildly and I clattered my knee into the stem, giving me a dead leg, which I had to ride with for the rest of the day. Somehow I managed to stay on.

Later in the day, one of the leaders was taken to hospital with a broken collar bone, the third big crash of the week. Previously, on the same descent that caused my bike to give up, someone had come off and broken their femur.

A steep but easy climb on roads gave us some dramatic views over the Algarve, and it felt good to relax all the way down into the finish. Although at some points I was going too fast for my GPS to refresh itself and I took a couple of annoying wrong turns.

So, on the eve of the final day, with one foot in the Algarve, I could almost smell the sea.

Stage 8 – 95km

One more evening of washing my kit, one more evening briefing, one more night of frantic recovery… this was the last section of our 1001km journey.

What a way to finish. I was impatient to finally see the sea, and frustrated by the first 50km of forest tracks, through which I was whimpishly slow and fearful of anything happening to myself or the bike.

As I climbed a short hill, and looked to my left, miles and miles of cliffs and wide sandy beaches sprawled for as far I could see, through my salt-encrusted eyes. It was a great moment. I had survived the mountains, the wide, scorching plains, forest tracks, technical, rocky singletrack, the aching climbs and the tricky descents on sand and rocks, and I had survived being chased by so many crazy Portuguese dogs. I reached this point, sunburnt, filthy and tired, and sucked in the ocean air. For once my lungs weren’t filled with dust, or flies.

40km of amazing coastal trails now lay in front of me. Beautiful singletrack over cliffs, locally known as the “G-String” gave some refreshing and exposed riding, but my bike still had one more trick up its sleeve. With three decent climbs to go the cable to my rear mech snapped, leaving my with just three gears to finish the race. I wasn’t too fussed. Happy to take a bit longer and soak up the final part of the journey. Rolling into the finish on the beach, my recovery drink was replaced with a cold beer and the dip in the pool replaced with a dive into the sea. A perfect way to end the week. 

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