ATLAS MOUNTAIN RACE – 2023 – an Epic Fail … but will I be back ?

ATLAS MOUNTAIN RACE 2023

A Journal of a Failure

Normally people write their accounts from beginning to end, but I think I need to tell my story kind of in reverse so it may be a bit hard to follow, but as the end was where I could reflect in detail, I thought it might be more interesting to start there and retrace my steps.

OK I failed at what I set out to do, but nonetheless I went on an adventure.  A huge adventure that took me to ‘places’ I have never been before.

Upon reflection, this adventure opened a book that I never knew existed. A book that I feel I have picked up and just flicked through the first pages, read the beginning and had my mind opened, my appetite whet with the beauty of the vistas, the country, the culture and the people of Morocco and that of Ultra distance Cycling events.

This book, now opened, is willing me to turn another page, to see more, to experience what I missed by scratching from the Race. This book is driving me to push myself further, harder, to prepare better and to achieve what I originally set out to do.

I don’t think I can put this book down, I need it as a guide, a manual for me to learn and improve. A page turner that I need to reach the final page.

I first found out about the Atlas Mountain Race when my friends, and brilliant riders Mick Collins and Mitch Jones did it on its inaugural running in 2020, but this book was opened for me by Nelson Trees the organiser of the Atlas Mountain Race and by turning the few pages I have but flicked through in a short time, I have already met some amazing individuals, made some close new friends and been introduced the hard way to long distance endurance cycling and the beauty of Morocco.

As I sit in the endless cafes and restaurants of Essaouira sipping the fresh, unbelievably sweet green mint tea and tucking into another amazing tagine, I reflect upon what might have been.  I sit still annoyed with my decision to scratch from the Race, not just annoyed, but a slight feeling of embarrassment and failure.

I know I now need to turn to redemption. I simply cannot allow myself to fail, it’s not in my nature. I need to go back.

Thinking back, I realise that this disappointment stems from not being forced out of the race with a failure of machinery, an injury or a total physical breakdown that I could not turn another pedal stroke, but from the fact that I made the decision myself to call it a day.

It’s true I was broken, I was ill, I was tired and my lungs were scared from the dry freezing oxygen deprived air from the incredible climb over the Atlas Mountains with a wheezing and cough that I knew would only get worse.  I scratched because I knew I would deteriorate, I was already riding erratically and becoming unsafe and even though this is a self supported race and the agreement is you are ‘on your own’ – unless it’s a vital medical emergency – I felt I would still have become a liability to the Race Organisers.

As I slept in the corner of what I can only loosely describe as a Restaurant with 3 other riders in the remote village of Immasine, I was woken at 4 am by two of the riders packing up to try to push on to CP2 (Check Point 2).

These friendly, amenable gentlemen (Patrik and Davide) and I had passed each other several times up to this point with both of them suffering with mechanical issues, and as they got ready my heart was telling me to get up with them, to push on, to continue.

But my brain (which is not normally the case) told me that I simply would not reach the next CP which was another 344 KM away over the same difficult terrain and had a time limit of just over 48 hours before ‘the Snail’ would catch me and I would be withdrawn from the event anyway.

They did make CP2 but scratched shortly afterwards and they were much better riders than me.

I had arrived in Essaouira on a convoluted  8 hour double coach trip after riding on the main road 65km with a great guy called Albara from Saudi who had also scratched, to Ouazaraoute (where they filmed StarWars) from my finishing point, and after a couple of nights in a hotel there, back via Marracesh on a CNR Coach and then from there to Essaouria. These coach journeys really let me see another aspect and great views of this amazing country.

I handed in my ‘Spot Tracker’ at the finish hotel and made my way to the incredible, beautiful, vibrant, exciting old town in the ancient Medina.  To say I fell in love with this place is an understatement. I’m not sure if it was my melancholy but I was just so pleased to feel secure and comfortable.  This town is beautiful and such a relaxing laid back change from the over-buzz and pressure of Marrakech.

Following the talented, strong, brave and fearless riders on Instagram, Dot Watcher and the AMR website who were still going only added to my feeling that I should / could have continued especially as my chest and breathing started to improve.

But there were other ‘reasons’ or ‘excuses’ of why I failed.

I did treat the event seriously, I took advice, I researched, I watched YouTube videos and from the experience of my 1924 mile 21 day Stalag IVB Europe ride last year, I knew how hard it would be ….. I was told not to over think it as it’s just another bike ride …. BUT …. simply my bike (for me), even with the gearing and suspension modifications I made was simply not up to the job.

I was running 36 / 46 as my lowest gear and from after event discussion with the organiser, and other Riders, I accept that this was ‘simply nowhere near’.

Many people were running 30 or 32 front linked with 50 or even 52 rear …. But not just this, they were on full suspension or hardtail MTBs with big front travel and tyres around 2.25 or 2.5 inch that offered more grip and comfort compared to the 40mm which was literally the biggest that I could squeeze into my Gravel Frame.

Not only this, but the new Rudy RockShox Gravel forks that I fitted, did help soak up some bumps, but they seriously altered the handling of this normally brilliant bike and not only could I not steer it in the right direction to keep on the smoothest, safest parts and missing the big rocks on the climbs, but also I got awful ‘wobbles’ on downhill sections and it was pretty terrifying at times.  I think what has happened is that the geometry has changed the rake angle and shortened the wheelbase making it very twitchy.

Lessons learned.  Bikes are designed to work as they are.

I had great support from Tailfin Cycling, and the kit is just awesome, so well made, so versatile and secure, but it was my own inexperience that caused me a slight issue in that I tried to pack as much equipment as I had into the smallest and minimum about of bags.

This doesn’t sound much of a problem, but fitting it all back in, packing it exactly the right order is a real chore and effort and another lesson learnt that I need to use my bigger bags, so everything is not just not jammed in.

I also need to ensure that I have small bags easily accessible for items like snacks and sweets and camera. Easy access is so important.  Regardless of my own shortcomings on the packing, the Tailfin kit is simply MINT !!

 

DAY 3.

The last of my own leg of the route was a 13 hour trek that started with waking up in the most beautiful place, freezing cold after a full 9 hours in my bivvy.  This was maybe too long, but I really needed the rest.  The view afforded me the most amazing sunrise vista over harsh and hostile, but beautiful and untouched terrain. I was just so tired I kept putting off getting out my bivvy.

I was moved into action by a group of new friends including Alex who I had met at the start who had caught me up as they had set off that morning in the dark, and it was great to have a chat and Vlad took a great photo which I really appreciate and really shows the wilderness that you encounter.

This part of the ride seemed to be going OK and I was fairly positive after my long kip, but soon the hills made me realise my lungs were not in any useable condition.

On such a lonely and isolated ride, your mind picks up on so many different things. At one point, only on the really steep hills that I had to get off and walk, I noticed some tracks in the dust of a shoe print without a cleat alongside the tyre tracks.  This mystery suddenly solved itself when I realised that this ‘pattern’ I had seen a day before and belonged to a lovely rider called Soonan Park, who like me (but even worse) had misjudged his equipment and the severity of the terrain and climbs. We had passed each other several times as one rested or slept and the other continued and it was these prints that gave me a real incentive not to dismount. My thinking was if there were no footprints then Soonan had ridden it, and my thought was “If he can, then I can”. It gave me a real boost on the hills.  I’m now in contact with him via social media and it’s another friendship struck up from mutual pain.

I know Soonan scratched too but he too has already purchased a Hardtail and I will be seeing him again next year  … at the Finish !!

Riding through the villages giving high fives to the smiling young children who seemed to have no possessions but seemed to be so, so happy was great.

I came across three young girls waving  enthusiastically, as I passed and they offered me fresh oranges and I accepted.  When you are tired its little moments like this that make it seem so worthwhile.

At one point I came across two young lads about 12 and 14 at a guess, and as I walked my bike up this very steep hill, they asked for a selfie and although my French is limited, after asking how far to the next Café, it was clear that one of them was offering me some food and rest at his parents house. I was overwhelmed with this generosity and thought to myself, sod it, accept.

We were in the tiny little village of Tamengroute.

I was taken through this little courtyard of this lovely little house and after his mother came to say hello, he then gave me some fantastic mint tea and some hot bread wrapped in a cloth with olive oil and some fragrant sort of syrup or honey.  Just beaut !… and how could I say no to him asking me to add him on WhatsApp.  Lovely young men, so kind. Made my day.

      

Probably one of the reasons I accepted this hospitality was that on a previously gruelling road section into a headwind, about 11 miles before, I stopped to see if I had any service and I checked the messages of goodwill and support that I had been sent via the DotWatcher page, WhatsApp, Instagram and Facebook.

It was weird. All my tiredness just turned to emotion and I don’t mind admitting that I had a little weep.  Even after just 2 days the solitude was getting to me, but probably heightened by my physical tiredness and lack of sleep.

I continued, refreshed and positive with the kindness of young Imram.

The next section included a lot of road works where they don’t really seem to have any diversions they just dig up the earth with huge earthmovers and you are expected to find your way past.

I soon became hungry and tired again and saw this inviting little place just south of Toundoute  called  Chezamoudou.   This food was simply amazing and such a lovely friendly host.  I will defo visit this place again.

As the night fell, I was very lucky that I emerged from walking a long way along a very stony riverbed which at times I had become lost and was running slightly off course to my Wahoo guide, but I mistakenly put this down as GPS inaccuracy.

Another lesson learned. I was slightly fearful as I seemed to get further from the correct route with larger obstacles to push the heavy bike over to try and re-find my correct path.

   

Eventually I could see the lights of Immasine, but no matter how long or fast I rode, they seemed to never get any nearer.  Another error I made at this point was not to react to the bitter cold.  Maybe it was because I could ‘see’ my destination that I assumed it would not be long, but that was not the case.

This bitter cold really seeps quickly into your soul and soon, on top of the exhaustion I was freezing. I needed shelter, I needed food and needed a bed to try and recover if there was any way to try and make it to CP2.

As I reached Immasine. In my head it would be a lively town full of restaurants and hotels, my hope were shattered. Nothing but a small restaurant of sorts where I was happy to meet with Patrik and Davide, the two riders who I had ridden close to for a large portion of the previous night and Laurent who was a previous top contender who had passed me hours earlier and was doing some of the route ‘just for fun’. But even though this reunion was pleasing, even the hot food and charcoal urn fires could not warm my soul.  I was done. Freezing and beat.

As I previously mentioned, I wanted to go with them at 4.00 am …. But my brain said NO.

I took the difficult decision to message the organisers and tell them I had decided to scratch.

Now this may not seem much, but believe me, that hurt. That cut deep.

Prior to this last full day of riding, I had enjoyed a day of mixed feelings and progress.

DAY 2.

I started at 07:45 am, slowly packing up my bivvy and my belongings on an incredibly cold and steep road. Remarkably, I was actually woken by the sound of an old Mercedes 308 type Van Mini Bus slowly and carefully descending past my bivvy spot. In the UK people wouldn’t even attempt this road in their 4×4.

It was simply freezing,  – 6 degrees C, I had no substantial ‘breakfast’ to speak of, just some Resilient Nutrition energy bars, and a cereal bar.  This was another mistake in hindsight, especially as all I had had in the previous 16 hours was a ‘Spag Bol’ a couple of hours before we started and a bowl of bean soup, some local bread and a coke in a little café in Zerken  just after midnight.

This had been my first ever ‘bivvy’ experience , I was at 5,900 ft above sea level (Ben Nevis is only 4,400 ft!) and it was dark and freezing … I still had the tags on my sleeping bag

 

Perched on a little ledge over a wall by the side of the road which another rider who had arrive there a few hours earlier (Max ? I think) was just vacating and asked me if I wanted this spot.   My initial aim was to ride all through the night to Touleout, but luckily with his advice and the fact that there was a lot more climbing so it would only get colder, I decided enough was enough.

This was actually 4.00 am local time by the time I stopped, after setting off at 6.00 pm the night before – but I kept getting confused as somehow my Wahoo only showed UK time, an hour ahead.

After only 2 and a half and a half hours sleep and another hour packing my kit away I was on my way again.

My next stop was a town called Telouet and I did know there was a hard climb and then a horrible decent known as the Old Mule Track.

What I didn’t realise was that this next section, a mere 11 miles was what was going to ruin my body and my lungs.

Climbing up over to the summit of the Tizi n’ Telouet path, I was on incredibly steep ramps, often 15 % plus but many hovering around 20% and even reaching 23%  … the surface was often as rough as it was steep, some was literally lifting your bike where the path dropped into a riverbed and then there was also snow.

On top of this, the lack of oxygen became apparent and every movement was not just difficult, but also energy sapping. As your lungs rasped to try and get the oxygen from this thin air, the cold literally ripped your throat and delicate lung tissue.  Added to this the coughing I had already started from the dust at the start, and my Asthma and this was a recipe for failure.

This climb to the summit from my bivvy was about 2600 ft in just 6 miles. Tough at the best of times.  And at the highest point it was 8450 ft above sea level. That is raw.

Just before the summit I was stopped, resting, leaning on my bike, regaining my breath in a pile of snow when I saw a Rider approaching me descending the last few hundred metres of the climb.

I did not know this at the time, but the coincidental timing of my progress and that of Gav, one of the official event photographers on his E-Bike, who stopped to chat and take a great photo, was a meeting that I will relish.  This gentleman, this talented photographer was not just interested in taking shots, but he was really interested in the people themselves, their aims, their inspirations and their backgrounds.  Later in Essaouira, I met up with Gav again over Tea and Lunch and I was absolutely thrilled to spend time in this articulate man’s company, who I can now call a real friend.  Sounds daft, but looking back, that chance meeting was a true highlight of my whole trip. AND, he’s a brilliant photographer !

If you look closely at the above image you can see the sheer scale of that climb, and there is even a tiny Rider in the photo that may even be me.

 

I eventually topped the climb after miles and hours of walking, stop start, exhausted even though I had also stopped to sleep for about 40 minutes  … which was lucky someone woke me as I set my phone alarm for 20 mins but forgot to press start.  I was just lying there around 7600 ft … fast asleep next to my bike in broad daylight.

I made another huge error here. My Wahoo had kept deciding to restart itself and ‘recover’ my current ride. This reset the unit including the Zoom on the map.

At the top, I cleaned out my cleats, rested, reset my Wahoo but didn’t zoom in. I was not accurate enough and ended up pushing down an incredibly steep rocky bank that I assumed was the notorious Old Mule Track.

Exhausted and stuck I looked up, only about 75 m and saw another Rider traversing slowly on the correct path above me.

With the lack of oxygen and my fatigue I simply could not carry my whole bike back up this ‘cliff’.   All I could do was take off all my luggage and I would have to make 2 trips.

To give you an idea of how hard this 75m was, it took me around 40 mins to get back to the path I had left 20 mins before.   A full hour of daylight wasted and muscles and lungs given another unnecessary battering.

The Old Mule Track descent was not as bad as I had been lead to believe …  it was worse … I virtually walked all of the next 4 miles, and after speaking to other riders after the event, it became clear that even the top guys  and riders on full suspension MTBs still need to walk most of this section.

There were times on the decent that you found yourself thigh deep in snow and your bike almost disappearing … the energy taken was incredible.

As I approached Telouet, I had resigned myself to already scratching … I don’t know if it was the effort, the fatigue, the lack of sleep or the thin air and no oxygen  – Telouet is still 5,800 ft above sea level –  but I had it in my fuzzy mind that CP 1 was a further 146 km away and I had no way of reaching it by 8.00 pm cut off that night.

As I turned into this remote, lofty town, I was thrilled to see shops and restaurants and I didn’t hesitate when one of the locals touting for business asked me if I wanted food.

Boy did I need food and now I had no other option but to scratch before reaching CP1  – I was gutted – I also asked him if this establishment was a Hotel and did they have a room available  and I was overjoyed when he said Yes..

But first things first, I needed grub and lots of it.  I ordered Harira – Morrocan spicy chick pea and lentil soup, Olives, Harrissa, Bread and a Tagine of Chicken Eggs and Figs. They also served me a Coke, a Coffee and the beautiful sweet sugar rich Mint Tea and even fruit for desert.

Simple joy.   As I slowly recovered (I had been there about 2 hours !!) I checked my paperwork and could not believe my eyes … CP1 was in Telouet, here !!!  not 146 km away.

I asked the kind hoteliers if there was a Restaurant called L’Auberge and they told me it was less than 1 km away. !!

I let out a little ‘whoop’ of delight …. “do you want a Room for tonight” they asked …. “No I bloody don’t” I said as I hastily packed up and retrieved my charging electrical items …

I had made CP1  #boom.

I got my Brevet Card stamped, my Tracker batteries swapped and I was on my merry way again.  Things were looking up.

Turning off the main tarmac road and after passing the amazing old village of Timsal, the climbing started again.

After finding a suitable place to ‘lighten my load’ so to speak, I was caught by two great fellas who became a big part of my whole adventure from this point on.

Patrik and Davide questioned my trye choice as soon as they met me so that put a bit of doubt in my mind, but to be fair these WTB 40mm Nanos had coped very well so far, albeit I had done a lot of pushing.

We climbed and climbed again as darkness fell and after a seemingly never-ending plateau, we started a long rough and rocky decent.

Davide had brake issues of only one brake working and Patrik also had problems, but most of the decent, their mind was taken off their own issues as they were almost laughing at my attempts to stay upright and not go off the edge or puncture as the bike was almost uncontrollable with these forks on.

As we hit the valley bottom and started to climb again, they soon found their own pace and left me behind.

I continued as far as possible, but eventually the breathing became just too difficult, the effort on the hills too much and the previous climb and evil decent had taken too much out of me.

I suddenly saw a little flatish, rock free area by the side of the track and that had my name written all over it.  Chez Rapide.

On with the head torch, I got out my foil bubble mat (to protect the bivvy and also reflect the cold), my Bivvy (an Outdoor Research Helium), my Rab sleeping bag (not the right one for the conditions), my Alpkit 120 Air Mattress, Air Pillow and Silk Bag liner. I was set.

Unlike the previous first night in a Bivvy, I decided that I would get in my ‘sleeping kit’ of a merino base layer, merino tights, merino socks and a merino hat.

I was so cold that I decided that I could get out of my cycling gear and into my sleeping gear whilst I was inside my Bivvy ….  Now I had my head torch on and honestly if anyone had seen this debacle of movement inside this confined space they probably would have died laughing or thought someone was trying to murder someone …. It took me about 20 mins and cost me so much energy.   I should have just quickly stripped off and changed outside in the cold, it would have been so much quicker and easier.

That night was magical. A beautiful bright full moon, crisp, cold and clear.   I did wake up several times freezing my nuts off and eventually ended up wearing my Rab puffer jacket in bed.

But I was comfy, I was snug and I felt totally safe.

When I woke I looked out through the ‘netting’ of the Bivvy and could just see the beautiful mountains lit by the moonlight – simply magical.

        

In the morning, I procrastinated too much, I was still so tired, so snug and feared what was ahead.   I should have been more decisive, but ended up getting about 9 hours rest I think, and I really did need it.

This ‘lie in’ in retrospect was not the best thing as all it did was mean I would be riding more in the dark the next evening.

I was just planning to get up and do a ‘time lapse’ video whilst I packed up my camp, when Alex and Vlad and a few others come over the hill and stopped for a chat.  More great people who I’ve met and Vlad took a cracking photo of me lying in my Bivvy with an amazing sunrise and view of the mountains.  Great shot.

Having never bivvied out before I was now simply loving this experience, but not 48 hours previously, I was in a fairly nice hotel, comfortable, warm even though I was a little apprehensive. But now I had bivvied out twice, both times around 5800 ft above sea level, hardly easing my way into it.

 

DAY 1

Well Marrakesh was the start point, but as the organisers had added another 200 + KM to the previous versions of this event they had allowed another few hours and this meant a 6.00 pm start.

The issue was, that although it gave you all day to prepare, there was also a lot of anxious waiting and that in itself was actually exhausting.  The other issue was that we only had approx. an hour and a half until it became dark after the start.  Not the best way to start your first ever Ultra Endurance Race.

The start was exciting, full of adrenaline as the Police blocked the roads, held up the traffic and escorted 2 10 Riders out of Marrakech on the flat tarmac roads.  This ‘peleton’ was not hanging about and even on MTB and Off Road tyres averaging over 16 mph over 23 miles and already climbing 1000 ft.

No doubt about it this was fun, but this was the calm before the storm.

Soon we turned left onto gravel and being towards the front of the middle of the pack still didn’t save me from the dust of about 90 bikes ahead of me riding the first section of fairly fast gravel.

Another hindsight lesson learned was that at that point I should have had at least a Buff over my face, if not a full face mask to stop the dust getting in your lungs and starting the damage for what was to come.

Coughing and spluttering, like many others the field soon started to string out.

I was amazed just how quickly it became dark and how the temperature dropped and how steep it became.

Soon I was alone with just my chest starting to rebel against the freezing air, my heart racing and my legs and arms suffering as the air grew not just colder, but thinner .

My error here was the way I rode.  I rode as I had to continue no matter what, as if I was actually competitive when in all honestly, if you aint gonna win it, resting, eating or even sleeping in this first section is crucial to your longevity in the event.

I soon found myself walking.  So early was all I could think. But on I trudged, on I rode, on I pedalled already dawning on me that my gearing was just not going to be good enough.  But even at this point, I was mainly still riding although little did I know of what was to come.

I rode and rode, stopping briefly to add layers and grab my snacks or just simply have a few minutes rest. I then stopped to put on my winter gloves and soon I could see the snowy peaks in the moonlight. God was it cold.

At one stage I had stopped to rest and a familiar and friendly voice shouted ‘Hey Rapid’ and I was amazed to see that it was Chris Hall.  Chris is a great Rider and the only reason that he was behind me was because he had been taken quite ill on the run up to the event.   Just looking at his pallor, his body language, he was sick.  He said he was going to find a hotel at the next village but there was none and eventually I caught up with him again at CP1 where he had reluctantly, but sensibly taken the decision to retire from the event. This event takes no prisoners and any illness or condition will be multiplied a thousand times.

I eventual crested the top of the first big climb, all off road, all gravel but a fairly good surface. Realistically, if it stayed like this it would be tough, but fine.

After a steep decent the route crossed a main road at the town of Zerkten where I stopped for my first taste of late night Moroccan hospitality.  The little restaurant offering bread, soup, coffee and coke.   I was very very lucky that I spotted my Spot Tracker literally hanging off after one of the ‘faulty’ tie-wraps had broken and the other holding on just intact.

I should have stopped here thinking about it, but I carried on alone in the dark for at least another 4 hours.

From this point it was another 2000 ft of climbing over the next 14 miles before I eventually stopped for that first night below the stars.

It was another long steep climb and my initial plan had been to get to Telouet the first Check Point which was only 78miles.  In hindsight and now knowing the terrain and conditions, there was simply no way I would have made it anyway, and it would have been daunting and for me possibly dangerous to have done it at night.

That was the point at 4.00 am that I simply needed to sleep having been up for 21 hours already.

So that was the first ‘day’ done, but what about the getting to the Start

I had arrived in Marrakesh on the Wednesday before the Race Start on the Friday which gave me almost 3 full days to get ‘sorted’ and chill.

After visiting the souks of the Old Market Place of Marrakesh where you have to have your wits about you as there is some very high pressure sales tactics, bordering on harassment at time, I built up my bike, sorted out my tyres at a local ‘garage’  and had a huge scare as suddenly my previously perfectly operating Di2 (electric gear shift change) suddenly decided not to work at all !.

Eventually after a mini panic, it was diagnosed to the ‘too tight’ positioning of the Di2 cable which had pulled out after I took the bars off to fit in the BikeBox.

The day of the Race included the well organised registration sign on process as well as equipment and bike safety check.

           

 

From this point on it was simply waiting and in its own way, with nerves and adrenalin of the unknown, actually quite tiring.   I’m hoping that next years event the organisers will change the start time to 12.00 noon at the latest as that gives everyone so much chance to settle into the ride and hopefully get to Teloulet before dark.

 

THE END

So where are we now …. Lets rewind, back to the future. Past the finish, past the amazing few days resting in Essaouira, past getting home with all the typical RyanAir weight and bag issues at the brilliant little Airport of Essaouira ….  and where I am now…..

Sat at home browsing MTBs for 2024.  Yes I’m going back, of course I am …. How can I not ?

I am hurt, my pride is stinging, ….I am better than that ….. but is it that what is driving me ?

Partly I would say Yes … but in reality …. I just want to pedal that route, I want to experience every beautiful view this incredible event has to offer over its 1333 km …. I want to encounter every road, path, trail, stone, rock, hill and decent that I missed out on, I want to feel the warmth of the Moroccan hospitality and I want to meet up with my new friends again, and friends I have yet to meet.

Whatever happens …. whether you Ride to Win or just to take part …. The route is exactly the same for all, beautiful, exciting, exhilarating, frightening and fun.  I have spoken to many people since my return who are interested in competing next year and my only advice I can give, is do NOT underestimate how hard this event is.

One on the themes you may see recurring in this piece is that of friendship ….

I met so many great people on this ride. Some briefly, some via social media and some I spent much more time with … Chris, Wendy, Zeno, Role, Soonan, Alex, Meike, Richard, Pete, Ed, Bernarda, Joakim, Albara, Vlad, young Imran, Gabi, Walter & Rebecca, Taoufik, Davide, Patrik, Guilhem, Gav … and of course Nelson.

    

It’s the friendships, the understanding of suffering and endurance that make this event so special.   Some of us completed, some of us did not ….. but none of us failed.

Hope to meet up with you all again sometime … maybe AMR 2024

The following  fantastic photos below are by @OsperyImagery and really give you a feel of the landscape and how remote it is … give them a follow on INSTAGRAM – HERE …. @OSPERYIMAGERY

Finally I would like so say a huge THANK YOU to:

TRUESAPIEN for their support and giving me something to be proud to ride for.

TAILFIN CYCLING for their generosity and incredible Technical BikePacking Equipment that is reliable, strong, secure and well designed and made – just perfect.

VELOSKIN for keeping me sore and rash free downstairs.

RESILIENT NUTRITION for supplying fantastic, easy and much needed nutrition on the go.

QUAD LOCK CASE  for a brilliant, secure case and mount to hold my phone and keep it accessible.

BLUE STRAWBERRY ELEPHANT for this fantastic website

WESTSIDE COACHING for always helping me out and keeping me focused.

KOMOOT for brilliant route guidance and route / terrain information.

OSPERY IMAGERY for some craking photos. Thanks Gav.

 

Im sure you can see why below that I want to make sure I dont miss any of this amazing scenery and come back next year.

If you fancy having a crack, I cant guarrantee you will get to the end, but I can guarantee the most amazing adventure of your life …. visit @ATLASMOUNTAINRACE on Insta for more information.