Intro (written the day before the race)
Tomorrow, I depart on an epic 2,000 km bikepacking, the 5th edition of the Trans Pyrenees Race (TPRno5). While the distance may seem daunting, the real challenge is the 40,000m of elevation gain. It’s essentially riding your bike all day, stopping as little as possible, sleeping an adequate amount and eating as much as your stomach allows. I’ve been preparing for this event for the last 3-4 months; acquiring/testing gear, researching/planning the route and plenty of training rides. Do I feel 100% ready? Definitely not – but for sure, I’m way more prepared than I was 3 months ago.
Why sign up for such an insane event? Well, for one, the Pyrenees are stunningly beautiful. Every time I visit, I want to experience it more fully, deeply and for longer. Well, spending 16 hours a day on a bike is probably the best way to do that! I remember discovering this event – reading about the course and being amazed. The second portion of the route follows the legendary Raid Pyrénéen, a bike course established in 1952 by a local French cycling club. It traverses 18 of the most infamous cols, including epic Tour de France climbs such as Col du Tourmalet. This ride was already on my cycling bucket list! As I read through the event website I realized that the deadline to apply was that same day! Not only that, it was in less than an hour! I said ‘YOLO’ and frantically went through the rigorous application process which included multiple exam-like questions with real world ultra cycling scenarios to be sure that each applicant fully understood the absurdity of the event that they were signing up for. Long story short, I got in and hear I am.
It’s an organized race – so there are others doing it with you – but it’s fully self supported. There’s no resupply van or sending packages ahead. We can only use publicly available services. Some people sleep in a bivy, some in hotels and some just take quick naps in a bus stop. Most riding will be alone. It’s a battle with yourself more than anything. Of course, you see other riders before, during and after the event – and the camaraderie in this community is really special. We’re all in it together and we all do it for different reasons. Each person rides their own ride.
For me, these ultra cycling races are the perfect model for expressing my (hopefully healthy) addiction to cycling, movement, novelty, travel, challenge, problem-solving, preparation, bikepacking gear nerdery and adventure.
The race itself is a never-ending drama; at times ecstatic, miserable, happy, annoyed, in pain, sleepy but rarely bored. Always alive. It’s a constant feast for the eyes, new villages, foreign worlds, awesome nature. The highs and lows are as extreme as the elevation profile of this course. You choose your own adventure – “Do I stop and resupply here or push hard to the next restaurant?” Your bike breaks, how do you fix it? My knee hurts, how do I adjust my posture to alleviate the pain? You’re constantly doing something, seeing, pedaling, fixing issues, dialing in the comfort, looking for food. There’s enough structure to give you the motivation to continue, to push on. With a regular bike tour – there’s infinite flexibility, it’s easy to just take it easy. With these races, there’s always the sense of urgency that propels you forward.
You go through it alone but you see other people. Although we can’t technically help each other (unless life threatening), it’s always special to see others who share in the suffering (fun) – to commiserate with them, if only for the legally allowed amount of time to ride together.
In the end, everyone is battered, bruised, exhausted but happy. Some people finish, others scratch. But we all went through it together. We are bonded by the experience, we share stories, eat good food and relish in the insanity of what we just tried to do.
I hope to qualify for a GC finish – that is, pass through all the checkpoints before the expiration time and complete the course in time for the finisher party. Whatever the results are, I’m just happy to have a legitimate excuse to ride my bike in the mountains for 8 days.
Bike gear and setup on Dotwatcher’s Bikes of Trans Pyrenees Race 2025 article.
Day 1
The nervous energy is off the charts. Months of preparation and anticipation had led to this day. The night before was a struggle – I tossed and turned all night. Last minute adjustments. Double and triple checking all the gear that I would be bringing. When I discovered my light cable had come undone, I frantically visited a few bike shops before finally getting it sorted out (the bike shops here are super friendly – they both fixed my issue with no charge).
Awake at 4AM to eat breakfast and calmly pack the bike. The whirring of freehubs as I approach the start line. I meet a fellow Californian on the way, feeling relaxed and calm as we chatted.
The atmosphere at the start line is subdued — everyone cycling through the same mix of excitement, fear, dread, and joy at finally starting this thing. I feel at ease and ready to go. There would be no more adjustments to be made.
The city streets are quiet except for the quintessential whirring of bike wheels and a few exuberant youths, still riding high after a night of partying at la discoteca.
My start wave is off! Follow the course, stay in the bike lane, stop at stop lights. It is slow going. As a group, we all stop at the light and it is eerily silent. Everyone is focused and ready to ride.
I remind myself to ride my own ride — stay in my power zone. I feel calm and collected. No more nerves, just time to execute, push the pedals forward.
After hours of riding in darkness, the route suddenly turns to singletrack. Some sketchy twists and turns through the muddy and steep Basque countryside. I slow down – there would be no crashes this early in the race for me! I later heard that someone had destroyed their derailleur hanger, which then got caught in the wheels, bending it beyond recognition and ripping out several spokes – what a way to start the race!
Before I knew it, I am alone. Riding through beautiful via verde tracks and spooky tunnels. I diligently eat a few nuts, rice crackers and a gel each hour to be sure my energy levels were topped up.
I am focused on continuous movement and minimizing stopping time. I quickly check my waypoint card where I had calculated where I would be stopping for resupply and at what time. I am slightly behind schedule – 30 minutes or so – but that’s fine. It’s still early in the race.
I settle into the rhythm, after a few hours I put on some music to keep my spirits up. Just keep moving forward, ride safe and consistently.
There is a beautiful sunrise over the Basque mountains.
Finished parcours 1, check! First resupply at a gas station. Right on my track, everything is going according to plan. I make my first stop after about 4 hours. It is a textbook and nearly perfect resupply. I am efficient and quick. Bathroom break. Load up on sugary drinks, chips, and a few snickers bars. Less than 15 minutes later, I’m back on the road. I check my card – 30-60 minutes behind. That’s ok! I’m still optimistic about the pacing.
The blur of pedaling — excited, a bit restless, my mind racing. Leaving audios and videos for friends and family. Voice memos for myself. Listening to music. I’m highly stimulated and want to share it with people. I realize I need to focus on simply riding and being present.
Before I know it, I’ve gone through 3 comunidades: País Vasco, Navarra and Aragón. I see a Camino de Santiago (Somport variation) that I did years ago. The memories come flooding back. I’m drawn to this land. Passing through the beautiful Valle de Arce — fall colors exploding before my eyes. The scenery is pastoral, rolling hills. It’s overcast – the colors are muted. Not quite in the Pyrenees but things are getting quite rural. I occasionally see other riders, but it is rare. We always exchange a quick wave but never more. Each person rides their own ride. I divert off the main road and find myself in an epic river valley, steep jagged rocky cliffs on either side. It’s stunning.
Body and bike are solid. There are a few knee twinges but it gets smoothed out with some focused pedaling and good form.
At 200km it’s time for another resupply at a supermarket. I stock up for the possibly long night that I have ahead of me. At this point, my stomach feels a bit bloated and full but no pain. I know I need to keep eating. I load up on crackers, yogurt, chips, soda. This resupply is a bit more lethargic and distracted. I wast too much time hunting for a regular Fanta — the dreaded sugar-free version lurking everywhere. I load my bike up with all the food as fast as possible and eat while doing it. I can’t help but think I’m still spending too much time with this stop. I’m about 90 minutes behind pace – not bad but also not trending in the right direction. I focus on the task at hand – arrive at checkpoint #1 to stay in the General Classification.
The sun falls and night settles in. The mild bloating in my stomach slowly transitions to full on cramps, pain and severe aching. I struggle to eat food. It’s an absolute motivation killer. This has happened to me before! I should have known by now! Was it too many gels? Too many calories? Too much quantity? I don’t have the brainpower to analyze the situation – the pain is overwhelming and very uncomfortable. I push on, knowing I need to reach the checkpoint.
It’s past 10p.m. and I finally reach the checkpoint. It is a steep incline just to arrive and my motivation and mental state is at an all-time low. I get my brevet car stamped and try to eat some food. I drink a juice at the bar and chat with the barman – a New Yorker who happened to meet a Spanish women, fall in love and move to her tiny village. Life can be crazy sometimes.
I’m not ready to sleep and my stubbornness kicks in – I have more km’s to cover – I need to at least attempt to make progress on the mandated gravel section ahead – parcours 1. After a 30 minute break, I pull myself together and continue onward.
The stomach cramps continue, unabated and the gravel is quite nasty. Steep, loose rocks and hardly rideable. I’ve become a snail — pushing the bike, riding a few meters, then pushing again. I can’t eat and my stomach hurts. It’s a terrible feeling. I can’t focus on much else except slowly moving forward.
Eventually, I realize I need to lay down and sleep. Moving so slowly is counterproductive. I go into “look for relatively flat ground” mode and eventually see another rider attempting to sleep on an offshoot trail. He’s in pain too, lying on an emergency blanket and complaining of “cramps” – not sure if it’s stomach or body cramps but he’s clearly suffering as well. I take solace knowing that I’m not the only one struggling and I wish him good luck. I quickly set up camp down the road. Diligent with setup and hygiene, I was in my sleeping bag within 30 minutes, slowly slipping into unconsciousness.
