Go slow or go home. Reframing what it means to ‘win’.

Bikepacking racing isn’t for everyone, but there’s something about riding to a deadline that rewires what we think we are capable of both mentally and physically. It can bring out an inner resilience and ability to manage what we are dealt with. The recent Alps Divide bikepacking race did just that but it also made me reflect on a lifetime of being uber competitive and discovering what’s truly important. 

The Alps Divide is beauty and the beast. You’ll clock up 33,000m of elevation gain over its 1,020km, traveling from Menton on the Mediterranean coast to Thonon les Bains on Lac Léman -  a visually stunning, mixed terrain route that crosses exposed cols with descents that’ll have you whooping by their end. You can get away with a minimum 45mm tyre and rigid fork, but like many used, a hardtail MTB with a suspension fork and 2.2 tyres is an ideal combination of speed, enjoyment and comfort. 

I have spent most of my life wondering why I was ‘different’ and why I struggled with many societal norms and expectations. I was often told that I wasn’t ‘good enough’, especially in the limited assortment of school sports, and felt that I didn’t have the ability to fit in. Adventure cycling became my outlet, morphing into competitive cycling which gave me a connectivity to people, the validation (through being good at something) that I sought and a place to be accepted, having struggled academically. 

It’s only in the past couple of years have I come to understand that my mind is neuro-diverse, symptomatic of organisational dyslexia, autism/ADD and linked with that, an anxiety disorder. With this realisation, everything suddenly made sense, all the challenges I had faced. It wasn’t about being labeled, more about self-discovery - being able to rationalise why I felt at odds with the typical structures of life. It’s also opened up a channel for discussion with others, created better relationships and given me permission to be ok with what I am. I don’t have to be hard on myself anymore for what I find challenging. Focusing instead on what I CAN do. 

Aspirations of doing well at the Alps Divide were high as I have a penchant for the uphill (which of course is usually followed by an equally big descent!). Feeling dejected after having to scratch from the Accursed Race earlier in the year due to an unprecedented achilles injury, the Alps Divide was an ideal goal as work demand is busy in high season, treating athletes. Reflecting on the why and how, as we do with a DNF, lingering covid seemed to have been the underlying culprit.

Successful self-prescribed rehab got me to the start line, along with 95 other riders, hanging out on the Mediterranean coast, its deep blue waters matched by the sky’s blue hues. There was an excited energy for this inaugural edition, chat flowing freely amongst riders from across the globe. Everyone’s bike set-ups reflecting their individual aspirations for the route.  

The police-led, neutralised ride along the coast road would be the only properly flat terrain we’d encounter for a long while! The legs were hit with two consecutive 1,000m climbs and a 3rd of 1,300m, some of it technical, before ascending to near the Rifugio d’Allevena around 3am and  retreating for some shut eye. 

1,600m up, the air was damp and cold. Entering the momentary warm haven of the refuge, just as breakfast was being served, I knew all wasn’t well. The body lacklustre. Sombre thoughts weren’t welcome company as I washed down the calories with dark Italian coffee. Seeds of doubt led the way for anxiety to flood in, stirring up a mental conflict: the voices questioning my ability to meet my self-imposed goals versus the voices willing me to simply keep pedaling. I was only 124km in. 

Drawing inspiration from the numerous amazing people I’ve met over the years who manage their own challenges on a daily basis, I had to make a choice. It was go slow and make the most of this adventure or go home. Achieving my ‘win’ of a top 10 finish had already slipped away. Still, I was lucky enough to be here. I wasn’t injured. The bike was sound. I just had to believe that I was capable of finishing. 

After a few hours of being back on the bike, the weather came in, just shy of reaching the high ridge line. Drizzle became heavy downpours. Even though the Albion waterproofs do a perfect job of keeping me comfortable, and the weather out, I was sweating excessively for my level of exertion, and getting chilled - a consequence of pushing a body that was not at its best. 

Not intending to stop, the lure of Rifugio Don Barbera and its fireplace was too enticing. Arriving to a rider already drying their kit, I was offered polenta, lentil and sausage stew. I settled in to dry off and savour the hot meal. The plan was to head back out, but the storm intensified and I had to make a decision. 

Now refocused on finishing for the Saturday gathering, sitting out the storm was still going to push me back further, but I had to acknowledge my limitations in such weather and current physical state. There wouldn’t be any kudos in pushing through, just to make myself worse and ending up in Tende, 40km away, soaked through, cold and looking for a place to stay and eat. I had all of that here at the refuge. 

As more riders arrived looking for shelter and warmth, it became a small social group, which sealed my decision to stay. The loss of places became less important than enabling a finish. Then the familiar face of Stu Taylor joined the melée, rolling in on his rigid 29+. With a forecast for clear weather from early morning, riding across the Via del Sale for sunrise would be epic. 

It was. Clear, starry skies gave way to the sun’s orange glow. The subsequent warmth stirred a renewed sense of vigour to complete this adventure. Not only as a physical one, but also an adventure into the unknown, re-evaluating that need for personal validation by being at the pointy end. Once light, this old military gravel road is a visual feast, with an epic off-road descent to the hillside town of Tende.

There was no let up in the climbing for the 2nd stage (per the stages the entire route was broken down to on the Komoot app). 1,700m of vertical to reach the Col de Turini - a mixed terrain climb with a super steep start on tarmac. Familiar with the climb, the dirt descent was new to me and exhilarating, twisting and flowing back down the mountainside. 

A 1,200m climb was a ‘nice’ warm-up for the longest climb of the Divide, meandering up to the second highest point, the 2,860m Cime de la Bonette. The inner uphill athlete was doing battle however with ailing legs and an addled mind. Having a goal helped maintain focus - CP1 just on the other side of the Bonnette. 

Wildlife stirring amongst the trees broke the silence of the darkness outside of my Exposure Lights’ beam. Forward motion seemed to now be in slow-mo. Breaking down the last 10km into bite sized goals kept the anxiety from creeping in; reach the gravel section, 3km to the road, then 2km to the top. Then descend. Which of course was off-road. And chunky. 

Walking into the warmth of the bike room in CP1 was like sinking into a hot bath. My chilled body tingled as the warmth seeped in. Plus there was a hearty welcome from race director Katie, despite her own lack of sleep, alongside her mum.

Sleep was fitful despite the 240km and 6,500m of ascent. My stubbornness to reach CP1 had pushed my less-than-willing body hard. At least the timing was on-point, waking to share breakfast with fellow riders. A cold but sunny morning greeted us for a descent through the stunning Ubaye valley into Barcelonnette, continuing downwards to the edge of Lac Serre Poncon. 

Forward momentum was steady at best. Climbs offered grand views to distract from my whinging legs. The 360 degree view at the high point of Risoul ski station was exhilarating. As was the long descent. 

Once the cold started to seep in that night, I was scanning for places to pitch my tent. Rising out of the darkness, the Gîte d'Étape de Rochebrune high up in the tiny village of Souliers lured me in. There was an open doorway to a storage area for a small apartment block. Out of the wind and warmer than being in a tent, I hunkered down for some shuteye. Packing up in the morning, I was greeted by a husky and its owner leaving. Weirdly, they didn’t seem too perturbed by my presence. 

I hung around for the Gite to start serving breakfast. The lady turned out to be the owner and was dot-watching the race (as a few riders had booked ahead). For 5€, breakfast was substantial with a superb sunrise across the peaks of the Queyras from the Gite’s terrace. 

The Col des Ayes was the first of a few alpine hike-a-bikes. A moment at the col taking in the ambiance of the wild landscape reminded me of why I was here. With a quick resupply down in Briancon, the next goal was the Colle del Sommelier, the highest point of the route. Not a true col as it’s an out and back track, peaking just a few metres shy of 3,000m. It was a journey up into wild, moon-like terrain. The summit refuge offered a tempting stop, as the high winds bombarded us with sleet on this exposed plateau. With landslides having forced a re-route (the orgainsers had responded quickly and effectively) it was back down the way we rode up. Earlier than planned, I found a spot to bed down - at the bottom of a stairwell of an unoccupied seasonal rental building, dry and out of the cold.

Even with the extra sleep and keeping the calories going in, it still felt like I was fighting a losing battle. I was down. But definitely not out. 

Then the weather really changed, bringing high winds and snow above 1,900m. My saving grace was my Albion insulated light jacket, but I had to be careful not to wet it out from sweat. Fierce winds over the next col, at 2,500m, were throwing heavy sleet around like confetti, creating a blanket of white. Wearing everything for the long, non-technical descent, I still had to stop for hot drinks in Modane to douse the effects of mild Reynauds.

The situation repeated on the next climb, just as the weather upped its ante a few kilometres from the top. Stopping for too long to put on the rest of my weatherproof kit, chills and anxiety took grip. 

Living in the mountains, I know how quickly weather fronts can escalate. There’s no kudos for getting yourself into a bad situation. Already in a mental fight to keep going, I had to dig deep into my toolbox of strategies to deal with the current situation. I had to take a metaphorical step back, but at least out here there was no one to directly judge me for it. An aspect that I’d always been apprehensive about, being ‘different’. 

Taking shelter in my tent, in dry, warm clothes, I wasn’t going anywhere for a while (the weather backed off after a couple of hours - typical! But I had made peace with the decision).

Back on the bike in the early hours, I passed a small chapel on the mountainside. I felt compelled to check if it was open. It was, again - typical! This would have been an ideal shelter. I had to chuckle. 

The peak was engulfed by strong winds and snow. A stunning spot, but not a time to linger for the views! Even being less sweaty, and with all the necessary gear on, the chill set in on the descent. My body really wasn’t regulating heat well. 

I got some funny looks as I wolfed down 2 quiches and a small loaf of bread in a boulangerie in Moutiers, but it set me up for the climb to CP2 - the Refuge de la Coire at 2,059m. 

On the climb, Sian was waiting, dot watching, to pop over from home nearby to say hello to riders. The company and catch-up chat for the next couple of kilometres was welcome. It didn’t feel like I hadn’t seen her for a couple years. Riding up into a snowy and frozen landscape above 1,900m, it was a hearty welcome from volunteers Mel, Sam and their son Rémy at the refuge, set amongst surrounding peaks. Going slow meant that I could take time to enjoy conversation, the warmth, eat some hot food and dry off my kit. 

With 250km left, I wasn’t going to make the Saturday gathering. But that was ok, I was making the most of having an adventure. A significant re-route from CP2 due to the weather meant a longer descent and a more direct climb up to the Col de Joly. Nearing the top, I was surrounded by pitch black. There weren't going to be the normal views over to the Mont Blanc range on one side and the Beaufortain on the other this time. 

The last few exposed kilometres to the Joly were a fight against the severe cold every time I rode around a bend into a headwind. A section of the col’s refuge provided a tiny windproof spot to change into dry clothes for the descent. A familiar dirt track wound its way down the mountainside towards Contamines, where I camped out, just above the town. 

The Col de Voza is a steep brute and I knew what was coming as it’s my local climb. I've never walked it and was determined to not do so this time. Being stubborn has its uses, managing to keep the pedals turning all the way up and over. Keeping to the rules and not stopping at home for a fresh pair of shorts and socks, I focused on heading to Chamonix town Moody café for coffee and one of their sumptuous cakes.

The new mindset of having an adventure meant time to be able to enjoy the company of friends Greg and Jessica for coffee, devouring two cinnamon rolls in the process. Perfect mental fuel for the final 150km.

The next couple of climbs, across the border in Switzerland, were at least a steady gradient, but the chills again crept in not long after dark as the temperature dropped dramatically. Not really intending to stop before crossing back into France, a quick wander around a campsite revealed a warm changing room that was unoccupied. An opportune sleeping spot that provided welcome warmth. 

Sunrise on the climb up to the French border brought clear skies for the final day. Waiting until I was back in France to find my morning coffee, I came across an inviting place in Châtel, The Wood Café. 

The climb out of Châtel was accompanied by the sounds of riders enjoying the lift-assisted runs at the local bikepark. I took a moment out at the highest point to bask in the warm sunshine and my surroundings - rolling peaks mottled with melting snow. From this point it was 55km to finish. 55km in I had been questioning my capacity to finish.

It didn’t seem to matter that I was way off where I wanted to be timing wise. I was no longer pushing to have that validation I’d craved for so many years of my life. A little sombre that I had missed the finishers’ gathering, but relieved that I’d managed to strike the curve ball I’d been thrown - inspired by all those I know who do just that on a daily basis. 

Dropping into the village of Abondance, its centre bustling with the Sunday market. Freshly cooked chicken and some bread provided a good lunch to get me to the finish. Another rider, Millie, caught me up for a quick chat. Kudos to her for tackling the route on a rigid gravel bike! 

This final climb was no less picturesque than all the others, but the steep gravel section tugged at legs that felt like lead (A descent all the way to the finish would have been too easy!). Winding along rolling lowland gravel tracks, Lac Léman finally came into view. With both the organisers, Katie and Lee applauding everyone across the virtual finish line, it made you feel like you had been part of something creative and inclusive. Even though this was a self-supported race. 

The Alps Divide left me feeling humbled both physically and mentally, reflecting on what it means to ‘win’ and that need for validation I’ve always sought. I had ‘won’ in a sense - having made it to the shores of Lac Léman, by using the strategies I had developed over the years to manage the complexities and challenges of my neuro-diverse mind. Until a couple of years previously when I found out that I was neuro-diverse, I never knew that I had this strategic superpower to deal with my challenges. 

After a lifetime of being treated as incapable and unintelligent because I couldn’t learn or process information and learn by more typical methods, I found out that I have organisational dyslexia and an abundance of ADD’s various traits. This wasn’t about being labelled however, but about giving an explanation and an understanding about how my mind works. This has been infinitely beneficial in navigating its challenges and projecting my actual capabilities.

Neuro-diversity is sadly still faced with stigma, prejudice and misunderstanding that neuro-diverse  individuals can be dismissed before their capabilities are appreciated, instead of looking beyond their condition(s). Looking around the start of an event, we never know where others have come from to be there. Simply getting to the start line can be a win for many. 

This still prevalent lack of awareness and understanding was the driving force behind creating Performunbound.com to offer neuro-diversity education for businesses and 1 to 1, along with

health & performance coaching - enabling individuals to see what they are capable of. I bring in a wealth of personal experience as well as professional to help others and to foster better relationships and ultimately productivity within the workplace.

The Alps Divide takes you to wild places, leaving you in awe at your surroundings, where the weather can be as challenging as the route. It was also the other riders, the organisers and the photographers that made this event, lucky enough to have chatted to a few of them along the way. Plus the unexpected generosity of Gavin of Osprey Imagery after I finished. Put the Alps Divide on your bucket list. Race it or ride it. Just bring big tyres. 

Thanks to the support of;

Selwyn Bicycles

Albion Cycling

Tailfin 

WIlderness Trail Bikes

SP Dynamo

Rotor UK

Lake Cycling 

Exposure Lights