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Day 2. 147km 2336m, 9:14hrs.

After a chilly tin of creamed rice and over an hour of faff, we set off into the Heaphy, only to stop metres in, to remove our lights that we’d just fitted as the sun was up, smashing our intention to be on the trail pre-dawn. The Heaphy is an underrated backcountry trail featuring some great sections of fast-flowing trail. Unweighting the bike to dodge sharp rocks was a challenge thanks to the added weight of loaded bike bags. Today was James Rennie’s turn for an issue. As the clock struck noon, James slashed his tyre, dumping all its air and most of its sealant onto the greasy rocks. Tyre plugs were ineffective, so a makeshift tyre boot was fitted, and James completed his fix with multiple wraps of duct tape around the wheel and tyre. Sure, it was unorthodox, but it held for the remainder of the trip!

The diversity of terrain through the Heaphy is unreal, from trees hung heavy with moss to stunted alpine growth and, finally, we were spat out on a Nikau palm-lined beach on the West Coast. Riding the road for a solid stretch down the coast, our only solace from the headwind was hiding behind Sam, who by some margin was the tallest and strongest of our group. The sun was slowly starting to dip as we came to our next resupply, the Karamea Four Square.

Now fully loaded with food, speculation was rife as to how many climbs—and how far—it was to our next destination and a lay down. Whatever our guesses were, we were all wrong, especially those of us who ended up riding through to Seddonville, overshooting our destination of Mohikinui, where Sam had ridden ahead to ensure the pub was open and order our dinner. With an extra 10 kilometres under our belt after the Seddonville detour, we arrived at the pub in Mohikinui to meet a somewhat concerned Sam, two beers deep, wondering where we were. All was forgotten after a deep sleep in a campground cabin’s saggy bed.

Day 3. 121.62km, 2656m, 9:16hrs.

After the debacle of day two’s extended morning faff, we rose earlier on day three, riding into the rain at 5:45 am. It’s fair to say we were all somewhat dubious about what was to come, not only with the weather but also how tough this day could be, as we would essentially ride the Old Ghost Road in the reverse of how it’s generally ridden.

Climbing from the get-go, we slogged up technical pinches and meandered through dense bush, the last couple of days riding making themself known as the trail began to get steeper as we climbed away from the river.

Skyline Ridge was an absolute highlight of the day. Even on a bike that wasn’t loaded with gear, this would be a tough climb, but add on all the gear, and it was an absolute beast. Steep, rugged switchbacks made picking a line difficult, and traction was a challenge; my legs could only take so much. I was stoked to make it much further than I expected to before detonating, resorting to walking a couple of sections. Arriving at Ghost Lake Hut for lunch, we marvelled at the view and huriedly downed whatever can of energy drink we’d brought with us, washing down yet another muesli bar. A quick top-up of our water supplies and we were climbing once again. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before we were on the main descent, which would take us all the way down to almost sea level. Partway down this descent, we realised the error of our ways. Built to be climbed, this mellow, non-technical descent seemed unending. The only real obstacles to avoid were groups of people slogging their way up towards the hut for the night.

Not far from the bottom, we came across a keen gent who’d been climbing with one of the groups we’d passed earlier. He was descending back to his car at the trailhead, with a completely snapped seat post. Turns out, loading a massive bag with what appeared to be 20kg’s worth of gear, and hanging it from your saddle is a bad idea. Fortunately, it was all coasting back to his vehicle, not a single pedal stroke needed.

Crossing the 21st, and final, bridge of the day, we were done. As the sun dipped behind the hills and we headed into the final stretch of the day, I discovered I’d punctured in the final metres of the trail. A classic pinch flat with air coming out of the tyre bead and further up the sidewall. Mint. A couple of plugs and it was game on for 30k’s of road into Murchison for another FourSquare resupply, a hot roast meal at the pub and a couple of night-caps before passing out in an ice-box of a campground cabin—although no saggy bed this time!

Day 4. 168.45km, 1696m, 8:06hrs

Breakfast was varied. To each their own, as some would say. A tall can of ‘V’ and Cup of Noodles; a Monster and a chocolate milk with a One Square Meal bar; creamed rice, protein milk and muesli bars; our final morning meant all the nutritional rules were out the window. We ate what we had and didn’t complain. On the road pre-dawn once again, this time to the head of Lake Rotoroa and onto the Porika Road climb. To say this climb is horrid is an understatement: 3.2 km long, gaining 454m and an average of 14% with some seriously steep stretches. My average speed was just 4.5kmph! Sam rode the entirety of it with one small dab, and the rest of us slowly dragged our carcasses to the top with a mix of knee- breakingly slow cadence and calf-destroying walking. The beauty of walking parts, though, was that we had a chance to breathe in the cracker views down the lake. Truth be told, once uploaded to Strava, we discovered we actually made good time to the top, compared to many. We’d eked out any remaining energy we had, so after Red Bull, packs of gummy snakes, yet more muesli bars, and some hearty banter, we descended for literally kilometres… right to the door of the Tapawera Four Square for pies, coffee, and lots of food my cardiologist would frown upon.

Following the Great Taste trail towards Nelson, our patience for mellow bike paths had waned, and we cracked on, swapping turns on the front. Needless to say, Sam’s pulls were the longest. Arriving back in Nelson, it was a tough decision between going directly to the pub for a huge meal or doing the responsible thing and packing our bags ready for the next morning’s flight home. Responsibility won, and dinner waited until we’d done our chores. The meal was spent reliving the previous few days, amazed at how much we packed into them and how epic the Heaphy and Old Ghost Road trails are, and all the better when linked together.

My takeaways from the trip were many, but here are a few: Big solo days in the saddle pushing hard are great, but they’re best shared with mates. Going hard and fast is fun, but it’s just as fun to chill in a camp cabin and sip whiskey while whinging about all the climbing you’d just done. It’s all good until it isn’t; being prepared is key to making big days successful and not needing to walk back to somewhere with a broken seat post. The Heaphy is underrated; it’s a fantastic ride, and although the Old Ghost sure gets more limelight, the Heaphy is equally worthy. Always remember earplugs, an eye mask, and a water filter; forgetting these can make or break a trip into the unknown.

Day 3 – 40 km – 1174m up – 2600m down – 4 special stages

Day three truly encompassed the diverse beauty Madeira has to offer; a true reflection of the postcard that I so often describe to people when they ask me what the island is like. Seemingly endless breathtaking landscapes paired with some of the best technical flow trails I’ve ever ridden, all in the company of humans that can only recharge your social battery—THIS is Trans Madeira manifested. Starting Stage 15 on the alpine trail, Pico Cedro, the now fatigued arms were given a wake-up call with exposed rocky chutes, with infamous “Madeira Ice” thrown in. The final stint of our Stage 15 liaison was a short hike-a-bike which highlighted the severity of the blisters I’d sustained in Day 1’s beautiful Ridgeline liaison. After battling with blisters in many hike- a-bike’s prior, this was a key concern of mine that, despite all my preventative attempts, had come to fruition—nonetheless, after only two days. Thankfully, it was short and sweet, and we were rewarded with stunning alpine vistas with all of the day’s stages situated above 1000m, enveloped by striking volcanic-rock cliff faces and panoramic vistas of the island below.

While you’d expect the downhill stages to be the day’s highlight, the liaisons were simply breathtaking—that’s what makes this race such an all-encompassing experience— everywhere you look, whether its descending or ascending, is simply breathtaking. This truly is an all-encompassing experience—being able to descend down some of the world’s best trails is just the cherry on top. The liaison into Nun’s Valley is nothing short of spectacular/ breathtaking/once in a lifetime. Situated in a now-extinct volcano, this world-renowned corner of Madeira originates from the 16th century and is a bucket list item for riders and non-riders alike—enveloped by mountains layered with century-old terraces, it’s hard to know where to look first. Although steep in spots and timed at the precarious point in the day, right before the feed zone, the endless views, easy yapping and descent down the infamous “nun’s path” made any fatigue I was feeling somewhat forgettable.

So far, I’d managed to get into a routine when it came to feed zones and hydration, yet for some reason—perhaps led by belief that today would be a “shorter day” (I quickly learnt that such statements should be taken with a grain of salt!)—I opted to omit my usual bread roll, instead fuelling solely on lollies, a Red Bull and some nuts. Our historic tour of Madeira continued as we worked our way through the next liaison which followed the infamous Levadas—irrigation channels built in the 16th century to bring large amounts of water from the west and northwest of the island to the drier southeast—again, a surreal experience for anybody, with or without an appetite for riding bikes. All was going well until I was perched precariously on the edge of a Levadas and lost my footing, tumbling down into the green mass below, only to be stopped by the crevasse between my middle and ring fingers getting caught abruptly on a rock.

I’ve always found the comeraderie between women at bike races to be something special, and let’s just say—when you’re riding for eight hours per day for six days straight, you see people at their most vulnerable, and anything goes when you’re delusional and fatigued. We’d joked that everybody has to have their “tears day”, and today was going to be my day—I was tired, I’d ripped a sock, my finger (and ego) hurt from my tumble, I’d forgotten my headlamp for the [kilometre-long] tunnel, and my decision not to have a bread roll at lunch was biting me (excuse the pun) in the ass. I was over it, and looking down at my Garmin to see that we’d surpassed 1000m of climbing still (after expecting ~850m) with no-end in sight was the straw that broke the camels back. Those moments on the bike where the revolutions are turning, but you’re slogging away on a road to nowhere. Oh, and suppressing three days of jetlag might have had something to do with it, too! After a few tears, some profanities and a few “I’m fine—today is just a day” moments with the other ladies, I was relieved to finally see the top of Ginjas, which constituted Stage 18—and what an absolutely magical stage this was. Only accessible via the Levada tunnel traverse through the mountains, the trail is only opened twice a year for the race—what a privilege. “Best trail in the world” was a common sentiment among riders at the bottom, echoed by myself also! Luscious, loamy sweeping berms that’d make anybody feel like a hero, rock gardens you could float over and roots to pop off for days—all nestled within an incredible green canopy. We were met by an ice-cold Coral, smiling faces and a picturesque descent down into Sao Vincente. Bad day WHO?!

Day 4 – 51 km – 1287m up – 3300m down – 7 special stages

Being awoken by the classic camping sounds of neighbouring tents unzipping, I quickly realised that the footsteps walking past my tent were squelching, which could only mean one thing… wet ground = rain! The camp rumour mill started in the lineup for breakfast—like kids on school camp—“apparently its sunny on the other side of the island” mixed with “I’m going to sh*t my pants if the dirt is wet out west”. After umm’ing and ahh’ing over how to best kit up, a last minute swap from shorts to pants and my Goretex rain jacket stuffed in my frame, we were loaded onto the shuttles in the hope the windscreen wipers would slow down the closer we got to the start of Stage #19.

I feel this is a good opportunity to give a shoutout to the bus drivers of Madeira—it should be noted that Trans Madeira is a mix of pedal- and shuttle-assisted climbing; most days are around ~1200m of spinning pedals, with the remainder being shuttles. While parts of some stages had me whispering a few profanities to myself, the shuttles aren’t for the faint hearted either—a mixture of being precariously perched on the edge of a road that’s a handful of metres in width whilst dodging tourist cars in-between, all whilst winding for endless kilometres—think driving in the tight hilly streets of Wellington…. but on steroids! I looked across to see a fellow competitor hanging on for dear life—any apprehension about the incoming stage be damned, avoiding motion sickness was a challenge in itself!

Dropping into Stage 19—Pargos—we were greeted with a howling wind, drizzle and what felt like a 10+ degree temperature drop with no shelter other than an abandoned cattle shed. Riders set off each day depending on their current overall standing, with two minute intervals in between—you’d be surprised at how many days in a row you manage to be seeded with exactly the same person! You do the math: 140 riders, two minute intervals… if you’re in the front half of the pack, it’s a long wait and, when it’s raining, it’s a cold start with already fatigued muscles.

Fortunately, for the last three days of racing I was seeded with an absolutely epic UK bunch who provided excellent chat, laughs and some reassurance when I felt genuinely concerned I was about to get blown off my bike into a rock garden at the top of a 1500m hill. Many competitors I spoke to had done the event multiple times, with this group having completed three editions, whilst others had done five or six. After completing one edition, I’ll be buying lotto tickets for the rest of my life to have every chance of coming back for more—I’d have to turn off all social media for a month to have any chance of overcoming FOMO should I not be fortunate enough to be part of the chaos again!

Some say, ‘the West Side is the best side’, and I can’t argue with that! Nestled on the faces of Ponta do Pargo and Prazeres, Stages 19-25 were among the best trails I’ve ever ridden—anywhere. Words can’t capture the pure elation of reaching the bottom of each stage, so I’ll borrow the most common sentiment of the day: *that was f**king sick*. I’d been fortunate enough to experience this side of the island previously, but it quickly became clear that I’d only had a small sample, when in reality there was a full smorgasbord of luscious trails. Natural rock gardens kept me on my toes amidst red-dirt singletrack, lined with luscious Madeira greenery that created a strikingly beautiful contrast, so much so that it was easy to forget you were even racing.

Liaisons were hard that day—grassy 4×4 tracks made for slow going on the climbs, and my blisters were such that I found it more comfortable to pedal at a ridiculously slow RPM vs. pushing my bike like the majority of those around me. The sun gods blessed us with their presence in the afternoon, and we were treated to high-speed, loamy goodness with some dustbowls thrown in—four seasons in one day! I found myself in a comfortable spinning rhythm on the final liaison, and sent a quick Snapchat to my wonderful cheerleading friends and family at home, wondering how I was going—I remember none of what I said other than; “it’s really f**cking hard but this is the best thing ever”.

Now, I’m never one to decline a mojito and, upon reaching the sandy shores of our camp in Calheta, I couldn’t say yes quick enough to the offer of a sit down and a cold bevy! After being politely told “GP, you look like you need a sit down”, I handed in my timing chip and parked up on a sun lounger overlooking the shoreline. I wasn’t surprised to see I’d finished the day in 4th—I was riding tidily, safely, but definitely had more raw speed in the tank, especially with the knowledge of a Day 2 stage win in my mind. While I wanted to slot back into 3rd overall, the elation of simply reaching the pointy end of the race was an achievement in itself, and with two days of racing to go, anything can happen—that’s the beauty of multi-day racing!

Day 5 – 38 km – 930m up – 2900m down – 6 special stages

Day 5 was a much shorter day, again dominating the west side of the island, with just five stages and no feed zone as we were scheduled to board the ferry to Porto Santo at 7pm. Once loaded onto the party bus again—and when you’re sitting with the Irish crew on the floor of an overcrowded bus, there really is no truer descriptor—the rolling circus made its way to Galhano, where we witnessed the most impressive clifftop three point turn we’d ever seen upon drop-off. Unfortunately, we left the sun down in Calheta, along with the Aperol Spritz and mojitos, and were once again faced with gale force winds, heavy drizzle and hydration mix that my tastebuds could’ve done without after five days of consumption. Stages 26-28 were exposed along the ridge-tops and my fatigued brain was working overtime to keep both wheels on the ground and my eyes on the trail ahead, especially as this was narrower singletrack than the days prior.

By this point in the race, the arm and hand pump was unreal—I had anticipated this being the case as I’m certainly not used to riding a bike for six days straight (I wish!), let alone descending thousands of metres, but I had underestimated just how much it would impact the rest of my riding form. I was compensating for my tired arms but stiffening up the rest of body, which meant I was getting pinballed around and pushed off-line easily when hitting big roots, rocks and holes. I’m a flat pedal rider, and I was getting sloppy with my weight distribution—I was blowing my feet off the pedals left, right and centre. I know when I’m riding slow and when I’m riding fast, and at the end of each stage I felt that I had so much more speed in me, but I also knew that I was at the limits of my fatigued body’s capacity to ride safely, and I was riding with a consistency that had me in 3rd overall, which well exceeded my personal goal of simply finishing the event.

I was being well and truly tested, and my mentality was playing a crucial role in ensuring my mindset was in check. I spent much of the stages talking to myself and focusing on remaining composed, especially through chunky sections, as I knew that any drastic line mishaps could result in a mid-stage lie down. Yes, I was sore, cold, tired and my blisters were hurting; yes, I was a little frustrated at my riding; and yes, I knew I wasn’t riding my best. On the flip side, each stage finish brought us closer to the end of the race. I was surrounded by great people, in a beautiful island paradise, living a bucket-list dream I’d worked so hard to prepare for in the months leading up to that moment.

Any misgivings I’d have about how I’d ridden a stage were gone in the 30 seconds it took for the crew I was riding with to reach the finish line, drowned in a sea of collective excitement and relief that we’d survived! Yes, the physical component of a multi-day event is crucial, but keeping yourself in check mentally is equally important. The highlight of the day was Stage 29—Mamma Mia—where we broke through the cloud, and dirt sliding was replaced with dirt surfing upon being treated to delightful loamy goodness.

Day 6 – 35 km – 1350m up – 1350m down – 4 special stages

You’d think that after five nights of tent life, I’d be looking forward to sleeping in an actual bed at our hotel on the island of Porto Santo. Whilst this was true, there simply aren’t enough positive phrases in the dictionary to describe how excited I was at the concept of emptying my entire bag onto the floor, as well as having a bathroom to myself, and all the space in the world to battle with getting my knee pads on in the morning. I can’t even begin to describe the relief I felt walking out the hotel room door on day six—my mindset was focused on finishing, and all I was visualising was reaching the bottom of Stage 35.

The blisters on each of my heels were now the size of Ritz crackers, and we were in for a 1350m climb day, most of which would be hike-a-bike. I was lucky enough to ride these stages in a girl’s train with Becci Skelton and Amy Watts, with Becci aptly describing the overarching sensation associated with any hike-a-bike as being “irrational irritation”—a sentiment that couldn’t be more accurate, and characterised my feelings toward the entire day. I’m not sure if it was to our benefit or detriment that we could see the entire hike-a-bike distance from the bottom to the start of Stage 32—we were midway through the pack on our way up, watching the riders wind their way up the hill face, little ants in the distance. I toggled between my bike on back and pushing it up the hill and, funnily enough, neither provided any degree of comfort.

Across all four stages, we were treated to fresh, never-raced trails enveloped by all-consuming rugged coastal vistas, in some cases barren in a way likened to no-man’s land, or Mars (whichever way you’re inclined). After girl party training our way down stages 33 and 34, the relief of reaching the start of Stage 35 after six days of riding was inexplicably good. Honestly—the rest of the day was a blur. I’m not sure if I erased the hike-a- bikes that followed from my mind or if it was the post-race beers on the beach after completely depleting myself of energy and fluids, topped off with copious poncha’s (a Madeiran speciality) that followed, but I was satisfyingly knackered. I ended up finishing 3rd overall in the women’s category— as if completing a bucket list item wasn’t enough of a treat! For the next three days I felt hungover—not from the ponchas, but from finally standing still after six days of nonstop movement.

All in all, this was an absolutely incredible journey from race sign up to the final post stage high- five’s in Porto Santo. If this isn’t on your riding bucket list, make some room and add it now.