Words by Georgia Petrie
Images by Cameron MacKenzie
When you tell people you’re going to do a bike race in Madeira, the first thing they ask is; “where’s that?”. To which I say; “It’s a random island that’s kinda part of Portugal, but it’s its own thing…”. The follow-up question is often: “What’s it like?” – and to that I can’t find enough descriptive words in the dictionary to articulate just what makes it the island paradise that it is. It’s an all-encompassing place; it draws you in from the moment you approach the airport’s precariously positioned runway, which requires a last-minute 180 degree turn to land, and often rounds out the top 10 “world’s most dangerous airports to land at”.
Once you’re on the ground, Madeira’s namesake “The Island of Eternal Spring” starts to make sense – beautiful, century-old streets are dotted with flora and fauna unique to it’s mild climate, where the concept of “winter” doesn’t exist; strikingly green and rugged terraced hills dating back to the 15th century envelop the island’s capital, Funchal, while the island’s dramatic volcanic peaks create postcard-perfect views in every corner.
Oh, and how could I forget the fact that it’s home to some of the best mountain biking trails in the world? Factor that in, and you’ve got the perfect concoction for a bucket list riding destination.
The seed for racing Trans Madeira was planted when I was lucky enough to visit the island in 2024, to take part in a photoshoot. Other than being familiar with the name, because it had hosted the Enduro World Series rounds in 2017 and 2019—and more so, the Deathgrip Movie—I was going in blind. I knew nothing about its landscape, very little about its proximity (or lack thereof) to anything and certainly not that it would take 45 hours and five flights to get there… of course I said yes! We ended up traversing the entire island, a never-ending, sensory overloading, treasure map courtesy of Freeride Madeira—not only are John and his team the premiere shuttle and touring company on the island, but they also build and maintain Madeira’s 200km+ trail network. I also discovered they were the masterminds behind Trans Madeira, a 6-day, 200km Enduro stage race that circumnavigated the island’s extensive trail network across 35 special stages. After being so impressed at the operation Freeride Madeira had built, I knew that any event run by John and the team would be nothing short of well-oiled, packed to the brim with goodness, and that anything you could possibly think of would “just be sorted”. Bucket list item added!
I am fortunate enough to be able to ride from my doorstep, which helped immensely with squeezing in training rides. However, an important caveat to this is the fact that due to that pesky thing called work—a day job coupled with freelance commitments (one of them being designing this magazine, among other things, in my spare time)—the majority of my rides now barely exceeded one hour in duration (two hours maybe, in summer, if you include the post-ride commute to the pub), and whilst I’d completed Enduro World Series events previously, building my fitness to a level that could survive six days of racing was unfamiliar territory. I spent the summer squeezing in 1000m rides as much as possible, coupled with my usual gym work and the odd sanity run and eBike ride for downhill training. I wanted to challenge myself in a totally different way and if I could finish all six days, I’d be happy!
My weapon of choice was the Specialized Stumpjumper 15. This is a comfortable all-day climber in a light-yet-punchy 145mm package, paired with a beefed up 160mm fork for added stability and a mullet setup for a touch of agility. I stocked up on 6x days worth of kit packed into separate packing cubes, ready for each day—I’m a chronic overthinker when it comes to choosing my OOTD (outfit of the day)—as well as 6x days’ worth of snack kits—NZ Natural Confectionary snakes, Bumper Bars, and PURE nutrition gels and electrolyte packs. While I knew there would be feed zones each day, I wanted to be prepared for any hangry emergencies with food I was familiar with.
On a frosty May morning, we departed Christchurch on what was a simple journey…. until our final Lisbon > Funchal leg. Being unable to land in Madeira meant we flew back to Lisbon, only to get straight back on the plane to attempt the journey again—a total of almost six hours to complete a 1h40 journey, ultimately arriving at our accommodation at 2am. No time for jetlag!
Day 1 – 48 km – 1000m up – 2950m down – 7 special stages
Not being much of a tent girlie under usual circumstances, I decided to splash out on comfortable sleeping gear—a Sea2Summit mat of decent thickness, summer weight sleeping bag and adhesive pillow—all of which were worth their weight (excuse the pun) in gold. Waking up to a beautiful sunrise in Machico, the precarious challenge of attempting to put on full riding kit without dragging 10 tonnes of sand into my tent began. I quickly realised that finding a way to keep 6x days’ worth of riding kit contained within the tent, and avoiding a luggage blowout, was going to be paramount in wasting precious mental energy at the beginning and end of each day—especially as each night was spent in a different location.
Day one took us to the East Side of the island, where we’d be starting the day with Stage 1— Boca Do Risco—a previous nominee for EWS trail of the year, that winds its way down beneath luscious canopies of Jurrasic Park-esque bush until shooting riders out precariously close to the cliff’s edge. When I think of Madeira, this trail is exactly what comes to mind; exceptional hand-built, flowing singletrack that’s the perfect blend of fast and technical, all enveloped by endless mountain-meets-ocean panoramas. After shaking the Stage 1 nerves I’d been long anticipating, and despite my immense preference to do basically anything other than carry a bike on my back up a hill, the endless ribbons of coastline and peaks we were treated to en route to Stage 2 was enough to put a smile on the face of even the most dubious hike-a-biker (me). Stage 2—Into the Mystic—took me straight back to the dustbowl of Christchurch, and was another one of Madeira’s gems that I’d been lucky enough to get a taste of previously. Fast and loose with dust-filled corners and off-camber drifting, staying upright was an uphill battle. The liaison to Stage 4 hit, and every doubt I had about being over prepared with my carefully curated selection of snacks quickly dissipated as I munched down a Bumper Trail Bar. The four bags of Natural Confectionary Co. snakes (if you know, you know) paid for itself instantly—especially the positive reception from my UK and Canadian counterparts!
Stage 4—Natal—down into the feed zone at Porto da Cruz, was full on—basically a rock garden for 5 minutes—and my body was starting to feel the fatigue of needing a substantial refuel. These were longer downhill runs than I was used to and, in hindsight, I had insane jet lag that I was subconsciously suppressing (it’s not real unless you say it is, right?!). The PURE nutrition gel I smashed before dropping in was the real MVP, giving me just enough beans to hang on until the most boujee food zone spread I’d ever seen. I rolled up and uttered something that resembled a “thank f*ck for that” and smashed a Red Bull along with a freshly baked filled roll, a pastel de nata and cup of roast potatoes. No, I’d never seen potatoes at a feed zone before (nor pickles for that matter), but yes, I was absolutely here for it. Reaching Stage 7—Hole in One—the view down into Machico was all-time. A little slick at the top, my tired legs and subsequently lazy riding position caused my foot to blow off my pedal, and I was on the ground before I knew it. Weirdly relieved to get a crash out of the way, I fumbled my way down the final rock gardens of the day and straight into a beach swim, finishing the day in 4th overall.
Day 2 – 46 km – 1182m up – 3700m down – 7 special stages
Generous doesn’t quite cut it for the incredible breakfast spread put on by Chefs Robert and Nuno—these guys haven’t missed an edition of the event since 2018, and it’s clear they’ve got mobile catering for 200 people down to a fine art, and that’s no small feat. The beauty of Trans Madeira is that you don’t have to worry about anything—the smallest of details you can think of are all sorted for you, meaning you can focus on your race and truly take in the paradise that surrounds you for the duration of the week. The fact that these guys can move 180 luggage bags from one side of the island to the other, all while managing to feed 200+ humans, are some serious logistical goals—these guys know what they’re doing.
After exchanging some very tired good morning’s and “body’s a bit sore today eh!”, I settled into my routine of porridge with lashings of Nutella and peanut butter paired with a side of scrambled eggs, sprinkled with dribs and drabs of pastel de natas, beautifully baked fresh rolls, cheeses and pastries. Fresh and so well managed—these guys are goals when it comes to logistics. I learnt quickly that I needed to eat as much as possible for breakfast—by the time we’d roll out and hop on the shuttle and reach the start of the day’s stages, a couple of hours would often pass and I was glad to have some sustenance behind me.
We started the day off with Stage 8—the infamous Gamble line—which was a treacherous mix of slick berms, aptly referred to as ‘Madeira Ice’ when wet, and hero dirt. An island favourite, I was a little too cautious and finished the stage wanting more from my riding—though after seeing how many crashes were had, I was pleased to reach the bottom with clean kit! Kept company by my riding buddy Lizzie, who’d made the journey all the way from Pemberton, BC so could share my jetlag woes, I settled into the chunky sealed road climb that was our Stage 9 liaison to Truta’s Trail. A total contrast to Gamble, this stage had it all, including sketchy wet rock gardens—they did warn us this trail does suffer from the impacts of wet weather, and would be changed should there be too much rain. My fatigued arms were holding on for dear life, trying to maintain both speed and grip through chunky rock sections. After catching three riders at various points throughout the stage, and thanking them profusely for precariously allowing me to pass in the most awkward technical sections imaginable, we were relieved—and for some reason oddly confused at just how technical parts of the stage were (perhaps it was the fatigue skewing our perception)—to make it the bottom of the stage.
In contrast, we were treated to absolute loam- filled bliss for stages 10, 11 and 12. As the trails became drier, the day became hotter, and soon we were baking in the sun at the day’s food zone in Porto da Cruz, the infamous Penha d’Águia rock feature perched above us. Stage 14—Santo Antonio—was a personal favourite of mine and suited me well: rocky, fast, technical enough to be challenging and require careful line consideration, but “not too technical to be scary”, and bonus points for no pedally sections. The stage starts in the open, with mind-blowing views of Funchal below.
The ocean seemed like a lifetime away, and hard to believe that ultimately we’d be riding to our new campsite on the shores beneath—I vividly remembered riding this on my last trip to Madeira, and what a privilege it was to have a chance to enjoy it once again. I tried to carry as much speed as possible through the rocky chutes up top before the trail snaked its way into the eucalyptus trees for its second half, Redline, where endless switchbacks meant you could really dial up your pace. I let the bike do the work and focused on enjoying myself. We finished the day off with the aptly known “Madeira massage”—absolutely bombing it down the beautiful, winding streets of Funchal, precariously perched on the hilltop. There’s something particularly magical about riding through town here—whether it was the residents yelling “go girl!” from their driveways, the beautiful ancient buildings or the blooming flora and fauna, it’s a sensory overload. One of the best days on a bike I’ve ever had, and what a treat to finish with a Stage 7 win and a bump up to second place overall.
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.
