Madrid to Barcelona 2025

During my last ultra in 2022 (Pan Celtic Race) I felt I spent too high a percentage of the time not really enjoying myself. I wasn’t quite sure why, and this is probably why I’ve never written a write-up for that event, because I’ve never felt inspired to write anything particularly constructive.

Anyway, in the intervening years since 2022, I’ve been reflecting on what I want to do with my cycling and whether I was done with ultra-endurance stuff. The one event that’s captured me, that gave birth to this craziness, is the Transcontinental Race; which I first read about in 2016. I got a place for this in 2019 and did a huge amount of training but I then had to be a “did not start” because of work commitments.

Since then, work commitments have only got stronger and more numerous. The fact of the matter is, that in order to do the TCR in the manner that I wish to, I’ll need a month off work. And, that’s not viable just now. For such a serious event, both in duration, challenge, and prestige, I only want to approach it if I can really give it my all.

Having failed to manage this at 60, and then at 65, maybe it’s going to be 70? That’s not so far away now!

Anyway, to cut a long story short, in reflecting on previous ultras, I realise that the ones I’ve enjoyed the most have been the first two TransAtlantic Way rides. On both occasions I went out too hard in the early stages, and then had to rein myself in a lot to manage things thereafter.

In the first one, I had to scratch within about 300 kilometres of the finish as I couldn’t hold my head up for any length of time. Then in the second one, I had to slow and nurse my broken body home over several days due to the intense effort I’d put in over the first few days so as to make it to a ferry.

The subsequent two Pan-Celtic Races and the Ultra Bike Pursuit, I managed my body and fatigue much better, and so made it cleanly to the finish. Not in particularly spectacular times, but to the finish well nonetheless. Fine, that’s good, that’s achieved then.

Still the most fun part was going full pelt in the first two events, with almost a no-limits type mentality.

So it occurred to me, as I was reflecting once again, earlier this year, that as this wasn’t going to be the year for the Transcontinental Race either, that I could instead do a short, relative sprint-type, event instead. Inspired, I began looking at the race calendar, this would have been early January, and I saw Pedalma’s Madrid-Barcelona event.

I frequently work near Marseille and have use of an apartment close by from which Madrid is an easy train ride. I could do Madrid-Barcelona with only a week off work. And you never know, my family might be able to meet me in Barcelona at the finish.

Given as it’s a relatively short 700 kilometres, I could pretty much ride it full welly; and arrive in a wreck at the finish without too much concern about the days to follow.

And so this is what I did, and it seems I thrived on it.

I find I enter a strange space as I approach one of these events. You arrive at the point where you can’t train or prepare any more than you already have, and, as the event day looms, just a few days hence, it’s excitement, anticipation, tinged with a bit of trepidation; because you just don’t know what’s coming next.

Given the months of thought one has had around an event, it becomes quite a poignant moment. You know, the calm before the storm, perhaps? Anyway, I find it a beautiful time.

I like to give myself some cushion for eventualities, so I had my train booked to arrive in the afternoon of the Wednesday before the race, which started on Friday. That gave me Thursday to check that my reassembled bike was working perfectly, and to give me a chance to deal with any unexpected hiccups, train delays, missing bits, who knows what,  that might thwart my being at the start line on time.

This was just as well, because on reassembling my bike I found that a bolt for my seat clamp was missing. My bike is an Orbea with an integrated seat clamp, it’s not a particularly standard bolt head, so I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find one. Fortunately, it being Wednesday, Madrid, and with late opening shops the norm, I found a bike shop that had a suitable bolt. Not exactly the correct one, but one which did the job, no problem. Just as well as it turned out Thursday was a public holiday.

So by Wednesday evening, bike was assembled, everything was working, and all was quiet. I was staying at the official event hotel but it was still relatively quiet. I had an early carb heavy Ecuadorian meal and resolved to get the best sleep I could.

A short shake down ride on Thursday and then registration in the evening. We picked up our little goodie bags and attended the race briefings conducted one in Spanish and One in English.

The whole thing was very well set up and organised. At that point, there wasn’t anybody there that I knew from previous races or anything, but I made acquaintance with a couple of people and went for a group pizza dinner. All that remained was to wait for the next day: Friday, and the start.

Unlike some other, earnest, events that start at five in the morning or ten at night, Madrid to Barcelona is very accessible. We started at 10.30 in the morning, in three groups. First group at 10.30, second group at 10.45, third group at 11. I was in the 10.45 group.

The start was a short ride from the hotel, and again, there was this quietness. Nervous laughter, people tweaking and fiddling with their bikes and luggage, making sure everything was as it should be. That general “oh, can’t we just get on with it now?” kind of feeling.

Finally 10.30 came, and pretty much bang on time, the first group set off with an honorary lap around the track and then out into the wilderness on the way to Barcelona.

Not that you’d call the outskirts of Madrid wilderness, but it’s a poetic expression, nonetheless.

We’d been instructed by the organisers that for the initial, perhaps 50 kilometres, where there would be a lot of us together, some drafting was fine. They weren’t going to be too rigid about the usual solo, no-drafting rules.

So that’s like a red rag to a bull.

Various groups sped off as mini-pelotons into the distance. I joined one of them and duly ended up riding a bit harder than wisdom would have suggested. But hey, this is one of those races, you have to allow yourself a bit of silliness at the start. I couldn’t just sit up and let everyone disappear into the distance.

So off I went, averaging something like 35 kilometres an hour with this bunch of people. And then, as the terrain got more hilly, I was having to dip ever more into the red to keep up. So I let them go, let them disappear off, and settled down into my all-day pace.

I’m pretty clear what my all-day pace is. I’ve done a lot of these now and I’ve got a power meter, which is very useful, so I know the numbers I can hold.

But what can I say about this event? The beauty of it, from start to finish, was the quality of the route and the roads.

The normal way for motor traffic to go between Madrid and Barcelona is via big motorways these days, but before the motorways existed, there were other roads, and it was those other roads that we were mostly riding on.

They’re spacious, fast, and an absolute joy for a road bike. The riding was a pleasure, and the amount of motor traffic was very low.

The only discouraging thing, for me, was other riders whizzing by. Now, I don’t expect to be in the top ten, riding at the front with people half my age. Still, no one likes being passed too much. It’s a bit like someone kicking sand in your face!

Anyway, as the hours ticked by and I got over myself, I settled in. Enjoying the wonderful scenery, the glorious roads, and just generally feeling very content with my lot.

The day grew progressively hotter, but that wasn’t a surprise. It just became a question of managing effort and heat. Keeping heart rate at a reasonable level. Keeping everything ticking over steady, without overdoing it, but not too steady either. Not too cautious.

This is the real challenge of these types of events. You can go out full pelt and destroy yourself in just a few hours, or you can rein it in a little. And judging that, well, it’s quite a skill. More than it sounds, reading it here.

Especially when you get suckered in by other riders whizzing by, and you start thinking, well, maybe I should keep up with them or something.

I think pretty much any successful endurance rider will tell you, you have to ride your own race. And that is so true. Just half a pedal turn faster than you’d normally do can wreck you.

So have the courage to stay true to your instincts. Ignore the tracker!

Through the heat of the afternoon, I began to dream of water fountains, ice creams and cold drinks. I had some cues on my route plan identifying where likely fountains and refreshment stops were and kms passed as I counted down to the next refreshment stop.

As always, of course, the challenge remains to stop as little as possible and just keep moving.

If you’re overheating though, and getting slower and slower, you do have to stop. Cool down a bit. Regroup. I find the most unpleasant thing about riding in the heat is that my water bottles get warm. I might have 30, 40c+ degree water in a plastic bottle which, no matter the quality of the bottle, still feels and tastes just a hint plasticky. And warm…urgh

I don’t want warm. I want cold.

The pleasure of sticking your head under a tap, or pouring water down your back; it’s just glorious. It refreshes you, even if only for 10 or 15 minutes, and that gets you back on the road.

I find it critical not to stop for too long, because everything starts to tighten and seize up if I do. So, keep moving.

I only have vague recollections of my stop at Checkpoint 1. As I recall, I had something of a sandwich, but being so hot, I really wasn’t hungry. Considering the thousands of calories I’d already burnt, it’s a bit strange. But, I’m used to that. I downed a couple of Cokes and a Magnum ice cream, and ate maybe half a baguette type sandwich, and took the rest with me for the continuing ride.

Now it was heading towards evening, and the sun was dipping, and I’m thinking, ah, it’s finally going to cool down. There were also hints of storm clouds looming, just the possibility that we might get rained on. And the idea of being rained on was very attractive!

It seems some riders did get rained on, but I only experienced the merest sprinkle, just enough to make me a little anxious that it could make the previously dry road rather slippery. So I took corners with care.

It’s the sort of riding dreams are made of. I’d recommend riding this route just for that section alone!

The run into Checkpoint 2 was simply glorious. It was more or less 30 kilometres downhill through a meandering valley with rocky sidewalls and moody clouds. It’s the sort of riding dreams are made of. I’d recommend riding this route just for that section alone!

It also turned out that someone I knew from a previous event, Richard Starkey, was on this ride as

well. And we kept catching up, we seemed to be moving at a similar pace. So that was an unexpected pleasure.

Eventually I rolled into Checkpoint 2, a little after 22:00. Richard turned up shortly thereafter, or he might have been there before me, I can’t exactly remember.

Checkpoint 2 was a joy. The restaurant there was banging out massive, pasta, rice and empanada

dinners really quickly. There was a buzz of excited, weary, riders. Many riders were there, everyone still full of beans. Enthusiasm. Not quite reaching the total exhaustion stage. The other patrons watching on curiously.

So a very welcome and needed full refuel, at a much cooler part of the day, that had me set up, ready for the night shift.

I’d split the route into two halves, over 300 kilometres each. The first half finished at Checkpoint 3, which I’d provisionally hoped to reach at around 2 in the morning.

That wasn’t to be.

I got there somewhat later than that, to find a much quieter atmosphere than had been present at Checkpoint 2. There were a couple of people sleeping, a few others hanging out on chairs, chatting quietly in the night. I elected to move on. There was no food or refreshments available, or at least none that I could see.

So I stopped only briefly and headed out again, hoping to get a good chunk of the ride between Checkpoint 3 and 4 done before the full heat of the day. This next section was known to be a very exposed part of the route, with not many resupply stops.

Cycling through the night into the dawn is one of the great pleasures of cycling, and an ultra-endurance event is one of the best excuses to do it.

Even though I’d been riding for some considerable time, the thought of sleep wasn’t really present, I was thriving from the ride.

At the start of this, I’d thought, well, I’ve never ridden non-stop for 24 hours without sleep, maybe I’ll give it a go on this one. I wasn’t too attached to that scenario though. I was simply planning to ride for as long as I  wanted to ride, before feeling I needed to sleep and rest.

As it was, I was having such a ball whizzing around on these roads that sleep was far from my mind. I duly rode on, and before I knew it, the sky brightened and I found myself riding down a long, straight road, straight into the upcoming sun.

Magical.

But shortly after that, with the upcoming sun, came the progressively upcoming heat.

 

So now things were beginning to get quite sloggy. Operation: make it to Checkpoint 4. That was the next target, around midday.

It was getting very hot, and I saw a few people sheltering by the roadside, but I didn’t stop. I just pedalled along slowly. You know, any forward movement is forward movement. You don’t have to stop very long to really slip back, and also to have your muscles and such things tighten up.

So I pedalled slowly on, and made it to Checkpoint 4 at about midday, for yet another sandwich, ice cream, and Cokes.

I don’t normally drink Coke. The only time I ever drink Coke or any of these sodas or sparkling sugary drinks is on a bike ride. They’re basically just junk, with zero nutrition, but there’s calories and caffeine in a Coke, and cool, cold, cooling yourself from the inside out, which then makes them seem like manna from heaven.

At times like this words can’t describe how good a can of Coke can be when you’ve ridden over 24 hours without sleep, through heat, and more heat.

Nobody would normally push themselves to these strange levels of activity, but what the human body can cope with, and indeed thrive on, is quite incredible. It’s something we’ve forgotten in our modern world of electric windows, super-reclining sofas and all manner of comforts and conveniences.

It’s the amazing thing about doing stuff like this, that makes endurance riding so exciting and addictive.

Our bodies have evolved to move. And they can move very well, in hot, or cold, even regardless of age.

Anyway, Checkpoint 4. More weary travellers. Less chat. Less everything, really. Yet another sandwich.

I think I’ve gotten too accustomed to French riding, with endless bakeries where you can pick and choose your food. In rural Spain, it was mostly cafe bars, and whatever was on offer. And, given the heat, and the matter of the fatigue, I simply wasn’t that hungry. I was forcing food in, rather than guzzling it.

And so, with the end theoretically in sight, I left Checkpoint 4 and headed for Checkpoint 5, before

the final run to the finish.

There were supposed to be more food and refuel stops between now and the end, which was going to be welcome but it was still incredibly hot.

Eventually, as I was became slower and slower, I realised it was time to have a nap. I lay down in the shade of a building, partly obscured by a small tree, flat on my back, and slept — twenty minutes. When I awoke, I looked at my phone and saw that it had been twenty minutes. I thought, well, I need more than that, and so I took another twenty.

When I awoke again, I felt remarkably improved. So up I got, and off I went once more.

Strangely, in later Instagram footage from the organisers, there’s a clip of me lying on the ground with my bike during that nap. I think I’d have preferred an action shot to a photo of me sleeping but hey, it’s nice to feature, even if only for a split second.

The rest of that afternoon and getting to Checkpoint 5, isn’t entirely clear in my head. It was just very, very hot. I do recall a startlingly fast descent, I think I hit over 70 kilometres an hour, which was really exciting, and both refreshed and semi cooled me. There were some truly glorious stretches of road on this ride.

Some of the previous events I’ve done have featured a lot of back roads and cycle paths, which are okay for limited stretches, but really aren’t my idea of fun. I ride a road bike because I like the exhilaration of going fast on the road, and especially downhill. I want to be limited by my courage and skill, not by the terrain.

Anyway, once more, the evening was closing in, and I finally made it to Checkpoint 5, I think it was around seven-ish. The place wasn’t really geared up for serving dinner quite yet.

And here, things got tricky. I confused the staff in the restaurant next to the checkpoint flag, by ordering two Cokes. They brought me two bottles of Coke and two glasses, and I sat down at a table set for two. I’d already asked, in my best pidgin Spanish, for the pizza I wanted, but it seemed the staff hadn’t grasped that I was in a hurry in a bike race. Even though there were other Spanish cyclists from the event there as well.

So I sat there, at a table for two, with my two bottles of Coke, hoping for my pizza. No, it seemed that the staff were waiting for the second person, my mysterious Coke drinking dining companion, to arrive before bringing the food. I found it all a bit frustrating. Eventually I got it sorted out, but by then I’d ended up leaving Checkpoint 5 later than some of the riders who’d arrived well after me.

It really helps if you speak the local language. One takeaway I’ve had from this ride is that, before other events in countries where I don’t speak the language, I need to have a few basics sorted. Enough for ordering meals, and dealing with these small, essential interactions.

Because even if you’re high on the race, there’s still an underlying fatigue and that makes simple things, like ordering food, managing basics, not exactly arduous, but vague. Fluffy. Foggy, perhaps.

Anyway, Checkpoint 5 was done. That was it. The final night shift to the finish.

And so, the weary slog to the finish. Considering it was over 30-something hours of riding through arduous conditions with only 40 minutes’ sleep, I was feeling remarkably good, even though I was riding pretty darn slow.

As we got nearer to Barcelona, I took a chance to look at the tracker and saw that there weren’t that many people near me, as far as I could tell. I also started noticing that lampposts and things in the distance were beginning to appear like people and other riders. Was this the early start of hallucinations? I certainly felt safe enough on the road, but there was something surely going on.

I made swift progress, for the most part. And then, something like 15km from the finish, the route went uphill. Not a particularly steep hill, but it was still 15km of hill. I then realised that in my weary state, slogging along, it was going to take me something like two hours to complete.

It was around 2am when I started climbing, and it was 4am, thereabouts, when I made it to the finish. One pedal revolution at a time.

The strange thing this evening, as I’d been riding into the night, was that there were parties and festivals going on all around. I was hearing loud music, fireworks, singing and dancing. It was quite pleasant but I wasn’t wishing to join the parties.

A disturbing thing though were the occasional groups of fast cars and motorbikes zapping around the place, which I found quite disconcerting, alone at night, on the open road. Plus, when there’s such a party atmosphere, you can never be that sure what condition the drivers of these vehicles are in!

This got particularly apparent on the final climb, when there were clearly boy racer types zooming up and down in convoys of four or five cars. They all slowed and kept well clear of me, I was lit up like a Christmas tree, but still, when you hear the roar of sports exhausts in the distance, with your tired and addled mind, it’s just one more stressor.

Just as I’d started to climb, another rider whizzed by. He was a lot smaller and lighter than me, and going considerably faster, or so it appeared. Anyway, this was a race against myself more than against other people, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to catch up with this guy. Though, I did recognise him as one of the riders who’d arrived after me at Checkpoint 5 and left before me, because he’d sorted his dinner far better than I had! So I had a wry smile at that.

Those last few hundred metres, with the road winding around the hill to the finish point, that you can see on your bike computer map; they’re bittersweet. You want it to finish but some part of you also wants it to continue. I was very happy to make it to the end.

I don’t know the name of the guy with the camera who met me at the finish but he was very friendly. We exchanged some smiles and chatted, he awarded me my Finishers medal, and that was it. Task done.

All that remained was another 15km descent to the regroup area at the Davima Car Rental Centre. And there I was welcomed by Ramón, the organiser, greeting me with a pizza and a choice of cool beverages. I chose a 4 cheese pizza and a 0% beer, and just generally felt… content.

• Distance: 694.57 km
• Elevation: 7049 m
• Elapsed time: 41:22:28 hours
• Moving time: 33:33:23 hours
• Sleep: ~40 minutes
• Max speed: 71.9 km/h
• Cokes consumed: too many to count

Would I do it again? Possibly. There’s something compelling about a ride that hurts just enough to make you question it but rewards you just enough to keep you coming back.

Huge thanks to Pedalma for organising this so well. I’d recommend the ride to anyone who feels thus inspired.