Starting (and Surviving) A Bikepacking Race as a Couple

Our relationship started at a running race in Sweden, so how did we find ourselves together on the start line of Badlands with 800 kilometers of rough, rocky ridges between us and the finish? Would we survive individually… and would our relationship?

Our First Trip

Before diving into the ins and outs of surviving a bikepacking race as a couple, let’s rewind 5 years to our first bikepacking trip to see where the addiction started. In January 2020, we arrived in Malaga, picked up two rental bikes, and before we knew it were biking out into decreasing sunlight and increasing rain through the Sierra Nevada foothills. Arriving at our destination thoroughly drenched, we were provided with extra blankets, a cling-filmed sandwich, and a mini bottle of zumo de piña to get us through the night.

After this questionable start and both feeling a little trepidation for the coming days, as untested legs and an untested partnership met on the roads leading into Granada. The overriding memories from the second day were discomfort, hunger, and being cold, but all of this disappeared on the approach to Granada, the sun setting in pale pink hues across the imposing, majestic Sierra Nevadas. From that moment, despite the challenges, we were hooked on bikepacking together.

Arriving at Badlands

It seemed only fitting then, that a few years later this was the starting scene for what would be our most intense challenge undertaken (together) to date - Badlands - branded as Europe’s wildest gravel race. We were under no illusions that it would be easy but were maybe naively optimistic that the bikepacking trips - almost exclusively on road - we had completed up to this point, would adequately prepare us for this adventure. But to be honest, that’s exactly what it was for us, an adventure - we weren’t here to win but to survive (Philly, and our relationship), test the legs (Bill), and take in the spectacular backdrop and overall experience (Both).

We arrived two days before the race, missing the course recces and pre-event rides, but also avoiding the chance to psyche ourselves out. After meeting some friendly, fellow riders for dinner, we settled into the nervous anticipation that would be the constant state until the race began. Taking in all the rigs and riders at the pre-race briefing was both nerve inducing, and confidence building. Everyone had to start somewhere, and there was a mix of newbies and old hands mingling freely, sharing concerns and advice for any that wanted it. Following the briefing featuring potential emergency detours, landslide obstacles, and reminders that the heat was going to be a factor, we were released to reckon with our decisions.  

A relatively sleepless night followed, but as we rolled down to the start point before sunrise, collecting other riders along the way, there was an air of delirious excitement and anticipation building around us. After finding familiar faces in the throng of riders, we participated in the obligatory starter photo, brushed our teeth - apparently a strange thing to do on the start line - and rolled out, pedalling behind the police escort through the sleepy streets of Granada. 

Into the Foothills

Feeling the general push for the front by those looking to get a good start, there was a balance to be struck with Bill getting caught up in the excitement, and Philly wanting to ensure that she made it to the top of the first hill in one piece. Having successfully made it out of the city and onto the gravel roads, we began sweeping up through the foothills, being passed and passing bunches of riders as everyone navigated the terrain and found their own pace.

It quickly became clear that we were going to be treated to spectacular views throughout the entirety of this race, and the challenge of maintaining concentration on the technical surface while taking in the views would be one of the biggest difficulties! We also realized that we needed to race our own race, and not get caught up trying to keep up with or chase down riders at the expense of our long-term goals, something particularly challenging in a pair with differing levels of ability.

Riding into the Sierra de Huétor Natural Park, we got our first taste of the demanding climbs and unforgiving terrain that would reflect the rest of the race and started to see how it would play out. Over the years, we have come to the conclusion that it isn’t feasible to ride together the entire time, but that if we separate the person in front will wait at the next turning point or crest of the hill for the other. This removes some of the pressure and gives each person some freedom to ride each section how they want.

Rolling through the cool pine forests on single-track paths, this wasn’t much of an issue, but the gap finally opened on the Mirador del Fin del Mundo, a short but brutally steep climb - think 15% average with a max gradient of 25%. Having conquered the climb, Bill had to wait (as patiently as possible) in the blistering heat at the top while Philly joined other riders on the first of what promised to be many hike-a-bike sections. Reaching the top, panting from exertion, left little breath to answer Bill’s “Ready?”, a commonly used and often ridiculed phrase. How ready can you be if you’re desperately trying to suck air into your lungs?!

Successfully biking as a couple/pair/partnership is being able to balance competing wants and needs and learning to compromise on what you want versus what the group needs. Sometimes one person needs a minute to catch their breath, or they may be ready to ride right by as the other is taking a drink; freedom and compromise are crucial to balance to keep everyone happy.

The struggle through the heat of the day to reach Gorafe was as big a challenge as we would face in the race. Philly had not hydrated or fueled effectively, something that she generally struggles with, but which was exaggerated by the 40 degree heat. The comparison was stark: Bill had consumed ~7 liters of water, whilst Philly had only taken on ~2 liters, and was now suffering from significant dehydration.

While you can share many things, when riding as a pair, each individual is responsible for ensuring they drink and eat enough; individual choices that can lead to the ultimate success or failure of the pair. In this instance, underfueling for the circumstances had impacted both members of the team, necessitating the procuring of ice-cold slushies and Coca-Cola to bring Philly back to life and resulting in a slower, more stressful start to the race. In long races, like Badlands, food and hydration are key to survival and one hangry or dehydrated partner can easily turn the cycle sideways.

Gorafe Desert Revival

The revival complete, the route continued on through some of the most spectacular scenery we’d ever biked through, made even more picturesque by the colors of the setting sun painting the ridges and gorges. Enjoyment had re-entered the picture. Embracing the relief from the heat, and racing the fading light, meant that the sharp climbs and descents across the technical terrain seemed much more manageable, and the miles rolled by at a far more favourable pace.

As the final rays of light danced across the horizon, we decided to push on to what would be the final town before entering the desert loop, and our next big target, Gor. We met many other riders that evening who would push on through the night to reach the town, but after a tough day on the bike and having reached our daily goal of 100 miles, we decided to pause in search of sustenance before rolling into the desert to find a place to sleep for the night.

The morning came early and far too soon after a cold and restless night in our bivvys. Packing up before sunrise, we saw the telltale lights of other bikers who were already out on the trails. After attempts to rehydrate, shove down some food, and apply a liberal amount of chammy cream, it was time to get our protesting bodies back on the bike and make the most of the cooler morning hours.

The breathtaking views were waiting for us again, as were some pretty epic descents that wound down hillsides, through gorges, and followed the tracks of dry rivers, before depositing us at the bottom of each inevitable climb. The day consisted of varied terrain: sand, shale, cement, rocks, and plenty of exacting washboard gravel. Hitting the asphalt road to Gor was a welcome reprieve and there were even some angelic people roadside handing out Aquarius and apples.

Finding our Gear Above Gor

Despite being generally fatigued, day two was much more successful in terms of fuelling - Philly had got into her stride taking on liquids - and spirits were high as we rolled up into the Sierra de Baza above Gor. The next few hours passed in a series of long but comparatively relaxed climbs (6% now felt flat!), accompanied by localized thunderstorms and the ensuing rain. We were settling into the race, climbing at our own pace, but coming back together to eat, drink, and discuss how epic the experience was to have and to share. The idea that we could make it, simply following one pedal stroke by another was falling into place.

The whole of the second day - and as we would come to realize, a large amount of the race - centered around a ridge topped by the distinctive Calar Alto Observatory. Reaching the peak just before sunset, a layer of cloud cover below us made it feel like we were on top of the world. After putting on all the clothes we had brought with us, we were soon whipping downhill to dinner, doing our best to navigate a fast gravel descent in the dark.

This was also the first day we really started to interact with the other racers, giving each other encouragement during tough moments and learning the names and stories of those we were leapfrogging throughout the day. We ended the day eating together at a small roadside restaurant, where one of our new-found companions leaned over to the next table and asked if they knew of a sheltered sleeping spot somewhere. Without missing a beat, one of the ladies offered us the spare beds in her house. Clip-clopping through the city with 3 other riders, we laughed at the unexpected turn the day had taken and the experiences the race was bringing us beyond what we imagined. The full belly, warm shower, and comfortable bed ensured we passed out quickly, and with only vague memories of being woken by everyone else leaving in the early hours of the morning, we rose feeling more ready to take on day three of the race.

Is it a Race When You Support Other Riders?

This auspicious start quickly turned inauspicious when a slow leaking tire, and some overzealous pumping led to a broken pump and with it some very real concern about how the rest of the race would go. We had brought 5 tubes, but now if we flatted we would not be able to re-inflate anything ourselves, putting us at significant risk of not finishing the race. Still, without a bike shop nearby, we had no choice but to continue on and hope for the best.

It is a strange concept “racing” but not having a goal other than completing the course. We had “lost time” to other riders continuing on into the night, or setting out before us in the morning, and it was motivating to start catching these individuals and pairs over the course of the day. But there was also a certain joy to be caught by them later when we stopped to eat or cool down in the shade, to exchange stories, encouragement, or in one instance exclaim that they'd brought a full coffee set-up with them - apparently an essential item. With a broken pump, we were also reliant on our “competitors” if anything went wrong.

This was part of the magic of Badlands for those not going for the win, sharing an epic experience on the edge of everyone’s ability and lending a helping word or hand as we traveled across the peaks and valleys of the course, and of our emotions. Having someone to share in the elated highs, but also someone to lean on during the lows, is why we signed up for Badlands together, and also why we saw a few solo riders pair up.

The Coast is No Day at the Beach

The terrain that allowed for the previous night’s fast descent soon turned into a jagged set of rough and rocky roads with punchy climbs quickly sapping our energy. As the sun climbed in the sky, the next section kicked brutally up out of a valley as we climbed towards our first glimpse of the coast. Bill accelerated on, cheered by other riders who had decided to try and conserve energy by taking a long slow walk uphill in the baking heat. The climb (eventually) complete and with an incredible view down towards the Mediterranean, we took a moment to appreciate how lucky we were to be there, competing in this incredible challenge together.

However, this high was soon brought crashing down when we arrived at the coast dusty and tired, craving a hearty meal, only to be met with closed kitchens - ah the Spanish siesta - and confused beach-goers. After sourcing a loaf of bread and some tomate con aciete, we ate in the shade with a breeze from the sea, trying to regain our strength before heading back out into the brutally hot day, fully aware we still had a long way to go.

Heading to Cabo de Gata presented us with other-worldly views and a stretch of road that was gratefully received but far too short-lived, as we soon found ourselves on some very bumpy byways, making all the aches and pains much more present. Trying to truly experience all the incredible places this route was showing us was complicated by physical and mental struggles; the gradient of the slope, quality of the surface, hunger level, heat, and overall discomfort all vying for attention at any given point. 

After following a flowing trail to the coast, the realization that we still had a significant way to go despite the imminently setting sun, meant shifting expectations of when we would finish the day. Moods were low, and the idea of biking what would be a beautiful section of the course in the dark, coupled with hunger, tiredness, and some differences of opinion meant that the last 30 miles of the day would be fraught. Everything came to a head on a pitch black chunky climb, where tears flowed and harsh words were spoken.

The promise of food enabled us to pick ourselves up, get back on the bike, and keep on pedaling. A pizza, beer, and apology later, we were ready to take on the last 10 kilometers towards our destination for the day. The only impediment now was that we still had to face the notorious sandy section across a beach where hike-a-bike was not a choice, but a necessity. Only later after speaking to other riders were we glad that we took that section on in the darkness of night and not the beating sun. 

Suffering in the Sand (and Heat)

Day four of the race began much like the others - not enough sleep and a body (mainly the undercarriage) protesting at being forced back into bibs and onto the bike. But as with every other day, the feeling of freedom once we had overcoming the wincing and settled into the saddle overwhelmed everything else. We were over half-way, and despite the promise of another scorcher, spirits were high as we rolled from the Sierra Alhamilla foothills up towards the Pico Colativí.

Navigating up the stunning, steep climb, we were greeted by one of the organizers, Chris, who gave us a bit of background on his relationship with the area and the route, inspiring us up the last section of the climb. Reaching the peak, and seeing most of the course laid out before us put our progress in perspective, we were making it through the course - together. As we attacked the descent, pausing only to take in the serpentine switchbacks, we laughed in delight at what we had achieved together so far. However, on reaching the valley floor, this joy quickly evaporated as it became evident that the heights we had scaled had saved us from the brutally intense heat of the day. The winds now blowing on our faces felt like a breeze in a sauna; a feeling of burning, and intense relief when it wafts in a different direction!

In Tabernas we took some time to cool down and eat enough to feed a family of four at a local restaurant, much to the bemusement of the other diners. Our waitress proved unflappable, taking our substantial order and dusty exteriors in stride. It’s a strange thing when you get into the flow of a bike trip, you shift to being in a seemingly constant state of hunger, no matter how much you have eaten. Heading back out into the beating sun, we filled our bottles and packed our jerseys with ice as we headed out to tackle what Bill assured Philly was “an easy 10 miles downhill”.

Little did we know but this “downhill” saw us head into the infamous las ramblas network which shape the landscape - named the Badlands for its inability to be cultivated or worked. These impressive channels are formed when sudden torrential rains fall, and the waters rush through the land, leaving sediment and excavating troughs as they pass, resulting in a constantly changing geography. The shifting sands, slippery terrain, and gusting winds, which whipped the dust into swirling storms, ensured the need for constant concentration and were a steep learning curve for those with less finesse to their bike-handling skills; definitely not the promised “easy 10 miles downhill”.

In Badlands, we spent to majority of the time overheating, no matter how many breaks we took in the shade, or how many times we doused ourselves in water, and this afternoon was no different. As we slow-rolled up through scenery that looked like it would make a perfect backdrop for an old Western film, we struggled to take on enough water and reapply sun-cream. The combination of wet bibs and salty skin ensured already chafed skin rubbed just that little bit more.

With golden hour closing in, our next descent towards a riverbed, the sandy valley meant that there was much slipping and sliding, fish-tailing round bends, and near misses as deeper patches of sand caught us out. Coupled with a landslide that required dismounting, this “downhill” section also took longer than expected. Finally arriving at a small town and turning a corner, we found ourselves in a small square strewn with other dusty, weary cyclists in various stages of disarray.

After taking a small break to assess our situation, we realized that while we had made it a considerable way, there was still more to go in order to not leave ourselves with an impossible task on what we hoped would be our final day. This was one of those moments where we really had to think about what would be better for “future us”, even if it wasn’t what would make “present us” particularly happy. And so the next couple of hours passed with steep climbs and descents, where we were aware of only what was visible in the beams of our headlights and the occasional distant pin-pricks that signified the lights of other riders. Time passes differently at night, and we managed to knock off a good few miles and meters to reach a bar just as it was closing. One beer and a slice of Tortilla de Patatas was all we could manage to order before needing to find a sheltered corner to sleep and prepare as best we could for the big push that would be the final day.

The "Final" Push

Only a few hours later, we rolled back down into town to the realization that the same bar we finished the night at was already open. Greeting the gruff but friendly owner, we filled up our water and were on our way. Starting our last day approaching La Alpujarra, we knew there were only 80 miles left to go - but still 13,000 feet to climb - translated: a lot of up and not much down. Breakfast came 3,000 feet into the day, and with Bill too hangry to order, Philly had step in to save the day before it had even really begun. Eight servings of Pan con [insert various toppings here] later, we headed towards the first big climb of the day out of Darrical. Reaching the river bed and craning our necks up at the mountain ahead of us, we were reminded that the whole region the race passed through seemed to have deemed switchbacks unnecessary, meaning that whenever changing direction was required, the grade often kicked up over 20%.

While there were no easy miles of Badlands, the last day really reminded us of every foot we had climbed so far. Reaching Cadiar, we were in desperate need of lunch and found a bar serving chicken, fries, and an unidentified sauce - just what we wanted sitting in our stomachs as we struggled up the savagely steep climb directly out of town. All of the efforts from the previous days were piling up and it was difficult to tell if the finish line was feeling closer or less attainable with each pedal stroke.

A Coca-Cola was key to reaching Trevelez, but that still left two climbs to the finish. Cresting the first called for a short horizontal pause - a key feature of Philly’s race - was the remaining 10 miles going to be a bridge too far? Luckily not, but a landslide calling for a challenging up and down hike-a-bike almost was. Conquering the last few winding turns, we crested to a stunning view of the mountains rolling down to the sea, and the last challenge complete, we finally knew it was all downhill to Capileira.

Rolling onto the road was a surreal sensation - knowing that all that stood between us and the finish line was a few smooth miles downhill, a kind of real-time nostalgia kicked in for all the challenges we’d faced over the last four days, and the mixed emotions that the race was coming to an end. As we zoomed down some of the most beautiful switchbacks we’d ever seen, cheering and whooping, Capilera rolled up to meet us, complete with a finish line banner and the smiling, cheering faces of other racers - some familiar, some new, all more worn, dusty, and tanned than they had been a few days before. 

Our race was complete! Grinning from ear to ear, and accepting hugs from riders we had shared the days with, Chris approached us to offer heartfelt congratulations for completing the course, but also on completing it together - as in his experience couples who start the race together, don't always finish the race together!

So how did we make it through this ordeal without breaking up? There were instances of being physically or emotionally low, when one or other of us didn’t think we’d make it (either individually or together). But through sheer stubbornness and resolve on an individual level, and generosity towards one another's flaws and weaknesses, we had managed to pull ourselves and each other back, completing the challenge and the goal we had set out to: 100 miles and 10,000 feet of elevation a day, 5 days of biking. And most importantly we’d completed it together.

How to Survive a Bikepacking Race as a Couple

So what can we leave you with if you’re considering taking on something like this with a partner or a friend?  Ride your own race, even though you are a pair, approach each other with respect and graciousness, and accept the compromises that this brings. But if you want a few more concrete suggestions:

1. Your fuelling is your own responsibility but remember it can impact both of you.
2. Your emotions will not be in sync - especially watch out for when your lows coincide and always be ready to apologize for what was said in tiredness, hunger, or frustration.
3. Know where your strengths and weaknesses lie and use them to strengthen the partnership.
4. When you are feeling good, use this time to your advantage and boost the morale of yourself and your partner.

Ultimately, just try to enjoy every moment you can be "dancing on the pedals" together.