Out of Control: The GOATS 2024

Words by Anne De Smet, photos by Nuno Pereira and Marco Miguel

The Goats is an unsupported off-road bikepacking race in Portugal. The 725-kilometer circular route with a staggering 17,000 meters of elevation gain weaves through six distinct mountain regions, each offering its own landscapes and diversity. Starting near the Alto da Torre, the highest point in Portugal at 1,993 meters, the event is as much a journey through Portugal’s wild heart as a test of endurance.

This year, however, an unexpected guest joined the race: Storm Kirk, barreling inland from the Atlantic. By the end, only half the riders would make it to the finish. These are my reflections as I navigated the storm to finish as the second solo woman.

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The Calm Before the Storm

It was 6 a.m. on day four of the race. Still dark, I reluctantly left the warmth of my hotel room. Sunrise wouldn’t come until 7:30 a.m. Even then, only if the fog relented. The worst of the storm was forecast for that day, but as I began climbing, it was dry. Optimism whispered that perhaps the storm might “blow over.” The days leading up to this had been a mix of dry and wet weather, much like the track itself—unpredictable. There had been wind and rain, but nothing compared to what was about to come.

Ten minutes into the climb, the rain began. A drizzle turned into a downpour, and I pulled on my rain trousers and jacket. The wind howled louder as I ascended. Tall trees swayed menacingly, their movements becoming erratic, threatening to snap. The gusts became so ferocious I feared for my safety. At a bend in the road shielded by a rock, I laid my bike down and crouched beside it, trembling as the storm raged above.

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When I signed up for the Goats, I hadn’t anticipated this kind of weather. The rider manual described October as “a dry month, usually,” with only a cautionary “but you never know.” Unlike the Highland Trail, the Tour Divide, or the Silk Road Mountain Race, extreme weather wasn’t supposed to be a defining feature of the Goats. Yet here I was, at the mercy of a hurricane. This contrasts the heatwave and forest fires that occurred in the same area two weeks before.

In hindsight, it’s easy to downplay fear, but in that moment, the raw power of nature was overwhelming. Alone on a mountain road, surrounded by darkness, wind, and rain. The bike that had been my companion for days now felt vulnerable against forces far beyond my control.

Battling Kirk

I don’t know how long I stayed crouched, but the flash of a red taillight eventually snapped me out of my daze. Another rider passed, giving me the courage to get back on the bike. A few kilometers later, I found him huddled in a bus shelter. He informed me the race had been temporarily neutralized due to the storm, now upgraded to hurricane-level winds. The crew of the Goats informed us via WhatsApp. This small, excellent team watched tirelessly over the weather and the safety of the riders.
We sought better shelter and found an abandoned house with a porch. We layered on every piece of clothing, shared stories, and tried to keep warm. The wind howled relentlessly, but after an hour and a half, we decided to move.

What followed was a battle. The wind was so fierce that we had to walk our bikes even on descents, and gusts threatened to throw us off balance. I was thankful I was not facing it alone. Six hours later, we finally crested a 1,000-meter summit, soaked and shivering.

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The descent offered little respite. When we reached a small town, I was starving and freezing. We found a bar, ordered piles of sweets and hot drinks, and tried to recover. Even with every layer I had, I couldn’t stop shaking. Outside, the sight of a hotel tempted me, but as it was only 4 p.m. I decided to push to the next town, which was 30 flat kilometers away. The gentle terrain was a rarity in the Goats, where climbs and descents dominate. That 30 kilometers felt almost surreal after days of unrelenting gradients.

Moments of Connection

Encounters with other riders during a bikepacking race are always memorable. While I prefer riding alone, the camaraderie of sharing the road—however briefly—offers a unique energy. Age, background, and experience fade away in the face of a shared goal: to push limits, embrace the unknown, and find joy in the journey.

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Portugal amplified this connection. The small towns we passed were timeless, with steep cobblestone streets that tested both body and bike. Resupply points, often tiny bars or grocery stores, felt like sacred pauses. Locals greeted us with warmth, curiosity, and generosity. Why rush through moments like these? Besides, Portuguese pastéis were too good not to savor; one day, I filled my entire food pouch with them.

The culture added a unique flavor to the race. Each village seemed to hold a story, etched into its narrow alleys and old stone walls. The simplicity of these moments—ordering a coffee, exchanging a smile, tasting a local pastry—offered a grounding contrast to the chaos of the storm.

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The Power of Preparation

The storm tested every decision I’d made about gear and mindset. I was endlessly grateful for my rain trousers, waterproof gloves, and SealSkinz socks. Though they couldn’t keep me entirely dry in hours of rain, they delayed the inevitable long enough to keep me moving. I carried bivvy gear but rarely used it, opting for hotels to dry out and warm up each night.

The weather demanded not only a lot of energy but also focus. It wasn’t just about enduring the rain; it was about making smart choices. Eating, hydrating, staying warm—simple acts became critical. Even the act of continuing felt like a triumph. But it wasn’t only the storm that challenged me. There still was the track that went either up or down. I rode a mountain bike, a choice I didn’t regret. On smoother sections, gravel riders were faster, but the descents were my domain. The race began with a rough descent—an early preview of what was to come. These weren’t the most technical trails, but they demanded constant focus, especially in the rain and fog.

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When the fog cleared, the views were breathtaking. Thursday, day five of the race, was one of those rare days. For a couple of hours, I could finally shed my rain trousers and enjoy the scenery: windmills on the climbs, wide-open vistas stretching across the land. It was a glimpse of beauty that would stay with me long after the race was over.

A Redefined Finish

Reaching the finish line was euphoric, though it wasn’t the finish as planned. The final climb to Alto da Torre was deemed too dangerous due to dense fog and extreme winds. Instead, the crew redirected riders to a safe endpoint, 10 kilometers short of the summit, and drove us the rest of the way. Even in the car, visibility was near zero.

When I arrived, I felt a surge of pride. Not just for enduring, but for embracing the chaos. Adventure, I realized, isn’t about control. It’s about surrendering to the uncontrollable and thriving within it.

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Control the Controllable

Storm Kirk reminded me of an essential truth: the weather is beyond control. But mindset, preparation, expectations and decisions are within reach. Bikepacking teaches you to balance chaos with calm, to face the unpredictable with resilience. It’s just a bike ride, after all, but it’s one that leaves a lasting mark.

The 2024 edition of the Goats began on October 6th. Next year, it shifts to June. Hopefully, the weather will be kinder. But then again, you never know. Keep an eye on TheGOATS.cc to learn more.

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Further Reading

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