Fail 14: Out of Shape for Desertus Bikus (Video)

Anyone can do an ultra-distance race. Or, at the very least, any cyclist, given you love riding your bike enough to ride it until the point of hating it. And given you have a taste for adventure and an ego that doesn’t mind how you rank. If you’re hesitant about what your first race should be, this one is definitely for you.

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The Desertus Bikus is a free route between mostly free spirits, as fellow rider Justinas Leveika put it so well. It’s a welcoming event that encourages participants to ride in groups rather than sanctioning it, and it has more than enough checkpoints to help you avoid getting too turned around. Every 100 kilometres or so, you’re pointed in the right direction as you make your way across deserts and national parks, making navigation far simpler than it otherwise could be.

There’s a party at the start of the race and a party at the end, which happens to last for days on end. It’s less of a race and more of a rally, and it’s as much about community and making friends as it is about adventure and cycling. I think I say this every time, but it was likely the best event I’ve ever attended!

Introduction

I got wind of the Desertus Bikus from Josh Ibbett about two years ago. “This looks like a great one. You should consider it!” he said. I let it slide for a while but kept it on my radar. The 2024 edition would finish close to Lisbon, where I am based, which was all the incentive I needed. It was a 1,400-kilometre free route with seven checkpoints carefully curated to bring riders through Spain’s beautiful national parks. Spain has to be my favourite place to ride in Europe as it’s only 250 kilometres away from home yet a completely different experience. I’ve toured there quite a bit now, and it feels like a home away from home. Still, the country is so vast, and there is a lot more to discover.

Slipped Disc

When it happened, I was shooting sills on a tour for a premium cycling holidays agency, on a gravel trip, and the guys were in top form. I was feeling up to the task, so I hammered and never asked them to slow down. The next morning, I moved my heavy bag around the room, and a disc slipped in my lower back. I instantly felt 25 years older. Meds would help me finish the trip, and once I got home and off the pills, I knew I wouldn’t get to ride for a while. Four weeks, to be exact. Before an ultra-race, it was inconvenient, to say the least.

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The plan was simple: instead of having any kind of training leading to the race, I would just ride a big chunk to the start and get a sort of warm-up and field test of my setup and shape. I took a bus from Lisbon to Madrid, and then I rode the remaining 600 kilometres to the start in four days of touring, adjusting my saddle little by little. The back was no issue, but the knees were screaming; I ditched my road pedals and road shoes for a pair of flats and some sneakers, a move I highly recommend to anyone who suffers knee pain. I did consider getting plastic Birkenstocks!

Spain

If you’ve never been to Spain, all you need to know is that it is probably one of the very best countries in Europe to ride a bike. It’s massive and full of national parks, deserts, and mountain ranges. Once you go inland, far from the tourist destinations, various landscapes await, as do culinary delights, beautiful villages, lovely alcohol-free beers, a welcome change from sodas but the same calorie and carb intake. But, most of all, what is striking about Spain are the incredibly courteous drivers: trucks will wait behind you on a hill so that they get a clear vision of what’s coming ahead before passing you gently—in the opposite lane—and that’s after having stalled 30 to 40 meters behind so you wouldn’t feel pressured. It’s mind-blowing!

The Party

These days, many races seem to have ditched the after-party, ending up somewhere random in a little half-empty bar with only a few riders, too tired to party! The Desertus Bikus has taken this issue very seriously. The race actually even starts with a DJ set. There are fewer nervous faces and more smiles at the start, and I get really tempted by that stand serving beers.

 

You would easily forget that at midnight, the race starts by climbing out of the Pyrenees and into Spain. Riders Justinas Leveika, Sophie Potter, and I are having diner in one of Hasaparren’s few restaurants; every eatery in the tiny town has been invaded by cyclists, and the place looks like it’s hosting some kind of festival where the dress code was “really tight clothes.”

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The after party is quite something too! The race ends in a bar, the final coordinates leading you right to a fresh beer. There, even if you’re among the last riders, you will find a bunch of people, some of which have been coming back every day for the past few days. You’ll be cheered and applauded, and before you get off the bike, Yvan, the organiser, will greet you with a cold drink. The after-party has no date or time; it lasts from the first rider to the last. It’s more of a festival than a party. Riders from the top ten cheer the red lanterns, and little groups form for spontaneous shared diners in the nearby restaurants. The day after my arrival, the organisation team is about to leave, and one of the servers tells me how sorry she is to know this is coming to an end—she genuinely enjoyed the wacky spandex bunch!

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But back to the start line, the DJ is getting louder and louder as we approach the beginning of the race. Organiser Yvan is running around with a massive smile on his face. He stops by me for a second as I look over at the DJ and says, “Yeah, I told him to build it up a bit more!”

The Race

I find Antoine Bernays, the race’s official filmmaker, and pass him my bulky digital camera that I don’t want to carry in the race. I have decided to prioritise the analog one and the GoPro to document the race. I feel a lot lighter already.

I start to ride through the night, and it takes me forever to reach the bottom of the first mountain. I made a gorgeous route, ditching the fast way for a little road along the river. The only problem is I can’t see anything, so there’s no point. It’s also much colder by the river, and the road is small and curvy and goes up and down. This is the worst possible way. I’ve already got a good 150 kilometres in my legs today by the time I finish that scenic diversion. I am already knackered, but I’m so relieved when I find the bottom of the climb.

I start the climb feeling very lonely as I am probably way behind already. At a gas station that’s obviously closed, I find a coffee machine, gather all the coins I have, and proceed to have as many coffees as I can afford. My mood naturally shifts. 

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When my back started acting up a month ago, I knew this race had to be a fun tour more than anything. Still, I’m riding through the night and won’t stop to sleep. When the sun comes up, my slow bum is only done with cresting the climb, and the downhill chills me to the bones. I find shelter before Pamplona in a cafe and have the longest brekkie in ultra-racing history. Warmed up and with batteries fully charged, I continue to CP1.

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The Desertus Bikus is designed to be whatever you make of it. It could be a fast race if you decided to take the best possible links between checkpoints. It could be a gravel race, as you are free to route it any way you fancy, it could even be a mountain bike odyssey, or it could just be an adventure. For me, it almost turned into some kind of a group holiday. The rules on drafting and group riding are pretty clear: you are encouraged to ride together, and drafting is actually advised. “Work together, ride together, enjoy together, eat together, hell why not have a beer together at the end of day one!”

Sophie likes cats and cakes

And I believe that’s why she is Sophie Gateau or Sophie Gato. I knew Sophie, one of the most prolific photographers in cycling adventures through the French landscape. We knew each other but had never met in person until the race village, and even there, we barely had a few minutes to say hi to each other.

When I was about to reach Calatayud on day two, I noticed Sophie wasn’t far behind. I stopped on the side of a quiet road just before the town and decided to wait. There is just no better way to meet people than on a bike ride. Sophie offered that I could follow her route, which was markedly different than mine. It was not her first attempt at the race, and she had cleverly made a very enjoyable route. “It’s not the fastest route but it should be alright!”

The route and the party in the middle

Sure, it’s a free route, and that can be daunting, but it would be hard to get it totally wrong and make yourself miserable. First, every road is relatively easy in Spain as the drivers are never an issue, and national roads are way more enjoyable than elsewhere. Also, the seven checkpoints are all in glorious areas. Even though I’d ridden a chunk of the route in reverse on my ride to the start, I was still discovering a lot, thanks to Sophie.

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At the end of my day with Sophie, we joined a little group that had already formed. After a few hours of riding, it felt like we had been friends for 10 years. We ended the day on some terrace, having a lovely dinner and tostadas (alcohol-free beers with a bit more character). The “DB spirit” expression became real at that point. My new friends went camping while I went for a little hotel, and we promised to meet at some point the next day.

Please Don’t End

I guess Spain didn’t want to let me leave, as I crashed and destroyed a tire in Badabjoz right before the border and lost a few hours switching my (long gone) front tyre for a new one and patching myself up at the pharmacy. I crossed the border with Victor, and we slept not far from each other in a Portuguese village in the Alentejo hills.

The next morning, I snapped my rear derailleur cable. I felt very savvy having a spare cable in my bags, but I couldn’t find the snapped cable end in my shifter. After three hours struggling and finally about to give up and go single speed, a group of local elderly folks had formed around me, watching me struggle with my mechanical. One of them brought all the tools he could think of and I finally managed to get the stubborn metal piece out of my shifter. 

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I would finish that evening, ditching the last checkpoint to make it on time for the last ferry, and most importantly, the first beer. I knew this would mean DNF, but at this point, getting to the bar without making my friends wait too long was all that mattered. Embracing the DB spirit, I finished my 2,000-kilometre ride with pride but no success, with my main goal of happiness achieved and with new friends rather than a fully satisfied ego. After two days of resting and partying, I took my bike on the train and rode back home. 

Another thing that surprised me was that I noticed most Desertus riders of were going back to France by all means other than flying. Almost everyone was taking buses and trains. I found only two riders who were flying home, one to Canada and the other to Norway. I thought this was quite impressive, considering the event took most riders at least 2,000 kilometres from home. Maybe events need a certain natural spirit rather than setting no-fly rules?

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There is one downside to the Desertus Bikus: it needs more international riders. It doesn’t need them per se, but this event holds so much potential to be highly celebrated in the world of ultra-distance cycling, especially with its non-fixed-route approach, incredible scenery, welcoming spirit, and amazing parties that remind riders not to take it too seriously.

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Thanks to my sponsors, who’ve helped me become the slowest-ever sponsored and create even slower films. Additionally, a huge and warm thanks to the organisation and Yvan Thuayre, the genius guru behind it, as well Antoine Bernays, the filmmaker who made it very possible for me to attend with the help and guidance of Michael Serafin, ultra epicurean cyclist!

Further Reading

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