Graham Lunn | Published on: August 1, 2025 | Edited on: August 3, 2025I had known about the Transpyrenees for a few years and always had it on my radar as a possible future challenge, but felt that the ride might be beyond me.
It's a bike race that crosses the whole length of the Pyrenees from the Atlantic to Mediterranean - 1000km and 27,000m of elevation gain. It's huge.
It attracts a few 'types': some who will race it and not sleep in order to complete the route in the shortest elapsed time possible, and those who will try to complete it in the shortest time possible but acknowledge that sleep deprivation and descending a mountain in the dark is challenging/mental, so they will sleep when they can and where they can. I found myself in the team sleep camp.
Day 1
The start of the ride was just outside San Sebastian. Me and a fellow club mate, Ben, rode to the start and met another rider, Tony, en route. Whilst riding with Tony, we chatted about the obvious stuff like have you done this before or anything similar. Tony was from Finland and was into ultra gravel races. He had done a few long distance rides but maintained that 400km was his usual race limit as he found that his vision narrowed to pinholes at this point due to tiredness. We joked and said that getting to that point probably wasn't sensible for the type of route we were taking on. Pinhole vision - what the hell am I doing here with these crazies?
We gathered at the beginning and waited for the 8am start. No bell, no gong, nothing. People just started rolling. It's quite informal, no pomp or ceremony, and we are underway. The first mountain started in less than 5km. I forgot how long mountains took.
My ambition for the ride was to complete it in 5 days, so the goal for day one was 200km but with 7000m of climbing. A good amount of km into the ride, I noticed that my bike was making quite a noise. I had pulled over to check what was going on, and to my horror, I had noticed that 3 out of the 4 bolts holding my rear derailleur cage together had jettisoned out on the previous descent (I had imagined the roads to be beautiful black top, but the organisers want it to be a challenge so some of the roads were farm roads with the most awful surface). Luckily, I had some electrical tape and performed some temporary surgery before a bike shop at the foot of the Tourmalet. Only 300km to go with a taped up rear mech - how bad could it be?
Turns out Lindux was as bad as it could be. A mountain in rural Spain that is an average of 8% but has an evil end segment of 2km at 20%. My bike was holding up, but my body wasn't. The temperature was 37°C and I had completely run out of water on the climb with the next village 20km away and still this 2km wall in front of me with zero shelter from the sun. I knew there were going to be low points, but this had floored me.
Push on, make progress was the only option. Once getting to the top, I noticed the race photographer with her camera next to a water fountain. I can't quite imagine the state she captured me in, but all I cared about was water. Hydrated and a few curse words later, I was back on my way. I had booked a hotel just over 200km in and was looking like I would make it just before 11 at the pace I was going.
A near death experience makes you value life. Not too sure why I was bombing the descent at 80km/h in the dark, but after the excitement of the start and the lowest point on a bike ever for me, I felt amazing. Stunning views for miles and the sun setting behind me and the temperature cooling off.
I got to my hotel, just. Day one done. There is a Mike Tyson quote that goes something along the lines of 'everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face'. Day one had punched me in the face for sure. On the upside, the shaving mirror in the hotel used an M4 chamfered bolt to attach it to the wall, the same as my rear mech. I merely borrowed the bolts and will return them on a future visit, maybe.
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Into the most rural part of the ride. The organisers had warned us about it and encouraged stocking up of food and water before we tackled a section of the ride which was 100km with no shops or access to mountain fountains.
I had stopped to stock up when I saw Julien. He made it! I asked Julien what happened and how pleased I was to see him. He told me that he wanted to scratch but saw that his train station was a 200km ride away and as such it was easier to carry on rather than stop. He also said that his legs had improved and felt amazing - he had the legs he had trained for. I rolled on and Julien told me his legs were so good that he'll most likely pass me on the climb.
I felt I had good legs but clearly Julien's were showing up. He passed me about midway up the climb but continued to ride with me for a few km. In this time, the cloud had come in and had turned into a huge storm - thunder claps so loud it made you temporarily deaf for a few seconds and rain so thick you could only see about 50m down the road. Julien told me his plan was to bivvy at 2000m and let the storm pass. There was no way I was crawling into a plastic bag in a storm for a few hours. I said good luck and continued on. Julien shook his head at me in disbelief.
It was grim. I had summited and the descent was technical and fast. The ground was so warm that the torrent of rain that hit it instantly turned to steam. Zero visibility and sketchy conditions made for a mentally challenging day. I had received a message from a club mate, Peter G, who reminded me about all the cold rides I had done as training. This helped massively. I sucked it up and pushed on. 'How's your legs now, Julien?' as I descended into the mist.
The rain stopped and I pushed on, finishing the most rural part of the ride.
Day 5
Day 6
A short ride into Llanca and to meet my wife at the finish around midday. The landscape changed from mountains to rolling hills to my relief. One major climb for the day 15km before the finish. I had run out of water again in the heat and had no other option but to drink from a fountain for cows.
This was a sub-optimal choice that I paid for later that day. I made it over the climb and in that next hour before the finish, I reflected on all the highs and lows of the ride and felt enormous pride in completing it.
At the finish, I saw Ele and was overwhelmed with what had happened in the five days before. Honestly, it was tough physically and mentally - so many lessons learnt.
Was it fun? No. Is it an experience I will remember all my life? Yes.
