The Adventure Syndicate attempts to bring progress to bikepacking by taking it back to a simpler, sillier time.
Words: Lee Craigie. Photography: Tour Der Farcers as credited
It used to be that bikepacking races were a niche, underground affair for a tight community of feral, renegade riders united in their weird preference for staying awake rather than paying for accommodation. Having watched the birth and morph of the bikepacking phenomenon into something more commodified and sanitised, some of us decided that it’s been fun but we miss the halcyon days of this dirty, elemental, brand-free nonsense that used to occur.
While commercialisation might ultimately mean that more people are more likely to get involved with the ‘sport’ that we love so much, there’s also a danger it becomes the boring bastion of one type of rider. If we only see images of rugged white men riding fancy bikes adorned with expensive bike bags squinting, unsmilingly into cameras while the wind and rain whip at their tastefully tailored clothing, then that is what bikepacking becomes. And that, in our opinion, would be a bit boring.
Rather than moan about it (are we too late?) Philippa, Alice and I from The Adventure Syndicate decided to create an event that embodied what we believe bikepacking racing, and bike riding more generally, is all about: community, challenge, environmental stewardship, inclusivity and, most importantly, fun.
A better monster
We had grown tired of standing on crowded start lines of bikepacking races surrounded by like-minded people all racing the same multi-day route but only actually speaking to them at the end once the racing was over. We were tired of the sleep deprivation and the discomfort of putting wet clothes back on in the fug of a soggy bivvy bag at 4am and eating crap food from petrol stations while riding. We still craved the physical challenge of long days on the bike travelling through wild places but we wanted to come back together with our friends in the evenings, eat proper food and dry our pants on radiators ready for the next day. So we devised a monster four-day route around the north-west of Scotland with optional mountain missions and ending each day at some of our favourite highland hostels. In our wisdom, the three of us decided we would also race our bikes while directing the event so we roped in Becky Waters to handle the daily logistics and be on hand for any emergencies.
As in the lesser-known Tour de France, the Tour de Farce would be four races within a race, with jerseys to be won. The jerseys awarded would depend on what we could find in our local charity shop, and would be redistributed each evening on the podium – but would remain unwashed…
The Yellow Jersey competition – General Classification Race
This would be awarded daily to the rider with the lowest accumulated time over all four stages. The clock would start when a rider left the hostel and stop when they reached the next hostel.
The Polka Dot Jersey competition – Monarch of the Mountain
This would be awarded daily to the rider with the lowest accumulated time through the set, optional daily mountain stages.
The Green Jersey competition – Sprint Race
The winner of this jersey would be decided on Stage 3 and would involve a points-based mystery challenge, the details of which would be revealed on the morning of the third day.
The White Jersey/Unicorn Headband competition – Best Young (at heart) Rider
This would be awarded to the rider who best embodied the spirit of the race each day.
Plastic unfantastic
Although we normally pride ourselves on inclusivity, for the inaugural Tour de Farce the invitation list comprised solely of people we knew we wouldn’t have to worry about should they fail to turn up at a hostel before dark. The focus would be on encouraging riders to choose the route to the hostel each day they felt they could handle – with no judgement or pressure to do things the hard way. Finally, to make things fair, riders would have to fill out a personal profile so that their privilege tax could be calculated accordingly and deducted from their overall score at the end.
“The fancier and newer your bike and kit, the bigger handicap you will incur. Your age, the length of your femur, the athletic prowess of your parents and grandparents and how much you have trained for this event will all be taken into account when your final GC time is calculated. We reserve the right to add other unfair and nonsensical things to this list. We will gather this information from you before the race start.”
In order to account for their whereabouts, riders would be required to personalise and carry an egg that they would use to clock in and out of the hostels as part of a fail-safe system that surpassed any GPS tracking device.
“During the Tour de Farce you will be invited to carry an egg. Blessed are the eggs. Eggs represent life. Nurturing a fragile egg over rough terrain takes deep care and consideration. Caring for your egg throughout this event will help you remain grounded and humble. If your egg breaks in transit this represents something much bigger and more esoteric than might be immediately apparent. Think hard about your egg care regime. Don’t break your egg.”
Rules:
- Don’t be a c*nt
- Have fun
A garage forecourt smash and grab is unanimously considered the fastest way to resupply under pressure but the single-use plastic generated by this tactic is staggering, never mind the quality and origin of the food being consumed. While we didn’t ban single-use plastic in our event, we were inspired by The Green Runners and Taylor Doyle’s Ultra Distance Plastic Resistance pledge so Tour de Farce riders were asked to carry any plastic rubbish they generated each day and weigh it in at check-in each evening. A ten-minute time penalty would be issued per one gram of plastic used.
In order to reinforce the idea that riders were encouraged to stop in pubs, swim in rivers and enjoy the ride, time would be given back for sit-down meals and photos of full body submersion in water.
Bonus miles
After a pleasant evening of arts and crafts at Inverness Youth Hostel to allow riders to fill in their profiles and bond with their eggs, we set off north-west in the direction of the Achmelvich Beach hostel, 150km away. Despite our attempts to set a more laid-back tone to this race, we left Inverness at an all-out sprint which didn’t let up most of the day. At Blackwater, the route turned north through the beautiful Alladale Wilderness Reserve, a pioneering estate management model that encourages natural regeneration, promotes biodiversity and educates young local people on the importance of both. We hoped that our riders felt they had the time to appreciate this special place as they raced through it. The lumpy gravel gave way to tarmac at The Oykel Bridge Hotel and provided an opportunity for riders to claw 30 minutes back if they paused long enough to order a pint and a packet of crisps. Riders sprawled across multiple tables embracing the novelty of actually gaining time by stopping during a race to have a break in the company of others.
Fifteen kilometres further up the road and the first of the mountain stages began. Many riders have history with the Ledmore traverse having ridden it during the Highland Trail 550 but always in the opposite direction. It consists of a tenuous path around the iconic Suilven mountain that delivers riders spitting and swearing onto the tarmac 16km after leaving Lochinver. At this stage in the day about 50% of riders reminded themselves of Rule 2 and took the tarmac and time penalty around Loch Assynt but it was surprising to see how many riders opted for the harder, but wilder Ledmore traverse. Perhaps they were keen to discover if it flowed better in the opposite direction. The jury is out.
Thankfully all riders arrived at Achmelvich Beach Hostel in time for a swim in crystal clear waters and before the chip van stopped serving food, after which there was an optional bonus that some decided was a step too far.
“The Smallest Castle in the World – Stage 1
When you arrive at Achmelvich Hostel you’ll be invited to go in search of this strange little phenomenon. If you find it and get photographic evidence of having done so you will get a 1 hour time bonus. You might think it’s not worth it, and no one would blame you, but if you don’t go you’ll be wondering what you missed out on for the rest of your life.”
That evening, while chips were digested, Phil, Alice and I did the calculations, awarded the jerseys and gave a brief for the following day. Stage 2 would be massive but, if riders could get themselves to the pier in Ullapool by 9am the following morning, there was a suggestion that the day could be made slightly less massive.
The early bird catches the boat
Some riders began at 4am in the hope that our vague promise of a mystery shortcut might make the 192km day through the Fisherfield mountains more bearable. Those who made it to the pier on time were rewarded with a boat ride across Loch Broom, slashing the 40km of road they would otherwise have had to complete to get to Dundonnell and the start of the Fisherfield traverse.
It was a staggeringly clear, crisp day in the remote Fisherfield range and even the riders who had opted to bring gravel bikes rather than mountain bikes decided (rightly or wrongly) that they would attempt the mountainous traverse. This mountain stage began at Shenavall Bothy and ended when the trail turned to tarmac just outside Poolewe; on paper, just a stone’s throw as the crow flies. But crows in flight move differently from humans on drop bar bikes and it was nearly midnight before the last rider placed their egg in the box at Torridon Hostel. However, it’s safe to say that everyone who opted to ride off-road had a special moment at some point on this massive mountain traverse. It’s almost impossible not to have these special moments when moving through such a vast, imposing landscape. In these places, a person’s sense of importance in the bigger scheme of things absolutely bottoms out in all the natural drama and they are left feeling humble and free in a way that’s hard to describe. That said, there was an equal amount of despair for many riders too as a result of mechanical failure, an underestimation of the terrain and a general overestimation of energy levels and riding ability. Interestingly, egg breakage had entirely ceased by this stage in the race. Despite the daily tests of endurance and the mental fortitude required, it appeared all riders had adapted to prioritising egg care and compassion over anything else.
Pubs mean prizes
We were all ready for a rest on day three. Many of us had emptied our tanks the day before and now felt the need for a long lie-in and several coffees. We had anticipated this mid-race slump and so designed Stage 3 a little differently. Like in the much loved Polaris Challenge, riders were presented with a series of points on a map that would win them points in the green jersey competition. There were points for bagging a Munro, catching a train or turntable ferry, taking in the iconic Bealach na Bà road pass, navigating a historic coffin road and, as usual, points for pubs, swims and cafes – and penalties for plastic used and eggs broken. In an attempt to encourage more engagement with the terrain being travelled through, double points would be awarded for any rider ditching their phone and GPS device for the day and navigating by paper map instead. In an effort to support riders to make the sorts of decisions that maximised their joy quota, it was decided that Stage 3 would give a whopping two hours back for any pub stopped in along the way. For Gail (who actually went on to win the green jersey) this meant sitting on her own surrounded by American tourists and without even her phone for distraction for the full two hours. Gail didn’t need to sit in the pub for two hours to get her two hours back but a misunderstanding of the rules allowed her a surprisingly rich and rewarding experience relaxing with nice people and one that, by her own admission, she would never have had under normal race conditions.
While Gail sat twiddling her victorious thumbs in a pub near Strathcarron, almost the entire pack was catching the 15.33 to Kyle of Lochalsh. After too long spent in the Lochcarron Hotel, nine of us with our bikes bombarded the poor conductor on the Scotrail service to Kyle with thanks and apologies. On the train already were four riders who had been sensible enough to get on at the stop before us. This beautiful, but brief, train journey gave most of us just enough time to ride over the Skye Bridge and reach Kylerhea in order to catch the last crossing of the season on Glenelg’s historic little turntable ferry. Of this now depleted bunch, those who curtailed their time in the Glenelg Inn made it to the Ratagan Hostel before dark. For everyone else, the open fire at the inn proved the perfect place to share the day’s stories before the necessary and unwelcome late-night climb over the Ratagan Pass to the hostel.
The final stage was always going to be brutal: 162km mostly off-road with 2,500m of climbing and a cut-off time of 6pm so that riders might still have time to packraft out to Prosecco island on Loch Ossian to claim their prizes. A wet pre-dawn burst into another glorious autumnal day and the Great Glen sparkled and danced with slanting sunlight as groups of tired riders inched south to Loch Ossian. Riders started to appear at the little green wood-clad hostel on the shores of the loch as early as 4pm. Some had ridden the entire way. Others had hopped on buses from Ratagan, a few caught the train from Spean Bridge and travelled in style down the side of Loch Treig, and a high proportion rode the entire way but every single person who had started from Inverness four days before was now assembled at the Loch Ossian Youth Hostel having undertaken a massive adventure largely of their own making.
Let them be winners
The final calculations were unimaginably hard. Even with the help of independent judges brought in especially to help us ascertain a fair and transparent scoring system for our riders’ privilege tax bands, it took more than two hours of intense concentration. We should have perhaps waited to open the Prosecco before we worked out the overall winners of the jerseys but hindsight is a wonderful thing.
Winner of the Yellow Jersey Competition – General Classification Race: Jaimi Wilson
“As far as we are concerned, Jaimi is a deserving winner of this race. Her bike cost £200 and is a heavy, aluminium hardtail with 26-inch wheels. Jaimi is also vegan so her environmental credentials were already through the roof before we began calculating her plastic consumption. Sure, she’s handy on a bike and has racing pedigree but she isn’t paid to ride her bike like Josh Ibbett and Lee Craigie have been. Phil almost beat Jaimi but the fact that she grew up with a tennis court in her back garden swung Phil into a privilege tax band all of her own.”
Winner of the Polka Dot Jersey competition – Monarch of the Mountain: Huw Oliver
“While it’s true that Huw was riding a very fancy bike and that it may have helped him float effortlessly over all the mountain stages, we did have to mark him down for suspected yogic flying. We were about to penalise him for taking the race too seriously but then he backed right off the race charge to look after his tired body and contemplate the meaning of life while riding the final few kilometres. This secured him the title of Monarch of the Mountain and all-round good guy.”
Winner of the Green Jersey competition – Points Race: Gail Brown
“Gail made a remarkable comeback after a disastrous first stage when her plastic consumption and an egg breakage cost her somewhere in the region of five hours in time penalties. But she kept her head up and nailed Stage 3, earning her this prestigious award and a bunch of new American friends. Well done Gail.”
Winner of the White Jersey / Unicorn Headband competition – Best Young (at heart) Rider: Isla Rowntree
“Isla rode her own race from day one, opting to head straight for Ullapool on the first night and miss Achmelvich entirely so that she could resupply her Tupperware from a plastic-free refill shop. She rode a bike she had made herself and while not immune to the privilege tax due to her racing pedigree, she embodied the spirit of this race. On the final stage, exhausted and emotionally wrung out, Isla took the time to pull over and knock on the door of a stranger’s house with an Islabike propped up outside it. She had noticed that a part was missing and she wanted to make sure the owner got the part to replace it. A true hero and a worthy wearer of the unicorn headband, which we are led to believe she is still wearing.”
We had pulled it off and no one was more surprised than us. We had lots to refine if this was an event we would open to the public in 2025 but we were happy with everything we had achieved and, it seemed, so were our hardy participants.
“[The Tour de Farce was]…impossible to summarise; it blended thought-provoking with silly, social with solitude, racing yet not rushing. It was simultaneously meaningful and completely absurd which I guess is consistent with most sports if you think about it too hard.” – Gail Brown. Tour de Farce participant and winner of the 2024 Green Jersey
The Adventure Syndicate is a collective of women who adventure by bike and run events to encourage others to do the same. Find out more at theadventuresyndicate.com/events
