Fast is Fun: Racing (and Enjoying) Transcordilleras on the New GVR
Transcordilleras is so much more than a bike race. This being my third time riding across the Andes for this 8-day gravel stage race, I’ve gotten to know some friendly faces and warm smiles amidst the difficult days of climbing, descending, dodging—or sometimes swimming in—puddles, and the occasional slip and slide through mud. It may sound trivial, but the social aspect of sharing the ride with others is the reason I keep coming back.
A cheeky smile passed between sunburnt racers. The group chat asking where to find the best cake in a pueblo of 500 people. Word spreading of a breakfast spot that will be open early enough to fill us up. Sharing a bocadillo mid-race. THIS is what makes an event like this special. Of course, I want to push my body and get a result—whatever that means for a 36-year-old cycling fanboy. This year, I let go of “getting a result,” at least for the first half of the event.
This year, I came to soak it up. I wanted to enjoy the in-between bits more, let the wheel ahead of me go, and turn off the race brain I’ve embraced the last couple of years. When riding long distances, bikepacking, or pushing through a 24-hour ride, I’ve always embraced the idea that fun is fast. A simple motto, one that has carried me through many miles of joy. Keep it fun, and it will be as fast as it needs to be.
The Race Plan: Chill Up Climbs, Attack Down Descents
I always have some doubts about myself coming into any event. Do I belong? Am I fit for this?
I came to have fun, and I had to keep reminding myself of that and embrace what I came to do. Let the wheel go, focus on my breath and eating, and absolutely blitz any downhills that come. The rougher, the better.
In the back of my mind was a goal of nabbing a top 5 on a stage. With descents as my main strength, I scoured the race book for a stage that made sense. The queen stage... 12k feet of vertical gain... uh, nope. The day with the most descending (~14k feet of drop) still had over 9k of gain... So I kept my tourist mantra, which consisted of relaxing on the pace, not chasing or following attacks, but focusing on finding my group and having fun on the descents. Maybe my stage would present itself to me in time.
Stages 1-3: Getting Grounded
Stage 1 feels a bit ceremonial. Everyone with fresh legs, clean kits, and nervous smiles that transcend language barriers. Each stage has a neutral rollout for a bit, likely something to do with getting out of the main streets of El Retiro, but I take it as a moment to meet, catch up, or joke about how little or how much other racers have on their bikes.
Stages 2 and 3 were still about getting grounded in the rhythm. Wake up at 5 a.m., find breakfast and coffee, fill your pockets and bottles. Ride the stage safely, occasionally push it on the descents, just as planned. Upon finishing, each rider gets a sticker to show completion, each one covering their respective spot on our Brevet Cards.
Stage 3 might have been my favorite stage. The traverse along the Magdalena River was very technical—the kind of day where it seemed the whole world was trying to stop you in your tracks. The weather was on and off with rain. The roads were filled with huge puddles that took full faith and commitment to ride through when no other option was present. The dirt was a bit slippy, but luckily not peanut butter.
With multiple small creek crossings, our bikes were getting pummeled. Bearings were fully submerged, brakes were screeching, and our shoes were filling up with river sediment. While dodging a big puddle and skirting along a wire fence, my front tire found some thick slop and left the chat. Op! I was tossed over the front end and nearly run over by the Dutchie behind me. A few laughs and all is well. I hop up and ride on.
Personally, I loved it. These aren’t simple straight roads or pure climbs. Days like this require full-body riding, and I pushed the bike to the limits of my control. I had a big smile when I got this day’s sticker.
Stages 4-7: Fun Starts Paying Off
I originally expected stage 4, the queen stage featuring long climbs and intense heat, to be my breaking point. Thankfully, we were gifted with an overcast morning and more pavement than predicted. With 12,000 ft of vertical gain, stage four had been on my mind for days. I kept it under control, riding smoothly in a group and focusing on eating. I ate a lot. Glancing at the route book afterward, I got a feeling the following three days would be the bigger challenge, each with around 9,000 ft of gain and more heat, humidity, and altitude.
Stages 5, 6, and 7 brought about a shift—a shift in sensations, thoughts, and riding style. Pushing through some higher elevations, I found another gear that I wasn’t expecting. Every day prior had been fun, with the fast part coming mostly on the descents. Entering this last half of the adventure, I began to experience the inverse of my original motto—fun is fast!
I felt surprising joy with this realization. After chilling to enjoy myself for a few stages, I suddenly had power in my legs just as many around me were beginning to fade. I pushed hard, catching and dropping people that I didn’t have the legs to ride with before—race leaders, stage winners, former national and world champions.
Stage 1, I finished in 20th place. On stages 6 and 7, I found myself finishing in 6th. Maybe the podium finish I had dreamed about is closer than I thought. I was so close!
Stage 8: My Battle for a Podium
Stage 8 was a radical shift. It was in Los Llanos, or as Daniel Botero told me, the “Texas of Colombia.” The terrain is super flat with some deep sand before and after a calf-deep river crossing. It’s half pavement, and the other half is bumpy and dry dirt with plenty of embedded stones to keep you on your toes. The weather was hot, with a nasty cross-headwind.
After glancing at the overall positions, I knew I only needed 17 seconds to jump a spot from 9th to 8th overall. This would match my overall result from last year, and I was confident I could find those 17 seconds on the road, even if it came down to a long-reaching sprint. All day, I fought to stay up front, sheltered from the wind and ahead of anyone whose line choices I didn’t know or trust. With 2.2” rubber on my new Obed GVR, I knew I was perfectly equipped for the roughest and rowdiest sections.
Coming out of the ankle-deep river crossing, we had to dismount and run through the deep sand. I was in the lead group but still with my Swiss friend Marco, the rider 17-seconds ahead of me. I made a wrong turn coming off the dirt sector and, with a cracking effort, managed to catch back up to the group. Who was pulling on the front? None other than Marco. Well played—but I was still having fun and going fast.
After a big attack from some of the Dutch mafia, as named by Laurens ten Dam, three riders went up the road, and we were riding in an echelon just trying to get through the last 40 miles. After a sharp turn onto some bumpy gravel roads, I finally got a gap on Marco. I drove the pace a bit to put more daylight between us. My group dwindled to three, with no one in sight behind. Taking smooth, even pulls on the front, we worked against the wind and kept a solid pace. Checking behind on various corners, I had no sight of a chasing group.
We finally turned onto the pavement 20 miles from the finish, and we all seemed relieved to be riding on a smooth bit of tarmac. Checking behind, I noticed someone bridging up, but the jersey color didn’t match Marco's. It turned out that one of the three riders who had been up the road had a puncture. He managed a quick fix and arrived at our group, sipping on a soda. He greeted us by passing around the bottle of Coca-Cola. Sweet baby Jesus, it was tasty—even if I only got one swig.
Reality set in: there were only two riders ahead of us! My group would be fighting for the last spot on the podium. Smooth pulls and a few words of encouragement seeped out of our tired, weathered bodies. Twan, a Dutch racer and friend I met two years ago, gave me a bocadillo. I was beginning to crack, and that little bit of sugar helped me stay focused on the podium—an unfamiliar place for me.
I kept checking my Garmin: 5 miles, 3 miles, 1 mile to go... We rounded a corner, rolled over some speed humps, and I saw the finish line flags. I put in one last dig, a quick effort, but enough to get ahead and secure the final spot on the podium. On Stage 8, I had done something I didn’t think was possible. On top of the day’s result, not only did I get those 17 seconds I needed to finish 8th, but I also jumped another racer in the overall to finish in 7th!
8 days // 614 miles // 62,000ft // 42 hours
The Ultimate Test of Willpower
People come from all over the world to ride Transcordilleras. Europeans and North Americans typically make up half of the participants, with the other half being Colombians. For many Colombians, this event serves as an opportunity to reconnect with their country. Whether one comes to Transcordilleras for a race or a reconnection, it is always a proper journey. It’s the ultimate testing ground, not only for equipment, but also for your willpower.
Every Transcordilleras has been unique and special. This year, I discovered new heights with a new mindset (and a new bike!). This certainly won’t be my last trip through the Colombian Andes. I can’t wait to do it all again next year!