Prologue — Starting with a Dent in My Confidence

4000km is a long race. You don't just need fitness, plans, a good route - you need luck on your side. Riding up Italy I felt good, my sleeping strategy keeping my body and mind in check. I felt in control. Somewhere in the Alps I lost that control, and 1200km from the finish my body started giving up. Only my stubbornness would get me to the end.

Last year I set off on VIA and managed 3,100km of the 4,000km - a ride I was still incredibly proud of given my experience. This year, with hard work to improve my fitness and more experience, my dream goal was reaching the finish by the finisher's party. My year hadn't been smooth - I'd DNF'd a race in April, my mind let me down, and I was struggling with autistic burnout. I started VIA this year with a dent in my confidence, but a drive to try, to see if my body and mind could make it.

Seeing old and new faces at registration was brilliant. Friends I'd made last year, ones from the year since, and fresh faces. Everyone excited about the adventure ahead, everyone so friendly - the community feel of VIA shining before Day 1 even began.

Riding in Control… (Start to First Refuge) Days 1-7

Despite my intense nerves building up to the race, the first third went smoothly. I felt good, in control. After last year I knew my best strategy for this marathon was adequate rest. My goal: hotel stops, when possible, 4-5 hours of quality sleep. I know my body and brain - this lets me recover as much as possible and enjoy the riding, while maintaining hygiene and minimising saddle-sore issues. My main goal was finishing this year, not racing others. I wanted desperately to complete the full distance and give myself the best chance of staying strong enough.

Day 1 started well. Hot, but manageable. I started running out of water in the early afternoon when I hadn't planned how long it was between refill points. Finding a small bar, I eagerly drank two cokes, filled my bottles, grabbed lunch. Then my first mishap - managing to lock myself in a toilet! Luckily some shouting got someone's attention, and I didn't waste too much time.

Soon after came thunder and rain. Thunder not overhead, thankfully, and rain offering brief relief from the heat. But I underestimated wet roads - soon after I had my first close call when my back wheel slipped from under me descending on rain-soaked tarmac. Finding myself on the wrong side of the road, heading toward a barrier, I corrected enough to stay upright. But it shook me, and the rest of the ride I descended glacially in wet conditions.

I thrive on routines and found my rhythm with refuelling during the day. The climbs were hard but enjoyable, without many brutally steep sections. The weather was hot but not as savage as the previous year, and with the heat training I'd done in the weeks before, it felt manageable. My route, which had caused enormous stress the previous year, was working well. Despite a close call or two getting to hotel check-in on time, I always managed to find a bed. Then, setting off early, I'd look forward to finding an Italian bar after a few hours for second breakfast: coffee, croissants, and coke.

The hardest climb in this section was the Dam, just before the first refuge. 17 miles long, with steep sections toward the top - it would be a grind. But I had good weather and daylight. An out-and-back climb that most riders took the same route, so it was lovely seeing riders on the way up, at the top, and on the descent. Heading back through Innsbruck, I arrived at the first refuge late afternoon. Reaching this first major milestone felt incredible - a chance to talk to the VIA team and fellow riders. I didn't linger, but it was a perfect reset. Unfortunately, it marked the start of the wet section.

The Weather Turns… Days 8-11

Soon after the first refuge, everything changed. The weather broke me down. I'd prepared for rain, but nothing prepared me for its relentlessness. Torrential downpours, day after day. Even wearing all my layers, I shivered with cold. After that first scare when my back wheel slipped on wet descent, I was painfully slow and hesitant descending in any moisture. I'd learned to love descending in the past year, but that episode shattered my confidence.

My route after the first refuge zigzagged through multiple countries - out of Austria into Italy, back into Austria, briefly into Slovenia for Gate 6, back to Austria, then Germany, then onto St. Gallen in Switzerland for the second refuge.

Days were spent eyeing clouds, hoping the sky would clear enough to dry my soaked feet. Nights in hotels were spent under hair dryers, desperately trying to dry shoes and clothes before my routine sleep allocation (my feet on my return were truly a mess from the wet). Hoping this wouldn't be needed the rest of the ride! But I lucked out with my big climbs. I know others were caught in heavy rain heading to Gate 10 and into Slovenia, but I managed this brutal climb in sunshine, enjoying the view at the top without worrying about the steep descent. Also got up and down Gate 11 just outside Salzburg in the dry. All my major climbs and gates were done in good weather, mainly in daylight - something I was incredibly lucky with.

Heading into the second refuge I was struggling with the final hill, my mind fraying more after the relentless downpours and overwhelming fatigue. I enjoyed good food (a delicious veggie curry), but sleep was awful - I should have stopped at a hotel before the refuge. To cap it off, I sliced my thumb on my pump (later needing antibiotics). Still, I headed toward the next gate - one that meant more to me than any other.

The gate at Rhine Falls was somewhere I'd been before, just over two years earlier - though on the other side of the falls. I'd been on my first solo bikepacking trip, following the Rhine from source to sea. Though I wasn't covering the distances I was in VIA, it had pushed me to my physical and mental limits then. Stopping on that side of the falls before crossing over, I was transported back to that trip. Thoughts of how far I'd come in those two years - to now be doing an ultra-race across Europe. The me standing by the Rhine two years ago would never have thought I'd have the confidence to even attempt this.

But ultra race highs don't last forever. Soon after leaving the falls, I had my first mechanical. One of my spokes broke on my rear wheel, seemingly caused by my rear light falling into the spokes and disappearing. Strapping the broken spoke to another, I fixed it enough to ride.

My encounters with other riders lessened, but meeting another rider always brought the biggest smile to my face. These brief encounters gave me that small connection with someone who understood. Some days passed seeing no other riders, and these always felt lonely. But encounters with members of the public lifted my spirits when I was stuck in my head. One evening, after being wet most of the day, about 20km from my hotel and questioning my legs, a couple stood in front of a parked car and shouted encouragement as I approached. This put such a smile on my face - a small act of kindness from strangers made my day. Another day, a cyclist asked where I was going. When I told him, it was apparent he was following the race! This brief chat was enough to distract me and remind me of the journey I was on.

Holding It Together… Days 12-14

Meltdowns. Increasing emotional overwhelm is something everyone faces on such a long race - everyone's tired and finds things difficult. It's part of the race. But I feel these more intensely than some others, they hit me hard, and looking after myself mentally must be my top priority. Due to my autism, I struggle with unexpected situations, can't process them, and get emotionally overwhelmed to the point of being unable to cope. Sometimes making illogical decisions or freezing completely in my overwhelm. Being tired intensifies this. I try to help myself by planning good rest at night, allowing adequate rest during the day - not for my legs, but for my mind to just be. The anxiety from simply finding food, drink, and places to sleep drains me mentally.

Toward the race's end, I'd spotted a McDonald's on my Garmin and aimed for it as a break. I arrived hoping for a quick stop. But in my exhaustion, I couldn't work out their system - must have accidentally said I'd pay at the counter, ended up standing there for twenty minutes with no sign of my food, getting increasingly agitated. Unreasonably upset, too tearful to ask anyone for help, I left for an unstocked petrol station nearby, frustrated they had no real food. I came back to McDonald's to sit on the floor outside with the coke I'd just bought, consuming stale opened crisps from my bag, watching others inside eating the food I'd been craving! I'd had enough - I couldn't process the situation and get what I needed, so I left. This might mean that even with fitness, my brain might stop me being ultra-competitive in long races. But ultras are so much more than racing other people.

Injury. I'd heard of Shermer's neck before but never had neck problems - it seemed like a horror story that probably wouldn't happen to me since I was resting more than others. So, when in the space of a few hours, my neck suddenly started hurting, seizing up, and causing issues, I didn't think about Shermer's neck immediately. But I did panic - I was still days from the finish. A few hours from my booked hotel for the night, so my plan was to get there and hope my usual 4-5 hours would be enough to recover. Setting off the next morning, it became clear it wasn't, and "Shermer's neck" was now screaming in my mind.

My plans for where I'd get that day were now in question - I was struggling to raise my head enough to see the road ahead. Stopping constantly to stretch, but it wasn't enough. Reaching a town, I found comfort food in yet another McDonald's and decided my initial aim of reaching Frankfurt might be too ambitious. I found a hotel across the road and decided to give my neck the best recovery I could afford - checking in just before midday, I went to the pharmacy for heat pads, ate, and went to bed. That was it for 15 hours. I slept as much as possible, and at 3am the following morning set off, hoping I'd made the right decision.

The Stubborn Finish… Days 15-16

Scratching over the last 350km consumed my thoughts. Riding mainly sitting upright on my aerobar pads, I was struggling even with that, and any turn or uneven surface required one hand on the hoods - riding in an agonizing position. I was slowing immensely, having to stop constantly to rest, unable to control the bike properly. Hitting a town about 250km from the finish, finishing felt impossible in my current state, I found another McDonald's to rest and work out my plan. Here someone suggested what would allow me to limp to the end - using an inner tube to hold my head up enough to see. I was initially worried about coping with this solution: an inner tube attached to my helmet at one end and my tailfin bag at the other, supporting my head when my neck couldn't. After a couple of false starts, I got used to the new setup. Nervous about riding attached to my bike by my head, I rode cautiously, walking the couple of routing errors over gravel, taking things slowly. I still needed to stretch and rest constantly, breaking my ride into small chunks with rests to lie down and stretch.

Despite slowing so much, I knew the finisher's party was still achievable - but not with my usual hotel stop given my decreased speed and extra breaks. So, I decided to head to the final gate and find somewhere to sleep outside for an hour after this gate.

This final section was brutal. Mentally and physically, I was exhausted from riding with my neck like this. But as I neared the finish, about 80km from the end, I saw VIA's official photographer Sophie, and Pete (VIA's bike mechanic), and I was overwhelmed with emotion. From riding so long with my neck like this, to seeing friendly familiar faces - the finish suddenly felt close. I broke down in tears, completely overcome, letting out the stress of the last couple of days.

From here I knew I could make it. I had another stop to lie down and rest my neck, then just 60km to the finish.

Rolling into the finish, it was hardly the strong ending I'd dreamed of. I felt broken, at the end of my limits. But I had done it. I was so grateful to see the other riders and people who'd come to welcome me. I was also very grateful to have time to return to my Airbnb to shower and change before the finisher's party! And I'm sure everyone else was even more grateful!

Having those few hours to share stories with other riders, to celebrate everyone's achievements, was an amazing end to a brutal couple of weeks. Though suddenly overcome with tiredness now I'd stopped, I really treasured the time spent with the VIA community.

VIA Chapter II: Holding On Until the Line

Prologue — Starting with a Dent in My Confidence