Summer riding: The Bcyclet Inferno Race 2023

Annecy to the Mediterranean: 465km, 11,000m+ of vertical, 9 major cols, in 2 days, in the blazing heat of August, by bike.

This is the Bcyclet Inferno race, and only it’s 4th edition. Bcyclet being the very lovely bike shop in Geneva behind it all. The concept is: They sort all your logistics – accommodation, food, transfers, bag-carrying, massages – and you focus on getting on with two massive days of riding through some of the most challenging and scenic parts of the Alps. GCN, who sent one of their reporters to ride this edition, calls it “the most beautiful bike race you’ve never heard of”.

The race format allows for teams of two, or individual competitors. I’m riding this in the mens-team category with my mate, Hugh, and our intention is simply to survive, neither of us having done anything of this scale on a bike before. Our strategy therefore is to pretty much be last each day, staying just ahead of the broom-wagon and conserving our energy.

So, as everyone else races off each day, and throughout each day, we keep checking whether we are going slow enough. The answer is almost always no, so we notch it back even more. Crazy things make you speed up, like chatting with your team mate, getting food out of it’s wrapper to eat, pointing at scenery, day-dreaming about something - it’s weird having to concentrate on going slow enough.

On paper, the potential for meaningful sleep, between the rides, looks slim – for both of the two riding days, it’s bed by 10.30pm-ish the night before - hopefully having got all your faff done related to what bars, gels and layers, etc. to take with you on the bike the next day, charging gadgets and lights, and what to put in your musette for the one stop each day that you get access to it. Try to sleep, then up at 3am - so yeah, charitably around 4 hours sleep each night - more faff, breakfast around 4am, faff some more, then the race starts around 5 or 5.30am.

What I learn is that I pretty much leap out of bed both days with a level of alertness than I never seem able to muster at home, even after way more sleep.

The two dark starts are magic – we are super lucky with the weather: cool (for now), dry and windless. Beautiful skies as the sun rises, gorgeous slanting light early doors – the best conditions you could ask for when climbing some enormous col.

Our fellow contenders are a nice bunch; Europeans, Brits, North Americans. Lunatics all, of course. Guys mainly, a handful of girls – one of whom comes 3rd overall. Ages from maybe mid-20’s up to early 60’s. A variety of fitness levels… We mainly see each other at breakfast and dinner – and a few at the feed stations. After the first hour we pretty much see no-one actually on the road again unless they’ve broken down in some way - halfway up the Galibier, we see our room-mate pulled up by the side of the road, punching his impressive-looking quads to relieve cramps, and complaining that “Man, they just don’t work anymore!”. I give him some salt tabs. He ends up beating us anyway.

Both days, the afternoon heat is a killer. We clock 43C on the Galibier on day one. We get to the feed-station at the top convinced that we are dead last. Perfect positioning, according to our strategy! But to our astonishment other riders then start turning up, in various states of disarray, sun-burn and cramping. It turned out we’d passed them all in the last town, where they were sheltering from the heat. Our slow pace was starting to pay off. (That, and plenty of salts!)

You do have to love climbing, for this sort of lark – of the almost 24 hours we are to spend in the saddle, we spend about 15 hours climbing, averaging about 12km/hour, if that. The sweating, managing of sore body parts, trying to ignore creaks on your (team mates!) bike, frequently trying to change down gears but finding that no, you’re already in the easiest… occasionally interrupted by periods of zen, some satisfaction at having summitted yet another of these classics, and excitement at the thought of the downhill to come.

The organisers and volunteers are a lovely bunch. The staff of Bcyclet, friends and colleagues they’ve roped in, and partners of competitors. Somehow it all ends up feeling like a bit of a family affair. When not taking the piss or laughing with you, they are staffing the feed-stations, picking up dropped-out riders, sorting logistics for the overnight stays, taking photos, moving our bags around, and generally making it so all you need to concentrate on is the road ahead.

Feed-stations provide some much-needed rest, refueling and chat, at the top of every major col, so about four each day. They’ve got all the usual variety of foods and drinks you’d expect at any good sports feed-station - sweet, savoury, energy - and surprising quantities of that well-known sports fuel, Tiramisu. We are close to Italy, I suppose…?

Apart from the effort, one thing that causes some discomfort is that both days become as much a battle uphill as a battle to go for a ‘number two’. I guess we have been parachuted into a full-fat french diet - lots of meats, cheeses, and er, fats, to go with all the carbs and proteins etc - very different from my training diet at home, so there’s some sort of tummy-shock going. Mental note: Try and actually figure out the basics of proper endurance fueling…

If the climbs and valley roads are taken at a sedate pace, our descents are not. Even so, we mainly just let gravity do it’s work, resting the legs - and brake pads - as much as possible. And, always keeping in mind this race is not on closed roads! Descents are where we let a little competition into this race, between the two of us, anyway - gaining a few metres on the other going into corners, pulling away on the exits. Ah, the satisfaction of corners well taken! A nicely-braked entry, heeled-over on the apex, and a strong but not leg-busting acceleration out. Repeat that dozens-and-dozens of times. Magic.

And it turns out, being stingy with our exersions all this way pays off - 3km from the official finish at the top of the Col de Turini, my legs seem to have gained a life of their own and just want to go. Hugh’s not entirely convinced - our calculations indicate there’s quite a steep bit coming up - but we let rip anyway and do those last few kilometers at a sprint - also spurred on by the sight just ahead of the only other competitor we’ve seen in two days who we could actually overtake.

So not only do we make it, we finish pretty strong. We wind up winning the ‘Men’s Team’ category, if only because we are the only men’s team to finish intact. Tortoise and Hare, eh? To put it in pespective though, we finish 6 hours after the first solo man, and 4 hours after the first solo women.

Anyway, the race crew pat us on the back, feed us, water us, and after a bit of a chat, wave us off for the last 30km stretch to the coast, now merely as tourists. But even now, this fabulous event continues to deliver, with wonderful views to the coast, and yet more epic descent corners, right down to the Med itself.

“The most beautiful race you’ve never heard of”? I think that might be true even if only talking about the views - the epic Alps panoramas from cols like Madeleine, Galibier and Cime de la Bonnette are worth the price of entry alone; roads clinging to cliff-sides; majestic river canyons; that descent from the Bonnette, heading west around a huge valley, revealing it’s mass of switchbacks for our upcoming delight; beautiful climbs through the tiny villages clinging to the Madeleine’s steep high valley walls, lit by low-angle early morning rays; and my favourite, the 13km up the Turini from the west, offering us plenty of shady forest interspersed by dramatic sun-blasted cliff-side climbing heaven.

But it’s not just the views - the beauty is in the races spirit, it’s vibe, and it’s sheer audacity.

The Inferno will be run again in 2024, along the same general route as here, but Bcyclet are adding a second route as well, entirely within Switzerland. Time to try out your inner tortoise, or hare?