Anyone with one ear tracking the gravel racing calendar will have heard of The Gralloch. The Scottish race has built a great reputation for its elite-level field and for being so well organised. It’s quickly grown into one of the UK’s premier gravel events. Now, I’ve raced nearly every mountain bike discipline, but attempting my first ever gravel race at the Gralloch proved that top-level gravel is nothing to be trifled with!
The Gralloch is so popular, thousands make the pilgrimage up to Gatehouse of Fleet and the stunning Galloway Forest Park every spring, bringing every level of aspiration from genuine race contention (we’re talking current and ex-WorldTour road competitors) through to super-fit amateurs.
I imagine there would be two extremes at the event – Grallochers fancying a competitive crack at a UCI Gravel World Series race at the very pointy end, behind them fit lads and lasses up for qualifying for the Gravel Bike World Champs on British soil. Then, at the other end of the spectrum, riders are simply soaking up the atmosphere as part of the gravel community and enjoying the challenge of a huge lap of silky gravel tracks and roads, and riding all weekend.
And then there’s me, who is sort of neither. A first-timer, dyed-in-the-wool, adrenaline-fuelled mountain biker who has signed on for his sins to have a crack at getting completing the course.
Think 84kg, middle-aged and about as fish-out-of-water as a piranha in a Scottish loch. My ambition would be to complete the 112km ‘race’ course with 1,800m of elevation with legs, lungs and sanity intact. Hopefully, I was going to be fine with a secret side hustle of cruising around on gravel and road bikes, plus the fact that I’ve raced bikes on and off right back to being a BMX bandit as a kid, even if these days it’s all enduro and zero endurance.
While I’m strong enough and daft enough not to slow down to the speeds I probably should do by my age, none of this has that much to do with the mentality and assets I’d ideally need, going off the ripped thighs and calves belonging to other blokes in my category. It also clicked early on the Gralloch morning that I’ve never been in a ‘start pen’ in my life, never mind raced a gravel or road bike.
But… who really cares? This beautiful part of the world is one I’ve visited a few times with work over the years, and I’m reasonably fit (at least compared to most of the regular population). That’s going to serve me well, right?
A rude awakening
I didn’t sleep great, but not long after waking in a tent with a smattering of frost on it, I started to come to terms with the task ahead. From ‘what it’s going to be like’, ‘I’ve never ridden this far in a race before’, dread, right through to ‘do I even have the right kit?’
Top this off with some massive start-line leg envy, imagined training regimes, and countless gels, bars, and potions poking out of every jersey and Lycra short pocket in the near vicinity, and you get the idea. In short, what am I missing, and why do this lot look so serious?
Soreen malt loaf bars, half an old tube of Clif Bloks and one water bottle felt a bit inadequate all of a sudden, but the Gralloch gives us decent feed stations, doesn’t it? And that was where I’d eat and drink. Why doesn’t everyone? Turns out, even for middle-aged blokes at my pace, feed stations take time, and time counts for everything, so they sort themselves out well enough to not need them. Well, at least one of us will be using the facilities…
Go-time means pedalling out under the big flashing arch among hundreds of other riders. It all starts to sink in that I’m going to be sat on this saddle for a long time. I’d better quickly suss out what it’s all about, find an efficient and sensible way to get around, and try and enjoy (some of) it.
As a gravity rider, I find it rather unusual to be surrounded by so many others. I’ve sprinted and jumped elbow-to-elbow in 4X or BMX races and stopped countless downhill clocks, but as we rise out of Gatehouse of Fleet, hundreds of riders everywhere in a never-ending snake taking over every inch of the first road up a packed gravel climb is something very new to me.
It’s a real struggle to find the groove and the pedal rhythm needed to keep tyre traction, and having to respect your neighbour’s line, rather than trying to straight-up cut them off the course as you do on some bikes with smaller wheels. It’s also a struggle blowing a ton of effort and energy by the top of the first climb when peer-pressured and sucked along by a sea of blokes your own age. Was that all at a speed that’s more than slightly the wrong side of maintainable for me? Probably.
I followed wheels into headwinds where I could, and the racer lurking inside reared his head, turning the legs and picking out riders who don’t look too sketchy to follow when it picks up the pace downhill. A pure form of natural selection means you always end up with riders at your level, and there’s not much you can do about it.
Around 20km or so in, I realise I’ve not heard anyone say a word; we’re all in our own worlds, fighting a head and heart battle to maintain calm breathing and not blow up muscles before really settling in.
Feel the rhythm
There are some awesome sections of super smooth, almost tarmac-like compacted dirt on the Gralloch route and bigger views and smaller lakes start to appear. I soon cottoned onto the better strategy of reining it in on the climbs to avoid blowing up. The game keeps moving forward, but ensuring the rev limiter stays on the right side of the red line for fitness and physiology.
This rev-steady rhythm sets the beat for the next 30km or so: up a climb, down a descent, tick off elevation metres. 92m, 107m and 83m climbs go past, never too steep to not chug away and count them down to the end and intensely fixate on the smoothest lines possible to conserve energy.
Lock into grooves, ride any slight camber edge you bleedin’ can to avoid loose stones that slow you down. Never looking much more than a few metres ahead, zoom in on which tyre lane has the least choppy surface.
Some Gralloch Galloway Forest gravel sections are so unbelievably smooth, tyres kind of float on a surface of fine powder or particles that actually feels like it rolls faster than tarmac. Switching lanes is the obsessive mind game that becomes everything, searching for the path of least resistance; so at least I was safe in the knowledge that my dreamy Yoeleo carbon gravel wheels wouldn’t let me down.
The C45 NxT wheels are not only super light (under 1,400g for the pair) but also tough, so for a mountain biker moving to gravel, they gave me all the confidence I needed to tackle the Gralloch’s unpredictable terrain. And the 45mm depth offered some free speed, too!
It took about five downhills on tenterhooks, expecting the worst 180° hairpin or tightening turns, to realise ‘dangerous descent’ in Gralloch speak simply means ‘fast descent’. So long as you have your wits about you and decent bike handling skills, it’s actually a right laugh bombing down the forest fireroads (67km/h was my top speed on Strava), switching between sprayed-bare bald patches, back and forth over a loose gravel central strip to pass riders when needed, keeping that precious momentum that feels like everything is going.
I soon realised it’s simply better not to brake at all on the gravel bike if you can, and once tuned in, it’s easier to just let tyres roll and keep traction high and the bike stable, especially in the looser curves at speed. One of the most awesome things about the Gralloch route for me was that none of the descents was so sharp or bumpy that you actually needed brakes, and that you can ride the entire 112km without even touching them more than once or twice if you just let the bike flow.
Age is just a number
So what if I can ride a bike downhill as fast as plenty of lads half my age and overtake a few riders off the brakes in a gravel event? It doesn’t mean much in terms of overall time pedalling non-stop up, down and around Scottish mountains on ‘easy’ tracks. I needed to forget about being one of the guys at the sharp end of the action, like I’m used to in mountain biking for my age (I’m hopefully not bragging by saying I win a lot of the enduro races I enter) and settle into my new role of being deeply humbled about my athletic prowess by far too many blokes of my vintage.
And once that just about sinks in, it’s also the exact moment fitter lads from the older categories start to overtake. The first group of 60+ blokes came skuttling past in a slipstreamed line after about 40km, and then more on each climb right to the end. Turns out being up for Gravel World Champs qualification doesn’t have an upper age limit, and just how fit some riders are at an event like this is pretty mad, really. Riders up to their late seventies who have no doubt raced endurance events all their lives, and have never stopped. I doff my helmet to you, ladies and gentlemen.
I’ll suck any wheel I can, though, to save a few watts, and both me and another couple of riders with the same colour bib ended up latching onto the wheel of one of the fast sixty-plus lads for a good chunk of tarmac into a headwind to kill off a few kilometres. Cheers mister! Suddenly there’s a bit of a lull after wolfing down a few free energy bars and gulping drinks at the feed stations. Loads of riders with all the gear blast straight past, and we’re about 60km in.
I’m more settled in the saddle now, and multiple brilliant gravel sections flash by. I’m starting to feel decent. The diesel engine has warmed up as the route takes in a rapid, loose descent into a deep valley. Then there’s a long twisty twin singletrack passage, where you grab a lane in a chain gang and knock off the kilometres tight on the wheels of others with obscured vision.
By about 70km crowds thin out. Passing through the beautiful landscape, the realisation that this is a hell of a course cements, with fewer people buzzing around and space and quietness for everything to morph into some kind of flow state. Once it’s just you and other riders ticking along, the constant bobbling, looking ahead and rolling in tyre lanes that go forever, the ‘zen’ part kicks in hard. Addicted to trying to find the smoothest line, picking millimetre-wide choices incredibly precisely, I searched out the tiniest channels in the gravel and keep on chopping into an easier trance with it all.
One reason I probably didn’t feel too bad by this point is regularly doing so much ‘winch and plummet’, straight up and down mountain biking without ever eating properly. Chomping on a free OGT bar and some fruit every 30km here means actually fuelling (kind of) properly, so without that much fanfare, the computer tells you it’s already 90km and closing in to the push for the finish.
The same few riders that have been around for the last couple of hours aren’t going to get shaken off after all, and while they’re probably thinking the same about you, thighs are starting to groan with the hard effort of yet another grindy climb. It’s hurting, and maybe there’s a cramp is on the way in the right thigh, and it’s incredible to think that the fastest of the elite riders will have done all this, getting on for two hours quicker than us lot.
The last segment is a different zone mentally. Once the fastest elite women absolutely blast past on a climb filmed by a motorbike and pillion rider, which tells you about the level of this event. The finish is metaphorically in sight, and I just want to reach it. Barely any words have still been said (weird when used to chatting at every stage finish and liaison in a more chilled MTB enduro event), but pushing on among everyone doing the same, a kind of mutual respect and camaraderie starts to hover in the kicked-up dust. Nods and looks say it, and we’re getting to the end together. Fair play.
Nobody wants to fold, drop a wheel or miss cresting that climb until the final tarmac roll back down to Gatehouse kicks in. It kicks in, too, with a few nasty punches that no one warned us about. That sting once your head has told you it’s the home straight, until the little group that’s congealed over the last 110km rides into town. Through the barriers and a bit of applause long after the fast folk, still leaning into it like a serious road racer and through the finish line, clapped along into the music and atmosphere.
There’s a vague acknowledgement of the people around you, and the body lets go, senses it can breathe easier, and we can exhale the last effort until it all becomes something else. Nothing flashy or brash, just standing there with the medal. The sense of achievement sinks in, transcending the fact that you’re basically just riding around a forest in Scotland, enjoying the scenery.
Thinking back about the event, driving home, I’m aware of being lured into mountain bike enduro for the thrill of the action and intense focus on the timed downhill stages, but this is something else. I’m sure I’ll stick to my adrenaline rushes for the MTB quick hit as long as I can, but back at the classy Gralloch finish line, there was something subtle and deeply contenting about that effort with hundreds of others.
Huge respect to all the riders who are physically prepared and disciplined enough to get in a condition where they are fit to challenge at the sharp end at an event like this. Whatever the age or sex, it’s actually pretty remarkable to see how awesome the level is up close and personal. Good luck to those riders at the Gravel World Champs, you’ve definitely earned your right to compete at the next level.
For me, while I feel fitter than I have in years after smashing that forest for close to five hours, being blessed with the knack of going downhill at a decent lick without crashing all feels that much easier. I will be back for more soulful gravel racing, the yin to my yang, but I’m not sure anything where constant pedalling counts for more than sprinting like a nutter or pure bike handling will ever be my forte entirely.
I do miss the fact that rowdy mountain bikers need a few pints and/or a knees-up to either come down from the adrenaline or keep taking it higher at the event village afterwards. Letting their hair down and acting daft is one activity they definitely seem to be a bit better at than the classier gravel crowd.
Inspired? Make sure you’re equipped for the challenge
An event such as the Gralloch – whether you’re an elite or riding in the amateur events – requires a bike and kit that can cope with the varying terrain and conditions… and obtaining high performance wheels, by far the best upgrade you can make, doesn’t have to be as expensive as you might think.
The Yoeleo C45 DB Pro NxT is your ideal wheel for an event such as the Gralloch. With a 27mm internal rim width, you can go for tyres up to 53mm for plenty of comfort and bump-taming comfort, while the 45mm depth means a superior aero advantage, even on gravel.
Yoeleo’s SAT technology also makes these wheels 35% stronger than road-going equivalents, and a 36T ratchet hub makes for sublimely fast engagement, even under heavy load.
These wheels can be yours for $999 (around £744). If you’re entered into next year’s Gralloch, or another super challenging gravel event, be sure to put the Yoeleo C45 DB Pro NxT wheels on your Christmas list for a serious performance boost in 2027.
