Utrecht Ultra 2024 Race Report

On August 3rd at 17:55, I found myself amidst a sea of nervous cyclists at the start of the Utrecht Ultra 2024, an ultra-cycling race spanning approximately 1000 km across the Netherlands, Belgium, and Germany.

As the start time approached, I exchanged hugs and high-fives with my friends, then hurriedly pouref the remaining half of my sport drink into my water bottles. Suddenly, I felt a movement around me and was soon swept along by my starting wave into the first kilometer of the event.

Initially, I relaxed. Finally, my wheels were rolling for the event I had spent months preparing and training for. However, this state of relaxation was short-lived when I realized that my cycling computer wasn't providing any navigation cues. Oops, the first problem to solve. Luckily, it was an easy one.

I then got into a good rhythm, riding at a pace of 24-25 km/h. Slowly, the sun started to disappear and with the last bits of daylight, I noticed dark clouds gathering. So I kept the rain jacket close and pressed on into the night.

Around 1 AM, after covering 200 km, I found myself in a bit of trouble. For the race, I had prepared nearly 1.8 kg of rice cakes as my main fuel. However, after midnight, the rice cakes I had meticulously seasoned with curry, umami, and pesto flavors started tasting like paper. Or worse, cement. I needed new food, and my water bottles were almost empty too.

My next planned water stop was a graveyard in Helchteren, Belgium. But was it open at 2 AM? I wasn’t yet desperate enough to break into a sacred place, but I needed water. And I needed it soon. In front of me, two riders rushed through a traffic light. Even with my best efforts, I couldn’t make it in time and had to make a frustrating stop at a red light.

This turned out to be a lucky coincidence. As I looked around, I spotted a glowing sign down a side street. Through my water-specked glasses, I deciphered the word "Nachtwinkel” which translates to “Night shop”. Jackpot.

As I came around the corner, it was indeed what the sign said: A fully stocked night shop with everything that a newly found ultra cyclist dreams of. Cola, Snickers, Haribo, you name it. It was there.

After a big resupply, I took a brief 5-minute nap outside, cut short by the owner coming out to warn me of impending rain. A quick check on my weather app confirmed that there was an angry-looking red and purple rain cloud quickly approaching.Naturally, I though "Great, let's wait for it to pass." But I had to remind myself that I was in an ultra-cycling race, and to hang around was the enemy of progress. So, I put on my full rain kit, ensured everything was secured, and plunged into the rain.

This proved to be a great decision. While I raced through the rain with a fully stocked bike and full rain gear, other riders were caught off guard and had to slow down or seek shelter. Without the shop, everything would have been different.

At 6 AM, daylight slowly returned. I checked my progress and saw that I had ridden 270 km through the night and was nearing the first checkpoint. Excited about my progress, I celebrated with a 25-minute power nap. I found a bench at the corner of a dead-end street in a dead-end village, put my head down, and closed my eyes.

Unfortunately, there was a rooster behind the bush who was determined to announce the start of the day. And it started to rain, forcing me to curl into my rain jacket in the search for just a little bit of rest.

At around 9 AM, I arrived at Checkpoint 1 in Huy, Belgium. Before getting my stamp, I did another big resupply to restock my bike and have breakfast. I also discarded the last of my rice cakes, as I could no longer even look at them. But I found a melon, that I very much enjoyed while I waited for my brevet card to be stamped.

At Checkpoint 1, I faced another issue that had started during the night. My phone wasn't charging consistently. It worked sporadically, but now it had stopped altogether. In a slight mode of panic, I went back to the supermarket to buy a new cable. The new cable seemed to work for a brief moment, so I continued my journey. This all cost me precious time.

From the volunteers, I learned that I would have to ride through the “Muur of Huy” (Wall of Huy) next. Expecting a sightseeing highlight, I instead encountered a grueling 1.2 km climb with a steep average gradient of 10%, peaking at 18.8%. Eager to make up time, I quickly conquered the climb without even thinking that it might have been an option to just walk it up to preserve energy.

This may have been a grave mistake. Between Checkpoints 1 and 2, a sharp pain flared in my right knee. Not a a good sign after not even completing half the distance of the race…

At 3:21 AM, my alarm woke me up again to eat the other pizza (things you do while ultra-cycling) and to get back on the road again. The night helped my knee, but it wasn’t able to do wonders. With the knee still swollen and painful, I had to completely adjust my strategy to give me a chance to finish this race. And it didn’t help that most of the climbing was still in front of me.

Despite my high energy, I took all the pressure off my pedals and went up the climbs in snail mode, stopping every hour for stretching and brief relaxation of all muscles around the knee.

Monday was by far the most difficult day for me. Even though the weather and landscape were beautiful, it was hard for me to connect to the moment. I found myself worried about the remaining distance, the state of my knee, and how much all these stops were slowing me down.

In Bastogne, I merged onto the RAVeL, a wonderful cycling path built on an old train track. This path, and later the Vennbahn (another converted train track), helped me to make some steady progress despite the frequent pauses.

My goal for the day was to reach the area around Aachen in Germany, the city where I grew up and studied. In my mind, I built up the idea that meeting family and friends on the road would lift my spirits and allow me to gather strength and energy before heading back to the Netherlands.

But things turned out differently. Before reaching Aachen, I had to ride through Monschau. What began as a picturesque ride through the medieval-looking town quickly turned into a grueling hike-a-bike up a steep mountain in the blistering sun.

At the top of the mountain, a local grandma looked down at me in bafflement. When I got close, she asked, "Why don't you take the road at the foot of the mountain? It's much easier and leads the same way!" I caught my breath and replied, "I wish I could, but I'm in a race." I don't think she understood the purpose of what I was doing. And honestly, I was doubting it myself.

Adding to my misery, I recalled that I had sent an over-optimistic text to my family that I would meet them in 60 minutes at the supermarket in Roetgen, where I planned to resupply. Time stretched, and this still felt far away. So I rushed up to Checkpoint 3, got my stamp, and headed down the mountain again.

While descending, I saw my family coming up the mountain with their car. What's going on? I met them on the road, and they explained that the supermarket I proposed was still two hours away. Somehow, I had miscalculated the distance.

We stopped on the side of the road. Seeing them gave me strength and energy. But I also quickly realized that meeting people along the route of the race isn’t easy. As a rider, you are physically, mentally, and emotionally always on the edge. Which makes even holding normal conversations and answering questions a difficult task. All while the clock kept ticking in the background. It was still a race after all.

Once I waved goodbye to my family, I had to rush to the supermarket before it closed. Luckily, I was still able to restock food and drinks minutes before they locked the doors. But after the rush, I had to take another 30-minute break to rest to avoid a full meltdown before heading back on the road again.

Just 20 minutes later, a friend (Mark) managed to track me down on his road bike. I hadn’t seen him in three years and being on a road bike was good because I was able to continue riding. Five minutes later, I was stopped in my tracks again, because another friend (Lukas) appeared from the darkness in a high-visibility jacket. I was happy to see him too, but worried about the fact that he was on a regular touring bike. I still had a long way to go to the finish.

At one point, I asked if it was okay for me to speed up, and he replied, "Of course, go ahead! I'll try to keep up." And boy, did he keep up! At one point, I seriously eyed his bicycle to see if it was equipped with an electric motor.

Once I arrived on top of “Drielandenpunt” (Three Country Point), it was time to call it a day and stop for sleep. The slow progress of the day had taken a toll on me, and I was basically a dead man walking—or in this context, a dead man cycling.

After Mark and Lukas left, I focused on calming down and organizing my things because I was about to sleep outside in my bivvy for the first time ever. This was the only thing I wasn’t able to test before the race. And with 280 km still to go, good sleep was vital.

Just as I was about to go into the bivvy, I heard footsteps around the building and an echoing voice calling my name. A friend (Timm) appeared from the darkness with his phone light. For my body and the race, the best decision would have been to hide behind a bush. But, of course, I didn't. I was happy to see him and tried to push thoughts of sleep into the back of my mind for another brief moment. At least he had his camera with him and took some pretty rad pictures.

Once I finally settled down into the bivvy, I paid the price of not testing this earlier and being interrupted in my sleeping routine. The first of my few sleeping hours I spent awake, despite my best efforts to relax and count sheep. But eventually, the exhaustion of the last two days caught up to me, and I fell asleep.

When I woke up at 4 AM, I was determined: I needed to finish today. No more unnecessary pauses, no more faffing around. Only stops for essentials: knees, water, food. I wasn't sure if I could keep this up for another day.

So, with my phone on airplane mode and my "High Energy" Spotify playlist blasting through my headphones, I tackled the last climbs in Limburg. After that, it was a long, flat stretch of 250 km towards Utrecht.

Somewhere after Limburg, a vague plan formed in my mind: I wanted to finish by 6 PM. That way, I would complete Utrecht Ultra and the 1000 km in less than three days. With this goal in mind, I tried to speed up. I was eating well, and it wasn't totally impossible.

I arrived in Venlo for a final resupply before Utrecht. The sun was high in the sky, and temperatures peaked at 29°C. I knew it would be difficult to stay cool on the bike without frequent stops.

But I remembered a trick René, my good friend and office buddy, used while riding in Spain. At the supermarket, I bought six ice pops. I ate two on the spot and dropped the other four into my water bottles. That way, my bottles stayed cool and had an extra punch of sugar.

This proved to be a great move. Once back on the bike, I was able to ride fast and resist the temptation of stopping for a cool drink, ice cream, or shade on the side of the road. I saw a pack of riders at one of the ice cream shops and felt happy to gain a couple of the spots back that I had lost the day before.

The closer I got to the finish, the more my knee pain disappeared. I knew this didn't mean my knee was fine, but it was amazing to see how the body adapts and how adrenaline can act as a powerful painkiller.

Seventy-five kilometers before Utrecht, I did one last stop for water. I can't imagine anyone had a faster stop than I did that day. I stopped in front of a restaurant, went in and saw three young waiters at the bar. I told them I was in a race and needed water. They all sprang into action, dividing the bottles among themselves while I prepared the electrolyte tablets and carbohydrate powder. In less than a minute, I was back on the bike. Pitstop a lá Formula 1.

Once I reached Utrecht and started to see familiar landmarks, I began to reflect on the last days. I couldn't believe that I was about to roll into the finish. Thinking about the sheer amount of kilometers I pushed through in my saddle made me quite emotional.

After 2 days, 23 hours, and 36 minutes, I arrived at the finish. In ultra-cycling, there is no big finish ceremony and no prizes. But at the finish, I saw my fiancé, who supported me so much for this event, and a handful of friends. The prize couldn’t have been better.

Some tears were shed, and I felt my legs giving way beneath me. They had done a great job. In a final gesture, I lifted my trusted steel bike, my companion, which had served me so well over 1000 km with no mechanicals and punctures.

In the end, I’m happy I signed up for this. It was a great adventure with all the ups and downs of an unforgettable story. I learned much about myself, and I’m grateful, proud, and happy that I was able to finish this beast.