^{Cover photo by: Gavin Kaps}

I was climbing a narrow road in complete darkness. I’d been on the bike for at least eight hours, grinding through some of the toughest climbs in the Yorkshire Dales. I was completely done – wrecked. I knew I’d gone too hard at the start, and this section of the route was a mess. I hadn’t managed to avoid the extra climbing on the way to Malham Tarn Farm. But that was okay. I just had to survive. Keep going until I felt strong enough to push again.

I saw some markings sprayed on the tarmac: “Go Go Go Dales Divide riders.” For a second, I was confused. Wait… I’m not riding Dales Divide right now. And I wasn’t. It was All Points North. But in that moment, during that race, I thought: one day, I’ll come back and ride this Dales Divide thing.

It took four years, but I finally made it. April 2025. I was at the start line.

I packed my pretty heavy mountain bike into a bike box and flew to Leeds. From there, the plan was simple – ride to Arnside, where it would all begin. I spent a great day in Leeds, just relaxing, catching up with friends from Restrap. Then I rode two more days through the Dales, taking in the landscapes that had pulled me back here in the first place.

The day before the start, I picked up my tracker and had pizza with some of the other riders. There was that buzz in the air – quiet anticipation, everyone mentally sizing up the route. That night, I stayed alone in a small pub-hotel about twelve kilometres from the start. Just me, my bike, and a really excited head.

Race day – Good Friday. We were ready to go by 8:30 a.m. I met Pat Hall just before the start, and we talked for some time. About Mike and other stuff. It hit hard. I wasn’t ready for how emotional that moment would be. There were about 200 riders there. Then, just like that, we were off.

Why did I come here? I always ask myself that after the start. And the answer is always the same: to challenge myself. To see what I’ve got in a tough, demanding race. I came here to race. And it actually started well. I was riding with the fast group, and my technique held up. This was my first real race on a mountain bike – I didn’t know how I’d manage – but I was keeping up. For a little while, at least.

Then it hit. My heart rate started spiking. It was going crazy on every climb, hitting numbers I didn’t like. I knew if I kept pushing like that, I’d blow up before we even got into the real Dales climbs. So I backed off. And that’s when it got really hard – mentally. It’s one thing to hurt. It’s another to know you’ve got more in you, but you just can’t access it. That’s the worst feeling. But I’ve done enough of these to know my body. I knew this was coming. I’m not built for short-distance ultras. I’m a long-haul guy. The longer the better. So I settled in. Survival mode. My own rhythm. Keep moving forward, enjoy the views, and wait for the right time to go again.

My position dropped. I think I fell to 30th or 40th – who knows. I didn’t check the tracker once in the first 24 hours. I just felt it. Riders passed me here and there. Eventually, I was totally alone, somewhere between the groups. The time crawled. The kilometres felt endless. But the route was beautiful. That helped. By afternoon, I’d accepted that I wasn’t racing for the front. I could ride everything, sure – but not fast. And I started thinking about quitting. Honestly, I did. But then my family came to mind. It was Easter. Instead of hunting eggs with my daughters, I was out here riding across the Dales. I thought of them, and I knew – I had to finish. I wanted to finish for them. That shift changed everything. It gave me purpose again.

It was getting dark. I’d made it through some of the toughest climbs and was rolling toward Boroughbridge. Kilometre 157. My first real stop: a 24h gas station. It was already late. A few other riders were there. Quiet. Focused. I grabbed a sandwich, a coffee, loaded up on drinks, and sat on some beer crates near the ice cream fridge. I wasn’t freezing, but I couldn’t stop shaking. Drizzle. Fatigue.

Fifteen minutes later, I got back on the bike. And then… my front light wouldn’t turn on. I’d tested it before the race. It seemed okay. But it just wouldn’t turn on when I needed it most. So I strapped on my head torch and rode into the night. Luckily, the next section was mostly tarmac, going through York. The head torch was just enough. But when I hit off-road again – narrow fields – everything slowed down. I couldn’t ride fast with such poor light. I had to be careful. But I was still moving. That was what mattered.

I rolled into Driffield around 4 a.m. – my next resupply. I was behind schedule, but I’d planned this well. There was a 24-hour shop just off the route. It was open. I bought a coffee, a sandwich, more drinks, and a big bag of M&MS. Swapped the drained AA batteries in my head torch. Then I pushed on. The night was long and slow. At least that’s what I felt, but then the sunrise came. Absolute magic. I fumbled with some weird gates at Carr House Farm near Eastfield, laughing to myself. Charging through private farmland at sunrise is not something I’m used to, but in the UK, with public rights of way, it’s allowed. And it made the whole thing feel like a weird, muddy fairy tale.

Soon, I was in Scarborough. I didn’t even stop in the city. Kept moving forward. The steep roads afterwards were just as bad as I remembered them from APN. I passed Goatland Station, where I’d once had to hike a bike in my socks. That was All Points North. This time, I rode it all. And the sun helped – it warmed me up, boosted my mood. Some good thoughts came in, and I started to catch riders again. In North Riding Forest Park, I finally hit the flow. No gates, just smooth gravel and a wide, rolling track. Fylingdales Moor came next – a wild mix of boggy singletrack and open moorland. A bit muddy, but manageable. I felt the full joy of having an MTB there, but I realised that in full rain, this section would’ve been hell.

I was lucky enough to see the famous train of Goatland. Then came the North York Moors. The highlight of the day for me, no doubt. I hadn’t mentioned it yet, but we had wind – strong wind – for the entire race. An easterly, constant and brutal. For the first 300 kilometres, it was all headwind. But now, after Scarborough, we finally got payback. The long climb up Blakey Ridge felt like I was on an e-bike. The tailwind, the blue skies, the views – it was perfect. Descending to Clay Bank Top, down a steep stone path, was pure fun. I felt like a kid let loose. Nothing but joy. A little bit crazy, and probably dangerous, but hey, this is mountain biking, right?

At the bottom, I saw my friend India bikepacking with her group of friends. We waved. Then I hit a tricky singletrack section through Broughton Plantation. Techy ups and downs, some climbs too steep to ride. Slow going. But once I reached the tarmac again, it was fast descending into Northallerton. Resupply number three was a small, quiet Morrisons, again just off-route. I didn’t want to stop in the busy centre. Coffee, sandwiches, crisps, more M&Ms. Fifteen minutes and I was back on the road. Final stretch—150 kilometres to go.

Back into the Dales. The highest point of the race was coming up. I hit the gate back into gravel, and I was in a trance. In the zone of the race flow. So deep, I nearly missed Kitty from Dotwatchers.cc standing there. She called out, “Hi Piko!” We’d talked so much online – it was great to finally meet her in person. But no time to stop. The sun was setting. I knew once it got dark, I’d be slow again. I couldn’t see properly. So I pushed hard, and a Pickerstone Ridge flew by. I reached the Restrap Ramen Hut totally buzzing. The guys had taken it to the next level – sirens, a fireplace, shouting, energy everywhere. Alex made that ramen with heart. I didn’t want to leave.

The sun was nearly gone. My light still wasn’t working. I descended quickly to Bainbridge and started the final big climb – Cam High Road. What a beast. Seven kilometres straight up, all rocky track. No gates, so I found rhythm and spun. I actually enjoyed it. At the top, I saw the red tail light of a rider ahead. But on the descent, I lost them and never saw them again. It was a tough downhill – double track, rough surface, bad light. I rode cautiously, brakes always on. Somehow, I didn’t crash. Tarmac came, finally, and I was exhausted.

Then it happened – my moment. The stars above, clouds below, the ridge lit by town lights far away. Silence. Peace. That moment made everything worth it. All the racing, all the effort – just to find that one still moment, inside and out. I could’ve ended the race right there. I didn’t need anything more.

But the route wasn’t done. The road dropped steeply to Dent Station and then even steeper to Dent town. I recognised it – All Points North again. Everything connected. Angela Walker had set that race perfectly a couple of years back. She is a true Yorkshire mastermind. But I wasn’t stopping. Forty kilometres to go. It felt like forever. All downhill on paper, but constant little climbs, gates, hike-a-bike, tricky terrain. It felt like I was riding in circles.

And then I hit familiar tarmac. The last ten kilometres. The same road I’d taken the day before the start line. I eased off. There was nothing left to race for. I didn’t know my position, but I knew it wasn’t fireworks. Still, I was content. I rolled into Arnside Pier after 42 hours and some minutes. I’ve planned the race for 35-40h. A couple of hours longer than my ideal plan, but it was still fine. I was happy to be finishing. Nobody was there. That’s the magic of self-supported bikepacking. I sat on a bench, took a grim selfie, and just breathed.

I thought of the ride. Of Mike Hall. Of my family back home. I got cold. That snapped me out of it. I hadn’t booked anything. No camp setup with me. Nothing. So I rode up to Frank’s garden – one of the organisers – where he’d left my backpack and bike box. Yes, with a little help from other people, I did arrange all that before the race. Grabbed my stuff, rode back to the pier, pulled on warm clothes and my woolly hat, and waited on the bench until morning. Greeted a few riders as they rolled in. We laughed, chatted. Some left for vans, others bivvied nearby. That’s what this is all about. Just a bike ride, as Mike used to say. And it really was.

I got lucky – Dion showed up to greet his friend Bobby and offered me a lift to Manchester Airport. That was early in the morning. I slept at the airport first. Packed my bike. Slept some more outside. Totally broken. Then my friend Francisco saw I was in Manchester and he came over and rescued me – took me to a local pub. We shared a finisher’s beer together. After that, I caught my evening flight back to Poland and spent the rest of Easter Sunday with my beloved Magdalena. Easter Monday was spent with the kids already.

What a trip that was. Yorkshire, as always, delivered. Thanks to everyone I met, and everyone who cheered for me. I can truly recommend this event, and yes, I will be doing more of MTB racing. But most likely, some longer once.

Equipment Breakdown

Bike
Specialized Rockhopper with a random RockShox suspension fork.
I won’t break it down into detailed components – it was a borrowed bike from my friend who runs a Specialized shop in Wroclaw. I am really grateful for that. Thank you! The bike itself was nothing I would build for racing myself, but still a solid bike. Heavier than a typical race setup, but it got the job done. I like its geometry and am still riding it here locally. I think I will take it to Pamir later this year.

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Bags and Gear – I used all the Restrap bikepacking gear, which I have been using for some time now. I don’t think I would change the setup. I used nearly everything from all the things I had with me. This is a good sign. Below you can see what I had in my bags. I tend to pack in a way of access to the bags while riding. So I always try to think about what gear I will be using more and less. What clothing do I have to stop to use, or what can I manage without stopping? This determines my choice of bags and the way I pack my things into them.

RESTRAP 4.5L Saddle Bag

• Warm merino hiking socks
• Spare 2/3 Assos Mille GT base layers
• Morgan Blue chain oil
• Assos MTB jacket
• Spare AA batteries for a head torch

RESTRAP Top Tube Bag 1.5L

• Battery pack for my front Knog light (Blinder)—the one that didn’t work
• Food, food, and more food: brownies, Snickers, Bounties, M&Ms

RESTRAP Frame Bag 4L

Main pouch:

• Assos liner gloves
• Assos Mille GT rain jacket
• Assos arm warmers
• USB charger with UK adapter
• More food (brownies, M&Ms, Snickers)

Side pouch:

• 10,000mAh power bank
• Charging cables (USB-C and Lightning)
• Spare AA batteries
• Zip ties

RESTRAP Bottom Tube Tool Pouch

• Bike pump
• 2 spare tubes
• My typical tool set:
  • Tyre levers
  • Multitool
  • Chain breaker
  • Tyre repair kit
  • Spare chain link
  • A few spare screws and random bits

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Gear on Myself

• SUPLEST shoes
• Assos Tactica socks
• Assos Mille GTO 2/3 bibs (long leg)
• Assos Tactica cargo shorts (with glasses for night riding and wallet in the pocket)
• Mille GT 2/3 long-sleeve base layer
• Assos Gravel jersey
• Assos Gravel jacket (carried on the bar tube during the day)
• Assos off-road gloves
• Race Across France Assos cap
• Kask Elementi helmet
• Mactronic VIZO Headtorch (never failed that one)