DAY 1 - June 14, 2025

At 7:10 am, the start signal of the third wave cuts through the charged silence above the grass of Parc Ribes del Ter. Navigation devices beep to life, and tension ripples through the group. We roll out immediately onto gravel. The first nine kilometers out of Girona are still neutralized. Then the clock starts. Legs warm up, and a breakaway forms almost instantly. Ulrich Bartholmoes (who will later win the race) passes near Bonmatí, but I’m deep in focus and don’t even notice him. Asphalt follows. After forty kilometers, a rocky off-road section begins - sixteen kilometers toward the dam of the Sau reservoir. Riders are already getting flats, others crash hard because of the big stones and loose sand. The pace is high. Far below, the river Ter flows. The temperature is climbing fast, and many riders are already struggling with the heat.

We keep going until we reach the viewpoint at Pantà de Sau - where the famous church tower rises from the reservoir. From there, we turn back to the dam and climb toward the medieval village of Rupit (75 km). A restaurant awaits us with cold Coke, ice cream, and good sandwiches. There’s also a fountain to refill our bottles.

The next stretch leads to Torelló (103 km): fourteen kilometers of asphalt and fourteen of gravel. This is where my familiarity with the route ends. Hungry, several riders make their stop at a small local deli: chicken satay, patatas bravas, and Aquarius. Everyone leaves again in their own rhythm. For the next thirty kilometers, I don’t see a single rider. I find them at the terrace of El Casino in Alpens, most of them exhausted by the heat.

The sun pushes the temperature up to nearly 45 degrees. I charge my phone and order coffee, cola, and ice cream. After more than two weeks of training in the heat, I handle the temperature quite well. My wet bandana helps too.

My goal for today is Bagà at 180 km - in the valley after the first tough, unpaved climb of the race. But somewhere along the way, I hear the last bed there has already been taken. I’m carrying a bivvy, but just before the top of that first climb lies Refugio La Clusa - it has beds, food, water, and a decent shower. I send them a WhatsApp message and reserve a mattress in the dormitory just in case. The climb is slow, and I arrive at dusk (159 km). Just like about twenty others, I decide not to risk the steep, unpaved descent to Bagà in the dark. The food is simple but fine: watery pasta soup, vegetables, and meat. I sleep barely two hours; Chuck, on the mattress next to me, saws through an entire forest with his snoring.

DAY 2 - June 15, 2025

At 7:00 am, I leave La Clusa. The day begins with a two-kilometer climb, followed by a thirteen-kilometer descent over unpaved terrain. My front wheel hits a rock. I crash - landing hard on the right side of my bike. The damage seems manageable, and with a few bruises I continue riding. In Guardiola de Berguedà, I stop with a couple of other riders for coffee and supplies. That’s when I realize my derailleur isn’t working properly. It must’ve been hit in the fall. Shifting is erratic, and when I try to bend it back, it only gets worse. I fix it in place on the fourth gear in the back. That means climbing 1,200 meters through Parc Natural del Cadí-Moixeró - 22 brutal kilometers - with only one gear.

The scenery is breathtaking, but near the top, dark storm clouds roll in, thunder cracks loudly. There’s no shelter anywhere, and after a close call with lightning on a previous ride, I decide to wait it out. By the time I reach Saldes, it’s already 3:00 pm. The heat of the day peaks. Eight hours for 56 kilometers. With a broken derailleur. Is this where El Piri ends for me?

I think about hitching a ride and flag down a van. But it’s Sunday - everything is closed. The only realistic option is to get a taxi to a bike shop in Berga tomorrow. I don’t want to give up on day two, so I check into the only hotel around. They let me store my bike in the parking garage below.

After eating something and washing my clothes, I make a decision: I’ll try to fix it myself. Nothing to lose. Besides, I brought a spare derailleur hanger. I turn the bike upside down on a stack of empty boxes in the garage. Slowly, piece by piece, I replace the hanger and re-index the derailleur. By around 8:00 pm, it seems to be working.

Exactly at that moment, the garage door opens and four El Piri riders come in - the rear of the pack. In an instant, my energy returns. We ride down to the Repsol gas station in the village and celebrate the reunion with big plates of Patatas Bravas, fried eggs, and ice-cold Damm Free to rehydrate.

DAY 3 - June 16, 2025

Because of yesterday’s mechanical problems, I’ve fallen far behind. La Pobla de Segur was supposed to be my finish point for Day 2 - now it needs to be today's. I know it’s going to be a long day.

From Gósol, the next unpaved climb begins - a narrow mountain trail. I’m not even a third of the way up when I see through the tracker that Ulrich has already finished in Girona, after just under fifty hours. The views here are spectacular, the weather perfect, but the route is relentless - and there’s nowhere to refuel. The tiny villages along the Serra del Cadí - Ossera, La Vansa, Alinyà - are silent and abandoned in the midday heat. I’m grateful for the water sources I mapped beforehand.

Past Tuixent, the route leaves the asphalt and turns into a brutal off-road section. Some parts are completely unrideable. When I stubbornly try anyway, I crash again. This time the first aid kit comes out. A nasty scrape on my shin. Fortunately, the derailleur survives. I survive on dates and Snickers from my own stash. There’s no mobile signal - I check in with home via my Garmin InReach.

Starving, I reach Organyà around 5:00 pm. It’s still siesta - everything is closed. I could wait, but time is ticking. The gas station is open though. According to the owner, most of the food has already been raided by faster riders over the past two days. I manage to score two microwave meals - paella and lasagna - and a working microwave. I have never appreciated them more. I add a Calippo ice lolly and a Coke to top off the carbs. I give myself thirty minutes of rest.

Sixty kilometers to go to La Pobla - half of it uphill on gravel. While riding, I book a place to sleep. I have to arrive before 11:00 pm, otherwise the door will be locked. I check other riders' speeds on the tracker to see if it’s even feasible. It turns into a race against time.

At the top of the climb, the sun slips below the horizon - it’s 9:10 pm. I descend towards La Pobla as fast as I dare, pushing what strength I have left. Deer dart across the trail in the dark. Back on asphalt, I nearly overshoot sharp corners multiple times. This stretch is pitch-black. At 10:54 pm, I make it. The bike comes up to the room with me.

DAY 4 - June 17, 2025

Yesterday took a lot of energy to catch up to the middle group. Still, I slept well. I have breakfast at the gas station at the end of the street, restock supplies, and clean my bike. Many riders at the hotel are still asleep - exhaustion is starting to show in everyone. The road out of La Pobla is paved and gradually climbs. I catch up with Julien, who left the hotel earlier this morning. We stop briefly for coffee. An hour later, I meet a small group of riders at a roadside restaurant. Another short break.

At Espui, the route leaves the asphalt and begins the ascent to Coll de Triador, one of the highest rideable mountain passes in Spain at 2,172 meters. It takes me more than three hours to reach the top. A monster of a climb. I’m completely spent - but the reward is beyond words. The view is unreal, like you’ve stepped into another world. Vultures and eagles glide overhead. Cows and horses graze calmly on the mountain plateau, only startled when a rider passes by. Their bells echo across the silence. To the right stretch endless valleys. To the left, high jagged ridges where meltwater trickles down. This is El Piri at its very best.

It’s the highest point of the entire route. An unpaved road follows the ridgeline toward Espot, a small mountain town with stone houses, slate roofs and narrow alleys. Ski lifts reveal that it’s a winter resort in colder months. A perfect place for a short stop and to resupply before heading to HA Trainera in Esterri d’Àneu - the only official checkpoint of El Piri, located in Parc Natural de l'Alt Pirineu, also home to race organizer James Hayden. This is the largest nature reserve in Catalonia and one of the most impressive mountain areas in the Pyrenees. We’ve officially passed the halfway point.

At CP1, we’re welcomed by Isabelle - James Hayden’s wife - and their little son. In the restaurant, I order a gigantic plate of pasta to refill depleted carbohydrate levels. After finishing my meal, I head out just behind Rinke - one of the other Dutch riders. A little further down the road, I catch up to him, and with a bit of distance between us, we ride the final 20 kilometers to Llavorsí, our stop for the night. After 448 kilometers on the route, it’s the perfect place to rest before tomorrow’s big climb. In the hotel’s storage room, bikes are lined up, ready for the next stage. While I grab supplies at the nearby supermarket, Frank from Belgium is desperately searching for a way to send some of his bikepacking gear home. That evening heartbreaking news comes in, one of our fellow Dutch riders has just DNF’d.

DAY 5 - June 18, 2025

I start a little earlier than usual today. Ahead lies a long climb - just over 31 kilometers, with a brief descent after the first twenty. Including that dip, it's still about thirty kilometers of unpaved ascent. Halfway up the asphalt section, I look back down into the valley and see Frank turning around. His attempt to ship his gear home failed - and not much later I see “DNF” appear next to his name on the tracker. It’s a strange kind of emptiness when another rider scratches. You’re riding alone, in your own world, yet it still feels like you’ve lost a companion.

Higher up I catch two riders from Scotland - Kirsty and Aaron - who left earlier this morning. We ride together for a while. Within the rules of the race, the brief moments of connection with other riders are what make this event so special.

Farther along the narrow rocky path, a dusty Subaru suddenly bounces into view - flying down the track at absurd speed. Who on earth drives a car here? It turns out to be Carina and Jenna from the media team, in James’ car. They jump out cheerfully with their cameras. It’s the first time I’ve seen them since leaving Girona. The car’s exhaust is hanging loose, and before we can take photos, it has to be tied back in place with zip ties. They drive ahead, filming, as I keep climbing. We stop a few more times for photos. From the opposite direction, a group of 4x4s appears - loaded up with Dutch tourists, waving and cheering us on, amazed that we’re riding these steep trails on bikes.

After the summit, a fast descent leads into Andorra. Sant Julià de Lòria is crowded and reeks of exhaust fumes trapped in the deep mountain valley. After four and a half days of wild nature, the contrast is intense. The climb out of Sant Julià is brutal - fifteen switchbacks, each one hotter than the last. No thinking. Just pedal, drink, repeat. It’s the least beautiful part of the entire route.

Crossing back into Spain, the green pastures and cowbells return. Wild horses run alongside me for a long stretch. A day earlier, the weather here had been terrible - the WhatsApp group showed images of heavy rain and people sheltering from thunderstorms. Now, the sun slowly sinks over the Cerdanya Valley, the view getting more magical with each bend.

In Lles de Cerdanya, I find a wonderful place to sleep in a Casa Rural, with a stunning view over the Serra del Cadí. I stand still for a moment in the garden, just to take it in. At restaurant El Bufarot, I eat fresh Canelons and Mel i Mató - a Catalan dessert with soft cheese and honey. Ultra racing isn’t always suffering.

DAY 6 - June 19, 2025

Soft morning light spreads across the Cerdanya Valley, birdsong carried on cool air. It’s still fresh outside, the perfect temperature to gain some speed. I descend toward Martinet. I plan to have breakfast there, but I arrive too early - nothing is open yet. So I continue to Bellver de Cerdanya and stop at a bakery for fresh chocolate croissants and coffee. The sun is already strengthening.

The route passes through Alp, familiar territory from past ski trips to nearby La Molina. I plan a lunch stop at the local Caprabo supermarket. But a navigational error sends me stumbling through a swampy stretch along the river Segre before I realize I’ve gone the wrong way. The detour costs time, and a pair of wet shoes.

After Alp, the route crosses the French border. In Osséja, a hot, grueling climb begins on the Coll de Pradelles, leading back into Spain. The road is paved but battered. My pace crawls. The tracker shows I’m boxed in by three other riders: Declan and Nina - Irish and Scottish, living in the Netherlands - chasing from behind, and Rinke leading the way in front. We slog upward, occasionally catching glimpses of each other. The owner of my previous accommodation sends encouraging messages via WhatsApp - he's watching my progress on the tracker.

At the top, a strand of electrified wire marks the border crossing. It takes a moment to find the opening, but just in time I see Rinke slip through. Then he disappears again. I continue, following tire tracks and my GPS. A bit lower down, the route is so steep and loose that I choose to walk sections. After that comes a rocky descent to the village of Dorrià. Once past it, the asphalt rolls gently, and I fly down into the valley.

Just before 9:00 pm, I arrive in Ribes de Freser. Kirsty and Aaron - who passed me this morning while I was having breakfast - are already there and on their way to dinner. They’ll continue tomorrow. There’s a small supermarket still open, and I should really stock up for the next big climb. Only 130 km left, and the finisher party is tomorrow at 6:00 pm. I will arrive before - I’m not going to miss the party.

It’s going to be a brutal stage, with many unpaved sections that slow everything down. But it’s late. I’m tired. And I wonder if it’s wise to start a new climb in darkness and fatigue - especially with memories of yesterday’s descent from France still fresh in my mind.

As I head toward the supermarket, I pass Rinke. He’s sitting on the ground beside a tree with a bag of chips, catching his breath. His plan is to continue climbing tonight - he’ll later tell me at the finish that he wanted to arrive before I did. Riding up the mountain together seems safer than riding alone, so I decide to follow his plan. At the supermarket, I call home. I’m told I can barely form a proper sentence anymore. The advice is clear: Don’t start the climb tonight. I make the decision and ride back to town to find a hotel. Safety first. I devour a two-person portion of pasta. Meanwhile, Rinke is already climbing in the dark.

DAY 7 - June 20, 2025

The final day - this has to be it.

A tough ride lies ahead. 130 kilometers doesn’t sound like much, but I know the route has some brutal surprises left. I want to start at 6:00 am, but at 4:30 am I see the Scottish duo already moving on the tracker. Declan and Nina have also set off after only a short night in Ribes. No way I’m going to be last!

At 5:00 am, I’m on the bike. Grateful for my helmet light as I start the first switchbacks of the unpaved climb in the dark. Rinke is still somewhere on the mountain - he bivvied there last night. The climb turns out to be easier than expected - or maybe the pasta from the night before is doing its job - and before I know it, I pass the Scottish pair. We ride together for a bit, but my pace is slightly higher, and after a while I pull ahead.

The sun slowly rises. A little later, I spot the Irish-Scottish pair ahead of me. Our paces are similar, and we keep catching up to each other well past Camprodon. It turns into a surprisingly cheerful ride, and once again, the landscape is breathtaking. From a distance, photographer Lloyd Wright captures how small and insignificant we look in this vast scenery. We roll into Camprodon around 9:00 am. This stretch is familiar from a previous reconnaissance ride, and the finish suddenly feels close. But there are still ninety kilometers left, with some vicious sections ahead.

After La Vall del Bac, the route hits an off-road section that had still been closed during my recon. It runs all the way to the foot of Castellfollit de la Roca - about twelve kilometers, mostly downhill. I go too fast. Near the end of the descent, I crash hard. This time, it’s bad. My jersey is torn open at the shoulder. My right hip is scraped raw. My rib hurts - hopefully nothing broken. What worries me most is my back.

My Garmin detects the crash and automatically sends a message home. I switch the alarm off and rinse the blood from my wounds with water from my bottle. Fifty-five kilometers to the finish - I am not losing my position now. Adrenaline numbs the pain. I send a message via WhatsApp to tell them at home to ignore the Garmin alert. Battered, I get back on the bike. Just past Castellfollit, the Cepsa station along the A-26 is the last proper place to stock up. I drink cola, eat ice cream, and fill my bottles with ice-cold water. Then I go all in. I can almost ride this part blind.

At 3:15 pm, I roll into the center of Girona. Halfway along Carrer de Santa Clara, I spot Martin, one of the German riders. He is standing in the middle of the street, pointing his phone camera at me, filming my arrival, while shouting my name. I turn the corner and cross the finish line at Hors Categorie at 3:19 pm. Just ahead of me, Rinke is waiting at the finish and gives me a high-five as I come through. Slowly it sinks in - I’ve finished my first ultra. Almost seven hours inside the cutoff time. Declan and Nina arrive after me, and this time it’s my turn to film their finish. The party can begin.

The Day After

Still bruised from that last fall, and with my clean bike stored away in my room, I say goodbye to Martin and Rory - they’ve been staying at the same place - and walk into Girona to welcome the final riders. That evening I take the bus to the airport. Maaike arrives from the Netherlands for a week of vacation together, just outside Girona. The kids fly in a day later.

After four weeks on the bike, we are together again - briefly - before I ride on toward the Basque Country.

Basajaun awaits.

Want to hear more? Check out the Pedaleurs Podcast (in Dutch) for all the details on my El Piri adventure!