Atlas Mountain Race 2025

Promotional image for the Atlas Mountain Race bikepacking event. A cyclist wearing a helmet and red backpack rides a dirt road through an arid desert landscape with rocky mountains under a clear blue sky. Red banner at top reads “ATLAS MOUNTAIN RACE”; bold red text at bottom states “ENDLESS DESERTS AND MOUTH ON FIRE”.

The police escort stopped almost all traffic and kept us at a comfortable, cruising speed of 30 kilometers per hour. We were leaving the suburbs of Marrakesh for the mountains of the High Atlas. It reminded me of the chaotic start of the Italy Divide, where police cars were not needed to form a similar peloton.

I was looking forward to solo riding. I had to keep 100% attention because danger lurked at every turn. Bidons were flying around, and the occasional surface change provoked hasty braking manoeuvres.

I maintained my position around the front because I didn’t want to find myself alone too soon. I was beginning to understand how it works in the Tour de France. I didn’t even have to try that hard. It’s a lazy job in the peloton!

I had no idea when exactly the police had abandoned us to our fate. The tarmac turned to gravel, the hill slope was increasing and the group stretched into a long snake that was hatching lone warriors.

People came to watch us, waving and cheering. But it could hardly put more strength in my legs. I kept a reasonable pace so I wouldn’t burn myself too fast. Scratching has an unusually high rate for the Atlas Mountain Race. Over 100 people out of 270 didn’t finish. Often as a result of:

Mechanical problems
Heat
Respiratory problems—dust makes you cough blood
Digestive problems

🫏 Mule track

Serpentines of the mountain road were punched through the rock and there was a lot of snow. Fortunately, it was frozen, so it was possible to ride over it. It wasn’t easy though. I felt I had had enough. This was what I signed up for? My desert adventure?

At the top, the first, famous section of the Atlas Mountain Race—the Mule track—awaited me. A short descent of 600 meters spiced up with big and pointy rocks. At the start, we were advised not to ride it because the trail was covered by snow and ice.

All strength in my arms seemed to disappear. I guess I’ll have to start working out, because this was a bit tragedy. I couldn’t even push my bike properly. Indeed, just yesterday I was still feeling sore from moving a bike box around airports and buses.

My legs weren’t in the best shape either, and each step was costing me a great deal of strength. I felt like a rag doll and my feet couldn’t find firm footing. I struggled with frozen drifts and my foot fell in several times. In a little over an hour it was over and the road to CP1 Telouet opened up.

It was lively there. A little too lively and it was clear that I wasn’t there in the first wave. I went inside and showed my brevet card. A local Moroccan guy repeatedly tried to lure me into the restaurant across the street, but I wasn’t going to waste my time now. I refused his offer several times with the words: “No! No! No!”

🥶 Like at home

My struggle was deep. I was cold. Not a life-threatening cold. But I was uncomfortable and the race was not going the way I wanted.

When I returned to the rocky trails connecting nameless villages, the tables began to turn. The full-suspension bike was a great choice and I passed one racer after another without much effort. I probably don’t need to tell you, how good it felt to move in positions.

I was looking forward to the sun. The night lasted 12 hours, but the closer I got to dawn, the more time slowed down.

I didn’t slip out of the night without losses. I made the mistake of inventing my low-cost energy gel. I poured half a litre of syrup into a cycling bottle and intended to sip it and drink it with water. I chose the lemon flavour, which is recommended against over-sweetening. Unfortunately, there was probably quite a bit of citric acid in there, which made some nasty conditions in my mouth. It sprouted blisters on my tongue and the salt of my dry nuts made eating unbearable. But I had to eat.

It was a very sad view to see the villages around there. They were full of garbage but I couldn’t find a bin to throw away my empty Coca-Cola bottle. The worst was a situation in dry riverbeds. As soon as it rains, water wash out every bit of plastic from the surrounding area and it stops against the bridge structures.

🏜️ What to expect in the desert?

No matter how many people lived there, they always waved cheerfully at me. Hikers, motorcyclists and drivers. Between villages, Meaghan Hackinen caught up with me and it was the first time I’d ever spoken to anyone on the route with more than a “Hi and Hello”. We were both in good spirits. And we’re both going to all three Mountain races.

The Imassine was the last stop before the 100-kilometre section where there is (supposedly) desert, desert and nothing but desert.

A wide-angle landscape shot of a vast, arid, rocky, and sparse desert valley under a clear, brilliant blue sky. The ground in the foreground is covered in reddish-brown rocks and small, hardy, light green or gray-green shrubs. A winding path or dry riverbed can be seen descending into the valley. In the distance, a range of snow-capped mountains glistens under the bright sun, contrasting with the warm hues of the desert. The sky takes up about a third of the image, emphasizing the openness of the landscape. — Somewhere from the white caps I came

I complain about the heat almost every race, and even here I asked myself why I signed up for a race in the desert of all places. Whether the heat adaptation I went through did anything, I have no idea. It’s hard to compare. In terms of degrees Celsius, it wasn’t that hot, but the sun was persistent and there was no shade anywhere. During the day, I rode slower, but that could have been due to a lack of food rather than overheating.

First I crossed the Dadès river. It was not difficult, and the water was barely up to my knees. Do you call this a river crossing? I had a good ride for the first few hours even though the sun was after my neck. I covered my arms with long sleeves throughout the race. I covered the rest of my body—knees, neck, and face—with the sunscreen. The locals protected themselves with hoods.

I knew that my strength was not good, and the only thing that kept me alive was the thought of the village of Afra–where I wanted to replenish my provisions. I pushed my bicycle up the hill with the last of my strength, and could not enjoy the views which opened upon the surrounding valley. It’s a common theme for my races.

🐣 Omelette?

At 9 pm, I finally arrived at the restaurant. Several of the competitors were already there communicating fluently in French. I tried to gesture that I wanted to eat. I got an omelette with bread.

I switched off the race mode and allowed myself to lose a little bit of time. Soon after eating my omelette, I ordered a second one. I packed a little bit of bread into my frame bag. Then it was time to go, or rather sleep.

A white cat peeks out from under a light brown plastic table. On the table, two white trays with yellow food are visible, alongside a silver cup. The floor is covered with two different rugs: a red and black patterned rug on the left, and a colorful striped rug (red, blue, green, black) on the right. A dark chair leg is visible in the upper left corner. The lighting is dim, suggesting an indoor setting.

A close-up shot captures a simple breakfast laid out on a silver tray. A white plate holds two fried eggs, with a metal knife resting on them and a white plastic fork beside them. To the left, a small blue and white bowl contains several sugar cubes, and a shiny, silver teapot is visible. A large, round loaf of rustic bread, with a bite taken out, occupies the foreground on the right. The tray rests on a light brown table, with a glimpse of a patterned red rug and dark furniture in the background.

Getting to a sleeping bag shortly after 10 pm doesn’t sound like a good tactic if you want to be fast, but there was a good reason for it. I was looking at the temperature profile and it was going to get cold over the morning. I wanted to wake up to warm.

I managed to find a relatively flat ground about 50 metres from the road. I dug up a few larger rocks, swept up the mess, and pulled up a few prickly plants. Sleeping of kings 🫅.

🗺️ It’s not over yet

I set off at 1.30 in the morning (if you can call it a morning…), expecting a lot of darkness. The route took me along a dry creek, the path was very narrow and vegetation was leaning towards me on both sides. Suddenly I heard a screeching sound as the air escaped from my rear wheel. I was reaching for the bacon strip, but eventually, the sealant managed to plug the hole. I noticed another thorn sticking out of my tyre, but I stuck to my motto of if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it.

My legs felt like they were freezing. Even my thoughts were stopping. I wanted to warm up. I looked at the tracking app for the first time and I saw I was in the top 25. The top 10 was a long way off, but it was something to work on. I was getting a burst of energy in my legs and catching individual riders.

After a few descents, I got to the town of Taznakht and stopped at the first shop.

I could hardly make up my mind there. I knew I needed something to eat, because chunks of dried bananas I ate only with severe nausea, and the salty nuts caused such a pain that I was closing my eyes. I grabbed some water, and a sugary drink, finished off some cookies and hoped that would be enough to get me to CP2.

I continued down the endless straight road. There was traffic on it, and once I was even honked at by a bus. If I hadn’t gone off the road, I would have been swept away. There was a car coming from the opposite direction and he certainly wasn’t going to brake to get around me from a safe distance. Suddenly, Czech drivers were the most friendly people in the world.

🍫 Sekula! Sekula!

On the descent into CP2, I was careful to turn correctly. Anyone who misses Asserraregh has to go back up a very steep hill. A cheerful crew awaited me. I got a big portion of couscous, there was no other racer, so it was pretty fast. Shop within the CP2 offered some biscuits, even some fruit, which I was glad to buy. As always, I later regretted not taking more. These mistakes result in hunger and suffering.

The descent into the valley showed me that Morocco is not just a desert. Around the road were villages in an oasis. I could feel the moisture in the air, and the leaves of the vegetation bent over the road.

At the last village in the valley, local children tried to stop me, shouting “Sekula, Sekula” and trying to snatch some sweets.

Sunlit desert landscape with a winding dirt road, rocky terrain, distant mountains under a clear blue sky. Bright sun overhead—typical bikepacking route.

At 10 p.m. I arrived at the village of Ibn Yacoub. A garage was lit up and it turned out to be a restaurant. The gentleman was very obliging and seated me at a table, and I had an omelette and a piece of Moroccan bread. My stomach must have been full and I had to force myself to stuff a few last pieces of bread. But I knew the more I ate the better, and I was going to go to bed as early as yesterday.

I rode one hill and found a flat ground where I pitched my sleeping bag. There were no pointy plants, so I was able to settle in quickly. Timer? For three hours.

🛞 Everybody on his own

At first, it looked well and I enjoyed the rocky descent into the next valley. But there I encountered a rather slow section. I was riding through dried-up riverbeds and had a hard time following a trail. not a place you want to be at night.

Just as I rolled out of that area to the road, Miron Golfman, winner of the Colorado Trail Race and the Iditarod Trail Invitational, caught up with me. Word got around and we found out that we were both doing all three Mountain races and we both wanted to catch Josh Ibbett.

We stayed within sight of each other for a longer time, but eventually, Miron rode away from me. Another crisis came upon me. I was looking forward to Colonial Road, but I didn’t like it at all. I hadn’t been eating enough, and now it was taking its toll. I dragged myself up like a snail.

There were two damaged bridges on this forgotten road from the days when Morocco was under the rule of France, but getting around wasn’t that difficult. Every year, however, some riders try to rappel the bike right off the cliff instead of going around. I tried to talk to one of them when he was stepping down very dangerously. He didn’t listen. But was scared of how he would end, but I pushed on.

I could smell the dust in my nose. All my clothes had soaked up the soft brown colour and now the gifts of the local desert were reaching my lungs. I shot a few bloody snots, but fortunately, that was the worst that happened to me. I had enough blood in my lungs on Tour Divide and this was nothing.

🧖‍♂️ The Flames of Morocco

A first-person view from a table at an outdoor cafe shows a meal and drinks with a busy street and mountains in the background. In the foreground, a steaming tagine dish with potatoes, olives, and a rich sauce sits on a coaster on a white paper-covered table. To the left, a bottle of orange soda is visible, and further to the right, two bottles of water. A bicycle with a basket and handlebar bags is parked next to the table on the left. Beyond the table, the street features a white and green van, other vehicles, and pedestrians. In the distance, desert mountains rise under a bright sky, and a reddish tower is visible on the far right. The scene is brightly lit by the sun, casting shadows from the table and chairs onto the patterned pavement below.

I visited a local restaurant in Issafen. I had a tagine, water, and coke and bought a large amount of bars. I bent over the food like a hunchback and swallowed the hot portions with difficulty. I could not bring myself to speed. The sun got pretty hot and even lunch couldn’t get me back on my feet. Or butt.

The road went through a canyon, so I was riding in the shade in some places. It was a different landscape from the endless rocky plains. At the steepest part of the hill, I gritted my teeth and pushed until I was at the top. When the plain opened up with a wide tarmac road, I was riding, yeah, but moving like a sloth. This was bad and I was slowly saying goodbye to ever catching TOP10.

Compared to everything I had visited so far, Tafraout was a city of cities. I nodded enthusiastically that it had public lighting, sidewalks and trash cans. This looked like a tourist centre. I immediately headed to CP3. The vision of a hot meal immediately drew me in.

I got my brevet card stamped and the rest worked as if I was visiting any hotel. I had a pizza, which disappeared from me in a minute, and I slept in the common room. Will others be mad at me for waking up at 1 o’clock?

A male cyclist wearing a white helmet, glasses, and a red visor with small white polka dots, takes a selfie in a vast, arid desert landscape under a clear blue sky. He has a beard and an open-mouthed expression. He is wearing a grey cycling top and a red and grey hydration vest with a black camera attached to the strap. Rocky, reddish-brown hills rise in the background.

A first-person, high-angle shot shows two legs in dark pants and white-and-red striped socks extended towards a table with a meal. On the glass-top table, a round pizza with black olives and cheese is served on a white plate. Next to it are two plastic bottles of "Sidi Ali" water. Further along the table, a silver tray holds a small glass of amber liquid, a silver teapot, and a plate with sugar cubes. A black bowl filled with decorative fruit sits at the end of the table. The background reveals a room with a dark counter, a desk with stacked papers, and a bicycle.

🫡 Time for Michal’s manoeuvre

There were “only” 420 kilometres to go and I was determined to make it non-stop. I once again believed in my strength, and that I was up to a challenge.

My lips were bruised and burning like I would be mucking with a chilli pepper. I use a limb balm, but that brought me only a temporary release. When I tried to apply another coat, the stick of my lip balm broke and fell to the ground. Because of its sticky consistency, I didn’t consider picking it up and blowing the dirt off. Instead, I lubricated my lips with butt cream. Cream as cream, right?

That night, I ascended and descended the Anti-Atlas Mountains. I continued relentlessly and purposefully. It wasn’t until the sun was high on the horizon that I slowed down. I walked some of the steep climbs because I was uncomfortable with the burning heat. Just before the dreaded desert section, I lay down under a tree for a few minutes of sleep.

I just couldn’t ride in that sand. I suspected that I could significantly release the pressure in my tyres, but I didn’t feel like it. What if I had a problem? My pump wouldn’t work? What if I had knocked the valve off? I blew off some air, but only slightly. The route was a two-track road where it was a complete no-go. But there was a harder ground on the sides that was rideable in some places. It was a constant getting on and off though. I was running out of water by the end and I was looking awful.

A detailed map of what appears to be a bikepacking route across Morocco. The route is marked in red and begins in the north, along the coast, near what seems to be Agadir, and extends southeast into the mountainous interior.

Along the route, numerous blue and green markers with names indicate participants or checkpoints. Some key names visible in the north include "Alex McCormack," "Kevin Benkenstein," and "Dirk Jacobus (Drikus) Coetzee." Further south, names like "Thomas Boury," "Patrick Staubach," and "Lukas Neubeck" are present. In the Agadir area, "Michał Ozogán" is highlighted in yellow. Towards the southeastern part of the route, names like "Carlo Michael Gaffey" and "Sonke Kreft" are visible, as well as a larger cluster of names including "Sebastian P. Nabil Robiati," "Felipe Du," "András Tokodi," and "Valentina Ma.icera."

The map also displays various town names in both Latin and Arabic scripts, such as "Marrakech" in the north, "Imintanoute" and "Taroudant" in the central west, and "Tallouine" and "Taznakht" further southeast. Mountainous terrain is depicted with shading, particularly in the eastern and central parts of the map. The western edge of the map shows the blue expanse of the ocean. — I had a chaser group just behind me

A small orange-and-white cat walks along a dusty road beside a building with green doors. Large sacks sit near the entrance. In the background, two people (one on a bike) stand near a car and gravel piles under bright sunlight—typical of a bikepacking route.

First-person view of a bikepacker riding on sandy terrain. Left hand in a purple-and-white glove grips the handlebar; the bike has a clear phone mount, red-and-white frame, large black frame bag, and knobby front tire. The rider wears brown shorts, red-and-white cycling shoes, and a long blue sleeve. Footprints mark the sand, with the bike and rider’s shadows visible.

The section to Amskroud was so bad that I wondered if I would like to ride it on sand instead. It was a long, straight road with cars whizzing past me at high speeds, and I was getting honked at when two trucks went against each other. It was very lucky that no one got hurt.

🍪 Unexpected encounters

In endless serpentines, I climbed upwards. I didn’t care how many meters of elevation gain awaited me. At first, I was afraid of this section, but it turned out to be unnecessary. Even on the steepest climbs I managed to ride and I relentlessly, methodically move closer to the finish. In that remote area I met three groups in complete darkness:

A dotwatcher, who was cheering on racers.
A couple selling food and drink. They offered me bread and tuna.
A group of Berbers by the fire doing the same thing. I bought a packet of crackers from them.

In the mountains, I lay down 2 times for 15 minutes to refresh my mind. That was all I needed. But I indeed felt a little uncomfortable in some of the sharp bends. Otherwise, the night passed very quickly. Just before the sun came up I had to lie down again, but only for five minutes and with my helmet on my head. It was my pillow.

The Essaouira was a short distance away, but I kept turning my head to see if anyone would catch up with me. Josh Ibbett didn’t exactly have a correctly updating tracker, so I couldn’t be sure exactly where he was.

🐫 Last kilometres

Slowly my water ran out and my breathing competed with my wheezing. But it was only a short distance away. I was burning my last matches.

There was a strong headwind for the last 20, 30 kilometres. But it was passing cars that were ruining my final stretches. And the best part—I saw a camel! They must have been scarce in Morocco when there was no sign of them for almost 1280 kilometres.

By the time I hit the city streets, feelings of accomplishment flooded my mind. I finally pulled into the gate of the local medina with a Finish Atlas Mountain Race sign.

The battle was over. According to the tracking, I was in 13th place. The TOP10 was within my grasp, missing me by 3 hours. I needed to go only 3% faster.

A folded checkpoint card for a bikepacking route, featuring four sections with location details, coordinates, closure times, and stamped codes. Top left: **CP1 Teloquet** (31.2898, -7.2366; closes 08 Feb 2025, 20:00), with a blue building illustration and stamp “D…H9.M26”. Top right: **CP3 Tafraoute** (29.7224, -8.9720; closes 13 Feb 2025, 09:00), blue palm tree illustration, stamp “D3.H3.M0”. Bottom left: **CP2 Aserraregh** (30.2176, -7.5796; closes 11 Feb 2025, 10:00), blue tower illustration, stamp “D.1.H22.M13”. Bottom right: **FIN Essaouira** (31.5113, -9.7698; closes 16 Feb 2025, 00:00), blue pottery illustration, stamp “D4.H19.M6”. The card has a decorative border with small cross-like symbols.

A narrow alley between weathered white and beige buildings, lined with bikepacking bicycles (some loaded with gear) on both sides. The brick-tiled path leads to a sign reading “El Yak” and “FINISH” in the distance, with a person in a white shirt nearby. On the right, a black table holds a small glass, next to a large potted plant and a curved wall lamp with a woven shade. The scene suggests a rest stop during a bikepacking trip under a clear blue sky.

A close-up, eye-level shot of the front suspension fork and wheel of a muddy mountain bike. The bike has a black suspension fork with black stanchions, heavily splattered with dried mud and grit. A black front mudguard is attached to the fork and is also covered in mud, with a small chunk of dirt resting on its top surface. The black tire is visible, also caked in mud. A red elastic band is wrapped around the right stanchion. The overall impression is of a bike that has been ridden extensively on dirty trails during a bikepacking trip.

A close-up of the bottom half of a heavily used bikepacking mountain bike. The red and white frame is splattered with mud, as are the tires, chain, and gears. Attached to the frame are several accessories: a small, dirty, dark-colored frame bag at the top, a clear water bottle with orange liquid (labeled "FLY350") towards the middle, and a larger, dark grey, mud-splattered tool bottle or storage container towards the bottom. A small black pump is also strapped to the frame near the water bottle. The bike is resting on a paved surface with light-colored square tiles.

A close-up shot of the rear wheel, cassette, and derailleur of a mountain bike, covered in light brown dirt or sand. The red bicycle frame runs diagonally across the image, with the rear chainstay visible. The multi-speed cassette on the rear wheel is heavily caked with dirt, as is the chain wrapped around it. The black SRAM electronic derailleur is also covered in dirt. The spokes of the wheel are visible against a light, possibly white, background. The overall impression is of a bike that has been ridden on very dusty or sandy trails during a bikepacking trip.

What was my gear like? Complete Atlas Mountain Race gear list.

🫒 What next?

After a long time, I enjoyed a bigger bikepacking adventure. Last year I rode a lot of “shorter” races, which I finished on the edge of sleep deprivation. Moreover, soon after the start there were such gaps between riders that I didn’t see anyone for the most part. Here it was interesting until almost the end and I was fighting for positions.

The level of competition was huge, but that’s what made it so balanced and fun. A lot of people who finished in the top 10 have won races.

I’m sure I was haunted for a while by the feeling—I could have given it more—I could have made it into the top 10 - but that’s just silly what-ifs now. I’m looking forward to the Hellenic Mountain Race even more now. In Atlas I tried my hand at an international competition and found out that I could do it. I want to be in the top 10 in Greece. I just have a lot of work ahead of me.

Thanks Meaghan Hackinen for the first photo in post.

Published March 1, 2025 | #Bikepacking

💬 No comments yet

What are your thoughts? 🤔 Feel free to ask any questions 📫