Blinking lights, slamming brakes, and 140 pro riders bobbing with a mix of testosterone and excitement — Traka 360 is off.
After a 5 km rollout, we’re heading toward the first climb of the day, and positioning matters. We’ve covered a few kilometers when I notice something’s off — my head unit isn’t tracking distance! Must be a bug. I decide to restart it, which isn’t exactly ideal while we’re fighting for position in the dark, weaving through the streets of Girona. Off, restart, load the map… finally it’s working. I glance down at the screen — the climb is coming up!
I make a short sprint up the shoulder of the road and move into the bunch, settling somewhere around mid-pack. Not perfect, but solid enough, with strong riders around me. As the climb starts, the pace immediately ramps up, and the next 40 minutes turn into a full-gas effort. I’m feeling good and moving up, passing riders, but the front group still feels just out of reach. By the time the sun rises and we hit the descent, there’s no space to enjoy it — I slot into a strong chasing group, and we push hard, hoping to make it back.
Just as I reconnect with the peloton around 50 km, my chain drops. Perfect timing, I think ironically to myself. No hesitation, I jump off the bike and get it back on quickly before getting moving again. I accelerate out of a corner, but suddenly I’m at a crossroads with no one in sight. I go right, glance at my screen… wrong. Turn around, accelerate again, hit another junction — left this time. Wrong again. After a couple of chaotic turns, I finally find the right direction and spot the peloton about 40 seconds up the road. I turn up the brightness on my screen — no more mistakes now.
I try to close the gap, but the main group is slowly drifting away. A group from behind catches me, and I sit up to wait — that’s when the Thomas De Gendt train rolls through. It’s fast, but incredibly smooth, and I quickly become just another passenger. If anyone can keep a high pace forever, it’s him. The legend has several stage wins in the Tour de France, Giro d’Italia, Vuelta España etc.
I hear Hanna before I see her, shouting together with the Felt support crew. The Thomas’ group made it up to the main group 15k ago, and now we are rolling into the first aid station. The feed zone is chaotic, riders everywhere, some guys are crashing — I find my support instantly, swap hydration vests, grab a musette, and roll out again in what feels like just a few seconds, still with the group.
Not long after, things start to shift. I begin to feel nauseous, and eating becomes a struggle. The energy drink I normally like suddenly tastes terrible, and even though I know I need to keep fueling, every bite makes it worse. With 200 km still to go, that’s not a great place to be.
Traka 100 is hard, Traka 200 feels inhuman — but Traka 360 isn’t really a race anymore. It’s closer to torture. At this point, it’s less of a race and more of a long, grinding survival game. I’m still in a decent group, including Thomas, as we head toward the next aid station, but the wear and tear is starting to show. My bike is making noise, the chain squeaking like an old city bike, and although the front tire feels slightly soft, it’s somehow holding up. The terrain is rough and unpredictable, and I’m honestly surprised I haven’t punctured. The Challenge tires are holding strong, but 45s feel a bit narrow out here, especially in the loose corners where I keep losing speed and wasting energy trying to get back onto wheels.
By now, the nutrition plan is out the window. It’s no longer about optimizing — it’s about getting to the finish.
At the next aid station, I see Hanna and the Felt crew again. Same routine — quick swap, new bottles, one filled with coke, and a bar. It needs to get me through the next 25 km, which includes a long climb, Els Metges.
There is one last aid station before the last 70k to the finish. I don’t have my crew there, but stop at the public feed station to grab a handful of serrano ham. After hours of sugar, the salt and texture make a difference, and I grab another handful before heading out again. I felt decent leaving the previous stop and tried to push the pace on the Els Metges, but the gradient quickly shut that down. I just got to keep those pedals turning.
With around 30 km to go, I manage to latch onto the wheel of Taylor Phinney and Nicolas Loustaunou. We’re not exactly flying, but we’re moving forward, which is all that matters at this point.
– Do you have water? Nicolas asks me. I’ve got about half a bottle left and hesitate for a second before deciding to keep it. If I’m going to finish this, I need it myself. He turns off the course to look for water, while we continue on.
A bit later, we come across something completely unexpected — a small bike party on the side of the road. I stop and ask for water, and within seconds a bottle is thrown my way. Perfect timing.
– Gracias, amigos, I say as I refill and get going again.
Not long after, I see Thomas again, pulling another group. I slot back in, and together we roll toward Girona on familiar roads.
There’s one last effort left. The organizers have added a final climb just to make sure we’re completely empty, and right on cue, my chain drops again — this time inside the cassette. It’s not stuck, but it’s enough to lose the group. At this point, the result doesn’t really matter anymore, but I still push on toward the finish.
As we hit the final singletrack, I try to reset and focus on riding as smoothly as possible. It’s easier said than done — my arms are shot, my legs are cramping, and mentally I’m barely hanging on — but I manage to get through it and onto the final stretch toward Parc del Ter.
I spot Thomas ahead and try to find one last sprint.
Almost.
At the finish, I sit down — and don’t get back up for a while. Completely empty, running on nothing but water for the last 70 km.
I knew it was going to be a hard day — 330 NP for the first hour, then 305 NP for the first four. No surprise it turned into a sufferfest, and with minimal nutrition in the second half, it was always going to be a killer.
On paper, it’s just an anonymous 61st place in the pro field, but I’m still partly happy with the race. The level keeps rising, and I was riding strong in the first third. A top 15 wasn’t realistic, but I do think a top 30–35 could have been within reach with better fueling.
The legs actually held up better than expected, and there are a lot of small adjustments that could have made a difference. More than anything, I’m happy I never gave up and got to the finish of this crazy event. Out here, just finishing is a win in itself.
Huge thanks to the whole Felt team for the support, and to my wife Hanna ❤️
Next up, Unbound Gravel.