Words by Mateo Paez. Images by Mateo Paez and Stephen Shelesky

I am just home from 21 days in the Nordic territories, Iceland and Norway to be exact. Eight flights, four trains, seven buses and a few miles by bike in between, that is 1,343 miles/2,261 kilometers pedaled total. I am fortunate enough to compete in these events but also write about them, for the experience, the reminiscing and the process that comes with, pre- and post-event. The interpersonal connections made – friendships, some competitive, most lifelong. I acknowledge the privilege, plain and simple, to be able to travel and experience these unique events in remote places. I also acknowledge the environmental impact this amount of travel results in, for personal an ethical reasons, I try to offset carbon emissions, whether that is by way of lifestyle or financial contributions. My carbon footprint isn’t massive in the grand scheme of things but simply recognizing it and implementing positive changes where I can, has changed my lifestyle for the better. I am here to share the knowledge I’ve gained to hopefully find someone in the place to go and do the things that scare you, big and small!

This block of travel and racing happened quite organically. I was back in Iceland at the Westfjords Way Challenge (WFWC); my result at the inaugural event got me invited back for 2023. Iceland is far away and with the Ultra calendar growing every year, finding another event halfway across the Atlantic wasn’t difficult. The Bright Midnight was a brand new event on the calendar, organized by friends Justinas Leveika and Bruno Ferraro. Two highly regarded racers and now (part-time) organizers. The Bright Midnight was a full seven days after WFWC and a short flight away. That’s enough time to recover! On top of that, I had some friends racing in Norway. Linking up with them would make a memorable trip but also traveling with like minded friends & bike racers is enjoyable as it gets. A first year event is seemingly preferred especially since no one knows anything about it. Sounds quite crazy but isn’t that why were here in the first place?

With the WFWC being a semi-supported and staged ultra distance race, it was, in my mind the perfect precursor and training needed for the true self-supported single-stage ultra that was the Bright Midnight.

Both events cover almost the same distance: 1,000 Kilometers and 15,000 meters of climbing. That will add up! Combining things like 24 hours of daylight and Arctic summer weather patterns, the overall travel toll leading into an ultra event can be quite taxing. Not just the lead-up but also the come-down. Mentally recovering from an ultra event is much harder than the physical. In my mind, the time spent between both events was the most important. I know how to ride my bike but how would I respond? Can I stay healthy? Will I stay sane? Stress? Can I take care of myself? Will my bike and gear survive? Circadian rhythm? Mentally? Physically? Spiritually?

This won’t be much of a race report. Think of it as a reference guide for how one might plan, succeed and recover from intensive international travel whilst racing Ultra. I am no expert but I am willing to share my perspective on myself and this sport.

These types of efforts take so much bandwidth and calculated planning and at the same time they practically take nothing. Existence simplified. Nothing matters except continuous forward progression, caloric intake and the absolute minimal amount of sleep. Competitive? Ok, then learn how to limit sleep until your’e at the finish. That is of course, until something goes wrong. Keep that backup plan hidden deep inside your mental and physical baggage. Practically everything is up to the weather gods, mechanical demons and unknowns – i.e. diarrhea, dehydration, saddle sores, to name a few “unknowns.”

I can control almost everything in the lead-up to an event and that is what I’ve learned most over the course of these travels and racing.

Chapter 1 * Lead Up*

Control + Controller = Play your own video game

I finished the weather ravaged Westfjord’s Way Challenge a whole two days ago. I was almost always wet and definitely wind-battered, always cold. Iceland has a way of doing that to you, especially in the “summer” months. Lesson in wool layers.

With full control, the two days post event were nothing but fun. A whole day to explore and enjoy Isafjordur, the sun came out! A short flight to Reykjavik with my wonderful counterpart Olivia. The short domestic flight turns a six-hour drive into a 35-minute visual escapade, especially on a clear day. No security, no stress. Human decency. Concept.

We arrived in the morning to sunshine and scurried around an already familiar to me city. As always, lunch first. Kebab and a coffee. We visited the enshrined penis museum, also referred to as the Icelandic Phallological Museum. What a joy. One more gallery visit and a perfect send off dinner on July 4th with my fellow Americans, in Reykjavik. Chris was just off a legendary ride at the Tour Divide, ravenous like myself, eating everything in sight. Always hungry. Listen to your body, eat what you want and when you want. Especially in this current situation I’ve found myself in. Remember, your’e racing again in four days.

The next morning, I am already on a flight to Oslo, Norway. Everything I need packed into a backpack and bike case. Braud & Co. pastries to go, traditional Icelandic wedding cake and the most perfect Danish you’ve ever seen.

Travel efficiency is something to note. How heavy is your bike case? Is it easy to be mobile with it? How much extra in fees will you pay while flying and bussing? These factors will add up. Less is more here! Go light and fast, or cheap for that matter. It was hard to navigate this time around, having been on the road for so long, I had too much.

Arrived. New language to navigate. I have a place to stay outside of Oslo. I take a bus from the airport to a suburb and walk 4 km. Even 4 km was a little too far with all of my shit. The somewhat short travel day has already worn me out. A short rainy walk through lush green neighborhood trails for an expensive pizza. Just enough time to build my bike before I go to sleep for the night. A friend from home is studying in Oslo and was kind enough to let me rest and store my bags at her home. Traveling light with my assembled bike the following day was preferred.

I have an early morning. We planned to meet in Oslo and take the 10 a.m. train five hours north to Tolga. A rainy commute across Oslo to start the day. Nordic rollerbladers shredding throughout the saturated bike lanes. It’s the first time on my bike since the midnight special stage 4 in the Westfjords. It feels good to be be pedaling again, even with the giant backpack and fully loaded bike. I meet my friends. Chas, Alvin and Ginger, some fellow West Coast adventurers. We congregate at Sorenson Sykler for a quick coffee and last minute purchase of CO2 and were off to Oslo Central Station.

Our crew is assembled, bikes loaded on the RE10 towards Lillehammer. I’m still groggy and recovering from yesterday’s travels. Meeting a crew of friends lifts the spirits to an all time high. I haven’t seen Chas and Alvin since the Yomp Rally in May. With the stoke overflowing, good conversation and laughs galore, our five hour train breezes by. Maybe it was the on demand hot soup or wonderfully curated Norwegian vending machine, maybe it was the wifi good enough to stream stage 6 of Le Tour de France, anyways train travel in Norway is mint.

Our stop was in the village of Os. We rented an off-grid turf house style cabin, 5 km outside of town for the three nights before race day. The most Norwegian thing about this off grid summer house was the minimal and hidden EV charger outside and the incineration toilet; this toilet burns your poop and turns it into ash. 

This cabin was our sanctuary for the days leading up. Home cooked meals and relaxing days at a nearby lake. Cooking over a fire and 11 AM coffees. I managed to sleep in until 10 AM everyday. It was the rejuvenation station.

With full control in this phase of Lead Up, the sanctuary in the woods was perfect. Having access to wifi is important for a multitude of reasons. While traveling in Iceland, I learned that having the correct weather forecasting service made a big difference. Not just using the supplied “apple” iPhone weather forecast. Finding out the preferred local weather apps gave much more reliable and accurate forecasting especially while racing in any type of fjord, Icelandic or Norwegian, storms roll in and out of these places like cruise ships.

The Art of the Yard Sale

Take everything you own at the moment, throw it on the ground and reconsider everything. Check the weather for the 12th time and make a final decision. Kit. Warmers. Essentials and survival. Keeping like-minded friends around helps with this process. This can take a long time. We had Bad Bunny pumping out of the speakers, sun was shining and the front deck was a crime scene of gear, as if a tornado ripped through our quaint little cabin. When I say like-minded friends, I mean ones that understand the tasks at hand. In the moment, as well as the overall shared goal. It’s quite difficult to be around folks that are constantly self doubting and worried about the what-ifs.

The energy going into an event like this is so important, for myself but collectively as a group. As Allan said, “I am prepared for the worst so that when it’s nice, I’m surprised.”

Shit will happen. Weather exists. You’re going to be outside, the whole time. Don’t waste energy. You are prepared.

With that said, yard sales are the perfect opportunity to pack and then repack again … yet, I still forgot two very important things. Those two things led to issues down the road.

Do as I say, not as I do.

Once bags are repacked and race-ready, time to go for a pedal all loaded up! We went for a 25 km ride down the river valley from Os to Tolga. It was finally time for the accreditation and race briefing. Cap #109.

The briefing was not only informative but also entertaining. The mayor of Tolga came to welcome all of us crazy cyclists while Justinas and Bruno led a nerve wracking course breakdown. Clarified some uncertainties and pointed out hike-a-bikes, technical sections, river crossings and busy roads. Of course, lots of details left in the dark. It wouldn’t be fun without some surprises. It was a relief of sorts, seeing friends and fellow riders excited and eager to start this adventure together. One more sleep!

Chapter 2 – The Easy Part

With all this travel and preparation, mental and physical, I am beyond eager to start riding through this beautiful countryside. Race day, July 9th. It definitely helps that the weather forecast is the absolute best I’ve seen since arriving three days ago. Looking forward, favorable for two days time but we’re in Norway and things can change quite quickly.

Preparation had been done but you won’t know how prepared you are until you are out in the wild, this is the hardest factor within ultra to “prepare” for.

All I know is despite the hardships that are constantly presented to you, the choice has been made. You want to be here and if anywhere is inspiring to continue on, this must be the place.

It may not feel like the easy part, “the race”, because it’s not. I just like to call it that because it makes me feel better about the insane task at hand. It’s only 670 miles and 50,000 feet of climbing.

All of this preparedness talk and I still managed to forget two very important items that belong in my kit. Some of these “dropped balls” affected me in a multitude of ways. First item: cleansing wipes, also known as wet wipes. This is a top priority item. Personal hygiene is so important, especially in an event where you only bring one pair of bibs.

Sunndalasora – Mile 163.7 – 13 Hours & 25 Minutes

This is where some personal maintenance in the form of cleaning your shit becomes a thing. Thirteen hours of sunshine and sweating, my sit bones and skin surrounding isn’t happy. The salt is building up, so much so, my jersey’s zipper is crunchy and difficult to take on and off. I reach into my frame bag and find no cleansing wipes. Well, the quick and easy way to clean wasn’t possible. Not pretty nor preferred, bathroom sink bibs wash it is! Hopefully this works down the line, maybe it’ll make it worse, maybe it won’t. All I do know is that doing nothing and planning to ride through the night with salty bibs will most definitely make things worse.

I didn’t find any treated or preferred wipes until a grocery store at mile 380, roughly 35 hours in. It also hadn’t been a major issue so I reckon the sink wash did some good! I learn something every time I do one of these events.

Not nearly as detrimental to my physical well being, the 2nd dropped ball happened to be a charger chord that was faulty, not because of the chord but I grabbed the incorrect fitting!

I ended up needing that charger chord for my phone. Approaching the second night, I rode off course around that same grocery at mile 380. Only one mile off course, a service station had the correct chord. Looking back, this was such a minor inconvenience. I did end up wasting more energy being stressed about finding a chord rather than keeping cool and just doing what I needed to do. Lesson learned!

Lessons learned is a reoccurring sentiment from these types of events. It always comes back, the thoughts of “ I could’ve done that better!” or “I could have been more efficient there.” It’s as beautiful as it is frustrating. Learning in an uncomfortable setting like school was never my strong suit but putting myself wholly into something as exposing as Ultra cycling has taught me to learn again. Self sufficiency and aloneness will teach you to learn quite quickly and it is something that isn’t practiced or part of our society anymore, opinions. Practically choosing homelessness as your passion, all of your belongings are fixed to your prized possession and both of you, together, roll your way across an ancient decaying landscape surviving off of gas station food and sleeping wherever you can.

“If you take care of me, I’ll take care of you.” – my bicycle, butthole and gentlemen parts.

Chapter 3 * Daze = Days

Sleep, it turns out, is important. If you have ambitions in this sport you may want to reconsider what sleep means to you. Dancing with the sleep deprivation devil can cause mixed side effects. It’s kind of like a ouija board.

Learning and knowing how to navigate yourself through those sensations is a hot topic within Ultra cycling and beyond. Some of the most competitive and successful racers have been known to push the boundaries of sleep deprivation but no one knows the limits, except a few.

I can only explain my process and intentions when it comes to that. I haven’t been the most successful when it comes to performing well on little or no sleep. I will not consider my sleep related ‘downfalls’ as a mistake, failure or dropped ball, it is just an opportunity to learn and improve.

This particular race in Norway and the light cycles within the region we’re unlike anything i’ve experienced while racing. Four-hour sunsets?! The sleepy dawn hours will drag you swiftly into an acceptable hour to ask for coffee again. In the dense Norwegian forest, it’s dark as night but once in the highlands, the light is present and always playing tricks on you. Pick me up and drop me off, I wouldn’t know the difference between 10 PM and 10 AM. Lost hours. Flow state.

My perception of time was skewed going into the first night; I never once thought about sleep. The timing fueled motivation and all I wanted was to see what was around the next corner.

With plans to resupply in Andalsnes, I was ahead of my non-existent schedule. It was 5:30 AM and no services opened for another hour and a half. This resupply was mandatory for me, especially being out of food for the past hour. With time to burn before shops opened, I found a bus stop to sleep in. Alarm set. 60 minutes.

Rejuvenated, I stock up on coffee, sandwiches and a few snickers en route to the longest climbs of the route. Cp3, up and over Trollstigen by 9 AM, one solo ferry ride at to Eidsdal and then up to the highpoint at Cp4, Dalsnibba, from sea level to 5,000 ft. Dalsnibba ended up being quite a low point. Endless streams of tour buses and rental cars, going up and down from their cruise ship in the small bustling tourist fjord of Geiranger.

Relieved from the respite of tour buses trying to kill me, the descent back into the country was reviving. The next hours morphed into flow state again. Lunch time summit quickly turned into evening miles.

My ignorance and the need for rest slowly started affecting me. I knew that around the 36-hour mark, things always start to get weird. With that in mind, I stopped at hour 38, somewhere around 10 PM. Hiding behind a wall next to a church cemetery. 90 minutes. Alarm set. That was the last substantial amount of sleep that I got.

Back on the bike at midnight, the start of day three. I had checked the tracker to find out I am still in contention for a top 10 finish. With that in mind, I decide I can’t stop to sleep anymore. Was that a mistake! In hindsight, I should have either slept more throughout the early stages of the race or committed to the no sleep race effort and left my sleeping pad at home.

My sleep strategy has always been a “fuck around and find out” type of planning. I don’t have a plan and decide to sleep when I need it. I feel like the competitive side of this sport will not allow that sort of strategy. This experience definitely ironed out some uncertainties I had surrounding my own sleep strategy. It is so difficult to plan for and hold yourself accountable. This particular race and the distance made the sleep strategies practically non-existent for the front runners. I don’t understand it yet but one day I might.

Here are my total sleep numbers throughout the entire 69 Hours of my Bright Midnight effort:

• 60 Minute @ Andalsnes- Bus stop  – Hour 21
• 90 Mintues @ Vagamo- Behind a Wall – Hour 38
• 10 Minutes @ side of the road – Hour 52
• 10 Mintues @ side of the road – Hour 57
• 5 Minutes in a barn – Hour 65
• 2.5 Minutes in the rain, on the road – Hour 66

Those 2 hours and 58 minutes were lackluster at best, not quality sleep and had me literally scraping by towards the end of the race. I would very much change this strategy moving forward but would not change the experience in any way. The sleep(less) journey is something you cannot train for. I was able to manage my body well enough and dance with that aforementioned sleep demon. I found myself dealing with some real time hallucinatory sensations, brain melting deja vu and the most tired mind lenses imaginable.

This experience has completely changed my system and how I will go into a future race effort, especially at this distance. I’m eagerly awaiting the opportunity for a longer event as my confidence has grown immensely since processing this Nordic escapade of travel and racing.

Chapter 4 – Last Leg

Tufsingdal. 10 p.m.

I find myself at a store, looking for something to lift my morale. I was planning on riding through the night again. Spirits needed lifting. I have just ridden 2 km off course to find this quintessential Scandinavian market. The kind that doesn’t have any staff and you have to scan your debit card to get in the locked door.

It’s roughly 10:30 pm. Clouds have turned this bright midnight thing into a swirling sky of darkness. Cloud cover usually means precipitation here in Norway.

There is a moment within these efforts when being on your bike in the middle of nowhere is your safe space. Maybe that moment comes when you are 59 hours into a ride or sleep-deprived and a shell of a human, I don’t know. It becomes apparent when you seem to exist among “normal” folk in society. Smelly, covered in dried mud and sweat, thousand-yard stare and somewhat unaware of what’s going on around you. I find Glenn, he’s unaware. I’ve made my way inside to sit at the table next to him. Two small tables next to the automatic kaffi machine in the corner of the entryway. The last I saw him was about six hours prior in a downpour, already soaked and putting on rain kit.

Glenn and I had been battling from early on in the race. I might’ve seen him once or twice a day. We didn’t ride together much until I had found him in this market. Collecting ourselves and chatting while eating the only thing I could stomach at this point: tortilla chips.

Head down on the table for a quick five-minute shut-eye and the owner of the market promptly kicks us out, it’s 11 PM.

Well, these bikes aren’t going to ride themselves. I’ve been working on this feeling.

The next seven hours are a complete and total blur. Flow state? Barely. Depending on your perspective of the situation and experience of these events. Once you arrive into the early morning hours, it consistently got very calm. Any existent wind subsided. Stillness, although my mind was still swirling in the sky, as if I was living in a snow globe. The world inside the sky was moving 1,000,000 mph. The juxtaposition of stillness below and torrential movement above was unsettling as if a storm was brewing. Mind wandering.

The route was pretty straight forward, a few short punches with unpredictable double track chunk, pavement and dark forest tracks. Combine some saturation and intermittent downpours, we have some type-two fun on our way the finish.

The rainy morning set the tone for our arrival. Tolga was empty – not a soul in sight. We arrive to congratulate one another for what we’ve just been through. Another night of pedaling, rolling on little to no sleep. Smiles poking through dried silt exposing every fine line wrinkle on my face, always worth it. I’m sure I earned a few more on my way.

Glenn and I just sat down on the bench outside of the race hotel and giggled, relieved. Both of us were quite chuffed at the fact we didn’t have to talk to anyone at the finish. Exactly how ultra races are supposed to end: just you, alone, in a parking lot in the rain.