Unsupported Bikepacking: A report from the Bohemian Border Bash Race 2022

Mainly on gravel bikes with bikepacking bags, the participants in the Bohemian Border Bash Race completely on their own, as outside support is not permitted. This means that everyone has to look after their own food, drink and sleeping arrangements during the event. Max Gaumitz, the first finisher of this year's Bohemian Border Bash Races, is a (temporarily) retired triathlete. Even before corona, he explored his home region on a gravel bike and discovered that long distances on a bike can be a lot of fun even without swimming and running.

In conversation with Max Gaumnitz

TOUR: Who are you?

I'm Max, I live in Dresden and work as a hearing aid acoustician, so I mainly provide older people with hearing aids. My favourite thing to do is cycle through the forests of Saxon and Bohemian Switzerland. The current forest fires in the area hurt me all the more.

Why a bikepacking race?

I love travelling outdoors, I like to be adventurous and have always enjoyed combining this with various endurance sports. Bikepacking in its sporty version therefore suits me. I have the privilege of living in the centre of Dresden's diverse endurance scene and meeting inspiring people from the world of triathlon, running, winter sports and cycling. A conversation with ultra cyclist Fiona Kolbinger confirmed to me that an event like the Bohemian Border Bash Race can be worthwhile in many ways, and the special attraction for me is the variety of different tasks at such an event. Staying mentally alert, paying attention to your surroundings, reacting to the unpredictable and finding solutions - it all feels very intense.

The BBBR was your first race of this kind. What previous experience did you have in bikepacking or cycle touring?

As a student, a good 10 years ago, I travelled to Romania by bike. But that didn't have much to do with bikepacking. Last autumn, I decided to take part in the Bohemian Border Bash Race in 2022. It was clear to me that I would do a few longer preparation tours. In total, there were about three to four two- to three-day tours. This also allowed me to test and optimise my equipment.

Actually, my job fits in very well with bikepacking. Because I look for solutions together with my customers. During the race, I often had to get creative in order to continue riding.

What did your equipment look like? Which bike did you ride? Which tyres? When was your setup finalised?

I rode my Ribble CGR SL gravel bike and was very happy with my Pathfinder Pro tyres in 42 mm width. They were ideal for the conditions. If it had rained a lot beforehand, I might have made a different choice.

The last parts of my kit arrived a few days before the race: new cycling shorts (the seams on my old ones were already coming loose), new bibs and a food pouch. The bibs were essential because I quickly develop problems with my hands. I rode an estimated third of the time in the bibs, which sit slightly higher above the handlebars thanks to spacers.

What was the most important item on your packing list?

Biodegradable wet wipes can be used universally: for cleaning hands after repairs to the bike, of course for going to the toilet and for personal hygiene in general - I haven't had a shower for 5 days. For personal care, I've acquired a taste for Nivea Soft. Why? They were available at every petrol station.

What would you do without next time?

Good question. I can't think of anything right now. I had things with me that I didn't need, but I wouldn't do without them. A spare derailleur hanger or first aid, for example.

Did you plan your stages in advance?

That's what I did, it was an attempt that failed miserably. In the end, the stages were completely different to what I had imagined. I was much faster than expected on the first stage, but much slower on the second.

I also researched beforehand where there are petrol stations near the track and what the opening hours are.

What was the most difficult situation during the Bohemian Border Bash Race?

My most difficult situation was the feeling of complete disorientation and despair when I was in this swamp. Beavers had built a dam and dammed up water. At 1 o'clock at night in zero degrees and darkness, I couldn't find the beaver dam that you could supposedly walk over. I ended up standing in water up to my waist.

You were the first to cross the finish line. How was that for you?

I knew from the outset that I would give it my all at the Bohemian Border Bash. But I only looked at the live tracking three or four times in between. Of course it gave me a big push to win the race. But I think the shared experiences and the exchange with others were much more lasting than that. Even though I was mainly travelling alone, I found the event very unifying. I spoke to a lot of people afterwards and it was exciting to hear their stories and realise that we had all experienced similar things in some way. Or completely different ones. I took so much away from it for myself.

What's next on the agenda?

At the end of June Elbe tip non-stop from Dresden to the Alps by road bike, supported by volunteers and as a group ride with other long-distance cyclists. At the moment I'm planning to take part in the 100km duathlon around Dresden and the Bohemian Border Bash Camp in September, which will be great!

And now: Have fun reading Max Gaumnitz' event report:

Max reports on his impressions and experiences at the Bohemian Border Bash Race

Max writes his report on the race in five chapters:

1. Unsupported
2. Bikepacking
3. Gravel
4. Adventure
5. Race

I. Unsupported

An oil slick shimmers in the evening sun on a country lane in the western tip of the Czech Republic. Another one follows shortly afterwards. A few metres further on, a filthy, partially dismantled bicycle is leaning against a tree. The unwound handlebar tape and the loose gear cable dangle gently in the wind.

I sit in the grass at the edge of the field, concentrating. I type "blocked Shimano gear lever" into the search field of my mobile phone browser. With oily fingers, I scroll back and forth on the mobile phone screen. The sparse search results elicit a soft sigh from me.

It's the first evening on the route of the Bohemian Border Bash Race. The first three hundred kilometres of a total of one thousand three hundred and forty kilometres are behind me. The route is the "baby" of organiser Ondřej. He scouted it along the historical borders of Bohemia himself, mostly in bad weather. Reports of the particularly technically difficult sections made me sit up and take notice when planning the route, but the first few kilometres over the ridge of the Ore Mountains were not one of them. I am amazed at the good average speed of almost nineteen kilometres per hour. And at still being in the lead even after a motionless half hour at the side of the road.

Looking up a little desperately from my mobile phone, I see Phillipe approaching after all. Maybe he's surprised to suddenly see me behind a tree. No, he drives past me with concentration. That's how it has to be, those are the rules. Except in emergencies, there is no mutual aid.

The gear lever is blocked

The setting sun is still illuminating my mechanical misery at the side of the road quite well, but the source of the fault remains in the dark. I have checked the obvious causes without success. The trembling with the gear cable running through the frame is at least over. I had only just managed several times not to let it disappear into the inside of my bike for ever again. I poured almost my entire precious supply of chain oil into the mechanics of the lever. It continues to sit solidly unimpressed, as if caked on. The blockage came suddenly, inexplicably, insurmountably, like the punishment of a divine power. What nonsense. But maybe I'm actually desperate enough now to believe in a punishing gravel deity? Have I sinned? Ridden my bike in the dirt too much? Maintained it too little? Was I too arrogant? Did I ride too fast?

Despair

Now I can only think of one thing. A sacrifice on the altar of helplessness! All or nothing. I lay my bike horizontally on the ground and put my foot on the gear lever. I grimace at the thought of my incompetence and the brutality of my despair. It's more like something you'd see in a bad western film, when wounded horses are given the last mercy. But I have nothing left to lose. Either I destroy the mechanics for good - or maybe I get a chance to ride on. A hard kick, a loud crack in the gear lever - that's it, I think.

From now on: Switching choreography

Twenty minutes later, I catch up with Phillipe. From now on, the gear lever needs special attention and lots of tender caresses. To engage a heavier gear, I have to adhere to a shift choreography of repeated pressure on small and large levers. The fragile mechanism can fail completely at any time. Gratitude for every functioning gear change is now my companion for the rest of the race.

Delicacies from the petrol station

A petrol station appears on a forest road near our route. I turn right in its direction - Philippe prefers to continue along the track. I try not to be impressed and quickly reel off the small diversions on tarmac. The shop door opens like Ali Baba's cave. I briefly scan the sales area and try to stifle a smile. There are about twenty of the best Czech delicacies - bagety and sendvice - you can imagine in a refrigerated counter in front of me. I grab five guaranteed non-vegan baguettes, go to the water shelf and then on to the counter with the chocolate bars and pay. After five minutes, I leave again and chew contentedly on a cheese, ham and egg baguette. A real delicates-bageta! Saddle and handlebar bags are now well filled with energy in its most delicious form.

II Bikepacking

What do you need for an entertaining bikepacking evening? The Bohemian Border Bash has a clear answer. A magnificent natural stage and amateurish but committed performers, where the odd mishap adds to the fun. I enter the stage through a curtain of low-hanging fir branches. A small path leads up a mountain through a dark pine forest as if drawn with a ruler. It is the beginning of the next larger mountain range, the Český les / Upper Palatinate Forest. I try to keep my stage fright under control before my night-time performance. At this point, the script calls for slow, twitching leg movements up the steep slope until either a lack of traction or balance leads to an artistic dismount from the bike. This should be followed by a heroic shouldering of the bike and an elegant, sure-footed carry up towards checkpoint number two.

Chocolate bar against approaching panic

In practice, I get caught in branches three times and almost fall down again when I come off because I've overlooked roots or stones in the grass. It's not the traction of the rear wheel that is failing, but my leg strength. I don't even try to shoulder the bike, but tell myself it's more energy-efficient to push it up the slope one centimetre at a time. Shortly before the summit, the ageing BOA fastener on my left shoe snaps. Panic is approaching at the speed of light. I chase it away with a chocolate bar. I lose the shoe a few times while pushing, but just manage to arrive at a square stone in the forest at about the same time as Philippe. It is the geographical centre of Europe (probably not the only one) and Checkpoint 2. Suddenly a cheerful figure jumps out of the darkness at us. It's the appearance of Maty, our photographer. He has been waiting here on the mountain for three hours to photograph us. In addition to the flash, he also spreads a good mood. My shoe gets a smart red strap from a well-known brand to replace the broken fastening wire. We stamp our "passports" at the checkpoint and prepare for the night journey.

A pack of wild boar

My good old battery headlamp celebrates its revival and transforms the energy of high-quality AA cells into an eerily beautiful spot of light on dead forest. A trail ghost train ride begins. Low-hanging branches grab at your upper body, dead wood grabs at your spokes, roots and stones meanly get in the way. White streaks of fur flash like lightning as I roll into the middle of a pack of wild boar with young boars. A black shadow in the corner of my eye is followed by throaty, deep snorts and snorts. I sprint as hard as I can, always looking straight ahead, but not backwards. Eventually the noise is gone. Uphill, I dim the lights and can catch a glimpse of the night sky and the contours of the forest.

How am I supposed to get across?

At one o'clock in the morning, steaming water lies before me. The route on the map disappears into it. I secure the electronics, seal every gap in my panniers on the bike to make them watertight and wade in carefully. It gets deeper and deeper. I roll up my knee warmers and trousers, but of course they still get soaking wet. The boggy ground smells strongly and indefinably of animals. I can't imagine which one, nor do I want to know. In the thicket of reeds, I look for a passage through the black, stinking water. In the distance, I can make out the lights of a road and a petrol station and am drawn to them like a moth. But I'm going round in circles. After wandering around for far too long, I start to retreat and find a forest track that avoids the mess. The attractively located petrol station is of course closed.

Fall asleep shivering

Wet and freezing, I open the saddlebag and unroll my sleeping mat in a coniferous forest two metres from a forest path. I try to dry my wet trousers and knee warmers in my sleeping bag using body heat and eat chocolate bars to make up for the lost energy. After a quarter of an hour, I stop shivering and can finally try to fall asleep. Where did all the water on the way come from, I ask myself. Philippe drives past and shouts something loudly into the night. Did he just shout "Bieber"? I'm sure I've misheard him. I fall into a deep sleep in my cosy duvet.

III Gravel

Bird calls wake me up before the alarm clock rings. That's nice on the one hand, but on the other I had planned to get a bit more sleep. The night was chilly, probably below zero. Still in my sleeping bag, I eat, put on all available layers of clothing, disconnect my GPS watch from the power bank and start the navigation. I pack up my mat and sleeping bag with clammy fingers. Finally, I venture into wet shoes and put on rain overshoes and trousers. After twenty minutes I'm ready to go. The saddle bag dangles around in a huff. I've robbed it of most of its contents so that I can carry it on my body.

Hunger must never come along for the ride

As soon as I set off, the morning wraps me in a damp, clammy blanket of cold ground fog. The trousers and leg warmers I've dried in my sleeping bag come in handy. On the first climb of the day, my body finally warms up a little. I eat from the bag between my aero bars like a horse from a sack of oats. Eating so as not to freeze, eating so as not to stop. The inner furnace fires watt after watt evenly onto the crank and into my textile layers in the form of heat. Constant calories - hunger must never come along for the ride, is the motto. I can hardly believe my luck when rays of sunlight cut holes in the fog and make the mountain landscape around me appear warmer, at least visually. As it actually gets warmer as the sun rises, I resist the temptation to keep my cosy, warm layers of clothing on and sweat from the inside. Wet cold is the worst cold. I gladly accept a short stop to change in order to answer the call of nature. Much to my annoyance, I have forgotten to lubricate my rear end and the bike chain, so I stop again. Saving on maintenance will take its toll. These things can't be put off.

Rain, snow and hail. And food.

A few hours later, I find myself on a long climb in the Bavarian/Bohemian Forest. It's raining, snowing and hailing. Once again, I have every piece of clothing on my body and am trying to keep the balance between freezing and sweating. As I pass a few isolated houses, I see Philippe just coming out of a restaurant. He has been travelling through the night for many hours without food and has just fed himself with a portion of goulash. We exchange a few pleasant words. I learn how he survived the night with four bars and that his wife Linda (the eventual winner) is also taking part in the race. The next petrol station is approaching. I turn right - and this time, to my relief, so does Philippe.

Drive at your own pace

Up and down, up and down it goes for hours on a gravel rollercoaster ride through the Bohemian Forest. I lie lazily on my trailers, pedalling, eating and pedalling. The tyres alternately whirl up fine or coarse gravel from the forest path, sometimes a stone bangs alarmingly loudly against the down tube. In the distance, I see a rider on a climb. I am completely clueless and ask him if he is also taking part in the event. Stefan says yes and we exchange a few words. He has ridden through the night and has seen me sleeping by the side of the road. I respect the night ride, but I don't want to be in his shoes right now. The next night is just a few hours away. My plan is to sleep for 3 to 4 hours every night, regardless of the actions of other riders. I continue at my own pace and don't look behind. On a long downhill stretch of tarmac, I once again enjoy riding in the aero position. I loll comfortably on the trailers and ride quickly with little effort. Respect to all those on the route who don't get to enjoy this due to the lack of aero bars.

When a proper toilet and soap become a blessing

The route of the Bohemian Border Bash leaves the mountains and leads to Checkpoint 4 in a pearl of Bohemian tourism. Český Krumlov could be the backdrop for anything but a normal small town. The numerous restaurants and bars in the old town centre interest me in principle, but at the moment I only have an eye for Checkpoint 4. Somewhere on the outskirts of the town, I stand in front of a metal gate. After a few coy glances around, it opens without resistance. I find the stamp and a proper toilet. What a feeling to hold my hands under lukewarm water and wash them with real soap!

IV. Adventure

What is the best petrol station in a bikepacking race? The one that's open non-stop. I'm glad to discover such an oasis of energy at around twenty-three o'clock. A mountain of baguettes and sweets lands on the counter. Unfortunately, I can't see the friendly petrol station attendant behind it, but I look gratefully in her direction anyway. Without these regular mountains of food along the route, it wouldn't be half as easy. The supply should be enough for the journey into the cool night and the even cooler morning. In total, I should be self-sufficient for about eight hours until the next open(!) petrol station is available. Water can be found in springs along the way with a bit of planning and luck.

And push again

Fortunately, an entertaining two-hour hike-a-bike on steep, winding hiking trails doesn't completely upset my calculations. I had planned a food reserve. As a bonus, I realise that my buttocks are happy about such unintentional longer breaks from sitting. I look around a mountain village for a place to sleep under cover. Unfortunately, the inner courtyard of a church is closed. But an attractive bus stop makes me rejoice. It is perfectly situated on a slope facing east, so that the rising sun greets me in the morning and warms me up a little.

The third day of the race begins. The German-Czech milestones are replaced by Austrian-Czech ones. The route then turns north-east on a section of around two hundred and fifty kilometres between the Czech provinces of Bohemia and Moravia.

The course finally reveals its true character to me. It was designed as an obstacle course. My favourites among the obstacles are Wild trails through dense bushes, man-high meadows with no way of orientation, blocked trails, railway embankment gravel tracks, freshly created timber harvesting paths, mud pits and, of course, the hundreds of trees lying across.

Exhausted, after one hundred and seventy kilometres in eleven hours, I pass a village shop in the afternoon.

The shop assistant in the little shop looks at me excitedly with a few coins in her hand. She won't let me go any further. Not without my change. I don't even try to explain that the coins are too much for my luggage during a bikepacking race. So I leave the coins lying powerlessly on the windowsill of her shop.

The toughest stage of the Bohemian Border Bash Races

The journey to checkpoint six turns out to be the toughest stage of the race for me. I'm no longer fighting against the course, but against myself. And my pain.

After all, I already know a bit about the discomfort caused by long journeys from my cycling holidays. I counteract pain in the Achilles tendon by reducing the saddle height several times. I relieve the painfully numb soles of my feet by changing the cleat position on my shoes. Where the route allows, I click the shoes off the pedals and pedal on my heels.

At night, I pass through a hilly landscape of very damp forests and meadows. I'm wet and cold and so are my disc brakes. They complain on steep descents with grinding braking, squealing deafeningly for minutes on end. I wake up entire villages between midnight and 3am. First the dogs start barking, then the lights go on in some houses. It's a good thing I'm usually gone again quickly.

I celebrate my arrival at Checkpoint 6 in an outdoor swimming pool area in the small town of Choceň with a baguette and a trip to the toilet. Afterwards, I lie down on the veranda of the swimming pool and fall asleep like a rock.

V. Race

A loudly roaring monster approaches from behind a bush. It is about to devour me. Then I wake up. The lawnmower passes a few metres from my sleeping bag in the green area. At six o'clock in the morning, the dedicated green keepers don't let a slow-sleeping bikepacker keep them from their work.

Yawning, I stand up and try not to fall down again. The soles of my feet are glowing painfully and yet are somehow numb and numb. I stagger around and laboriously strap my camping gear to my bike. The greenkeepers look in my direction with amusement. Someone must have completely overdone it last night, they must be thinking. And they're absolutely right.

The first few metres in the morning are always particularly unpleasant for me, but today is a very special day in this respect. I look for a high bristle edge to get on, otherwise I won't be able to get my leg over the saddle. I know that the pain will ease and try to distract myself until it does.

Small gears are in demand

I mentally go shopping at the nearest petrol station and try to visualise what obstacles the gravel course has in store for me over the last four hundred kilometres. Adlergebirge, Heuscheuergebirge, Riesengebirge, Isergebirge, Lausitzer Gebirge - it's a topographical declaration of love to small gear ratios and disc brakes.

A winding road winds its way uphill along the Czech-Polish border. To the right and left of the road, large, grey monsters stare at me from the forest. They are the witnesses, cast in concrete, of a time of violence. It should remain in the past. Unfortunately, it is the present, now in the summer of 2022. The absurd bunker system (Czech Wall, approx. 10,000 bunkers) and the rarely visible parts of the Iron Curtain (barbed wire entanglements, mines, automatic firing systems) sometimes give the route a morbid, unsettling character. After all, I'm now in Poland, the fourth country along the route, and so far nobody has wanted to see my ID or shoot me when I cross the border.

With these thoughts in mind, it seems all the more of a privilege to be here, doing what I love to do: cycling amidst fantastic scenery. I immerse myself in fairytale sandstone labyrinths, cross the immaculate silence of dense forests and can see far into the countryside from long ridges. Before sunset, I am almost at the foot of the Giant Mountains. And yet not quite. A boggy, overgrown path lies in the thicket ahead of me. A trademark of the route: as soon as you think you're almost there, a funny, unexpected obstacle appears. I pedal with all my might, but ride at walking pace on the flat.

Key point in the race

The next steep gravel track is like a relief in comparison. It's the first climb in the Giant Mountains, one of many. Rain and darkness envelop me. I perceive the time and place as a key point in the race, reeling off one climb after another until I stop at the back entrance of a music club in a ski resort at around one o'clock in the morning. The music, light and warmth have a surreal and rewarding effect. I treat myself to a quick baguette standing up and bob along to the beat. I take it with me to the next ramp as motivation.

The road is tarmac, but I'm still pedalling hard at the limit to avoid having to push. The baguette fizzles out on the climb. I have to push three chocolate bars after six kilometres of climbing. Checkpoint nine is at the highest point of the route, followed by a half-hour descent. I immediately put on all my clothes. In reality, however, now is the time for well-maintained subcutaneous fat.

On the counter-climb, I bring my body back up to operating temperature. And at the perfect time in the perfect place on the route, I see the perfect shelter for the night. Once again, I fall asleep in seconds in a cosy hiker's hut.

The next day feels like a long, beautiful dream. I see the morning sun above the clouds in the valley, stars before my eyes on a steep ramp, snow-covered mountains, riding over plateaus between forests, winding, flowing trails, carrying my bike over steep scree. Crossing a wooden bridge in one of these fairytale landscapes, organiser Ondřej and photographer Maty pass me for a few pictures. I have no idea how I'm doing in the race and cautiously ask if I have time for this. Maty just smiles at me.

Finally at the finish line of the Bohemian Border Bash Race

Max Gaumnitz reached the finish line after snow, rain, wet and cold. It took him 108 hours and 38 minutes to cover 1345 kilometres and climb 23730 metres in altitude.

After Max Gaumnitz, 25 more people reached the finish line of the Bohemian Border Bash Race 2022, including the winner and a team of two.

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