The medieval streets of Girona hum with a specific kind of tension that only precedes a massive endurance event. Dust-caked gravel bikes lean against century-old stone walls, and the air smells of espresso and chain wax. Alex Paton stands in the thick of it, a former pro returning to the fray, though his legs haven't seen a starting line in over 2,000 days. He’s been tapped to join the Canyon All-Terrain Racing team, a specialized unit nicknamed the wildcards, for a 24-hour stint as a professional gravel racer. The objective is The Traka 200km, a race that demands 2,500 meters of climbing through the rugged heart of Catalonia. Behind the scenes with the Canyon ATR wildcards Entering the inner sanctum of a pro team reveals the surgical precision required for off-road dominance. The Canyon All-Terrain Racing setup isn't just about speed; it's a culture of calculated intensity. Meeting team manager Vincent Durren at the team campervan, the atmosphere shifts from casual bike enthusiast to elite performance. The van serves as a mobile hub, featuring showers, recovery beds, and a fridge stocked for the relentless caloric demands of gravel. The riders, including back-to-back The Traka winner Carolin Schiff, maintain a lean kit: 3D-printed spares and a diet of rice, tofu, and rice pudding. It is a world where every gram is accounted for, and every watt is measured, yet the team prioritizes a 'fun vibes' philosophy to combat the inherent brutality of the sport. Precision fueling for a 200 kilometer assault Preparation for an event like The Traka is a logistical puzzle where the pieces are gels and electrolyte tablets. Alex Paton meticulously lays out his arsenal: two liters of electrolyte mix in a CamelBak, caffeine gels for the late-stage darkness, and high-carb chews for the mid-race grind. He coordinates with Tash from Precision Fuel and Hydration to ensure a full-blown restock at the 125km marker. The bike itself, a Canyon rig with a waxed chain and finely tuned tire pressures, becomes an extension of the athlete. On the eve of the race, the reality sets in: four massive climbs await, with three arriving in the first third of the course, ensuring the field is shattered before the halfway point. Sensory overload and the ballistic start At 6:30 AM, the pro men’s field explodes. The start is a sensory overload of carbon fiber clashing and tires screaming on gravel. Alex Paton finds himself at the back almost immediately, drifting through the wheels as the pace goes ballistic. Within fifteen minutes, he is nearly last, watching the leaders vanish into a cloud of 'angel dust.' The climbs are relentless, forcing riders into a dark place where the only option is to turn the pedals or quit. He watches the pro women's lead group, led by Carolin Schiff, fly past him with a speed that defies the gradient. It’s a humbling reminder of the gap between being 'bike fit' and 'race pro.' Turning the power back on in no man's land Somewhere around the two-hour mark, a miracle occurs. The human body is a strange machine; sometimes the dimmer switch just flips back up. Alex Paton finds his 'mojo,' shifting up gears and catching riders who had dropped him on the first ascent. He enters a flow state, carving through single-track sections under the rising Spanish sun. His Wahoo stats show an average of 199 watts, a solid effort, but the mental battle remains fierce. Riding in 'no man's land' between groups, he oscillates between the euphoria of the scenery and the crushing realization that he hasn't done a long gravel ride since Unbound Gravel a year prior. The brutal reality of the final climb As the race crosses 150 kilometers, the lack of specific training begins to bite. The energy levels dip, and the 'dimmer switch' starts to turn down again. Every minor blip on the elevation profile becomes a mountain. At the 125km feed zone, Tash provides a vital resupply, but the legs are failing. The final technical climb, highlighted in red on the Wahoo screen, proves to be the breaking point. When a rider ahead slips a wheel, Alex Paton is forced to put a foot down, and the group vanishes. The final 38 kilometers are a pure survival effort, a slow-motion grind toward the finish line in Girona. Humility and the professional gap Crossing the line at 7 hours and 49 minutes, Alex Paton collapses, having burned over 5,500 calories. The most humbling moment isn't the fatigue; it’s seeing the Canyon All-Terrain Racing team. While he is a broken man, his teammates like Bradyn Lange—who took second place—are already showered, in casual clothes, and looking completely fresh. The gap between an amateur enthusiast and a pro is a chasm measured in recovery time and sheer resilience. Yet, as the dust settles, the lesson is clear: the mountains don't care about your past accolades; they only care about what you've brought to the trail today. The Traka is a beautiful, savage reminder that in the wild, the struggle is the only thing that's real.
Alex Paton
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The clock reads 6:15 a.m. in AlUla. The air carries that sharp, pre-dawn desert bite that reminds you exactly where you are. To the east, the sun hasn't yet breached the horizon, but the silhouette of ancient sandstone cliffs looms over us like giants. My partners for this suffer-fest, Alex Paton and Ollie Bridgewood from GCN, aren't just here for a leisurely spin. We have a 320-kilometer line drawn across the map of Saudi Arabia, stretching from this desert oasis to the coastal city of Umluj. The mission? Reach the Red Sea before the sun dips below the water. We have ten hours. The math is simple, but the reality of the desert rarely is. The Brutal Geometry of the Desert Starting a 300km+ ride requires a specific kind of mental compartmentalization. You can't think about the finish line when you're only five kilometers in; you have to think about the rhythm. We rolled out on Pinarello Dogma F bikes, machines built for exactly this kind of high-speed endurance. Alex opted for the Princeton CarbonWorks Max 7580 wheels, a deep-section choice that signals one intention: riding on the front and smashing the wind. In these early hours, the desert feels deceptively welcoming. The AlUla bike path provides a smooth ribbon of tarmac through the sand, and the scenery is a rotating gallery of archaeological heritage and agricultural pockets. But there’s a shadow over the morale. Alex and Ollie have history with long rides in the heat; last time they attempted 300km together, Alex hit a wall so hard he ended up in tears. This journey isn't just about the distance; it's a redemption arc against the climate. Fueling the Machine You don't survive ten hours at a 32km/h average without a meticulous fueling strategy. Alex was targeting roughly 90 grams of carbohydrates per hour, relying heavily on Precision Fuel & Hydration chew bars and gels. When the body burns through 5,000 calories before the day is even done, the "pudding trolley" becomes your best friend. By the three-hour mark, we had covered 140 kilometers, averaging a staggering 37 km/h. On paper, we were flying. But the desert has a way of balancing the scales. As soon as the route turned, we were no longer dancing with a tailwind. We were staring down the barrel of a 100-kilometer continuous climb, and the wind had decided to push back with everything it had. Our speed plummeted from 37 km/h to a grueling 28 km/h. This is where the mental toughness of an outdoor athlete is forged—not in the easy miles, but in the crawling ascent when the horizon never seems to move. Landscapes in Flux One of the most striking elements of crossing Saudi Arabia is the sheer diversity of the terrain. We transitioned from the golden sandstone of AlUla into surreal, black volcanic lava fields. These ancient basalt formations felt more like Lanzarote or Tenerife than the stereotypical dunes of the Middle East. It’s a rugged, inhospitable beauty that demands respect. As we ground our way up the 100km incline, the morale fluctuated. We hit a small town looking for a bakery, desperate for a hit of sugar and a break from the wind. What we found was a translated sign that led to a small shop rather than a boulangerie, but it didn't matter. Icy water and Pringles became the high-octane fuel we needed to reset. At this stage, Ollie was looking strong, while Alex was entering that dark place where the wheels start to feel square. The dynamic of a duo in the wild is vital; when one person flags, the other takes the wind. The Final Descent to the Red Sea After what felt like an eternity of climbing, we reached the "notch" in the mountains. The descent was a lifeline. We dropped out of the volcanic highlands and into luscious green valleys, a sudden explosion of life that felt entirely misplaced in the arid expanse. But the wind wouldn't let us go. Even on the downhill sections, we were fighting a headwind that threatened to derail our sunset deadline. With 30 kilometers to go, the Red Sea finally appeared as a shimmering blue line. The sight of the coast acts like a shot of adrenaline. Every ache in the lower back and every hot spot on the feet fades when the objective is in sight. We rolled into Umluj with the sun still hanging stubbornly in the sky, achieving an overall average of 32 km/h despite the 1,200 meters of elevation and the brutal air resistance. The Lesson of the Long Road Standing on the sand, lifting the bikes in a triumph that felt heavier than it should have, the exhaustion was total. Pushing boundaries in nature isn't just about the physical stats—it's about the transformation that happens when you're 250 kilometers deep and have to find a way to keep the pedals turning. The desert didn't give us anything; we had to take every kilometer. This ride was a reminder that the world is far more diverse than the maps suggest. From the quiet bike paths of AlUla to the punishing lava fields and finally the salt air of the Red Sea, the journey was a masterclass in endurance. Nature’s challenges are the ultimate mirror. They show you exactly who you are when the wind is in your face and the sun is going down. We found ourselves out there, somewhere between the sand and the sea.
Feb 15, 2026