Taking a Temple on the Transcontinental

Attempting to cross a continent

Taking a Temple on the Transcontinental

Location: Spain, France & Italy

Rider: Helen Odia

Bike: Adventure Disc 2

Camera: Sony ZV-E10 II

Route: Transcontinental Race No11

I leaned my Temple against the toilets and sank onto the warm tarmac at Genoa’s ferry port. A slice of pizza in one hand, a cold Sardinian Ichnusa in the other, and two bottles of sparkling water resting against my oil-streaked legs, I thought to myself: I’m done.

Three weeks earlier, fizzing with nerves, I’d rolled out of Santiago de Compostela with 419 other riders to take part in the Transcontinental. “The definitive self-supported bicycle race across Europe,” riders must carry their own kit, plot their own route, and ride unsupported to the finish. For me, that meant 5,000km and 50,000m of climbing to reach Constanța, Romania.

Now, 2,500km later, I was scratching, waiting for a ferry to Sardinia and the journey home. Surreal to think back to last winter, when, somewhat impulsively, I applied, fuelled by a sense of if not now, then when, and encouraged by Lost Dot’s 100Women campaign to bring more FLINTA riders to the start line.

We set off from Santiago at 8pm. Red and white lights snaked over the short, sharp hills as the sun dipped low and bathed everything in gold. Hydrangeas and crocosmia lined the roadside, small signs of home in Cornwall. By the end of the first parcours at Fisterra, Galicia’s “Land’s End,” the air was salty and mizzle had set in. Above me the sky stretched out black and scattered with stars, the beam of the lighthouse reaching back across the Atlantic. Now it was just me, my bike, and the race ahead.

Night riding soon became routine. On the descent from the Picos de Europa, cloud closed in as darkness fell. Every sound made me want to hurry off the mountain, but I paused to take it in: the neighbouring peaks outlined against the night, and far below, the amber lights of Bejes where I hoped to find a bed.

The Strada dell’Assietta was a highlight. An old military road along a high gravelled ridge, mountains on every side, larch, pine and willowherb covering the slopes. At Rifugio Casa Assietta I sheltered from an oncoming storm with a steaming bowl of pasta all’Amatriciana and a beer brewed with chestnuts from the host Paolo’s own trees in the village where I’d later collect my stamp for checkpoint three.

The next day was pure joy: descending on chalky gravel to the sound of cowbells and the occasional motorbike while butterflies danced around my bike before climbing Colle delle Finestre. A quick lunch of bread and cheese looking out over forty-odd switchbacks and I was ready to go.

Not every day was a joy. In France, it hit 38°C and I ignored clear warning signs: confusion, headache, nausea. I pressed on into the midday sun, climbing to Réallon and a view I could barely enjoy, realising I was well on my way into heatstroke. All I wanted was to drop back down to the valley and sleep it off.

Taking my Temple on the Transcontinental was an easy decision. It’s my only bike. When I bought the Adventure Disc 2 three years ago, I wanted a do-everything bike: from the daily commute and local trails, to a 10-day tour of Scandinavia and everything in between. On the TCR my Adventure Disc was exactly that — she can do it all.

In the race run-up, riders swapped endless messages about setups: carbon frames, electronic shifters, 3D-printed add-ons, anything to minimise weight. Comparison is the thief of joy, and the bringer of anxiety. I worried my steel frame was too heavy, my mechanical shifting too basic. But what actually mattered was reliability and comfort, and on both counts the Temple delivered.

Cycling is so much more than speed and stats. It’s the places you see, the things you learn about yourself, and the unexpected moments that can turn a tough day into a great one: a chat with Ricardo in Santiago at the end of his pilgrimage and the start of mine, Miguel in Bejes offering the sanctuary of a hostel bed, a coffee and quick chat with Simona on the Italian border.

The value of those encounters lies in their transience. A friendly chat, a roof for a night, a shared excitement, small moments that are over quickly, yet stay with you long after the ride.

On the TCR, nothing lasts: the lowest of lows, the highest of highs, the brutal climbs, the smooth descents. A postcard-perfect mountain pass soon gives way to an industrial estate, plans shift and tired legs reset after rest. Through it all, my Adventure Disc remained dependable, the one constant on a journey defined by change.

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