The Perfidious Albion 2025

The Perfidious Albion (TPA) is a monster. A 1600km self-supported bikepacking race in the mould of races like the Transcontinental, it starts in the borders and winds its way down the west coast, taking in every substantial climb on the way. The resulting elevation is serious: 23,000m. It’s a fixed route that focuses on sharp climbs and forgotten backroads, with the occasional gravel section to keep things spicy.

At the start of the year, I was looking for a challenge that scared me. I wanted something right at the far edge of what I thought I could do, that would force me to expand my own sense of what was possible if I was going to complete it. TPA provided all that, and more.

I headed for the start line in Scotland with a heatwave forecast alongside fellow Brixton Cycles ultra-veteran Rob Hyde. The plan was to take things easy early on. I’d never ridden for more than a day before, so the race would be uncharted territory from the very early stages.

At 9am, 17 of us rolled out of Lockerbie into some beautiful empty roads and started a remote loop of the borders. The heat was intense. Over the next two days, my Garmin clocked hour after hour in the mid-30 degrees with highs of 35 on the first day and 37 on the second. Despite my desire for an easy start, I arrived at the first checkpoint in 3rd place.

At 200km I was looking to resupply. I swooped into a shop car park, missing the existence of a little kerb. I heard a bang, looked down, and saw a hole in my wheel rim. I hoped against hope that it was just delamination, but when I gave it a poke it was clearly structural. Shit. I called my wife, Evelyn, thinking the adventure was over before it had even started. I felt awful, and probably looked a bit pathetic. As I was on the phone, a guy got out of his car and started looking at the wheel. I explained what had happened.

“How about I lend you a wheel. I’ve got a deep section DT Swiss at home that should do the trick. The only thing is, it’s tubeless. Is that alright?” 

Yes mate, that was more than alright. I tried to explain: I would be riding this wheel 1400km, sometimes off road, in whatever weather was thrown at us.

“You ride it as hard as you need to, don’t hold back.” 

Off he went to get it. Turns out my guardian angel is called Paul, and lives in Bellingham, Northumberland. 

Half an hour later, I was on the road again and heading towards a sunset rendezvous with the first gravel sector. I let the race director Rob Gardiner know that I had accepted a wheel. He told me that this would rule me out of the General Classification, as I would have received support that was not commercially available to all riders. Fair enough, those were the rules - but given the choice was between scratching or taking the offer of support, I felt like it was the best option on the table.

By midnight, I had spent two hours climbing through the North Pennines and was looking for a bivvy spot. Somehow, despite the heat of the day, the valleys were full of freezing fog. I knew that Nikki R, another Brixton Cycles ultra-veteran who had taken on the race before, had slept in a public toilet somewhere nearby when confronted with the same conditions. After a descent I came across the spot. It was midge-infested and smelt strongly of urinal cakes, but I was out of options. After a couple of depressing hours of sleep I was up again and cracking on towards CP2, Great Dun Fell, Britain’s highest paved road. 

By 10am I was done with the climb and heading over towards the lakes. I bumped into Rob at the base of the climb and had a quick chat. He was struggling with the heat and still had the big climb to come. An hour or two later I stopped at a shop in Keswick and, after raiding the shelves, doused myself with 2L of water. I was bone dry again in five minutes. This was when I heard Rob had been forced to scratch. I worried I might be about to join him: I would be working hard to climb the passes ahead and there was no wind. But I didn’t really have another choice, so I set off down the Borrowdale valley towards Honnister. 

The section through the lakes was tough. I managed to get through the passes without acute overheating, but the long drag round Cold Fell towards Eskdale saw me working very hard to maintain a 18kmph average speed. I planned to take an early stop for the day at the YHA at the base of CP3, the infamous Hardknott pass. As I rolled into the hostel I was properly cooked and considering bailing, but two beers and a 10 hour sleep sorted me out. This long break saw me fall back in the field. I woke up in the night boiling hot, and in retrospect I probably ended the day on the verge of heat exhaustion. Without the long sleep, I might have been one of the handful of riders who cracked early on day 3. 

In the morning, the heat had broken. I made good progress down through the Forest of Bowland to CP4 and then sped through the flatlands around Manchester to hit the halfway point just after midnight on day 3. Wales beckoned, with the weather switching from one extreme to the other, with brief interludes of sunshine. On the high roads we found lanes replaced by rivers and rain so strong it felt like hail.

After climbing over the World’s End I ended up at the manned CP5, a tiny little off grid cottage. Now, the priority was trying to dry my kit and eat as much as possible. I arrived whilst second place, Chris Murkin, was still hiding from the conditions. I realised that there was a little scrap developing for second place on the road, with Mark Baker following up just a few kilometres behind. The sole leader, Mark Turnbull, a 24hr time trial specialist, was another 100km down the road and, barring a disaster, he would remain out of reach.  

In the next couple of hours I ran into the worst weather Wales had to offer. I was absolutely smashed by the rain and wind as I climbed over the mountain roads of Eryri towards Dolgellau. At times I was a bit scared for my safety. By the time I got down into the valley, I was soaked through, and so decided to call it a night early rather than tackling more exposed climbs (particularly because the race organisers reported that conditions around CP6 were no better.)

The next day started with a break in the weather. I left at 5am and quickly rode through CP6 and hiked over most of the gravel section that followed. Mark B had left in the middle of the night and ridden well to catch me, and we swapped back and forth throughout the day. For breakfast I gorged on butter buns, the speciality of Tywyn, before cracking on over the mountain roads. The weather was good early in the day but deteriorated as the hours went on. 

By now, Chris had scratched, which meant the race for second on the road was just between me and Matt Baker. We were both forced to call it early again because of weather. We could have pushed on if we had been willing to take some risks, but a night on remote mountain roads with more heavy rain and winds rolling in wasn’t appealing. This early stop meant that I had enough time to get a Chinese takeaway in one of the larger villages we passed through (mushroom chow mien and crispy beef, in case you’re wondering). We ended up staying in the same pub. When I went down to get my bike the next morning I found Mark had set off before me. As I left the pub, bleary eyed, I had a vague idea that I might be at the start of a big push to the finish, but nothing was certain. 

We went over CP7, Devil’s Elbow, in the rain. Shortly after I had an involuntary encounter with the tarmac after locking up round a wet corner, then suddenly we were into the valleys. In these conditions, the next ‘gravel’ sector was just wet sand. I blasted a kilogram of it through my drivetrain with predictable results - a pair of mechanicals, first the front brake then the front derailleur, both of which had to be fixed roadside in the pissing rain. I was shivering, I’d lost an hour, but finally I was on my way.

Mark was now 20km down the road, and I had a long chase ahead. We went across South Wales, snaking over every steep bit on the way. After Sugarloaf I finally caught up with him. We climbed over CP8, Gospel Pass, in the twilight.

That was when I made my big push. I went into TT mode on the beautifully flat English roads. I had energy drink in my bottles, techno in my headphones, and I was down on the aero bars. 30kmph feels very fast when you’ve spent days crawling along at 20kmph. By 2.40am I needed a nap, so I lay down on the verge. I was back up at 3am and pushing to the finish. The final climbs in the Cotswolds were short, sharp, and unwelcome. I had to talk myself through those final Ks. I was literally holding a constant conversation in my head, and sometimes out loud: 

“Okay, well done Callum, now change down ready for the next hill. Keep the cadence up, breathe deep. That’s it. Smile, not far to the finish now.” 

I did that for probably two hours, just willing myself to the finish. Finally, I rolled to the line at 8.30am, meaning a 5d23h30m finishing time and second on the road (although not second place, due to the wheel swap.)   

What a race. It’s bonkers, brutal, and wildly inspiring. Riding it provokes good tears, bad tears, moments of bliss and moments of despair. But most importantly, it completely shattered my pre-existing sense of what I could do.

In retrospect, I rode the race in totally the wrong way. I had the fastest moving speed of anyone in the field by miles, but I spent almost 50% of my time off my bike. I should have prioritised constant movement at lower intensity. Primarily, that would have meant going slower in the heat and carrying more kit so as to be able to push through bad weather. But given it was my first multi-day ride and first backpacking race, I can forgive that.  

If you’re looking for an event that will take you within inches of breaking point on some of the most beautiful and horrible terrain Britain has to offer, TPA is it. If you want to chat about the event then feel free to drop me an email. I'm always happy to chat with people who have a similar commitment to doing strange things. 

You can read the dotwatcher coverage and take a look at the GPS tracking for the event here.

Photos: Nadia Shahanaz (@nadiashahanaz) Rob Gardiner (@robgardinercyclist) Kitty Dennis (@bluberrysmoothie_photos) and The Perfidious Albion (@theperfidiousalbion).