Sauvage Squad @Badlands 2024
As often happens to me lately, I decided to attend Badlands at the last minute. Not because I'm disorganized, or at least not only that. It's more the anticipation that unsettles me: the planning, the days that slowly pass before the event, when thoughts thicken and doubts gather like clouds over a clear sky. This deeply unsettles me.
Inside me, the decision had already been made, even if, by postponing the official announcement, I naively hoped to escape this useless anxiety.
Finally, it's time to leave. In Granada, the sun is slowly rising; departure was scheduled for 8:00, but the first rays of dawn only timidly appear around 7:30. The nights are long, too long. And this, I know, will be a challenge.
Badlands has a small number of registered participants, about 300 individuals and couples. Cyclists from all over Europe and beyond have come together for one great celebration, a precious opportunity to share our passion and compete with others experiencing the same thrill.
The first few kilometers flow at a controlled pace, amid steep climbs that take us far from the heart of Granada, quickly leaving the urban landscape behind for the first green expanses of the Sierra Nevada. The landscape around the city is a succession of contrasts: high mountains that transition from arid rock faces to coniferous forests, creating landscapes that touch our most authentic mountain imagery.
Our tour included 790 km with approximately 16,000 meters of elevation gain. Already in the first 30 km, we had gained over 1,000 meters of elevation gain, a clear sign of how slow our progress would be.
Luca and I planned to complete the route in about three days, and the key to achieving this was consistency: few stops, a steady but unhurried pace, always maintaining a balance between effort and breathing.
For me, the first few kilometers are always the hardest, especially mentally. My mind is still tied to the familiar rhythm of going out, when I quickly cover kilometers in a few hours, always in a rush to get home for one reason or another. Here, however, there's no room for haste. Calculations and planning must be completely rethought: covering 50 kilometers can take up to half a day, depending on a myriad of factors—the elevation gain, the terrain, the unexpected. But once I accept this new rhythm, everything becomes easier, more natural.
I had identified a few major towns where I could stop to recharge my batteries and resupply. The first was Gor, 230 km away, which I reached on the evening of the first day. This small village, nestled in the mountains, was in full swing, and upon our arrival, we were greeted with warm applause from the locals, who greeted each of us with a smile.
Between Gor and the next stop lay the wildest and most solitary stretch of the route: 100 km of woods, without a trace of civilization. I set off again around midnight, loaded with water and food, hoping to reach the next town by daylight.
It was a tough night. I had to indulge in a short nap to regain my composure, but I finally made it: with the first light of dawn, I approached my destination, recharged by the energy of the sun rising above the clouds, like an unexpected gift.
The next day would be the most challenging. Fatigue was taking its toll, and I couldn't find a rhythm. I pedaled fitfully, stopping too often. The heat was unbearable; I felt my skin burning under the sun and my head pounding inside my helmet. By evening, exhausted, I stopped for a well-earned dinner and a longer break. I had decided to take advantage of the cooler hours of the night to reach the 500th kilometer, and then push on for another 100 km until dawn on the third day.
These small mental milestones were my lifeline. They helped me not to give up, to keep pedaling, even if slowly. I cheated out the fatigue by calling friends, especially Benedetta, who, as always, watched over me, just as she does every day of my life.
In the evening and during the night, my legs seemed to be working better. After a short rest in Nijar (km 544), I prepared to tackle the dreaded Collado Colativí climb: 18 km with 1,000 meters of elevation gain. It was the last major challenge that stood between me and reaching the 600th kilometer on the morning of the third day. So, having gathered the necessary energy, I set off again around 3:00 in the morning.
The sunrise, seen from the top of the climb, was an unforgettable experience, a moment when fatigue vanished before the beauty of the awakening world. I had made it. And then, off to Tabernas, with a rapid descent that, though exhausting on hands and feet, proved to be a sweet gift, while the kilometers ticked away on the Garmin, a sign of a new conquest.
At Tabernas (km 574), I felt full of energy, perfectly in line with my expectations. A hearty breakfast of typical bocadillos gave me the strength to set off again, ready to cross the desert, the iconic setting of famous "spaghetti western" films.
The surreal landscapes and the stifling heat created a powerful contrast, while the first pains in my joints began to distract me. I was torn between the euphoria of that unforgettable view and the fatigue that brought me back down to earth, reminding me of the weight of every kilometer traveled.
With enormous effort, I managed to reach my final mental milestone: 700km. Now there were only 90km to go, but the organizers called this stretch "The Last Hell," and there was certainly a reason.
It was, in fact, a 90km climb, with over 3,000m of elevation gain to cover. I'd started this last stretch at sunset, about to spend my third sleepless night.
My body refused to give up, but my mind was exhausted. And it was in that moment that I experienced something new, something I had never felt before. I pedaled, following the trail, but all the while I was dreaming, realizing I had lost all lucidity. At first, the sensation frightened me, but then I began to let go, allowing my mind to wander freely, caressed by these sweet illusions.
That night, I was no longer alone. I rode with everyone who had spared me a thought. My teammates, the Sauvage, who never stopped cheering me on. Luca "Jerry," with his gentle, encouraging voice. Enry and Lore, the great racing duo from Bike Line, whose messages of strength accompanied me kilometer after kilometer. And then Mattia, my guardian angel on this adventure and many others.
You were all there with me, on those endless climbs hidden in the darkness of the night, sharing every pedal stroke and every breath, like an invisible embrace that supported me until dawn.
And finally, there it was, the village of Capileira, the finish line at the 790th kilometer. I'd arrived in about two days and 23 hours. I don't have any vivid memories of that precise moment; the realization of what I'd just accomplished only came later. It wasn't so much the result that filled me with pride—there are others who run much faster, and I was fortunate enough to avoid any unexpected setbacks. It was more the feeling of having lived a unique experience, an adventure I'll never forget.
I can't wait to share it with you, hoping you're reading these words with joy. If there's anything I'd like to leave you with, it's the inspiration to embark on your next adventure, with the same passion and wonder that has accompanied me every mile.
Author: Fabio Conti
