The tapping of bike shoes on linoleum wakes me from a deep slumber. It’s day 2 of the 2024 Pan Celtic Ultra race and I’m already exhausted. I had just completed a nighttime 100-mile time trial on the Isle of Man, through rain and freezing temperatures before taking a four-hour ferry crossing of the Irish Sea back to Heysham, England. My back aches as I raise myself from sleeping on the floor of the swaying ferry. Within minutes I’m getting dressed in damp and smelly clothes, stuffing my pack to leave the warmth of the boat. I’m about to get back on solid ground with salt-laden air filling my lungs to continue the race with my confidence at an all-time low. This is the story of most Ultras, dealing with the lows (and highs) and pushing your emotional, mental, and physical limits to the finish line.

How it all began

Started by Matt ‘Mally’ Ryan in 2018, the Pan Celtic is an ultra-distance event that takes a different route each year but always navigates the Celtic nations. In this 5th and final chapter of the Pan Celtic Race Series, the Clan of 2024 gathered at the infamous home of time trials, The Isle of Man. From there, we would battle it out against a 100-mile time trial before taking a neutralized ferry crossing back to England, where we would then embark on an adventure north through the Lake District, Galloway Forest Park, the Kintyre Peninsula, the Isle of Mull, Isle of Skye, and Torridon before heading east, to finish in Inverness, Scotland.

Each race accepts around 250 riders and usually takes 2,000-2,500km of unsupported cycling over 10 days or less. The routes often include gravel sections, a few ferry crossings, and a long and short option. The main rule is one Mally coined himself: ‘Race. Make friends. Have a good time. Don’t take life too seriously.’ All while the race’s mantra accompanies you on your way: ‘An té a bhíónn siúlach, bíonn scéalach’. Or ‘We who travel have stories to tell’.

It had been a while since I had raced an Ultra and I needed to explore new lands and meet some like-minded travellers. I had followed the previous year’s races and knew that Scotland was upcoming, so that had sealed the deal. The Scottish moors and glens were calling, with island hopping on the horizon. Each pedal stroke would be a daring leap into the unknown, where adversity would be intertwined with the exhilaration of discovery.

The Lake District

After departing the ferry and listening to a rousing pep talk from the organizers we were treated to a loud traditional sendoff of bagpipes. The sunny and meandering route quickly took me out of my low mood and spirited me toward the heart of the Lake District, home to the legendary cyclist Fred Whitton, the renowned Hardman of the Lakes. The path of the Pan Celtic would take us through some of the most stunning and brutal climbs that were etched in cycling lore. With names like Kirkstone Pass, Blea Tarn, Hardknott Pass, The Struggle, and Wrynose Pass we were riding up gradients ranging from 12 percent to 33 percent. After a cool night bivvying beside a country road in the fresh mountain air, I realized that I had bitten off more than I could chew. The foggy pre-dawn climbing was outrageous, but the downhills also became as tricky as the climbs with brakes squealing, tires slipping and hands achingly holding on to the levers. One of the beacons of light was the trail angels waiting at the top of these climbs with cold drinks, snacks, and an encouraging chat. Sadly, the Lake District was over after a huge day of riding from pre-sunrise to well after sunset. After bidding adieu to Northern England, I had finally reached the Scottish border and checkpoint number one by the end of day two. I sat down in the community centre with a hot cup of tea, a few slices of toast and jam given to me by wonderful volunteers. After about 530km I was proud of how far I had made it. I still knew there were still many long miles to go.

Struggling through

Day three started with a scalding hot coffee and more toast. I hadn’t caught much sleep, but I was still up and away by 4:30 am. Early starts and late finishes would be my secret weapon to conquer the miles in a race like this. Flirting with Scotland’s western coastline over the next few days would provide a welcome antidote to the previous days of climbing. For some reason, I was feeling unstoppable that day. Forests and fields sped by in a blur. I was leapfrogging with other riders, chatting and making friends. The only thing I was up against was beating the grey clouds that were threatening rain. I was having a few frustrating technical problems with my GPS freezing in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, I had brought a spare unit to get me on my way. I had made it to the coastal city of Ayr as the rain began to fall. The high of riding so fast was fleeting. I stopped for a warm coffee and cheese toasty while I put on my rain gear. I had hoped to make it to Glasgow that night, but the rain was giving me other ideas. The ride started to feel long and cold. I stopped at a village bus stop with other riders and began looking for a place to stay and a warm shower.

Despite the cold and rain, I was blessed to be dry as I made my way to Glasgow thanks to a night in a guest house. There were a lot of suburban cycling paths ahead which would give me a break from road traffic. The terrain was mercifully flat and, in parts, a tad boring. Yesterday’s feeling of being unstoppable had worn out though. I was riding so slow that I felt there must be something wrong with my bike. On top of that, my GPS was acting up again and had frozen again. The city streets weren’t the easiest to navigate blindly and I was starting to lose patience. I hated being in a city again and yearned for the open country roads. On top of it all I had a long way to go that day to catch the first morning ferry off the mainland from Oban to the Isle of Mull. Finally, I made it back into the countryside again and my spirits grew with every pedal stroke. The land opened and was laden with lakes and forest reserves. I hadn’t seen many other riders that day, probably for the best given my sour mood. I felt like I was in good shape to reach Oban early that evening as everything was going so smoothly again. Then the nicely paved country roads turned to gravel. Oddly though I started to go faster. My bike was truly in its element, I just couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as I was passing groups of riders swearing about the road conditions as they were getting flats and dealing with mechanicals. I was feeling like the luckiest rider in the race. The gravel then turned back to country roads and started taking me through fields filled with hundreds of bleating sheep alongside herds of Highland cows or "heilan coos" as they are known to locals. I could smell the salty air blowing in through the green valleys which meant I had made it almost 300km that day and would be ready for the ferry first thing in the morning. I was tired but sharing a pint or two of Guinness with other riders was on the menu first.

Hebrides bound

Day five. The next few days would be spent isle hopping along the Hebrides. The timing was crucial at this point with the series of ferries that would need to be caught. Missing a ferry could mean waiting around for a couple of hours or a day until the next one arrives. The Hebrides are known for their extreme weather changes so this leg of the race was going to be tricky, but well worth all the stress. The islands and rugged western coast did not disappoint. Awe-inspiring cliffs, rock-strewn beaches, winding roads that seemed to climb and drop at their will. The Atlantic headwinds also decided to make themselves known to make things even more interesting. I decided to camp out just before getting the morning ferry to the Isle of Skye. I rode until my legs didn’t have anything left in them and set my bivvy up behind an ancient stone wall overlooking the ocean. I fell asleep watching seagulls gliding in the soft ocean breeze overhead. 

The past few days had been a bit lonely, not seeing too many riders en route. Oddly enough, about 50 of us turned up to catch the first ferry to Skye and it was great to catch up on everyone else’s experiences. Once on Skye, we all spread out again amongst the zoo of cars and caravans that were on the roads. It was not what I was expecting of such a legendary isle. The rain started to fall which made traffic even trickier to contend with. After all the anticipation to get to Skye, I couldn’t wait to get off it and back to the mainland. Near the end of the day, the rain hadn’t let up and an even thicker fog began to settle in around the small winding roads. After what seemed like a never-ending climb, I descended into the Gleneig Ferry landing where I would catch the last turntable ferry in Scotland. I was wet, cold, tired, and thirsty, so a pub was in due order as the light started to fade. Another rider was up for a pint too, so we stumbled into the best village pub I had ever been to, ordered a Guinness, and plunked ourselves down into a warm chair near the fire. To top it off they had old hand dryers in the bathrooms that were powerful enough to dry all my wet clothes and warm my spirits. It’s the little things like that which make the riding all the worthwhile. We stumbled out of the dark pub with full bellies and warm hearts and started to look for a place to sleep.  A nearby churchyard offered a quiet solace so we rolled up our bivvys and nodded off to sleep.

The last leg

I awoke before sunrise and jumped on the bike. Another foggy morning leads me through a foggy valley complete with the unusual morning traffic of sheep hogging the road. I spin past reservoirs, forests, and small sleepy villages. I stare northeast towards the sea where I know the finish is hiding. I know today is going to be a hard push to the end, but I need to focus on one of the biggest climbs yet. Bealach na Bà is considered a holy grail for riders looking to give themselves a challenge. Boasting the steepest ascent of any road in the United Kingdom, its hairpin turns up to the 2,054 feet summit promising stunning views if you can handle the terrifying twists and turns of the treacherous track. It was one of the biggest highlights of the whole ride. After a big push, I had made it to the top all while people in cars were leaning out shouting their appreciation of what I was attempting. The way down was no small feat either, dodging traffic or tourists on such a small winding road. The windier coastline led me to the small village of Shieldaig. The sun came out and bluebird skies enveloped the beautiful land around me. It was getting to be near the end of the day, and I had to decide to press on through the night for the last 200km or settle here and relax in the warmth of the fading sun for one last time. A local suggested I stay at the nearby camping spot complete with hot showers and a breathtaking ocean view. I was pretty sold on the idea of spending on last day in paradise and my body was asking to stop as well. After the heavenly shower, I just sat in the grass and took the whole scene in. A few other riders passed me by pushing on to the end. Should I feel guilty for staying here? Was I not pushing myself enough? I had to remind myself of my goals and intentions for this. I wanted to compete but also enjoy myself and make this experience memorable. After nearly a week of 250km-350km days, my body wanted me to relax, but as I reached the peninsula’s northern point, I knew that right ahead of me, on the opposite coast, lay Inverness. 

As my wheels spun toward the finish, I started to have mixed feelings. I didn’t want this to end, but I couldn’t wait for it to be over. Surprisingly my body wasn’t that beat up other than being a bit tired. But as usual, a poignant realization took hold: good things, even grand adventures, must find their end. It made me wonder why I do these sorts of races though. I love being pushed physically, mentally and emotionally. I love meeting the people who partake in these races and the comradery that develops. When I don’t have a lot of time it’s a great way to see a lot of a country in a short period. But I don’t like always being in a rush and having to time how long it takes me to eat or missing some great moments that require you to just stop. After such an intense event It takes a lot of time post-race for me to develop and process what I accomplished and how it could have been approached differently. One thing is consistent though with all these sorts of races; I never regret taking that leap to take on these sorts of challenges.

The details

• What: 2024 Pan Celtic Ultra
• Where: Douglas, Isle of Man, England, to Inverness, Scotland
• How far: Long route 2,295km, short route 1,1,842km
• Climbing: Long route: 84,630 ft, Short route: 67,743 ft
• My finish time: 7days, 7hrs 22m
• More info pancelticrace.com

What to pack for the Pan Celtic

For seven days and more than 2,000km of the Pan Celtic Ultra, this is a list of everything I carried on my Panorama Cycles Katahdin bike:

Ortlieb bar roll/half frame/seat pack, Atwater atelier bar bags, Sea to Summit Spark Ultralight sleeping bag, sleeping bag liner, OR bivvy bag, Sea to summit inflatable sleep mat, Albion cargo vest with 2L water bag, Patagonia ultralight down jacket, merino leg warmers, merino arm warmers, buff, windbreaker, Gillette, 7mesh rain jacket, helmet, cap, musette bag, cycling shoes, short finger/long finger pairs of gloves, two jerseys, two pairs of socks, one pair bib shorts, sunglasses, chain lube, mini pump, tire levers, cable ties, multitool, two inner tubes, tire patches, two water bottles, suncream, toothpaste, toothbrush, chamois cream, painkillers, energy drink powder, bank cards, passport, iPhone, 20000mh power bank, wahoo computer x2, Fenix front /rear light, extra USB rear lights with additional battery, Princeton Tech headlamp, charging cables, plug/UK adapter, headphones.