Gralloch Gravel Review

Photo Credit: Red On Sport

It’s been nearly a month since I took part in the UCI Gravel Series in Singen, Germany, and well over that since the Gralloch in Scotland. It’s taken me a little while to figure out how I feel about the UCI gravel racing scene, but hopefully, finally putting the proverbial pen to paper will help me make sense of it.

First things first: not all races are created equal. Considering that the UCI is the governing body of these qualifying events, there is a huge difference in organisational standards, starting procedures, and the overall quality of the participant experience.

The Gralloch was very difficult to fault. Everything was clearly communicated before and during the event. It was almost impossible to not know where you were meant to be or what you were meant to be doing. The start procedure was somewhat different from what I’ve experienced before: men (including Elites) set off from about 9 a.m., and the women (including Elites) set off roughly two hours later.

This has both pros and cons. It was unseasonably hot in Scotland this year, so when the women started their race, it was pushing midday and it was very, very warm. That’s no fault of the organisers. It was clear they wanted everyone to have the opportunity to perform at their best, rather than being subjected to the testosterone-fuelled brutality of men’s racing or gaining an unfair advantage by drafting a stronger rider from another category.

The start pens were big, and instructions on how and when each wave would set off were clear and followed closely, so there were no nasty surprises.

The route was easy to find and download via their website, and it was also shared by email. It was clearly marked and up-to-date with what you'd be riding that weekend.

The whole event had a real vibe. The event village had everything you needed across the weekend.

What I’m getting at is this: the Gralloch is an ideal event to be part of if gravel racing is new to you. It’s obvious that all this is foreshadowing, but what about the racing itself?

It was brutal.

Never have I felt so much like I was being sent off to war. The first climb comes within the first 2 km, and already riders were slipping out everywhere. There were more punctures than I’d ever seen before—tyres off rims, and the slightly iridescent tell-tale splashes of tubeless sealant covering those unlucky enough to be fixing things at the side of the course. This was all within the first 10 minutes of racing, and it didn’t let up.

The terrain can best be described as railway ballast without the tracks: big, coarse, pointy rocks out to destroy you and your precious, expensive wheelset. The way some riders were taking descents and corners was truly terrifying.

I paced myself pretty well, not wanting a repeat of the Dirty Reiver where I struggled with cramps on and off. I made up a few spots on the first climb—hills seem to be where I’m happiest—and lost a few on the descents (I value my life). Still, I stuck to a consistent effort.

A friend of mine, Nick, was in the age group that started before me, and around the two-thirds mark, I spotted his shiny new Muc-Off helmet up ahead. I knew this part of the course well, having reconned it a couple of days earlier, so I put my head down and chased. I was catching him—yes!

I took a bold line and told myself, “Rob, you’re getting cocky. Calm down before you break something.” It was too late.

I hit a rock at a bad angle, causing a snakebite puncture and knocking the bead slightly off the rim. The back end felt very soft. I had to pull over to assess the damage. All I could do was watch Nick disappear into the distance, and many other riders passed me without a second glance. To my despair, many of them were wearing the same category-coloured numbers as me.

Before I really knew the extent of the damage, I just added some pressure to the rear tyre and hoped for the best. About 2 km later, the back was bouncing again. A closer look showed the bead had come away, so I gave it a quick blast with CO₂. That worked, kind of. It lasted longer, but by that point, I was well out of contention. I could feel the rim bottoming out occasionally. The tyre damage was worse than I’d feared, and I was at risk of writing off my rear wheel if I wasn’t careful. I added more pressure and decided just to complete, since I could no longer compete.

The last 10 km were actually a lot of fun. We hit tarmac after the final climb. There was a stiff headwind, so I waited for a group to work with. As usual, I was initially dismissed by the first group—riding a steel bike doesn’t exactly scream "fast guy"—but I matched their pace, knowing we had some distance to cover before I pushed.

More and more people joined the group until it resembled a mini peloton of about 40 riders. Once the descent ended and the road got lumpier, I started to push. I created a little breakaway, and three or four riders came with me. Rather than rotating, I just wanted to empty the tank. I pushed, expecting them to zip around me for the group finish, but they never did.

I kept the pace high all the way to the finish line. One guy who managed to hang on came over after the race to congratulate me on the little "win."

Although I didn’t qualify, I had a great time. I can only blame my overconfident line choice while chasing Nick, but it was a lesson well learned.

We met some awesome people at the event and will absolutely be back to take part again. That said, the event raised some questions in my mind about gravel racing as a whole.

My overall feeling is that gravel has become road racing with added danger. I can’t seem to shake that thought, and the event in Singen, Germany a few weeks later absolutely confirmed it.

There’s also an element of “pay to win.” Aero everything is king, and sometimes, no matter how hard you train or how many watts you put out, deeper pockets tend to lead to faster times.

Still, I think the Gralloch is the best-organised event I’ve done yet. Seeing how many people didn’t finish, simply completing the course is an achievement, and that says a lot, because I’m incredibly hard on myself. If I’m able to say I achieved something, it really means something.

Singen was a completely different beast, one that drove home some lingering thoughts about my place in these competitions and ultimately how I wish to continue pushing my performance on the bike overall. But more on that in the next post.