Singen Gravel "Festival" Review

Photo Credit: UCI World Gravel Series

As I had mentioned in my previous entry (which you can read here), not all UCI gravel events are created equal. This can come as a bit of a surprise when, in the spirit of a fair competition, giving away any sort of advantage really should not happen, especially by the way the race is set up.

Singen in Germany was an event that neither Louisa nor I were particularly familiar with, but it fit into our travel plans pretty well, so we took a bit of a punt and entered before we left the UK.

We were riding a wave of fitness created by spending four or five weeks riding around the French Alps, so when you look at 110 km in distance and 2000 m of climbing, it’s easy to become a little complacent when faced with those numbers. The average ride we were doing in the run-up was around the same distance but double the elevation over many a col.

We arrived in Germany, but instead of beelining to where the event was being held, we spent a little time enjoying the Black Forest. I decided to go out on a tour of the forest on the Sunday before the race, forgetting two things: Germany closes on Sundays, and water is not as easy to come by as it is in France. The first half of the ride was brilliant — proper Hansel and Gretel country, water mills, and mile upon mile of forest. I headed north on my adventures towards a large town, with the plan this would be my rest stop for food and water. When I pulled into town, it was very obvious that I may have been the only sign of life in the place.

I looked high and low and nothing was open, and to top it all off, it was pushing 40 °C. Germany, it seems, was in the throes of a heatwave. Starting to get a little panicked, I ended up knocking on the door of a random building that was being renovated, asking for water. Thankfully I managed to fill up, but I still only had minimal food supplies with me, so I decided to reroute and head back the most direct way I could manage. This proved to be a little bit of a mistake in itself, as the town I decided to stop in was at the bottom of quite a deep valley.

My route took me over some of the steepest hills in the forest, which I initially flippantly dismissed because, of course, “it’s not the Alps.”

The very first one brought me back to earth, which didn’t help my morale at all, and each one after chipped away at what was left of my motivation.

I ploughed on and, after what seemed like forever, I made it back to the van. I had given Louisa the heads-up that I was suffering on my way back, so upon my return I was very grateful to see she had prepared food and had a soda and lime at the ready!

This heatwave continued on for the next week, and my Black Forest adventure had really taken it out of me. When we arrived in Singen and did a course recon on the Wednesday before the event, we both really struggled with only one lap! How were we going to manage two?! In hindsight, we saw that our cycling head unit had recorded riding temperatures pushing 44 °C.

Taking it somewhat easier over the next few days, we managed to recon all the course — well, we thought we had. This brings me to my first point about race organisation not being consistent.

We had to search high and low through the depths of shoddy websites and emails in order to find a route. When we did eventually find some on the organiser’s website, it had two different route files, both stating they were the 2025 version, and both different.

On race day, it transpired that the route had been changed again and no GPS file correlated with these amendments. The saving grace was that the course was well signposted, but it did mean you had to be hyper-aware of any course changes after a recon.

The area in which the race took place was quite interesting: it is made up of long-extinct volcanoes, and over the centuries castles and other fortifications have been built atop these. As a result, towns and villages are dotted around in between. The drawback of holding a race in quite a small space was that the course felt a little compressed and somewhat pointless at times. It was filled with incredibly sharp ups with little to no respite on descents, as these usually had very sudden and sharp 90-degree turns on them, leading to climbing what you had just come down but slightly further along. It really felt as if the course was created on a grid system. I know I did 2000 m up, but I cannot remember the 2000 m down. This created its own problems, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Just starting the race was an effort in itself. The start was in the town centre outside the town hall, with start pens stretching along a relatively narrow road. The only way to these pens was via public footpaths lined with restaurants and cafés that were open. As a result, there were a lot of people there trying to make their way through, unaware a race was about to start. Mix this with thousands of cyclists trying to get to their start box, and it was a case of “those that push, win.”

We had been sent a race guide a day or two beforehand which expressly forbade jumping the fences to the start pens, as this gave an unfair advantage if you placed yourself right at the front. It warned of disqualification if this was observed by officials. It may have been observed, but it certainly was not enforced! There were people leaving boxes to move further down the path and jumping in again.

Another surprise for us both was that men and women were lumped into the same age-group boxes — it was carnage. This also opens up another can of worms because it can lead to riding partners (or just partners) being able to assist by drafting the stronger of the pair. This was especially an advantage to the women, as I saw many being towed and protected from the elements while on course. This was not a fair and equal race from the get-go.

Not only this, the start procedure stated clearly that the elite group would set off at the sound of a gun, a couple of minutes would elapse, and each age category would then be sent off in one-minute intervals with the same start gun procedure. In previous races, this means you are in your age-group pen, one group goes off, and you can then jostle for position while entering the start box as you’ve had a moment to “race” before the start. This is why I (and probably many others) were quite nonchalant about our position in the age-group box. I was under the impression that once the group before me was on their way, that intervening minute was my time to gain a better start-box position.

So off went the elite riders at the sound of a gun. One minute went by, sound of a gun, and there goes the 19–30 group. We all moved forward, waiting to be stopped at the start line — but we were not. The race had begun… it had begun for every group, both sexes, all at once!

Screenshot of the rider information booklet that was sent out before the race

We hit the streets of Singen, which were nice and wide, but we were then funnelled (thousands of us) onto a footpath that ran along the river, only wide enough for two riders. It really was an absolute mess. The communication was poor to begin with, and then to completely rewrite the script on the fly from what had been sent out was another thing entirely.

As seems to be standard in these races, there was a long climb within the first 4 km of the race, which did break up the group somewhat. It was around this point that I noticed that my route on my computer was not really the same as what was marked out. This wasn’t all bad, as a lot of those amendments resulted in parts of the course that were quite dangerous to navigate on a solo ride, let alone as part of a larger group.

Other than what felt like constant ups and sudden 90-degree turns on descents (as discovered on the recon ride), it was pretty uneventful for the most part. I got myself into a decent position out of the start on the street and just tried to maintain that position in the pack.

Midway through the course, there is a very steep section — around 20% for about 2–3 km — which leads into what I would say is the only “safe” downhill on the course. By “safe” I mean it was a descent where there was an opportunity to race a little more aggressively without the fear of having to negotiate a tight corner on super-loose gravel. As such, this meant people took risks, and these risks didn’t always pay off, as I saw firsthand.

As I was making my way down this descent, I noticed quite a backup of people up ahead, so I slowed down while anticipating having to make my way through the throng. It became apparent this wasn’t just a choke point. It was still moving, but as I approached, the way was blocked off by the marshals as there had been quite an accident ahead. Unfortunately, those in my age and riding group who slipped through rode off, putting huge distance between those of us that stopped.

It was at this point that I really had to question if this was all worth it. I was watching a man unconscious on the floor, with paramedics trying to keep him safe while a helicopter hovered above, ready to airlift him to hospital — all the while, people were trying to squeeze past the numerous ambulances and paramedics, not really taking much notice of the poor guy in pieces on the floor.

Those around me shared this overall feeling too, and the conversation all centred around how these events have changed over the past few years, the risks those participating take to keep in contention, and ultimately how they have been overtaken by the pros masquerading as amateurs in the various age categories. Where has the spirit of gravel gone — and was it ever part of these events now the UCI are involved?

For the remainder of the race (which, from this point, I struggled to believe was fair, having seen my competition get a free pass) I just wanted to see it through. Again, I know I’m not alone here, as after the first lap a lot of people threw in the towel and called it a day. Now my focus was just to get around again. It was impossible not to recognise other areas in which the rules to maintain fairness and equality were being bent again.

I refer back to the start guide, where it explains that outside assistance is acceptable but only in designated zones — these zone would be clearly marked. They were indeed clearly marked, but what was also clear was there was a lot more outside assistance throughout the whole circuit of the race, regardless of the designated assistance zones. It just seemed the conditions of the race were more of a guide and could be ignored if you didn’t deem them necessary. There didn’t seem to be any enforcement of these race rules at all, and if you had the means or the audacity, you could race however you wanted.

Screenshot of the rider information booklet that was sent out before the race

The whole experience has really left me feeling somewhat muted about partaking in anything that the UCI oversees going forward. Gralloch was an awesome event where they tried their absolute best to maintain fairness, quality of competition, and an overall positive vibe. It’s hard to believe that both these events were born of the same governing body.

I know this has not been the most positive of write-ups, and maybe I am being a little downcast on the events, but there is one big positive to nailing down these events in our calendar, and that is fitness. It has given me something to put my focus on and build my overall fitness on the bike again. Over the years, I have been known to undertake quite big endurance rides, but life does tend to happen, and four or five years ago I had a very challenging time. As such, my priority was elsewhere and my endurance fitness fell a little by the wayside. It was one of those situations where you would be knocked back, pick yourself up again, and be knocked back further… this went on for about two years, so quite honestly it’s no surprise I struggled to find the time, energy, or motivation.

My race in Houffalize last year and the story that unfolded from that moment has regained my focus, and although gravel racing is not my favourite part of riding a bike, it will be something I will continue to do from time to time — albeit with other race organisers, as the inconsistencies brought about by poor organisation really are detrimental when you put so much of yourself into something.

I plan on riding this wave of fitness and enthusiasm by going back to where I left off all those years ago: long-distance Audax, touring (bikepacking to you trendy lot), and the general exhilaration of finding new places on a bike.

Racing has positioned me back to where I have been longing to be from a fitness standpoint, and for that I will be forever grateful to any of the organisers of such events.