Words By: Dan Harmon
Photos By: Dan Harmon and Dale Weatherson
The Fra Li Monti, perhaps more commonly known as the GR20 is notorious as being one of the most scenic, yet most difficult hiking trails in Europe. The harsh, granite terrain rises steeply out of the Mediterranean on the French island of Corsica. In July, when the snow on the peaks has melted and the refuges are open, the route becomes home to thousands of walkers who traverse the island in about two weeks. They move from refuge to refuge, eating and sleeping in relative comfort before the next stage. One must therefore question why anyone would choose to attempt to complete this route, almost 200km in length with more elevation change than Mt Everest, by mountain bike in early May!
The root of this decision lies in a friendship formed in 2008 in the high-altitude Bolivian city of La Paz. Dale Weatherson and myself, Dan Harmon, met when we both began working as mountain bike guides for Gravity Bolivia. The company provides guided mountain bike tours down the “World’s Most Dangerous Road” as its staple business, plus specialist trips for more experienced mountain bikers capable and willing to explore the more remote regions in search of incredible high alpine singletrack. My preference for downhill racing, against Dale’s greater experience in long distance riding and multi-day adventures, provided an initially adversarial relationship. However, the shared experience of managing difficult mountain rescue situations and overcoming the pitfalls of living in an extremely poor country made us good friends and regular riding partners.
Fast-forward to five years. Following a two-year period working for a major Canadian mountain resort, I now work on the research, development and design of new resorts, leisure attractions and sports facilities all over the world for Select Contracts, a company based in Whistler and Dubai. We specialise in designing, building and operating unique attractions that showcase adventurous pastimes (such as mountain biking, surfing, rafting, skiing and snowboarding). I get to travel globally, working for clients that are interested in bringing exciting sports and new technology to a rapidly changing leisure market.
Dale is now a learning and development specialist, currently working as an in-house consultant for a major UK retailer. Steadily, over the five years since leaving Bolivia, he has made regular trips to various European countries to ride different GR (Grande Randonnée) routes and hiked a section of the GR20 in 2010. Research demonstrated that, as yet, there is no documented record of anyone having completed the GR20 by bike. Curiosity peaked in early March 2013 with an email from Dale to me linking a video of hikers on an intensely exposed mountain ridge and the simple line, “Think we can ride it?” “No,” was the simple answer. I had never done any kind of multi-day mountain biking trip and wasn’t about to attempt one of the most difficult routes I could think of as my first. Moreover, I didn’t own half of the kit required to undertake such an expedition (lightweight tent, stove, etc.) Dale persisted and began routinely emailing photos, videos, articles and links to cheap equipment for sale online. A month passed before I relented: “This is a really stupid idea. I’m in.”
I had a month to prepare, so I began riding every day, regardless of the UK weather. Training was interrupted by a mechanical problem that left me without a functioning mountain bike for over a week, so with just a couple of days left before we were due to leave, I did my first overnight trip (less than five miles from my house). Days later, Dale and myself were en route through France to catch an overnight ferry from Toulon to Bastia in Corsica then drive a few hours down the coast to the southern end of the route at Conca.
Demoralised doesn’t begin to describe it. It was the second day on the GR20 and everyone, without exception, that we had met had told us we were “crazy” or “stupid” for attempting to ride it. “There are too many rocks,” “you won’t be strong enough,” and “it’s very long, you know.” We had elected to make our attempt during our only available two-week window. Early May is not a good time to attempt the GR20 even on foot. On the high passes, there was still significant snow accumulation and most, if not all refuges, were not yet properly open or serving food. Consequently, we were forced to carry everything we could (food, fuel, equipment) with the aim of lasting as long as possible. At the start, my bag weighed over 17kg and contained enough food for five days at most. Mid-afternoon on the second day and I was carrying this bag, plus a 15kg mountain bike balanced on top, as I tried to negotiate a section of hiking trail that would probably be a graded scramble in the Lake District! I was exhausted, in pain and I blamed Dale for convincing me. My only consolation was the knowledge that Dale was likely to be experiencing significant levels of guilt because it had been his idea originally.
Salvation has a face. It is the smiling, happy face of a Dutchman taking his young family into the mountains for the first time to experience an overnight stay in the alpine environment. It is a positive, encouraging face with an enthusiastic grin and a voice that says: “You guys are crazy. This is excellent. We were wondering if anybody could do this on a mountain bike and thought not, but you are proving us wrong, well done!” This encouragement came at the same time as we entered our seventh hour of hiking and carrying with only sporadic bike riding due to the severity of the terrain. Despite having never spent any time in their country, the Dutch are some of my favourite Europeans because of their proactive, bike-friendly, positive attitude. Spurred by this encounter, we crested the next pass and what lay before immediately dispelled the remaining negativity. We were faced with steep, rocky, technical terrain on a trail that was just within the limits of our collective skill level. Dale and I exchanged grins as we began the long descent towards our campsite for the night, tired but elated.
The third day took a serious toll on our equipment, creating frustrating delays and major problems that required trailside repairs and modifications that were improvised from our limited equipment and that of a passing Belgian walker. On an unassisted multi-day mountain bike trip, there is a constant trade-off during the preparation process between weight and expectations for potential mechanical issues. It is impossible to carry everything you may need. The evening ended with me channelling the sewing skills of my late grandmother into repairing Dale’s torn tyre with a needle and thread, patched with gaffer tape. Earlier, he had been forced to irreparably damage his new wheels with a makeshift modification in order to get through the day. These were not the final mechanical problems we would encounter as a result of the sharp Corsican granite and the unusually heavy loads on our bikes.
Day four was an exhilarating experience. It began with a two-hour hike for which I had to disassemble my bike and tie it to my rucksack. It became clear that Monte Incudine had retained considerable patches of snow as we neared the top. At this point, there was no easy escape back down the route we had ascended because the climb had involved a number of sections where both hands and feet were required to get up the rock face. Not quite rock climbing, but uncomfortably exposed with unprotected drops. Conversation diminished to a hushed silence with only occasional, functional sentences. Slowly and carefully we crossed off-camber expanses of snow, boot-packing footholds into the icy surface. A slip at this point would have resulted in a long slide to an uncomfortably large drop and serious injury, or worse.
As we reached the top of the pass, relief gave way to awe at what lay before us. As far as we could see, the path descended for a long way, crossing further patches of snow on the way down. Punctuated only by a stop at a remote gîte for a basic meal, the next few hours were spent happily descending beautiful singletrack, attempting to stay upright across the snow and pedalling along the valley floor in the Mediterranean sunshine. The reward for the intense effort of the day prior.
Waking up on the trail, the fifth day began with yet more stunning, sunlit trail and a deep yet refreshing river crossing. The path began to ascend and soon we found ourselves perched on a narrow and exposed trail on an increasingly narrow ridgeline. At one point, the ridge reduced to a knife-edge, forcing us off the bikes and into helping one another climb through a narrow notch in the granite. Down-climbing the rock face with over 1,000m of exposure, carrying a mountain bike with one hand and clinging to hand holds with the other is an experience I’ll never forget. With the Refuge d’Usciolu in sight (our bivouac site for the night) we pressed on too hard and both sustained injuries in the resulting crashes brought about by low blood sugar, dehydration and the resulting lack of concentration and strength. Alarmed by our own neglect of the basic principles and the potential severity of dealing with a serious injury in that location, we took a break annoyingly close to our destination. It was worth it to arrive safely at the refuge to the surprise of the guardian who was beginning summer preparations. “Je n’ai jamais vu un velo ici!” he exclaimed, pulling his phone from his pocket to take our photo.
Days six passed in a mix of yet more stunning trail, odd locals and mechanical damage. Forced to descend from the ridge after breakfast, we were pleased to discover our route was to be one of the most technically challenging and fun descents of the entire trip. Exhaustively asking everyone in the village where we could possibly find a spare inner tube or patches seemed pointless. Even the geriatric petrol station attendant barely even looked up from her lit cigarette to tell us “Non.” Success eventually came in the form of a helpful pharmacist who adopted our cause and began calling everyone she had ever known to have a bike. Within 20 minutes, we were the proud owners of two new (used) tubes, delivered by car from the next village at no charge.
The seventh day brought a multitude of punctures and some intensely cold river crossings. A broken chainring and smashed pedal were added to the list of mechanical issues, but regardless we managed good time and continued to push past our originally intended camp sport in search of a little extra distance and a unique camp venue. Nature delivered in abundance and we slept in a picturesque spot overlooking the valley we would descend into the next morning. I feel like I spent most of the night with my bivi open staring at the sky. Nothing compares to a serene evening under the stars.
The next morning was a short pedal to the top of the final descent into Vizzavona. The trail was a roaring, boulder-ridden festival of switchbacks that tested nerve and grip strength. Exhausting but invigorating, by this time our bodies had become accustomed to the daily ritual of abuse. Our bikes were battered, but with lighter loads and many days of practice we had become more used to handling them with the unnervingly high centre-of-gravity afforded by the rucksacks. Scratched, bruised, broken and cut, we sank into chairs at a restaurant by the train station in the small mountain town.
A bizarre melancholy set-in over lunch as reality dawned. Broadly speaking, we had accomplished our goal of showing that the GR20 is possible by bike. Echoes of the doubters we had met before the trip and the negative individuals that made the first two days more difficult rang hollow as we sipped cold drinks and used the last of the sunscreen. However, we were only halfway along the entirety of the route and lacking in sufficient time and food to be able to complete it. Beaten, not by the terrain, but by time and circumstance.
In the knowledge that it can and will be done, we spent our remaining days on a different route, the Mare a Mare (Nord), which presented its own challenges. In total we spent 11 days travelling independently across some of the most demanding terrain in Europe fuelled by a desire for adventure and need to disengage from the constantly-connected world in which we live. The highs and lows left me with a greater sense of what is possible on a bike and a need to continue to push the boundaries. Aside from the minor need to return and “tick” the route in its entirety, the only question remaining is: where next?
