There is something especially powerful about standing on the start line of an inaugural event. Nobody really knows how the day will unfold, how the route will ride, or how their body and mind will respond once the distance starts stacking up. That was exactly the feeling I carried into the inaugural Gralloch Ultra: excitement, respect for the challenge, and a quiet determination to see it through.
At 323 kilometres through the wild heart of Galloway, with more than five thousand metres of climbing advertised across remote gravel, forest roads, and open terrain, this was always going to be more than just another event. It was going to be a full-body, full-mind examination of everything I had prepared for. The Gralloch’s own published route describes the Ultra as a journey through Galloway Forest Park and beyond, with three dedicated feed zones along the way and a self-supported ethos that rewards patience, planning, and resilience. The Ultra Route underlined the scale of the challenge, including the 323km distance and multiple feed stops.
What made reaching that line so meaningful was that, ten days before the event, I genuinely thought my ride might be over before it had begun.
A lingering chest infection, off the back of a big three-day training expedition, had hung around at exactly the wrong time. When you have put in block after block of consistent training, there is nothing more frustrating than wondering whether all of that work will be derailed in the final stretch. But as the days counted down, my body finally began to feel clear again. It was not blind optimism that got me to the start; it was trust. Trust in the work. Trust in the consistency of the training programme that had carried me to this point. Trust in the hours spent not only riding, but learning what I could fuel on, what I could digest, and how to stay hydrated without tipping into that horrible, bloated, sickly feeling that can ruin an Ultra. By the time the Gralloch Ultra rolled around, I knew I had done the work. The question was no longer whether I had trained enough. It was whether I could stay calm, stay disciplined, and execute.
That sense of trust extended to the bike and equipment too, because on a ride like this, there is no room for second-guessing every creak, rattle, or pocket choice. The Marin Nicasio from Crush Cycling and Running felt incredible from the first kilometres right through to the final push for the line. Comfort matters over ultra-distance, but so does reliability, and the bike delivered both in equal measure over day and night, through rough gravel, wet sections, and long drags that seemed to pull deep into the horizon.
I also put the new ADVNTR Hydration Pack from GRVL properly through its paces, alongside the custom bags from Crag fast Gear, and both were faultless. In an event of this length, gear earns its praise by disappearing into the background. That is exactly what happened here. Everything sat where it needed to, everything was accessible, and everything just worked. That meant I could concentrate on the task in hand rather than wasting energy on faffing, frustration, or constant adjustments. When the ride itself is already asking serious questions, that kind of dependable setup is worth its weight in gold.
The route itself was every bit as demanding as expected.
The Gralloch Ultra information describes a long, semi-supported loop through forests, glens, estates, open roads, and remote passes, with riders needing to manage themselves carefully across the day and into the night. That matched the experience perfectly. The Gralloch Ultra and the official Ultra Route both describe the event as a 323km ultra-distance route through Galloway with four dedicated feed zones and extensive remote terrain. The terrain kept changing, the weather never really let the day settle into a rhythm for long, and mentally, that constant need to adapt can be just as draining as the climbs themselves.
I probably spent a little longer than first anticipated at each feed zone, but in truth, those pauses were warranted. They were not indulgent stops; they were smart, scheduled resets. They gave me time to fill bidons, top up the Hydration Pack, check what I needed, and make sure I was leaving each one ready for the next section rather than just surviving it.
Feed Zones 2 and 3 were especially important because they allowed for proper pre-planning. Having my pre-made sandwiches there, along with my daughters’ homemade flapjacks, made a huge difference. In events like this, there comes a point where endless sweet sugary treats stop feeling like fuel and start feeling like a problem. Being able to switch flavours, textures, and expectations gave me a proper lift at exactly the right moments. Those date-filled homemade flapjacks, in particular, got me through some dark patches. Sometimes it is not just about calories; it is about giving your body and brain something they actually want to accept.
The stops also gave me the option to change kit if needed. I put on waterproof socks and changed gloves, but stayed in my GRVL Bib Shorts and merino wool Jersey because both were performing so well that there was simply no reason to swap them out. The Bib Shorts remained comfortable throughout, with no issues at all, and the merino Jersey kept doing exactly what good merino does: regulating temperature, holding warmth, and staying dependable even once the ride had become properly wet. Later on, with the forecast suggesting showers rather than full-on rain, I gambled on the 3-Season Jacket, and it performed perfectly for the remainder of the ride.
Of course, no Ultra really goes to plan from start to finish, and mine certainly had its wobble. I seemed to be nursing a tubeless issue for longer than I should have, and in hindsight, I wish I had dealt with it properly while there was still daylight. At first, it felt manageable, one of those annoyances you convince yourself will settle if you just keep rolling. But eventually it became obvious that one plug had not done the job, and I was going to have to stop and sort it properly. The problem was that by this stage it was dark, and what would have been a straightforward fix in daylight became a much more fiddly, morale-sapping job. The saving grace was that I had ended up in a small group of four, and they were insistent that we stick together. That simple decision mattered. In an event that asks so much of your self-sufficiency, there is still huge power in shared determination. A bit of teamwork, a bit of patience, and a bit of light meant I could finally sort the issue once and for all and get moving again. It was a reminder that even in an Ultra, where so much of the experience is internal, the people around you can play a massive role in helping keep the day alive.
More than anything, this event tested me in all the ways I hoped it would. Yes, physically, because 323 kilometres of gravel and over 5,000 metres of climbing is never going to be anything else. But mentally too, and perhaps even more so. The highs and lows were real.
There were moments where everything clicked: the legs felt good, the climbing came naturally, the fuelling landed well, and the route opened up in front of me in a way that made the whole day feel like exactly where I was meant to be. Then there were moments where the weather, the fatigue, the darkness, and the mechanical uncertainty tried to pull me somewhere else entirely. What I am proud of is that I kept meeting each of those moments with patience rather than panic. I paced myself really well and never got tempted into trying to stay with riders I knew nothing about, which is a mistake I have definitely made before. My climbing legs stayed with me all day, and I never truly struggled on what were, in places, some long and steep ascents. Even in the final 50 kilometres, when so many riders are just trying to hang on, I found myself pulling on the front of our little group and even sprinting for the line at the end, which was a fun way to cap off such a huge day. That finishing kick probably said as much as anything else: the training had worked, the pacing had worked, and the nutrition and hydration strategy had done exactly what it needed to do.
All in all, I loved the inaugural Gralloch Ultra. It has left a mark on me in the best possible way. Events like this do more than give you a finish time or a finisher’s medal; they show you something about yourself, about what preparation can unlock, and about how much more there might still be to explore. This ride has definitely found me wanting more. I really do enjoy the long-distance element of Ultra riding, and I think I have found something here that I can keep developing and keep challenging myself with. I come from years of long-distance bike touring and bikepacking, and this feels like a natural next chapter: taking that endurance mindset, that self-supported experience, and applying it in an event setting that still leaves plenty of room for adventure. So yes, I finished the Gralloch Ultra tired, muddy, and tested, but also deeply motivated.
I am already thinking about what comes next, and that probably tells you everything you need to know.
Credit must also go to Matt Buckley for helping document my day and capturing moments from an experience I will be thinking about for a very long time to come.
Gav Cooper
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