Quinda Verheul is still slightly out of breath as our conversation gets underway. A practising artist when not racing her bike over multi-day ultra distance events, she has just taken a temporary job helping renovate a house and had to rush across town in time for our call.
“I like to ride my bike first thing in the morning and then go to my studio. But it’s all rather chaotic at the moment with this house project. I’ve never done anything like it before but I’m pretty confident it will work out okay.”
Dressed in casual work clothes with her hair cut stylishly short, Quinda talks in a calmly considered fashion, tempered with occasional bursts of laughter—stitching together anecdotes, remembered moments and stories from the road with the mirrored movements of hands that are rarely still.
As an ultra distance racer, Quinda is well practised at following a route across a landscape. But choosing the right path—and at the right time—can also play a part in navigating the broader aspects of our lives. Something Quinda herself discovered when first finding a love for art whilst studying at high school.
“We have different educational levels in the Netherlands which are decided by a test. And as things turned out, it wasn’t possible for me to sit art exams at the school I was attending which I found really disappointing. So I spoke to my art teacher and he arranged for me to take the exams in addition to my regular classes. All these years later, I still sometimes wonder where I’d be now if his response had been different.”
With these art qualifications to hand, Quinda next enrolled on a merchandising course.
“Learning to dress stores, elements of graphic design, lots of really cool stuff.”
But when her tutors suggested she consider university, Quinda decided to first take a gap year before booking a flight to Australia.
“I travelled along the coast—using the time to figure out my next move—and then on my return, accepted a place at the Design Academy Eindhoven. It’s a tough school with everyone very competitive and wanting to be the best. But I loved all that energy and it helped me get a position with the designer Hella Jongerius.”
Following a few years living in Berlin—Quinda eventually growing tired of the constant partying—she is now resident in Rotterdam where she builds art installations that reflect the human impact on the landscape. An artistic process that is documented on her Instagram feed—though with a recent shift to more cycling related content—and prompting me to ask about the origin of her @avoidtheavoid profile name.
“It stems from a belief that humans in general avoid confronting their core behaviours and why they are as they are. We avoid talking about subjects that hurt or challenge us and we avoid facing up to change and making necessary but difficult decisions. So lots of avoiding and hence the name.”
Recalling her first memory of riding a bike—she was very young, hadn’t quite mastered braking and remembers her Mum’s laughter when she rode over a bridge only to disappear into the bushes at the bottom of the slope—Quinda admits to her own sense of avoidance when, as a teenager on holiday, she would complain if a bike ride was suggested; preferring instead to hang out on the beach where she would sit engrossed in a book.
“But then, towards the tail end of my time in Berlin, I discovered how a bike was a fairly inexpensive way of travelling around and I enjoyed the freedom to stop whenever I wanted and pitch my tent in the corner of a field. And I’ve always recognised that I need big changes in my life and this was one of them. It could’ve been anything but just so happened to be a bike.”
Things took a more serious turn with her entry in the Atlas Mountain Race. Other events followed and eventually led to Quinda crossing the finish line at the inaugural Hellenic Mountain Race as first woman home.
“This might sound strange but I just knew I had a shot with that race. I was feeling pretty good and was prepared to push myself a little bit. And then during the race, the shittier the weather became, the stronger I felt. So something inside me switched and I had this mantra repeating in my head: just keep it together and don’t fuck it up. It was tough going with very little sleep but I managed to hold it all together for the win.”
Now recently returned from the Silk Road Mountain Race—buoyed up with memories of an unforgiving but stunningly beautiful landscape—in her own words Quinda reflects back on an experience that was ultimately uplifting but forced her to question the very reason she was racing.
We started in Karakol and I honestly felt ready. Maybe even a little overconfident? I’d seen all the films and felt like I almost knew the course. How hard could it be?
My first goal was to reach Checkpoint One at Enilchek. It was past 10:00pm when I arrived and I knew that some competitors weren’t stopping to rest. But my back hurt and the weather forecast showed overnight thunderstorms and heavy rain. It’s a long race and a lot can happen, so I decided to sleep for a few hours before continuing.
The next day got underway with clear skies and beautiful views followed by a long, long stretch of flat, dull riding—not at all like the race images you see in the media. I pushed on—snacking on ice creams and yoghurt bought from roadside stores—until later that evening I arrived at Saruu where I could eat and resupply. Rolling out of town, I was a little anxious about finding somewhere quiet to sleep but then I noticed a dip in the ground above the river that offered some privacy and I can vividly remember falling asleep underneath the Milky Way with shooting stars criss-crossing the sky.
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Ahead lay Jukuu Pass but first I enjoyed a morning of beautiful rolling gravel that led to the climb. Steep with sections of hiking around big boulders, it was exhausting to cross but the views were simply breathtaking.
Descending on old mining roads, I fetched up at a pretty wild river that crossed my trail of GPS breadcrumbs. I walked up and down, trying to spot a bridge or obvious crossing point, until eventually deciding to take off my shoes and socks. Hoisting my bike up across my shoulders and taking each step very carefully, I edged into the freezing cold water. Very quickly the river was up to my waist but what else could I do? Finally making it to the other side, I hurriedly stripped off and put on dry clothes. What seemed like hours later, I passed another rider and asked how they’d got on at the river. And, of course, they described crossing over using a bridge. A bridge which had somehow eluded me.
Even though you’re travelling through the most magnificent landscapes, it was at this point I remember thinking how the distances are so extreme that a river valley can take what seems like forever to traverse. Almost as if you’re at a standstill because your mind cannot comprehend the vastness of the land. Yet here I was, riding for a whole day with left and right looking exactly the same. And after six or seven hours I couldn’t help thinking to myself, “Yes, it’s beautiful, but I’ve seen it now.”
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The washboarded roads were pretty severe but I eventually made it to Naryn; determined to get a good dinner and a second meal to take on the road. I had it in my head to not stay a moment longer than was necessary because they say that Naryn is the place to scratch. It’s far enough from the start that your physical and mental reserves are depleted and if you’re entertaining thoughts of stopping then the temptation can be overwhelming. So I organised my food and then pushed on—preferring to find a quiet spot under the stars to rest for the night.
From Naryn there’s another long stretch along the border with China. An endless gravel road with the occasional passing truck throwing up a plume of dust. Towards sunset I instinctively started looking for somewhere secluded to sleep. Often a sheltered grassy spot to the side of the road or trail, by this point in the race my sleeping mat was losing air so every hour or so I would wake resting on the ground. A little annoying but a useful reminder to not oversleep.
Nearing Son Kul, I saw this beautiful bend in the river and decided to have a bath. Once again stripping off—this time of my own volition—only then did I notice a number of passing cars. In a land of true wilderness, I’d somehow managed to bathe with an audience but you develop a sense of whatever on these adventures. Washing my hair, I imagined the good impression I would make at the next checkpoint and it was only much later, when I saw some photographs, that I realised what a wild woman I still presented. But at least I smelt fresh.
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Riding towards a yurt village—chased by a thunderstorm—the dust and exertion were taking their toll and I was starting to develop a bad cough. My choices were to eat quickly and hit the road, or sleep the whole night before getting an early start. I opted for a night’s rest and woke feeling more refreshed and cough free.
Setting off, the land was covered in a layer of mist; each blade of grass jewelled with drops of water. Ahead lay another 100 km of road alongside the Chinese border. A little shop selling dumplings broke the monotony and I joined some other riders inside. But it felt literally like a sauna so I made my excuses and got back on my bike.
At the next town I washed my bike, my clothes and then took a shower. And it was around this point in the race that I knew I wasn’t fast enough to press for first woman home. Something crazy would have needed to happen for me to catch up and sleeping each night, as I’d been doing, meant I was rapidly losing contact with the front group. But after experiencing what it took to win the Hellenic race, I just wasn’t willing to push my limits to such an extent.
At Checkpoint Three I bumped into Allan Shaw who was riding his cargo bike. I ate a meal, got my stamp and when I was moving again discovered that Allan and I had a similar pace and kept encountering each other throughout the day.
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Ahead lay Kegeti Pass—topping out at over 4000m—and I remember a low point outside a grocery store, sitting with another rider and eating two ice creams at once, praying that my good legs would return. Suddenly, in a cloud of dust, a rickety old car pulled up and a local woman climbed out, dressed super smartly and accompanied by a huge man carrying a gun. She was holding a large suitcase which she proceeded to carry into the shop. I turned to the rider next to me as if to say, “Did you see what I saw?” A moment or two later the woman reappeared, climbed in the car and the pair drove off down the road. One of those moments when you almost have to pinch yourself and also helping banish any thoughts of tired legs.
Climbing Kegeti I noticed a young cow standing next to the river and looking a little lost. It was making plaintive sounds that suggested it was calling its mother so I slowly approached and began talking to it. I kept riding—the cow following—until ahead I saw a herd of cows grazing on a slope above the river. The young cow’s calls were obviously effective as an adult began to respond and I left them both standing and rubbing their heads together.
Heading down from the pass, I was feeling very tired and the next town was a little scary with lots of dogs. But then once again I bumped into Allan and everything suddenly felt better until he crashed on a descent. Fortunately he didn’t hit his head but his shorts were ripped and he was covered in lacerations with a deeper cut on his knee. I helped patch him up as best I could before leading him to the next town and the Secret Oasis which Allan had been excited to see for himself. This turned out to be a street full of shops and proved pretty underwhelming. Even so, Allan was able to leave his bike with one of the shop owners before taking a taxi to the nearest hospital. Later on I learnt that he went back, collected his bike and finished the race. He didn’t want his story to end with the crash.
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After Allan left for the hospital, I found it really hard to carry on. I was only 150 km from the finish but I was done and wanted the race to be over. After crying for what felt like hours, I decided to phone a friend so I could hear a familiar voice. She was telling me about her day and how she was really annoyed with her four-year-old—a super lovely kid—because he was constantly wanting to tell her things. And that irrational annoyance resonated because I’d chosen to race the Silk Road and knew full well that I would be facing challenges and unexpected circumstances.
My friend suggested that I find a hotel and get some rest. And straightaway that simple idea broke the negative cycle of my thoughts. I had a shower, drank a beer and slept what felt like forever. And then in the morning, after an amazing breakfast, I found I had enough energy and willpower to push on towards the last remaining climb and the final stretch home.
Cresting the peak was a wonderful moment. Almost more like a finish than the actual finish. The road that followed wasn’t great with big trucks that made me feel so fragile but then I saw Nelson [Trees] waiting to welcome us. I had no cash left at that point and he kindly lent me enough to have a meal. And there I sat, showered and wearing normal clothes, on a chair at a table eating my food. Slightly surreal but such a good feeling.
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Now that I’m home again and enough time has passed for my emotions to settle, I’ve come to the understanding that every race has its impact on you. And going back to my thoughts before the start, maybe it was over confidence when I thought, “I’ve got this”. But I did. Yes, I had a few ups and downs but nothing really went wrong. My bike was good, my kit choices all worked as they should, and I just feel so grateful that I was able to make the decision to go there and do this hard thing.
I recall a conversation I had with the owner of a hotel where I’d spent a night. He was a successful man running a good business but still wasn’t able to enjoy trips to other countries due to the difficulties in obtaining the necessary visa. So in my decision to enter the Silk Road Mountain Race, I understand what a privilege it is to have the freedom to say yes, I will and can do that.
As for learning a little bit more about myself, when I understood that I wasn’t able to stay with the front riders, I was never going to scratch so why continue under a cloud of disappointment? I wasn’t riding with the knee pain or the intense tiredness that was the reality of my Hellenic win. On the Silk Road I got to sleep under the stars in a beautiful landscape that was so vast, my mind struggled to comprehend. And sometimes you need to know when to stop questioning and say, “This is good. This is enough.”
Heartfelt thanks to Nils Laengner for the use of his stunning photography.
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