“I was never going to podium but my thinking was that I could aim for the lowest stopping time.”
A product developer at Apidura and super talented photographer, Saskia Martin sat down to share her experiences riding the Seven Serpents—an unsupported bike packing adventure from Ljubljana to Trieste. Told in her typically unfiltered fashion, Saskia’s humorous take on the extremes of ultra distance journeying marries the mud, rain and exhaustion with the joys of facing up to fears and the sense of community you can find on the road.
Seven Serpents was very last minute—I only signed up a few weeks before the start. I’d been going through some personal difficulties and my way of getting over things is to attempt something quite extreme.
Did I have any expectations? Maybe that it would be warm and sunny. And I understood it would be really hard even though I’m not new to ultra distance events and had recently completed the 360 km Traka. Yes, it took me 26 and a half hours but I’m quite good at riding non-stop. I just keep turning the pedals. Slowly.
My plan for the Seven Serpents was the same. Get up at 2:00 am each day and just keep riding. Bruno Ferraro—event organiser and self-styled Papa Serpent—kept us supplied with practical information prior to the start because there’s a lot to think about when you’re planning to ride 850 km over gravel and secondary roads with 16,000 m of elevation. But was I also prepared emotionally? I always have feelings of self-doubt before any big trip so once again it was a case of, “Fuck it, let’s just go and see what happens.”
With my bike box packed, I flew into Ljubljana along with some other entrants who were travelling from Brighton. We shared a taxi from the airport and then met up later to take in an art gallery. Sign on was followed by the rider briefing and what would become my main—obsessional—concern. Bears!
I’d already equipped myself with a bear bell after Bruno posted on the event WhatsApp group that some brown bears—they call them grizzlies in the States—had been spotted in the regions we’d be travelling through. So I was compulsively watching bear survival videos on YouTube and also worrying about ticks—I’d forgotten the little removal tool so had to improvise one by cutting and folding a credit card.
Sunday
The event got underway with a torrential downpour. I’d packed waterproof trousers and jacket along with surgical gloves and plastic bags for my feet but after an hour I was completely soaked. Bruno had told us how the opening section was really fast rolling but the trail had turned into thick, gloopy mud.
I’d packed a complete sleep system—fully loaded, my bike weighed in excess of 20 kg—but I was wet through and decided to try and book some accommodation for the night. Locating a hotel only 5 km off my route, I managed to arrive just before the kitchen closed so I was able to have some dinner. When I explained that I would be leaving early the next morning, they asked at what time and I can still picture their rather bemused look when I answered, “2:00 or 3:00 am.”
Monday
To the accompaniment of my bell, I set off into the dark. Safe from bears but attracting the attention of every stray dog in the immediate area, I was the cause of much canine commotion so just kept on pedalling towards Checkpoint One. Located in a church on top of a steep hill, I arrived at 5:00 am following a section of hike-a-bike. But that’s the mindfuck that is the Seven Serpents—Bruno taking you up, and then down, the same climb.
The day progressed, it stayed dry and I was caught and then passed by my Brighton buddies. With greetings and smiles swapped but with rain forecast and the trail an endless section of swampy single track, my thoughts once again focused on finding some accommodation for the night. Scrolling through properties on booking.com, I lucked out with a studio apartment and was greeted with an open fire the owners had lit especially for my arrival. Resupply stops had proved scant, so that evening I feasted on yoghurt and tomatoes before turning in.
Tuesday
Riding to the bridge for Krk was possibly my darkest day. I was up at 2:30 am before setting off into another downpour. All the waterproofs were back on and I was faced with a 25% climb that I needed to walk. So there I was, pushing my bike in the dark, up this ridiculously steep hill, with tears rolling down my cheeks. And that’s when I received a text message to say the bridge was closed due to high winds.
Shivering with cold and soaking wet, I had a bit of a meltdown and called my Mum. Deep down I knew I wasn’t going to scratch but I just needed to hear her voice. And our brief conversation at least allowed me to continue to where I could see the queue of traffic waiting to cross the bridge. As I took shelter in a petrol station, riders started to gather which I couldn’t help but find a little annoying as I’d managed to make up some time with my super early start.
With the bridge now open I noticed that my Garmin was starting to play up. Someone mentioned how theirs had updated so I didn’t think much of it. But after crossing the bridge—pretty scary as the wind was blowing at well over 100 km/h—it finally gave up the ghost and died.
One of my Brighton friends had crossed with me and very kindly offered to wait for me at each major town. But I told him to keep on going and I’d figure something out. I had a little waterproof bag and some cable ties—I’d already downloaded all the routes onto Komoot—and decided to use my phone for navigation. Luckily I had a portable power pack to cope with the constant need to keep my phone charged.
With this improvised navigation system, I was once again able to make progress. Noticing an arrow on the trail fashioned from some pebbles, I can remember thinking what a funny coincidence that it was pointing in the same direction I was taking. It wasn’t until two days later that I discovered it had been left by my Brighton friend.
Wednesday
Once again leaving my overnight stop at the crack of dawn—though to be wholly accurate, dawn was still a few hours away—the rain had thankfully stopped and I was feeling more motivated. Bruno had allowed every rider one cheat and because of the wind I decided to miss a climb and instead head straight for the ferry port. Reflecting back, I still feel that I haven’t finished the Seven Serpents even though my route deviation was officially sanctioned with a corresponding time penalty. It annoys me that I made that decision.
Catching the first ferry—one of my trip highlights as I’ve always had a thing for bikes on boats—I breakfasted on croissants and a pack of biscuits. After disembarking, crossing the Island of Cres proved the most magical of days. It made me fall in love with riding again and question why I live in such a busy and congested city as London. And then, to top it all off, I saw a white deer which I considered to be a sign.
I’d decided not to listen to music when riding—I wanted to be wholly present in the moment—but I did occasionally have the Komoot man in my ear whenever my phone in its bag misted up. So I suppose that might count as some company on the road.
There was a supermarket in Cres town where I bought some food before heading to the north of the island which has more than a passing resemblance to Jurassic Park. Super rocky and technical in places, I remember feeling so very content on my way to catch the ferry back to the mainland. I even messaged Bruno to thank him for one of the best days I’d ever experienced on the bike.
Rolling off the ferry, in typical Seven Serpents’ fashion I was greeted by a 30 km climb. With long stretches of 15%, I rode 5 km before deciding to book some accommodation and saving the rest for the next day.
Thursday
Another early start and I was back on that climb. Super exposed to the weather, I was wearing everything I had to try and stay warm until the sun came up. I saw and said hello to a Welsh couple and learnt that they’d scratched but were completing the route in a more leisurely fashion.
The woods smelt of truffles which didn’t particularly help as I’d run out of food. A roadside café proved a welcome sight where I sat, staring into space, shovelling in the food that was placed in front of me. A stage in the adventure where in hindsight I went a bit feral—making up wraps and stuffing them into my cargo bib side pockets where they got a bit sweaty but I ate them anyway. An aspect of ultra distance racing where you just have to lean into it.
Not to say that I didn’t maintain some standards as I’d brought with me a little luxury item in the shape of a free perfume sampler they hand out in airport duty free shops. This came in useful towards the end of my ride when the state of my clothes was rather questionable.
Friday
A day of climbs—nearly all of them involving a hike—and I also managed to crash in a puddle. I knew the run into Trieste comprised 60 km of flat followed by 40 km of climbing so I’d decided to have another very early start and ride a big chunk of the flat through the night. The owner of the apartment where I’d stayed had gotten very angry with me because I’d taken my muddy bike inside. So, heading out into the dark, I wasn’t lacking in motivation to get underway.
All that now separated me from the finish was a seemingly endless section of hike-a-bike. But I finally crested a climb and could see Trieste in the distance. The descent down to the city’s suburbs had something of a red carpet feel and I gave it everything. And then, almost without warning, I found myself rolling into a large square to see a group of cyclists—some standing, others sitting on the cobbled floor—who all cheered as I came to a stop and climbed off my bike.
Looking back, I don’t remember feeling anything the very moment I arrived at the finish. But then minutes later, as I was finally holding my Seven Serpents finisher’s medallion, I started to well up. With tears running down my cheeks, it just hit me—how unbelievably shattered I felt but also how grateful I was to be part of this amazing experience.
Even though I’m going through a phase of not really knowing myself, I still like to embrace the challenge of venturing into the unknown. Because what I’ve learned is that you might experience some ups and downs but generally speaking everything will turn out okay. It’s our minds that create the scariness and unfortunately I’ve got an incredibly over-active imagination.
In the Seven Serpents, Bruno curated some of the best gravel I’ve ever ridden. It was really, really hard at times but, looking back, my memories are filled with the joy of the journey we undertook. Yes, I got cold and wet—and I’m still scared of bears—but I met some wonderful people and saw some truly amazing places.
Contrary to her own expectations for the event, Saskia was second solo woman home.
All photography by Saskia Martin
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