Bikepacking the Illyrian Loop in the Albanian Alps

I’d taken a 3 year hiatus from ultra-distance – and whilst the purpose of bikepacking the Illyrian Loop wasn’t to race; I wanted to be around a bikepacking event again & see if the spark was still there.

During said 3-year hiatus, work & career had filled the void left in the absence of training 20hours a week. A brain injury is a nasty thing to recover from – one that changes your life in so many dimensions. I wasn’t nearly fit as I was in 2022 – then, I considered myself fit enough to race. I’d done just enough to maintain a baseline level of fitness during this period.

Having just moved back to the UK from Japan, I was embracing a stress-free way of life and wanted to see how I’d get on in a multiday event – one which was faster paced that my Alpine tour earlier this summer.

Getting to the event

When selecting these events, its usually based on pins saved in my google maps – areas that I want to see and an event which showcases that region. The Balkans are a place growing in popularity – and despite touring Croatia back in 2018, it seems to be a region that’s evaded me since.

The Illyrian Loop is a 640km single stage, self supported race in Albania, organised by the Seven Serpents team. It aims to showcase the most scenic routes on North Albania, using secondary & gravel roads.

Shkoder isn’t a place you can fly directly to, at least not from the North West of the UK – and I’d heard mixed things about the public & private transfer options within Albania. Being a practical problem-solving engineer, I flew to Dubrovnik and hired a car. Not the obvious solution I know, but it meant I could book a direct flight from Manchester – and spend some days either side of bikepacking the Illyrian Loop in other places I wanted to see. Durmitor National Park being one of the those places.

In my optimism, little did I know the illness would be the first domino to fall & make this trip a bit of a nightmare.

The flight was a 5pm flight – which was inevitably delayed to 6.30pm. The 3-hour flight to Dubrovnik became a 5-hour – and landed in Rome due to a thunderstorm over Dubrovnik. The pilot announced ‘good news: if you would look to your left, you can see a tremendous thunderstorm spectacle. The bad news: that’s Dubrovnik.’. We circled in the sky for a while to see if it would clear, before the pilot announced we would have to touch down, refuel and await further instruction. Just brilliant, my ill body would now wake up in Rome.

A change of plan was announced, stating the thunderstorm was clearing. We were soon back in the sky and touched down at 2am in Dubrovnik. By 3am, I finally made it to a hotel bed.

The next day, I picked up a hire car & drove 4 hours to Durmitor – only to hit a huge landslide on a blind bend high in the mountains of Montenegro at 3pm on a Sunday. I blew out a tire sidewall and smashed the rim. Good job, Callum.

Of course the rental car had no spare wheel – and I was 3 hours from Dubrovnik. Exactly what my tired, ill body needed 3 days before an ultra-distance race. 

The Montenegrin people were brilliant about it – I knew from experience, if anyone can fix things, its people in places where buying new parts just isn’t a thing. I left the car with a total stranger who promised by Tuesday at 2pm, it would be done. Sure enough, text message at 10am on Tuesday said to meet him at the garage at 2pm. It was perfect.

Enough of travel woes, back to riding bikes

The day before the event, I met the organizers & other riders for a pre-race meal. Honestly, I had mixed feelings at this point. I wasn’t physically or emotionally ready to start bikepacking the Illyrian Loop – even going to the social event felt like a stress I could do without. I told myself everybody is in the same boat, no-one else knows each other, so don’t be the guy who doesn’t participate.

I went. And actually, came away feeling much more relaxed. Not ready for the event – but my mind put to ease about the problems I’d faced in the last few days, they were now closed and the only thing that mattered was this race.

Familiar start line feelings

8am in Shkoder town square presented a familiar sight of people on a vast array of bikes, carrying nerves & anticipation of the journey. As ever, the spectrum ranged from gravel bike with no kit, through to a full suspension bike with touring kit. A kit list for bikepacking the Illyrian Loop really was subjective.

The nights would likely be chilly, but the days scorching. Wild animals were the big thing on my mind; Balkan dogs; farm animals and trays, snakes, scorpions – potentially even bears and wolves. The general consensus was don’t sleep outside unless you absolutely have to – accommodation was plentiful & cheap enough.

We rolled out at 8am, the group soon split into packs according to pace. I found myself in the second group which became the third group as we began to get strung out.

Initially I was watching my Wahoo purely for bpm to see that I didn’t go over 140 as the route steadily climbed out of Shkoder over gravel tracks. The first part was actually incredibly muddy – with a lot of litter. Sadly, this was a massive problem in Montenegro too.

Fueled by adrenaline, I didn’t feel anything untoward regarding my illness. It was only about an hour in I released I hadn’t drunk anything. It was well over 30degrees by 9am. We exited the gravel climb and got onto the tarmac – this marked the start of a road climb from 200m to 1600m. It would be a long morning and the boredom set in – that’s when I realized things weren’t right.

In my determination to not scratch 2 hours in, I pushed on – thinking that maybe some intensity might just force myself into gear. The attempt was feeble. At no point could I settle into a rhythm that I would find comfortable. A hardtail mountain bike, running 2.35 XC tyres at 18psi didn’t make the tarmac climb feel any easier. Stop-start all the way up.

I topped out and honestly, hated my life. I’ve never felt as bad on a climb. I felt no sense of achievement, no elation or feeling of relief. I didn’t even stop. Just rolled over the top, keen to get the descent done before any emotion or feeling could make me stop – for I knew the minute I stopped, that would be it.

The descent was actually mildly interesting. Tarmac descents quickly turned into broken roads, quickly turned into loose rocky river bed. Barking dogs had me on edge – but honestly, I didn’t care about anything here, a dog chase wouldn’t have phased me in the slightest. ‘Eat me, at least then I wont have to keep riding’ I thought.

The route would take a gravel climb out of Theth – the other riders departed one by one. I knew I didn’t have that in me today. Rooms were readily available – and I easily succumbed. I showered and laid down for a few hours, no thoughts, just realization that my attempt at bikepacking the Illyrian Loop came just at the wrong time. Had it been just a few days later, the illness may have subsided & I would’ve been able to handle the heat & rigor in a way that a summer in Japan had taught me.

I wandered out by the river to take some fresh air and watch the sunset. All I could manage for dinner was some sliced salami from a store. Not the calorie dense food needed to sustain an ultra-distance effort.

Shkoder – Theth, 85km, 1825m, 5h ride time.

Illyrian Loop day 2

The next morning, I woke after a solid 8-hour sleep. My vitals showed brilliant numbers – which ordinarily I’d be happy with – but here, I knew it was a sign of fatigue. A resting heart rate of 42bpm & 3 hours of deep sleep is not normal on the first night of an ultra – not even in my best condition.

Then the GPS beeped & flicked over to the climb page. The 17km ascent began. Devoid of any emotion or feeling, I ate nothing & just tapped away at low intensity on the pedals.

All I could hear was the stones crunching under my tires and the occasional ray of morning sun hit me through the trees. I felt no hunger pangs. I expected to feel weak, given my body was in survival mode. But no, just one hour at 130bpm, I was soon over the halfway mark. I climbed above the treeline and was in awe of the views back over the Theth valley – Albania was showing off that morning. Even in my broken state, I couldn’t ignore such serene settings.

I continued, searching for some life – both in me and in some form of human interaction. In a most bizarre turn of events, what looked to be an abandoned building had voices coming from it – with the kind of intensity befitting of southern European men. First the voices, then the sight of cigarette smoke, then the smell of espresso. Perfect. I leant my bike against the wall and duly obliged. One café turned into 2. Then as the men left, the owner was wondering what the heck I was doing. She too was devoid of human interaction. And whilst she couldn’t offer food, I was grateful to feel seen.

I topped out on the climb, and in better spirits, admired the view. All I had on me was Haribo – and thankfully I was able to stomach it. Not the best breakfast, but it was carbs.

I thundered down the valley – a descent that was far longer than the climb. For me, on a bike I’d just raced ArdRock enduro on, it was super easy. Anyone on a gravel bike with 40mm tyres must’ve surely hated this. That was the last of my worries.

As I got off the gravel roads, the searing heat hit. It took an age to get from the descent back into town. I stopped at the first eatery I could find and took my chance with food. Some veg, bread & meat stayed down. I was undecided at this point. I was in the town where I’d planned to be after day 1 – only a day later.

I could spend the afternoon here re-jigging the plan to reduce the distances each day and finish bikepacking the Illyrian Loop over a further 5/6 days – or I could scratch. Honestly, after nursing myself over 150km and feeling as bad as I did – I wasn’t in the mood to put myself through it. I’m very wary of falling ill abroad – least of all a country where I’m not familiar with the medical system. There was no way I’d have caught up to those in front of me, so I would be going it alone – whilst it was a self-supported race, I could see that others were riding in packs – mainly due to sleeping in same towns each night.

I ate some more food – and whilst I felt slightly better, I knew scratching was the right thing to do. Had it not been for the delayed flight and crashing the rental car, I would have been more frustrated with the illness and being unable to ride to the best of my ability. Instead, I was grateful for what I saw & knew I wouldn’t be leaving with much regret.

Theth – Shkoder, 65km, 1300m, 4h ride time.

Post event thoughts

Sat with the other finishers at the post event meal, hearing their stories from bikepacking the Illyrian Loop, I was gutted I couldn’t share any stories or feelings of aching legs, sleeping out in the bushes & just how muddy I’d gotten.

I missed all that. The meals with the finishers were a somber affair for me. I still wasn’t eating right, but I knew some social interaction would be good to give my mind some stimulation. I couldn’t offer much in way of stories, so I took the opportunity to just listen and appreciate other accounts and perspectives on bikepacking the Illyrian Loop. These events attract from people from all nations and backgrounds – you really do get a very broad & diversified conversation.

I did come away from this trip with an even stronger desire to be back around these events – surrounded by likeminded people, with a common interest in riding bikes over silly distances in far flung places.

So whilst I didn’t get to see as much of Albania as I’d have liked, you could say I came away with exactly what I needed.

I’m a big advocate of Italian way of life; good food & no stress. Albanian men follow a very similar pattern. It’s perfectly acceptable to sit in a bar for hours with nothing but an espresso. The art of just sitting quietly in a bar, take your brain out & watch the world go by is lost on so many.

As for the food, Albania was ace. A bit of Greece, a bit of Italy. Grilled veg, potatoes & meat.

My time in Durmitor was a pleasure before the race. I stayed on a homestead, with the traditional Montenegrin huts perched high up in Zabljak ski resort. It wasn’t quite the alpine town of central Europe, but it was close enough – I appreciated what it had a lot more. The owner of the farm has perhaps one of the finest views across the mountain range – perfect for the morning coffee and perfect for sunset viewing.