Ultra-Ternative 2025
With the big five-zero looming, it seems as good a time as any to take bold steps. The cycling world, like everything else, feels unsteady—caught between shifting industries and economic tides—but adventure waits for no one. Sometimes, you have to take life by the horns before it drifts too far from reach.
Stepping away from work to embark on the ULTRA-TURNATIVE Project 2025 has been an idea simmering for years. The pandemic, and the strange inertia it left in its wake, did little to help. Some fool coined a name for the apocalypse, and all I had to do was adjust it to my needs. Strange, the places inspiration comes from.
The premise is simple: to travel by bicycle, to take on ultra rides and long tours, to strip life back to its essentials. A bicycle, after all, forces an intimacy with the world—more than a car, more than a train, second only to walking. One moves not as a spectator but as a participant, in rhythm with the rise and fall of the land, the slow unraveling of the road ahead. From the dense hum of city streets to the hushed expanse of the countryside, movement becomes its own kind of meditation.
The beauty of such travel lies in its fluidity. With a bicycle, some essentials, and a loose plan, the world stretches into possibility. Each day holds a new discovery—a road not marked on the map, the unexpected kindness of strangers, the taste of coffee in a forgotten town at dawn. There is no insulation from the elements, no barrier between effort and reward. The physicality of cycling keeps you present, each turn of the pedals a small contract with the road. The long climbs demand patience. The descents are their own fleeting ecstasy.
To step away from the known is both terrifying and liberating. There is an honesty in carrying only what is needed, in living day to day with no more than a bivvy, a stove, and a few tools. The weight of possessions is replaced by the weight of experience—the warmth of a meal after a hard ride, the refuge of a tree’s shade at midday, the easy camaraderie of fellow wanderers met by chance. These are the luxuries that cannot be bought.
Financial preparation has been necessary, not just for the journey but for the stretches in between—where the occasional custom bicycle frame will be built, when time and means allow. More than just a personal adventure, I plan to document it: writing, photography, film. Three films are already mapped out, an attempt to capture something beyond the ride itself—the places, the people, the unspoken narratives of the road.
None of this would be possible without those who have placed their faith in the project. Companies like Reynolds Technology, Schwalbe, and BETD (Middleburn) have offered their support, alongside countless others who have contributed in small but meaningful ways—buying t-shirts, patches, or simply sharing a word of encouragement or offering a bed or sofa for the night. The cycling world has always been built on a quiet, stubborn generosity, and this journey is no exception.
At its heart, this is about freedom. A year of motion, of breaking from the well-worn routine, of seeing the world as it is rather than how it is sold to us. When the year is done, who knows what comes next? Perhaps a clearer sense of direction. Perhaps nothing more than a head full of stories and the feeling of miles well spent. Either way, it will have been worth it.
More than an escape, this is a question. What does the bicycle truly represent? What does it mean to live with intention? Years of working as a mechanic and frame builder have given me an understanding of the machine, but it is only in the riding—in the open road and the long hours of silence—that its true significance is revealed. A bicycle is more than metal and rubber. It is movement. It is possibility. And, for some of us, it is the closest thing to home.