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Words: Anka Martin || Photo: Sven Martin
Let me begin by admitting I’m old. I started racing ‘enduro’ before it was a thing – way before enduro-specific bikes, kit, tyres, and, yes, long before dropper posts. I wanted to get more out of riding my bike than just attending the Downhill World Cup races. So, I tried some multi-day marathon cross country events like Cape Epic, but it was a bit too much riding. I needed to find the middle ground. In our travels to Europe, like most downhillers at the time, we gave races like the Mega Avalanche and Mountain of Hell a crack. What an eye-opening experience. Fred Glo, French Enduro Series founder, and Enrico Guala, of the Italian Super Enduro Series, were pretty much responsible for creating a whole new racing discipline. I’d go so far as to say they changed my life.
Through these events, I met a great crew who tuned me into a new style of racing and riding developing in France and Italy. Jérôme and Pauline Clementz showed me the ropes. I tagged along with them to all the events, picking up invaluable tips and lessons. I was hooked, travelling to new destinations and immersing myself in new cultures. We rode for days and ate like kings and queens along the way, and as it turned out, I became pretty good at it, too. There was a lot to figure out: pacing yourself, practising and preparing properly and choosing the right equipment for a week-long adventure.
Each year, the events grew bigger in numbers and participants. Bike development and component technology were progressing rapidly to keep up with the demands of these races. While the sport and bikes were rapidly evolving, we still looked like kooks at times, donning full-face helmets, sunglasses and backpacks. It was the privateer’s dream: hanging out at massive van campsites, making friends, swapping stories and spares, and sharing line choices and crash stories. It was fun, social and amazing bang for your buck. By the end of the week, you knew you had ridden all the best tracks that a mountain or region had to offer. Sometimes the tracks didn’t even exist before the race – proper trailblazing.
Fabien Barel’s Urge Invitational in Cabo Verde Islands and Ash Smith’s Trans-Provence (Now Stone King Rally) are standout events. They opened my eyes to proper rugged, multi-day adventuring, pushing the limits of what bike and body could accomplish. Meeting and riding alongside the sport’s greatest – Tracy Moseley, Sabrina Jonnier, Nico Vouilloz, Hans Rey, Mark Weir, Anne-Caroline Chausson, René Wildhaber, and Jérome, to name a few – was incredible.
Fast forward to 2013, a world series was launched: the Enduro World Series. We were lined up in Punta Ala, Italy, and nervous excitement ran high. There were many familiar faces, but new ones too, and the schedule was jam-packed with exotic locations – a true World Series. Over the next five years, we visited around 12 countries and 6 islands on 4 continents at about 23 venues (new and repeat) offering race stages aplenty. I finally found the racing discipline I had been looking for throughout my biking career. The ‘Spirit of Enduro’ was a thing, and the camaraderie at these races abounded. With multiple days of practice and racing, these events were physical, even when chairlifts were on offer. It seemed organisers aimed to one-up each other, vying for the title of the ‘longest’, ‘hardest’, most vertical’ or ‘technical’ race ever.
As the world and industry caught on, racers became more serious and competitive. You could make a career of it. Sponsorships, salaries and professionalism levels skyrocketed, a natural progression in this burgeoning enduro discipline. Along the way, the sport changed – pre-practice crept in, GoPros became the must-have accessory and walking the stages started.
The spirit of enduro had changed. The once-burning desire to explore and embark on adventures seemed to have given way to spending hours indoors, studying GoPro footage or getting massages. During one of my last EWS races, I remember waiting at the top of a stage, watching everyone check the upcoming track on their phones or GoPros. It was quiet, and the banter of the early days wasn’t there. Times had changed, and along the way, the thing that had drawn me to enduro.
Results seemed to be more important than human connections. So, it was time for me to wrap up this chapter in my life.
The evolution of the discipline continued on an upward trajectory. Names and careers were built, salaries and team trucks grew, and more countries and venues were added to the calendar. It was fun to follow.
However, there have been recent significant changes as part of this evolution. I am happy that I raced during the EWS’s adventure-fuelled (glory’) years, visiting international venues with trails that demanded big days out on the bike. Yet, I am somewhat saddened to see how the sport’s ethos and format have changed significantly: half-day races with a day for practice, often with repeat stages at repeat venues or venues not suited for backcountry enduro racing. Enduro stars are forced to play second fiddle to downhillers at some rounds, having to race midweek with no vibe or spectator presence. Hopefully, for the riders’ sake, the series can find some of its original flame for the future.
I don’t think that I am alone in having this sentiment. Luckily, there has been an explosion of the ‘trans’ style adventure races across the globe, where you can find the ‘Spirit of Enduro’ truly well and alive.
by Anka Martin, professional mountain biker and doer of amazing things.
If you enjoy reading this, you should check out The World Stage. It’s got many features like it, plus round-by-round accounts of the UCI Enduro World Cup and pore over hundreds of the best images of the season in The World Stage Book 2023 yearbooks are available now.
