Four days of extreme gravel riding and
Le Pilgrimage 2026 — Four Days, Two Countries and a Lot of Climbing
An unforgettable gravel cycling adventure through the French and Italian Alps.
There are some cycling adventures that stay with you long after you've unpacked the bike, washed the kit and recovered from the aching legs. Le Pilgrimage 2026 was certainly one of those. The event is inspired by their own pilgrim, Saint Roth, who travelled these mountains years ago.
Four days of riding through the French and Italian Alps, tackling enormous climbs, navigating rocky gravel tracks and descending mountain trails that seemed to go on forever. Throw in some spectacular scenery, wonderful food and a group of like-minded cyclists, and you have the ingredients for a pretty special experience. I had stumbled across the event on YouTube. It looked so far beyond my capabilities that of course I signed up!
I'd arrived in Puy-Saint-Vincent with my good friend Andy (who somehow I had managed to convince this was a good idea), knowing it was going to be tough. Looking at the route profiles beforehand, there was really no escaping that. What I hadn't fully appreciated was just how demanding four consecutive days in this terrain would feel.
But then, that's part of the attraction, isn't it?
More Than Just a Bike Ride
Le Pilgrimage is a little different from most cycling events.
Organised around the beautiful mountain setting of Hotel Saint Roch, it brings together around fifty riders from across the world to explore some of the finest gravel trails the Alps have to offer. There are no race numbers, no leaderboards and certainly no prizes for getting back first. In fact, the organisers actively encourage the opposite. Stop, take photographs, enjoy the food, talk to people and appreciate where you are. That philosophy appealed to me enormously.
As someone who enjoys both cycling and landscape photography, I'm often torn between keeping the pedals turning and stopping to capture what's around me. Here, taking time to appreciate the landscape was positively encouraged. Although, given the amount of climbing ahead of us, stopping occasionally wasn't exactly going to be a difficult decision!
Day One — A Gentle Introduction? Not Quite..
Day 1. How hard can it be?
Our adventure began with a route taking us through the Durance Valley and into the mountains surrounding Puy-Saint-Vincent.
The first kilometres gave us a chance to settle in, enjoy the surroundings and get to know some of the other riders. But it wasn't long before the climbing began. Long Alpine ascents have a way of putting things into perspective. What might look reasonably manageable on a route profile suddenly feels rather different when you're grinding your way uphill on loose gravel, particularly as the temperature starts to rise.
The scenery, however, was magnificent. Towering mountains, deep valleys, forests and wonderful views in seemingly every direction. Exactly the sort of landscape that makes me want to reach for my camera.
One of the highlights of the day was our first checkpoint, set in an Alpine meadow where the organisers had laid on cheese fondue and local produce Not your average cycling feed station. There was even an optional little adventure involving a paper map and a hidden mountain cabin.
Lunch.. Le Pilgrimage style.
It summed up what Le Pilgrimage was all about. Yes, the riding was challenging, but the journey and the experiences along the way mattered just as much. But the day still had a sting in its tail.
The final climb back towards Puy-Saint-Vincent, over the Col de la Pousterle at around 1,800 metres, was where things really started to unravel. The temperature had climbed to something like 33°C, we'd already spent hours riding demanding gravel trails, and both Andy and I were running on increasingly empty tanks. I remember thinking, quite seriously for the first time, that perhaps I'd taken on something beyond my capabilities. And that was a slightly uncomfortable realisation. I've done plenty of challenging rides over the years, but this felt different. We were only on day one, with another three days of Alpine riding still ahead of us.
Fortunately, I wasn't doing it alone.
Andy and I had committed to this adventure together, and there was an unspoken understanding that neither of us was going to let the other down. When one struggled, the other provided encouragement. Sometimes it was nothing more than a few words or the reassurance of having someone alongside you.
We just kept moving forward.
Eventually, we made it back to the hotel, exhausted, relieved and perhaps a little apprehensive about what lay ahead.
If this was day one, what on earth were the next three days going to be like?
Day Two — The Long Climb to Fort Janus
If day one had provided an introduction to Alpine gravel riding, day two was a reminder that things could always get harder.
The route took us towards Briançon and eventually up to Fort Janus, an old military fortification sitting high above the French-Italian border at around 2,500 metres. Getting there was quite an undertaking. The day involved long climbs, rough gravel sections and the sort of sustained effort that requires you to settle into a rhythm and simply keep turning the pedals. After the previous day's struggles, I think both Andy and I knew that pacing ourselves was going to be important.
One of the pleasures of this type of riding is that you're never quite sure who you'll end up alongside. Conversations begin naturally on the climbs, sometimes lasting for miles, and you soon discover that everyone has their own reasons for being there.
A bakery stop in Briançon provided some very welcome encouragement before the main climb. Then it was upwards again.
The final approach to Fort Janus was particularly memorable, with rough, loose surfaces making progress difficult in places. At times, getting off and pushing the bike seemed a perfectly reasonable option. There's no shame in walking when the alternative is grinding yourself into the ground. Reaching the top, however, made every metre worthwhile. The views were simply extraordinary. Mountain ranges stretching into the distance, deep valleys below and Italy visible across the border. It's one of those places where a photograph can capture the scene, but never quite the feeling of actually being there.
The organisers were waiting with crêpes and other treats, another reminder that this event has its priorities absolutely right. Of course, what goes up must come down and descending for mile after mile on rough Alpine gravel is hardly a relaxing experience. It requires concentration, a good line through the rocks and a fair amount of resilience from your hands, arms and shoulders. By the time we made it back to the hotel, I think we were beginning to understand exactly what we'd signed up for.
There was, however, something reassuring about finishing another day. One down had become two, and somehow the enormity of the challenge ahead was beginning to feel a little more manageable.
Day Three — Into Italy and the Strada dell'Assietta
The third day marked the beginning of our two-day journey into Italy, with an overnight stop away from basecamp. This was when things started to feel like a proper mountain expedition. With extra kit packed onto the bikes, Andy and I headed towards the Col de Bousson, an old route across the mountains linking France and Italy.
The weather had changed, too.
After two largely sunny days, we were greeted by cloud and rain. Not exactly ideal conditions for tackling remote gravel tracks at altitude, but the mountains have a habit of reminding you who's in charge. The climb towards the border took us through beautiful, increasingly remote terrain. The higher we went, the more dramatic the surroundings became.
Crossing into Italy brought a real sense of adventure. There is something quite special about travelling between countries under your own steam, particularly when the route involves mountain tracks rather than busy roads. Ahead lay Sestrière and the legendary Strada dell'Assietta.
This high-altitude former military road winds through an astonishing Alpine landscape, with gravel tracks running along exposed mountainsides and views stretching far across the valleys.
It was breathtaking.
It was also demanding.
After several days of accumulated climbing, every additional ascent required another little conversation with yourself. The legs might still be turning, but sometimes it's the mind that needs convincing. And then there were the descents. Long, rocky, twisting trails through the forests demanded almost as much energy and concentration as the climbs themselves. By this point, tired hands and aching shoulders were becoming familiar companions.
There were moments when simply keeping the bike moving forward felt like a considerable achievement. But then you'd look up, take in another extraordinary Alpine panorama and remember exactly why you'd come. Eventually, Bardonecchia provided a welcome opportunity for some food, a shower and a proper night's rest.
We still had one final day ahead of us and, naturally, there was another mountain to climb.
Day Four — One Last Mountain
Our final day would take us towards the Colle del Sommeiller, climbing to almost 3,000 metres above sea level. A fitting finale to four days of Alpine gravel riding. The climb itself is around 25 kilometres long, beginning in the valley near Bardonecchia before winding upwards through forests, open mountain pastures and increasingly dramatic rocky scenery.
As the altitude increases, the landscape becomes more rugged and remote. Massive rock faces, waterfalls and towering peaks dominate the surroundings. The sort of scenery that makes you feel very small indeed. Despite the tiredness accumulated over the previous days, this was somewhere to savour. There were moments to stop, look around and remind myself just how fortunate I was to be experiencing somewhere so spectacular from the saddle of a bike.
Eventually, the summit came into view.
Reaching almost 3,000 metres felt like a significant achievement, not simply because of the height, but because of everything that had come before it. Four days of sustained effort. Thousands of metres of climbing. Challenging gravel trails. Changing weather. And plenty of moments when continuing required a little more determination than expected. But one of my favourite moments of the entire adventure was still to come.
After the enormous climb up the Colle del Sommeiller and the long descent towards the refuge, we arrived at the final checkpoint to discover that the staff had prepared a wonderful spread of food and drink for the riders. It was such a simple gesture, but at that particular moment it meant an enormous amount.
As we sat there, surrounded by the mountains, enjoying some much-needed food and the company of fellow pilgrims, I had the overwhelming feeling that we'd finally cracked it. There was still riding to do, of course. But somehow the biggest physical and mental challenges felt as though they were behind us. When Cyril stamped my brevet card for the final time, I found myself becoming unexpectedly emotional.
It wasn't really about collecting a stamp or completing a checkpoint. It represented everything we'd been through over the previous four days — the heat, the exhaustion, the doubts, the determination and the shared experiences. For a few moments, it all caught up with me. And I think that was when I realised just how much this adventure had meant.
The Final Climb — Finding Something I Didn't Know I Had
The mountains weren't quite finished with us, though.
An Alpine storm had swept through, bringing thunder, lightning and torrential rain, and by the time Andy and I reached the foot of the final climb back to Puy-Saint-Vincent, we were completely exhausted. We stopped for a moment and shared what little food and drink we had left.
It seemed strangely appropriate. After four days of riding through the Alps, the final act before heading home was simply two friends sharing their last supplies and encouraging each other towards the finish. It summed up the spirit of Le Pilgrimage rather beautifully.
Then something extraordinary happened.
As we began that final climb, I suddenly found myself riding with an energy I couldn't explain. My legs, which had been exhausted only moments before, seemed to be working entirely on their own. I couldn't really feel them turning the pedals. There was no struggle, no familiar discomfort, no desperate counting down of the kilometres. I was simply riding.
It was almost as though somebody had flicked a switch and put everything on autopilot. I've experienced plenty of highs and lows during endurance events, but nothing quite like this. After four days of pushing myself physically and mentally, I'd somehow found a reserve of energy that I didn't know existed. It was an extraordinary sensation, almost spiritual in a way. I still can't properly explain it, and perhaps I don't need to.
All I know is that somewhere on that final Alpine climb, after everything we'd been through, I felt an overwhelming sense of freedom, gratitude and accomplishment. And it's a feeling I won't forget.
Eventually, we arrived back at Hotel Saint Roch. Tired, relieved and immensely satisfied.
Four days earlier, I had genuinely wondered whether I was capable of completing this adventure. Now, somehow, Andy and I had done exactly that.
One Final Surprise
That evening, back at Hotel Saint Roch, everyone gathered for one final dinner.
There was a wonderful atmosphere around the tables. Four days earlier, many of us had arrived as complete strangers. Now we were sharing stories, laughing about our various mishaps and celebrating what we'd achieved together.
At some point during the evening, Simon, Cyril and the organising team decided to hold an impromptu awards ceremony. And rather unexpectedly, Andy and I found ourselves receiving the award for 'Most Persistent Riders' ( I did ask if this was Dutch for Fat English Guys). I suspect there may have been a few people who, looking at our age and rather less-than-athletic physiques, quietly wondered whether we'd make it through all four days. To be fair, after that first day in the heat, I was beginning to wonder the same thing myself! But we'd kept going. Through the climbs, the heat, the rain, the exhaustion and those moments when turning the pedals felt like the last thing either of us wanted to do.
We'd encouraged each other, occasionally suffered together, and somehow made it all the way to the finish. Receiving that award meant a great deal to both of us. Not because we'd been the fastest, strongest or most accomplished riders, but because our determination had been recognised. And perhaps that's what made it so fitting.
At an event where nobody is racing, the biggest achievement isn't necessarily getting there first. Sometimes it's simply refusing to give up.
What I'll Remember Most
Looking back, Le Pilgrimage was about far more than the distance covered or the metres climbed. Of course, the physical challenge was enormous. There were times when the gradients, the terrain and the cumulative fatigue pushed me well beyond what felt comfortable. But that's partly why experiences like this are so rewarding. You discover that you're capable of more than you sometimes give yourself credit for.
What really made the event special, though, was the atmosphere. The shared meals, the conversations on the climbs, the encouragement from other riders, and the genuine sense that everyone wanted everyone else to succeed. There was no pressure to be the fastest or the strongest. The organisers had created something rather different — an adventure where the journey itself was the reward.
And then there were the landscapes.
As a photographer, I find myself increasingly drawn to experiences where cycling allows me to explore places I might otherwise never discover. Le Pilgrimage provided that in abundance. Some of my favourite moments weren't necessarily at the top of the biggest climbs. They were the quieter ones, when I could stop, take in the surroundings and appreciate just where I was.
But I'll also remember that last climb, when my exhausted legs somehow found a life of their own. And I'll remember standing alongside Andy at the final dinner, receiving an award neither of us could possibly have imagined winning when we'd arrived four days earlier.
Would I do it again?
Despite the aching legs, tired shoulders and the occasional question about my own sanity, I think the answer would have to be yes.
Four days, two countries, some unforgettable landscapes and a wonderful group of people.
Le Pilgrimage was a reminder of why I love exploring by bike — and why sometimes the hardest journeys leave you with the best memories.
Original Imagery by Tony Reed photography and special thanks to Cyril (@serialcee), Gijs (@gijsferkranus.peaksand pines), Thomas (@Thomas.silva) and York (@pathfinder_giro). @LePilgrimage for use of their photography.
For those interested they are planning more events for 2027 including multi stage trail events. See below.