Transcordilleras

Transcordilleras is a gravel rally—an eight-day stage “race” across the spines of the Andes Mountains in Colombia. Auto-abastecido means we are self-supported, carrying everything we need to keep our bikes rolling and...

Photos by Audrey Mace & Pipe Cano

Words By Austin Sullivan

Transcordilleras is a gravel rally—an eight-day stage “race” across the spines of the Andes Mountains in Colombia. Auto-abastecido means we are self-supported, carrying everything we need to keep our bikes rolling and our bodies happy.

For some, that means multiple layers of clothes, off-the-bike shoes, and creature comforts for recovery after each stage. For others, it’s the bare essentials to survive a day ride, plus thin running shorts and a t-shirt—leaving cycling shoes to do double duty off the bike.

“The gravel around here isn’t like anything you’ve had before.”
“Our gravel is different.”

Okay, okay—I think I’ve heard that in nearly every event location. And it’s true. Because “gravel” has such a wide definition, the ecosystem that makes up gravel terrain is just as wide as the views across the Kansas plains.

Transcordilleras is first and foremost an adventure.

In the past, I approached it with full racing seriousness. Weight-weenie where I could (afford it, to be honest). The lightest setup. The thinnest off-bike clothing.

This year felt different.

In bikepacking events and ~24-hour rides, I’ve always taken the middle road: Fun is Fast.

My connection to HandUp sits right in that space. I’m not fully in the party-pace world—but maybe the inverse version of it. I like to go fast, ride at a solid pace, and still crack a few jokes and share some smiles along the way.

For me, pace is where I like to party.

I’m not a grab-a-beer-at-the-finish-line kind of guy. I’d rather have a bubbly water or the local version of leche achocolatada—chocolate milk if you will. In the small towns and pueblitos scattered along the course, that chocolate milk isn’t always easy to find.

In the States, we ride gravel to get away from traffic. And that’s somewhat true in Colombia—but at the same time, some of the major roads are gravel.

Sometimes the only roads are gravel. Or beautiful pavement that suddenly turns into 100 meters of broken road before returning to pristine tarmac.

Riding here keeps you on your toes.

You enter a corner knowing there’s a high likelihood of a moto, a dump truck, a bus—or even a dog trotting along with gusto. You expect it, but it’s still a surprise every time.

This is riding with your full senses engaged.

The kind of riding that demands a present mind—feeling, listening, constantly scanning for the next line. That’s why I love riding gravel, and why I keep coming back to Transcordilleras.

It’s so much more than a bike race.

This year—my third time—I came to soak it up. Enjoy the in-between moments. Let the wheel ahead of me go. Turn off the race brain that’s driven me the last couple years.

When riding long distances—bikepacking for days or pushing through a 24-hour effort—I’ve always believed fun is fast. It’s a simple motto, but it’s carried me through a lot of joyful miles.

And my connection to HandUp is exactly that:
Keep it fun, and it will be as fast as it needs to be.

By now, after three crossings of the Andes with Transcordilleras, I’ve accumulated a lot of familiar faces and warm smiles among the difficult days of climbing and descending—dodging puddles, sometimes swimming through them, and occasionally slipping through mud.

It may sound trivial, but the social side of the ride is why I keep coming back.

A cheeky smile passed between sunburnt racers.
The group chat trying to locate the best cake in a pueblo of 500 people.
Word spreading about a breakfast spot that opens early enough to fuel a stage.
Sharing a bocadillo mid-race.

All of it is the experience.

Of course I still want to push my body and chase a result—whatever that means for a 36-year-old cycling fanboy. But this year I let go of the result, at least for the first half of the event.

The topography, heavy rains, and frequent landslides make road construction a constant patchwork of building and repairing. Honestly, why anyone would ride a road bike here is baffling to me.

But then again, this race is billed as a gravel race. We’re actively looking for the rough and rowdy—and dealing with the tarmac when it’s the only option.

And 2026 Transcordilleras was hard. Every single day.

Not just the climbing that stole your legs or the altitude gripping your breath. It was the 20–30 minute rough descents, followed by searing temperatures and hour-long climbs. Rainstorms leaving puddles the size of swimming pools. Mud that required a mix of swimming and sliding just to get through.

And to finish the race, Stage 8 was nearly pancake flat—bumpy gravel, heat, and crosswinds you’d expect in West Texas.

The highlight for me?

Landing third on the final stage.

I came into this event hoping to “target” one or two stages and take it easy the rest of the time. Riding an Obed GVR with 2.2” Continental RaceKings, I focused on stages with rough descents. I could descend comfortably with riders sitting in the top ten of Strava segment leaderboards—but the 3,000-foot climbs? Not really my strength.

Our biggest descending day clocked over 14,000 feet down, with about 9,000 feet up. Definitely not my day.

So I wasn’t expecting the flat, fast stage to play to my strengths. But as the day unfolded, it started to make sense.

Three riders up the road.
Bumpy terrain throwing everyone’s cadence off.

“This is where my bike—and my tires—are the fastest,” I kept repeating to myself.

The final 20 miles were pavement—the exact opposite of where I thought my tires would shine. Then I looked back and saw someone bridging up. Strong rider if he could close a four-minute gap.

As he rolled up and passed around a bottle of soda, we realized he’d flatted while riding in the lead trio earlier.

Two riders up the road meant we were suddenly fighting for a podium spot.

Final half mile. A couple of speed bumps. Finish flags in sight.

Full sprint. Con todo.

Daylight behind me.

Three years.
Twenty-four stages.
And my best single-day result finally arrived.

Maybe it was the stars aligning. Maybe it was the tourist legs from taking the first half easy. Maybe there was some magic in the bottles or the bocadillos.

I don’t really care.

I drank that podium beer with pride—the first beer I’d had in months.

And quite possibly the best one I’ve ever had.

The pace brought the party.

In Regard to Clothing:

Auto-abastecido. Self Supported. We carry all our own sh*t. This ain’t no cakewalk. This ain’t no foolin’ around. Bike tools, tubes, clothes & nutrition to get us from stage to stage, pueblo to pueblo.

Every year I've adorned my hands with HandUp’s Hottest Days gloves. This year was no different. And with a thought to the vibrancy and colors that come throughout the Andes of Colombia, a verified paradise for cycling, I was rocking the Paradise Pedal. Each time I've ridden across the country has been a party lap. Difficult at times, but when looking back it gives vibes reminiscent of college parties. We really did that? That was crazy.

Off the bike- HandUp is a vibes brand and surely hooked it up for this go around. I love the AT+ shorts and they were an easy pick for bottoms. Enough movement in the fabric to be comfy and an amazing quality of always looking fresh even when pulled out of a compression bag that got soaked in questionable puddles. I won’t go into detail, but the inner fabric was perfect for a minimalist clothing kit. The side phone pocket kept the front pockets open for all the other quick access items. I’ve had this pair for ~2 years now, not a bit of age is showing. From city cruising rides to everyday shorts....the AT+ are my daily drivers.

For the top, my go to was an Acid Forest ActiviTEE shirt. Not only light weight for the weighweenie in me, but the kind of light feeling that makes the shirt disappear while keeping style points in the lush Colombian forest.