“The Ring of a Thousand Lakes” is an ultra cycling race that takes place in the picturesque areas of Warmia and Masuria. Participants traverse routes ranging from 140 to 610 kilometres, passing through lakes, forests, and villages with various types of surfaces. The event is known for its good organisation, with numerous checkpoints for restocking supplies and resting, and an atmosphere filled with competition and support among participants. It is not only a test of physical endurance but also an opportunity to discover the charm of the region and experience a cycling adventure alongside enthusiasts from around the world.
I had been looking forward to the Ring, hoping for a shared adventure with friends from Black Horses ZTPL. It turned out that I was the only “horse” at the start, as fate had other plans for the rest. Or perhaps they feared the Masurian hills? I had flown in from England specifically for the race, so I decided to go all in and signed up for the longest distance of 610 km, which actually turned out to be 27 km longer. This “bonus” from the organisers made the challenge even more exciting. Another “bonus” was 4,000 metres of elevation! And supposedly, the Masurian region is flat…
It began with picking up the bike. I won’t hide it, this was my biggest concern: not only was it from Decathlon, but it was also a gravel bike. But the plan was simple – change the tires, pedals, mount the bags, and the rest would be sorted out along the way. The Triban GRVL520 turned out to be almost ideal in size, and there were no major complications. After a test ride, I just had to pump the tires and wait for the next day. This race, leading through picturesque terrains full of lakes, is challenging both technically and physically. Nonetheless, I hoped that the Triban would rise to the challenge.
My brother Maciek drove me to the start and took a souvenir photo of the “before.” The group I started with looked strong, so it promised to be great. After a few kilometres and several small climbs, we caught up with the group that started five minutes before us. “Adrenaline is carrying us,” I thought. A few kilometres further, we started passing more people, but from our initial group, only three of us remained! Time to get a grip and analyse the situation. Brief introductions with my companions: Tomek from Szczecin and Krzysiek from Ruda Śląska. Tomek announced he wanted to finish in under 24 hours, so he would push hard, and we could take turns pulling.
Things went quite well until the first checkpoint in Górowo Iławeckie (81 km), where Tomek announced we would leave in two minutes since this stop was just for water. It took a bit longer because our “tyrant” had to wait for me to apply sunscreen on my ears and for Krzysiek to return from the store with a cola. We were doing pretty well, but around the 130 km mark, Krzysiek decided the pace was too high for him and dropped out. It was too much for me too, but I decided to stick with Tomek until the next checkpoint and then take a longer rest. That plan was out of date after about 20 km. I let go and calmly rode to Leśniewo (167 km) recording, as it turned out, my fastest 100 miles on bike (5h 10min). The checkpoint was by a lake in a resort: deck chairs, people sunbathing by the water, and a bunch of sweaty, panting cyclists. The ladies at the checkpoint served real delicacies just (not) right for a hot day after 160 kilometres of cycling: pierogi (five kinds), cheese pancakes, tomato soup, and cakes. I think the greasy pierogi defeated a few brave souls that day. I settled for pancakes, bananas, and a piece of cake for the road. I used the washbasins, refilled my water bladder, and set off alone on the further route.
In the meantime, Krzysiek arrived, and we exchanged a few words. The guy had to stretch and rest before continuing. In Pozezdrze, I stopped by a store to buy something cold to drink since the water in my back bladder and bottles was warm, and painkillers – my foot started to ache, and I wanted to keep it under control. When I came out of the store, Krzysiek’s distinctive jersey was just disappearing around the corner. “A good impulse to chase him,” I thought. I systematically closed the distance between us until, on one of the bends, I almost ran into Krzysiek and another participant. They were trying to fix something on Krzysiek’s bike. I didn’t even consider whether to go on; I stopped and tried to help fix the fault. It turned out that the chain had slipped, twisted, and jammed between the chainring and the frame. The only solution was to break the chain.
It also turned out that our new companion was from Lithuania and spoke very little Polish but was very strong and fast. So fast that after just a few kilometres, Krzysiek dropped out again! Saulius and I headed to Gołdap, exchanging experiences and talking about anything to kill the monotony of the ride. Saulius turned out to be an experienced cyclist who had completed the Audax movement’s Holy Grail in 2023, the Paris-Brest-Paris race. I had my All Points North story to share in return.
The checkpoint in Gołdap (253 km) was very modest compared to the previous one, but it had everything I needed: isotonic drinks, bananas, and fruit puree sachets. Saulius felt a need for cola and looked a bit worried. When we set off again, everything went as it should. In the village of Wiżajny, we stopped at a store for a quick break. Saulius bought himself a 0% beer and an energy drink. He admitted he was feeling stomach discomfort, and the beer should help, or at least not hurt. I also got a beer and washed down my reliable ham and cheese roll with it.
Saulius’s attire (very fluoro-orange) was like a beacon, and soon another competitor appeared at the store. He also bought beer. As we were finishing our nectars, a car pulled up. We must have looked very exhausted because the lady who got out immediately concluded that we must have ridden about a hundred kilometres. – Three hundred – clarified our unknown colleague. And we still have the same to go. – Where are your tents?! – the lady asked. Well, every stop carries the risk of explaining what ultracycling is about. Maybe next time I’ll print a pamphlet to hand out to anyone who asks if I’m okay.
Riding felt better after the beer. England won on penalties, the sun set beautifully behind us, and a group of cyclists loomed ahead. It took some time and effort to catch up. I took the lead, and Saulius stayed at the back. I decided to check out who we were dealing with because the group seemed very mixed in terms of endurance. A few climbs and descents, and only one person stuck with me. The rest were 300 metres behind, including my Lithuanian friend. We let them catch up and decided not to rush, but evidently, Saulius felt worse because at some point when I looked over my shoulder, he was the only one missing from the group. I decided not to wait, as Sejny was just around the corner, and the thought of fresh and dry bib shorts won over the newly made acquaintance.
In Sejny (345 km of the route), a truly royal feast awaited: minced meatballs with potatoes and salad, tomato soup, bread rolls, energy drinks, chocolate bars, cola, and coffee. The first thing I did was wash up and change. My backside was irritated and starting to hurt. When I got myself together and repacked, Saulius entered the building. He barely started eating and disappeared into the bathroom. After a while, he came out and stated that he had to stay longer to rest because he wasn’t feeling well. I told him I was leaving before midnight, so if he felt better, we could set off together, so he’d have company. In the meantime, Krzysztof arrived, tired and hungry. I told him my plan as well, and we tentatively agreed to ride together. Krzysztof said his group he came with was nice enough that we could join them if we synced up time-wise.
Weakened, Saulius decided to set off alone – he wanted to find a quiet place to take a nap and recover. As for me, I didn’t even feel the need to sleep: it was so warm outside that I’d rather go swimming than sleep! The time came to set off on the next leg. There were seven of us, and we rode through the night until we reached the Kordegarda hotel (405 km), where, what appeared to be Saulius’s ghost as he was so pale, declared that he was probably quitting the route because he couldn’t imagine riding the remaining more than two hundred kilometres without food and drink. He was in such a bad state. When I returned from the restroom, the Lithuanian was already gone. After the race, I learned that right past the checkpoint, he found a bus stop and rested there away from people. After a solid portion of tomato soup with rice, we continued on our way. It was two in the morning, and we were riding fairly quickly but not very cohesively – perhaps due to the fact that it was the middle of the night, we had already covered over 400 km, or the lack of trust in our companions. The group kept splitting up, and we often had to wait for the stragglers. The ride was enlivened by conversations and discovering who knew whom and from where. The most interesting character of the new group turned out to be Witek from Świdnica, with whom I could chat about “our” Lower Silesian events and bike routes. A very positive and funny character who threw around anecdotes left and right. The road to Wydminy passed very quickly and amusingly, but the pain reappeared. This time it was the right knee, but a few tablets dulled it enough not to bother me on the route. We arrived in Wydminy just after five in the morning and it was time for breakfast. Krzysiek dreamed of a ham roll. I happened to have two, so I gave him one while I ate overnight oats. Both the rolls and the oats were in my repack from Sejny, so they hadn’t spent the whole day in the sun and were a relatively safe option. Plus, two cups of coffee and I felt as if I had just woken up and was getting ready for a hundred-mile ride. The feeling lasted maybe 30 seconds and vanished as soon as I stood up. A long and tough ride to the finish line awaited. The mood was further spoiled by the news that there would be rain and poor roads on our way. As soon as the slight climbs began, the accumulation of fatigue and pace took their toll on some members of our group. I didn’t want to seem like a jerk, but waiting for the others at every climb was getting tiring, and after a short consultation, Krzysiek, Witek, and Robert (from Łomża) agreed that we would ride at our own pace and not wait for the rest.
It started to rain. The roads, already full of potholes, now became slippery as well. Additionally, a chill started coming from Lake Niegocin. The knee pain returned, and this was the section of the route I had been most looking forward to: these were the areas where, in the late 90s, we went on a hiking camp as scouts. We passed signs announcing our passage through Wilkasy, Giżycko, or Kętrzyn, and I didn’t even have a chance to take out my phone to snap a single photo. I should add that a few hours earlier, I dropped my phone while riding when I confused the back pocket with the race number. Similar sudden mishaps happened to others: a light fell out at a railway crossing, a loosened saddlebag needed tightening, and headphones fell out of ears due to sweat.
Arriving in Reszel meant one thing: less than a hundred kilometres to the finish line. As soon as we entered the school building, the rain started to pour even harder. The ladies at the checkpoint invited us to the cafeteria for pancakes and soup. Unfortunately, the cafeteria was in the basement, accessible by stairs. Typical of Polish education facilities, there were tiles everywhere. On the last step, my foot slipped in the cycling shoe, and I ended up on the ground, hitting my forearms on the edge of the step. It hurt terribly, but a quick inspection revealed no major injuries other than bruising on my forearms. I should have listened to the ladies who suggested taking off the shoes!
After the pancakes and a banana, we set off again. This time there were six of us because in the meantime, two of the three people we had left behind caught up. There were no hard feelings; this wasn’t a group ride, and everyone was riding for their own result. In this regard, Krzysiek and I were in the worst situation in this group because we had entered the route before the others, and to fight for the top 30, we would have to lose two people again and gain a 20-minute lead. Unrealistic, but we decided to try. Only that knee… Maybe it was an hour, maybe two, but it felt like an eternity before the pain subsided enough to think about picking up the pace. A few climbs and there were four of us left again, and in this configuration, a few minutes past 1:00 PM, after 83,834 pedal strokes, sweating out 18 litres, and drinking 22 bottles of fluids, I crossed the finish line. It took me 28 hours and 31 minutes to complete the route. After receiving medals and a quick round of hugs and assurances that it was “the last ultra ever,” there was an opportunity for a preliminary analysis with Krzysiek. We finished just outside the top thirty out of over a hundred participants. Not too bad! We started talking about Saulius and wondering where he was and in what state. My brother announced that the Lithuanian was heading towards the finish line and had maybe 15 km to go. Just enough time for me to eat a recovery meal and put away my bike when the familiar silhouette of fluorescent orange Saulius appeared around the corner. I was probably happier to see him finishing the race than when I crossed the finish line myself just an hour earlier.
To sum up, it was an exceptionally fast race, perhaps too fast, because there was no time for anything other than riding – I took maybe five photos. The route was demanding, with various obstacles and challenging weather conditions that forced us to constantly adjust our pace and strategy. Despite health and technical problems, we managed to finish the race in good time, and the support and company of other competitors were invaluable. Their successes made me happier than my own.
This race showed how important determination, group support, and the ability to cope with unexpected challenges are. Despite the pain, fatigue, and difficulties, we managed to achieve our goal, which is the best proof that it was worth the effort. Additionally, the rental bike turned out to be surprisingly reliable. I suspect that the knee pain was the result of my body adjusting to the bike, but I still think I couldn’t have done better because it could have been much worse. Although I now say “never again,” I will certainly have many fond memories of this adventure that will, in time, ask: “Maybe once more, huh?”
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