Video: Matthew Fairbrother in 'MTB vs Ultra-Runner - The Tour du Mont Blanc'

Words by Matthew Fairbrother
Photos : Tom Hill

I feel a constant need for exploration, I can’t sit still. As soon as I finish one thing, I’m on to the next. Living on the other side of the globe, in the land down under means I’m geographically challenged when it comes to anything other than the island I call home. This ultimately means when I widen my horizons I’m either taking a huge gamble or putting a lot of faith into someone and taking a slightly educated gamble.



Throwing it back to 2022… I had the privilege of joining Deviate Cycles owners Ben Jones and Chris Deverson in the European Alps, a place very special in their hearts and a place that ultimately shaped a large part of both their lives and the Deviate Cycles brand. I was treated to a private tour of the best that the Alps had to offer, 10+ years of guiding experience meant that they had left no stone unturned. Most memorable was a trip to the summit of the Grande Sassièrre which left the ever-burning question of “what else was out there?.” It didn’t take long for that question to be answered.

Unknowingly, a quick drive through Chamonix, just after the Ultra Trail Du Mont Blanc (UTMB) had finished, sparked a question In Ben’s head that lingered. A few months later he answered my question but needed me to answer his in return. One of the greatest ultra-runners of all time, Kilian Jornet had just achieved an unbelievable feat of going sub-20 hours during the UTMB race that circumnavigates the Mont Blanc Massif. The question was, “can a mountain biker beat an ultra runner around the Tour De Mont Blanc?”.



I didn’t have an answer, I ran through it a handful of times in my head, each time creating a different outcome. In the mountains running and biking are complete opposites. We’ve all been grinding up a hill only for a runner to come striding by us effortlessly, and up to a certain level of technicality it’s without a doubt that a mountain biker would be quicker on the descents. The contrasts are huge but for a 160-kilometre loop with over 8000 meters of elevation and an extremely raw landscape, I couldn’t piece this one together. It didn’t take long for me to commit to the challenge.

As with each challenge, I put myself at the forefront of it. My entire focus going into a challenge of this capacity is to push my boundaries, block out the pain, and see how far I can go. Whilst I have huge respect for athletes chasing FKTs, and am in constant awe of what the human body is capable of, I like to focus on pushing my mind. Creating an environment for that to thrive meant sacrificing some time. I decided to do the route entirely self-supported, with realistically only one refuel point in Courmeyour - 80km and 4000 meters into the route. This also meant I’d be carrying 12 hours' worth of fuel on me plus tools/spares, lights and clothing. As for bike choice, other than some more appropriate tires, it was my standard Deviate Cycles Highlander II build, which I’d later go on to race in the last two rounds of the EDR.

I’m aware of the dangers of over-thinking and prefer to go for the not over-prepared, “work it out as you go” approach. The thing that excites me is the unknown. Beyond prioritizing the safety aspect of preparation, I try not to focus too heavily on 'what could happen'. My past experiences have shown me that it's how you manage the unknown that can make or break a challenge. Gritting my teeth and clawing myself out of that situation - that’s where I experience the biggest learnings of self-discovery.


1000h - The Start: I opted for a late start to this challenge, the month prior had been filled with EDR bike-packing exploits, and I was still trying to catch up on sleep. I’ve done enough of these challenges to learn when I’m not feeling 100% to go into the challenge with a blank canvas, block out the thought, block out the tiredness to go in with zero emotion and zero worries. Beyond extreme scenarios, it can only suck so much and the real challenge is how long can you sustain that. That ‘suck’ baseline always remains the same for me and I know I’m always going to get there, if my head is in the game then I’m prepared for it. There is no point stressing about my body being ‘ready’, it’s my willingness to suffer that matters and I was ready for this one.

The day was dreary, mist in the air but yet the streets of Chamonix were packed. It’s hard to imagine a more iconic location to start a journey like this. Surrounded by mountains, and glaciers towering above you and hundreds of adventure seekers gearing up for their missions. There’s this buzz in town and it always seems to work its way through me. After navigating the human maze that is the streets of Chamonix I was immediately into the mountains. One thing I soon realized is that there would only be mountains. Before I knew it I was straight-lining it up a mountain. A chairlift to the side of me provided me with constant teasing, I wondered to myself why I hadn’t just caught that up.

It didn’t take long to leave France, Switzerland gave me a rather rude awakening through the means of a slick, janky, and very loose descent. The risk of crashing was high, and the risk of damaging my bike was even higher but the biggest risk was ploughing down hikers. Despite taking caution and always remaining in control, the obliviousness of many hikers presented a danger, many walked with their heads down, some with headphones in, some with kids. Most would panic at the sight of me, scrambling to get out of the way, with the slick conditions it provided an extra risk for them and I needed to respect that. While I navigated this busier part of the route it was stop and go. When visibility was good I accelerated, when visibility was poor I slowed.


1400h - 1700h: Despite a frustrating start, I was right on time - although ahead of me was an 1800m vertical climb that would take me to the Italian border. This was a crucial part of the route. If I was to fall behind time on this section of the route, it would be almost impossible to claw it back. Luckily for me, the bulk of the lower half of the climb was a mix of fire-road and rideable single track, I attacked this section knowing that later on I’d be bleeding time as it turned into a hike-a-bike climb.

I was an hour ahead of time as I approached the last 800 meters of the climb. Although it was almost guaranteed that I’d lose that lead as it significantly steepened, riding my bike from this point onwards wasn’t an option. The change of pace and use of different muscles was rather nice, but it wasn’t long before my legs were burning up. I set myself a rule and promised myself I wouldn’t be stopping for any rest up this climb, I was only a few hours away from the halfway and refuel point and that was the reward. I made it to the top of the climb in good time, only losing 40 minutes to Killian, although I had a big descent ahead of me and I knew I’d pull some of that back.

That descent was what dreams were made out of, flowing single track, multiple lines to pick from, technical lines to work your way down, and well the backdrop… the backdrop was nothing short of incredible. I finished that descent full of stoke.


1700h - 1930h: What appeared to be a nice 30-minute meandering traverse down to Courmayeur (estimated time from the GPX file) turned into a 2-hour suffer fest. Although trending downhill, the trail was tight bench into a steep hill and followed the shape of the hillside closely with tight turns and many aggressive creek crossings slowing progress right down. I was quickly losing my patience as I knew I was giving up almost all of my hard-earned lead. A vibrant sunset over the glaciers provided a brief distraction from the pain but unfortunately I had to keep my eyes glued to the trail and couldn’t soak in this picturesque evening.

1930h: I arrived at Courmayeur in a frantic rush, I had to find somewhere to refuel, so I bombed down the road into the main town area. A slightly damp tarmac corner caught me out, and I began two-wheel sliding which transitioned into a bum slide across the road. I scraped myself off the road, rather embarrassed, and carried on into town. I pulled over at the only restaurant I could see open and shyly requested 8 cans of cokes to take away. The server was rather amused. After handing over 40 Euro I was the proud new owner of 8 cokes. I was then off to the footpath to chug down a couple of them and gear up for the night stint.

With only a 20-minute lead, I couldn’t afford to slow down at all.



1930h-0530h: For me, the nighttime is where the challenge begins. At this point, I’d already been riding for almost 10 hours non-stop, and I was only halfway through the challenge. That’s a tough pill to swallow. As if I wasn’t already suffering enough, I had another 10 hours at least to still endure. Although somewhat simultaneously there is this feeling of tranquillity. It’s hard to put into words the feeling of being in the mountains under the moonlight, with no civilization in sight, only the sound of nature. It’s hard to feel more connected.

Although on the other hand, it’s easy to lose that perception of a feeling of loneliness, when reality hits that you're out there alone and that if anything were to happen you’ve only got yourself. That’s a scary feeling. Riding through the night generally follows the highs and lows of those two trains of thought. I often get so caught up in those thoughts that I zone out and skip a few hours until I snap out of it. The TMB route provided the perfect environment for that. With almost every climb being a few hours long I could settle into a climb and only have to focus on that.

Reality struck as I approached the Col Du Bonhomme traverse, only a section of track about 2 kilometers long but it’s 90% unrideable. It was an hour-long scramble over rocks and was quicker to walk with my bike on my back than pushing and lifting it over all the rocks. My pace halted, I wasn’t willing to take the risk of running over this terrain, the shadows and my fatigue made it too hard to make proper judgments to make the risk worthwhile. Frustration quickly filled me as I knew I was falling behind time. I began the descent only 45 minutes behind Killian, I was still in touch, and I had hope. I quickly lost all hope when the descent morphed into a blowout rut, wiggly its way through large rocks and with the occasional river crossing. I was pushing hard, letting the brakes go where I could justify the risk, but due to the nature of the track I was being thrown around like a ragdoll. As I approached the town of Les Contamines the effects of that sunk in. I made an emergency stop and vomited up everything I had left in my stomach.


0530-0700: I was depleted, there was nothing left. I pulled myself together and began the trek up the last climb. Stumbling along, placing one foot in front of the other, my hopes of beating Killian's time were gone, but I was determined to finish the challenge for myself. The top of the climb couldn’t have come quicker, I arrived in a state of delusion but was eager to get down the hill. With a serious lack of cognitive function, I wobbled my way down the hill into Chamonix.

I completed the Tour De Mont Blanc in a time of 20 hours 51 minutes 2 seconds - 1 hour 1 minutes 32 seconds behind Killian Jornet.


Typically I’d be feeling quite deflated after a “loss” like this, although this time I was rather satisfied. For almost the entirety of the challenge, I believe I had a strong performance. I didn’t stop moving for the first 10 hours and only had a few rests during the second half of the challenge. My game plan was to keep moving forward and I’m happy I managed to hold myself to that. What kept me going was the variety of technical single tracks throughout the loop. The Tour De Mont Blanc is the epitome of what I love about mountain biking, being seemingly secluded up in the mountains, single-track following the contours and features of the terrain whilst being surrounded by postcard-worthy views. That’s exactly what I’m always on the search for, and to be able to do 8 descents I could only dream of in a row is an experience I’ll never forget.

Although I’m rather stoked the loop ended when it did, it would have been hard to complain if there were a couple more descents to go, it was that good. Despite being satisfied, it’s hard to take away that I believe it’s possible to beat Killian's time. If it was a perfect day, it could have been mine. But that’s the beauty of endurance escapades - it very rarely is perfect. It’s always a mix of different compromises and you have to deal with the plate you’re served. Whilst I still need some more time to reflect, I could very well make a return to the Tour De Mont Blanc to try again.


This challenge has only fuelled my passion more and has already sparked many ideas. My curiosity and naivety will always have me steering in a direction toward the unknown. As soon as I have to ask myself the question “Is it possible?” I get fired up - I can’t leave a question like that unanswered. So what’s to come for the future? For 2024 I’m putting a focus on multiplying a normal day’s ride by 10, going to the toughest locations I can think of, and finding places where tyres shouldn’t belong to stretch my boundaries of what I believe is possible to do with a mountain bike.

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