This is the first in a series of stories from Tor Divide riders, written to shine a light on the women who show up, take on the challenge, and make this event what it is. We hope their voices inspire you.

I first met Sabina at a Peak Gravel Overnighter. She rolled up on her Kona — panniers loaded, cassette tiny enough to make you look twice and your legs tremble — and got on with it. No fuss, no apology for the setup, no pretending she was something she wasn't. Just a person on a bike, ready to ride. That’s what we love to see, and that’s what it’s all about.

That overnighter left a mark. Because not long after, she signed up for Tor Divide.

I'll be honest: there's always a little knot in my stomach when someone with limited bikepacking event experience enters. Not because I doubt them. But because I care. Will it be too much? Will they enjoy it? Will it put them off rather than pull them in? Those questions tend to rattle around in my head in the days before the start.

That's usually when I remind myself — and whoever needs to hear it — that Tor Divide is just a bike ride with new mates. All that matters is having fun and making it back in time for pizza.

Sabina had done touring before and she definitely didn’t lack the experience. But looking at her Kona with its pannier rack, big bags, relatively skinny tyres, and a cassette that would make most gravel riders walk the tiniest climb, you might wonder how she'd get on. But it doesn't take long with Sabina to understand that she's not someone who's easily discouraged. And she’s tough as nails.

She not only made it back in 2025, she clearly enjoyed it enough to sign up again!

So here is her story. I hope it inspires you to give bikepacking a go.

Valerio

*Tor Divide 2025 - Photo by Rob Montandon*

“When I surprised myself by completing the Peak Gravel route at Tor Divide 2025, I started to wonder: Could I do it again? In less time? With less knee pain? (Yes, no, and yes.)

With a few weeks to go to Tor Divide 2026, I began preparing. I bought a secondhand offline navigation device and started to think about how to redistribute weight across my frame. I also began feeling nervous. What if I wasn't prepared enough?

With 36 hours to go, after spending hours trying to load routes onto my new navigation device, I took my bike out on a final five-mile test ride. As I was trying to follow the navigation and getting lost in my own neighbourhood, my freehub began to fail. Before long, I was walking home. My goal quickly shifted: not to complete the Tor Divide, but simply to start it.

On Saturday morning, I set off on the Peak Gravel route, carting two panniers and a brand-new fork cage that wouldn't last the day before collapsing on a rocky descent. With my goal now behind instead of ahead of me, I caught myself focusing not only on the kilometres and potential disasters ahead, but on what was going well. I stopped more than I had the year before — partly to adjust, and partly to gather the pieces of my fork cage — but my knee hurt less. I wondered if I'd overpacked, but was grateful for the extra layers after a long, wet day in the saddle. At many points I questioned whether I'd finish, but with a working navigation device and wheel — thanks to friends and a local bike shop — I was simply glad to already have some of the route under my tyres.

I started, and 31 hours later, I finished. Not alone.

Friends helped me diagnose the freehub and navigation issues, lent me kit at the 11th hour. A local bike shop replaced my wheel on Friday morning. Riders on the Divide stopped when I had mechanicals, held open gates, and shared words of encouragement when I needed them most.

I learned a lot from this year's Tor Divide. I learned how to better prepare for bad weather, and how to pace myself to protect my knee. I learned to keep my motivation up by measuring both the distance I'd covered and the distance still to go.

But the biggest thing I took away is this: riding unsupported does not mean riding without support.

The moments when others stepped in — a borrowed wheel, a held-open gate, a kind word at the right time — aren't stepping stones on the way to having the "right" gear or skills. They are a core part of what bikepacking is. They are a core part of pushing your limits.

As I prepare for Tor Divide 2027, I'll again research gear, test kit, and set goals. And I'm already looking forward to the opportunities that will present themselves when, inevitably, something doesn't go to plan.”

Sabina

Sabina's story captures something that sits right at the heart of Tor Divide. It's not about the perfect setup, the optimal bike, or arriving at the start line with everything sorted. It's about showing up, adapting, and discovering what you're made of. Often, with a little help from the person next to you on the trail.

If her story has sparked something in you, we'd love to see you at the start line. Whatever bike you're on. Whatever experience you bring.

See you at Tor Divide in 2027.

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