A 1,100 km route and 37,000 m of climbing through the high Alps, twelve rifugios, storms,
snow and a finish after almost twelve days. In 2024 Markus Kauf was the slowest finisher of the SNEAK PEAKS Bikepacking Expedition. He returned in 2025 to ride the new route, including a 3,100 m pass, a 22 km hike-a-bike and some of the most remote areas in the higher Alps. What he found wasn’t speed. It was that rare state where time dissolves and the mountains answer back. An honest field report on patience, problem-solving, and why a bikepacking expedition can be harder and richer than any race.
When I signed up for my first huge bikepacking event in 2024, I wasn’t sure what to expect: the SNEAK PEAKS ADVENTURE route was advertised with 1,100 km and around 37,000 m of elevation.
What looks like a typo is, in fact, one of the steepest and hardest off-road events on the bikepacking calendar.
I had done brevets and smaller long-distance events before, yet I wasn’t sure if I was able to manage this. But I signed up because I liked the idea of riding a scouted route through remote landscapes in the middle of Europe, from Italy to Slovenia and back, being able to stop by at 12 Rifugios and have accommodation sorted out automatically. And of course, I thought that there were worse places to scratch than Italy. What made the decision even easier: there wasn’t any time limit to finish, which isn’t common for modern bikepacking events. So my plan was set: ride it from Rifugio to Rifugio, take my time and make the best of it.
The inaugural edition of the SNEAK PEAKS in 2024 was already one to remember: an intense rainstorm that hit most riders in the first couple of days and was followed by a sudden snowstorm just a couple of days later, which led to up to 50 cm of snow in parts of the route. And I was in the middle of it, trying to make progress step by step and making reasonable decisions to stay safe. In the end, long sections in the second half of the route had to be rerouted because a lot of parts were unrideable due to flooding and snow. Even though this might sound like a horrible experience, I was living the life in those days and didn’t want to stop! Halfway, I got stuck at CP6 in the snowstorm in Slovenia and had to wait 24 hours to continue. From there on, every day turned out to be an adventure, where I didn’t know if it was possible to reach the official finish. For days I saw no one except rifugio hosts. It took grit and no small amount of luck, but I made it—one of just 6 out of 43 to finish the ADVENTURE distance, in almost 12 days.
When SNEAK PEAKS director Rapha announced the new edition for 2025, he made one big adjustment to the route. In 2024, the three different distances were loops leading east from Bolzano, stacked on top of each other. That meant that most riders would meet in the beginning, but those on the longer distances were most likely to be pretty lonely in the second half. In 2025, all riders shared one core track, and the longer distances had additional stretches included. Even slower riders on the longer route would meet the faster ones of the shorter distances here and there. The Adventure distance also included new treats: a pass above 3,100m, a 22 km hike-a-bike section, and several new areas and rifugios.
My goal for the new edition was to finish faster using my experience from last year, but also to show up in a better physical condition to enjoy the event even more. The forecast looked close to perfect.
But despite my eager plans and preparations, I crashed already on one of the first descents and damaged my hand. With a swollen wrist I had to slow down and reassess every day whether it was possible to continue and make a finish without putting myself at too much risk. But still, the beginning of the event gave me a glimpse of why I came back: astonishing views multiple times per day, heavenly gravel roads up- and downhill, and of course, wonderful Italian food. When I got to the long 22 km hike-a-bike stretch, I met Rapha and the media crew, telling them that even though I was still suffering from my crash, I was enjoying the experience so far and I was really looking forward to taking my bike on a hike, because it gave me a lot of time to enjoy the views. And I really didn’t get disappointed.
The time flew by fast, but after a couple of days, I got serious issues breathing as a late result of my crash. I had to go to the hospital to double-check if everything was still okay and if I was safe to continue. The result after an X-ray: bruised ribs and still a damaged hand. I was told it was nothing to worry about and that it was still possible to continue as long as it didn’t get too painful for me. I told myself that if the pain outweighed the enjoyment, I would scratch, but I still wanted to see as much as possible. I continued and went up to the next checkpoint. That day we were told that we would have a strong rainy day, so I tried to get over the next mountain as fast as possible. When I got near the top of the climb, I got swallowed by the clouds. In the beginning, it was possible to see what was behind me down in the valley, but the further up I went, the more I stepped into white fog.
And then it happened. After bikepacking through the mountains for four days, I felt completely lost in the most positive way. Being in the middle of the clouds at around 2,800 m, I found myself in a white bubble of just 20 m wide, where anything beyond didn’t seem to exist anymore. Everything shifted into a surreal experience. When I came closer to the top, I heard boulders rumbling in a deep growling sound, not knowing where it was coming from. My mind was spinning, and I couldn’t make sense of it:
it sounded like the mountain was slowly trying to move towards me and crumbling with every step.
The sound grew, and the closer I came, the louder it got. Then suddenly, an excavator appeared in the mist up at 3,000 m out of nowhere, casually digging a new hiking path. Just moments later, while descending, the clouds suddenly opened up and revealed parts of the landscape and swallowed it again seconds later. It felt like the mountains were peeking at me through a hole in the clouds every now and then, and when I stopped to take a look, they vanished. I had to pause a lot to witness what was happening around me. And I realized that I had finally found what I wasn’t even looking for but had missed since the start: the feeling of completely getting lost in time and space. I didn’t know where I was nor what time of day it was or even which day. I noticed that feeling being familiar from last year.
Being in there, time felt endless.
After being in that state for some time, I descended into a valley and suddenly popped back out of the clouds, but this time it didn’t feel like the descents of the past days. I felt more like landing on earth, coming back from a place far away after a long time, even though it had just been four hours crossing that pass. This game of vanishing and playing hide and seek with reality continued, and after some days, the weather stabilized again. The remaining days flew by pretty quickly. In the end, the crash from day one still took a big toll on me, and I felt happy the nearer I got to the finish to finally get enough rest. The last days felt like slowly coming home and traversing back to reality, visiting known places and some of the first and best Rifugios from the 2024 edition.
During this event, I experienced some of the greatest moments on the bike, but also some of the worst, where I was doubting if it was an enjoyable experience at all or if I was putting myself at too much risk.
What got me through this was knowing from the past year that even on a day with a sudden two-hour hike-a-bike descent which completely crushed my plans for that day, I would find a moment along the route that could suddenly reframe the difficulties as part of the process leading to something rewarding. Finding these moments became the key objective of my journey. It was not only a physical challenge, it was also one in problem solving and patience. The elevation profile resembled the emotional ups and downs pretty well.
In both editions, I would have loved to be in the middle of the field, but it wasn’t possible. I had to contemplate why this felt like a failure and what my position in the field really meant to me. In that process I discovered a lot of little wins along the way: heartwarming encounters with strangers, great moments out in nature, or just a great snack in a wonderful place. And ultimately arriving back home safely while still having a good time.
The route that Rapha stitched together demands a lot but offers a lot in return. It’s up to you to decide if it’s worth the trade. In the first place, I came back to experience the route without any detours, with more preparation and the eager plan to go faster. But in the end, I got lost in the most beautiful way.
Even though the clock was ticking and there was a leaderboard online, it wasn’t advertised as a race, it is called an “immersive bikepacking expedition,” and I couldn’t think of anything better to describe it.
