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If you’re reading this, I need your help. Right now, I’m somewhere near Taucho, grinding my way up one of Tenerife’s most unforgiving climbs. Once I reach the top, I’ll recover on the descent, turn around, and then do it all again. This relentless cycle will continue until the sun dips below the horizon, or until my legs give out—whichever comes first.
You may remember this beast of a climb from my previous posts: 6km long, an average gradient of 8.9%, and over 20 switchbacks.
But Sean and I love a challenge.
So, on our final week, we’ve decided to put our legs to the test: how many reps of the Taucho climb can we complete between sunrise and sunset?
To put this into perspective: after only two reps we’ll have covered 12km of uphill, and 1,100m of elevation. After four reps that will jump to 24km and 2,200m.
It usually takes me the best part of an hour to reach the top, but I don’t know how quickly that will start to shift as my legs accumulate fatigue and the heat of the sun catches up with me.
By the time you read this, I’ll likely be deep in the pain cave. The sun sets around 7PM, and between now and then, I’ll be chasing the limits of what’s possible.
Follow the ride live on my Instagram stories (@in_the_jesky) and be sure to share some words of encouragement—I’ll need them! 🚴♀️🔥
“But wait. How on earth did you go from relaxing on beaches and drinking margaritas to obliterating your legs on—yet another—silly challenge?”
Well, it all started when…
Día doce
The start of the week passed effortlessly. Mornings were spent on the sun-drenched balcony, taking work calls with one hand while nibbling on chunks of Milka chocolate with the other. Our apartment is perfectly positioned to soak up the sun from 8am until around 1:30pm, and I made a point of savouring every golden minute. A few days had passed since my last ride, and the accumulated fatigue in my legs made the decision to stay off the bike an easy one. Instead, I leaned into a slower pace—lazy evenings stretched out on the beach, toes buried in warm sand, or curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine.
But I was here to ride. So after the work day ended, I closed my laptop, wiggled into my bibs, and set off down the hill to see what my legs could muster. I chose one of my favourite routes (reputedly called the “Banana Climb”, due to the many banana trees you pass along the way) that offers one of the shallower-gradient climbs in the area, whilst also not forcing me to venture too far from home. Saying that, it’s still a ~6km climb with an average gradient of 6.2%, so not to be taken too lightly.
As soon as the road started to kick upwards, I pushed down hard on the pedals. My legs responded. I felt good. I felt strong. The endless pasta dinners must have been doing their job.
The shallower gradient meant it was easier to hold a consistent power for longer without needing to shift gears or ride out of the saddle like I do on steeper ramps. My heart rate was high, but controlled. I kept my eyes fixed forward as I pumped my legs, taking long, deep breaths to keep myself steady.
The sun was gently lowering itself into the ocean, casting a magnificent orange hue across the road and surrounding foliage. I felt the heat pierce my skin, beads of sweat forming on my forearms. “Stay strong” I muttered to myself, giving an extra push on the next downstroke.
As I reached the final kilometre, things were feeling hard. My breathing was laboured and my strength waning. “Keep…going” I strained, turning the pedals as hard as I could. I was in the zone, but I only needed to hold it for another thirty seconds. Push, push, push.
The road started to flatten out. The resistance against my legs gave way and the wheels span freely. I took in a couple of deep breaths, enjoying a wave of euphoria as I crested the climb and soaked up the view below. I loved it here. The sunshine, the scenery, the terrain. It was the perfect place to spend three weeks and I didn’t want it to end.
As I turned my wheel back towards Adeje and let gravity guide me down the descent, a thought flickered into my mind. “What if?” I wondered. Looking down at my Garmin, I did a few quick calculations and snuck a peek at my current heart rate. “Recovering nicely” I mused, with a deliberate nod of the head.
My speed picked up as I continued to freewheel, keeping my fingers light on the brakes. I knew the turn was coming up soon and a flicker of excitement surged inside of me as I dared myself to take it. It was like a game; a battle between my head and my body. The question was, which one would win?
Before I knew it, the turn appeared on my left—sharp, steep, and curling tightly around the back of a local café. I held my breath, scanning for a clear path. The coast was clear. With a swift flick of the handlebars, I lunged into the turn, my fingers dancing over the shifters as I scrambled for a gear capable of hauling me up the brutal incline.
I was doing it. Apparently one climb wasn’t enough for me that day. I wanted to see what I was capable of. I wanted to do more.
Fifty minutes later I made it to the top of the climb, legs weak and breathing heavy. Unclipping from the pedals, I landed my right foot on solid ground and exhaled. “That was hard” I said out loud to no one in particular. “But I did it”.
As I looked out over the setting sun, a tiny seed was planted.
“I wonder…”
Día catorce
Today was the day. I had been here for two weeks and still hadn’t braved the challenge of Teide. I remembered last year’s attempt and shuddered at the thought of peddling uphill for nearly 40km. It’s not a particularly steep climb, but doing anything repeatedly for three hours is a surefire way to test the head. That was my main memory; not the physical exertion, or the heat, or the beautiful views, but the deafening screams of “when is this going to end?“
Mount Teide is one of the most iconic cycling destinations in the world. At 3,715 meters, it's the highest peak in Spain and offers one of the longest continuous climbs in Europe. Depending on where you start, you can climb for 40–50km without a break, making it a true test of endurance. For many cyclists, conquering Teide is a must-do, up there with legendary climbs like Mont Ventoux, Stelvio, and Alpe d’Huez. The challenge, the views, and the sheer scale of the climb make it an unforgettable experience.
And so off we set early on Saturday morning.
I won’t bore you with all the gory details of the climb—it took just over four and a half hours in total—but eventually I reached the top. Interestingly, despite my fitness level remaining consistent with last year, the most noteworthy improvement was in my mindset.
I managed to keep a steady pace throughout, and never allowed myself to push too hard, even when my legs were feeling pretty good. This strategy conserved energy, allowing me to focus more on keeping my head in check. Unbelievably, I made it all the way to the top without once questioning “when is this going to end?”. In fact, I probably could have kept going.
It was a powerful reminder that training our mind can be just as important as our physical training when it comes to achieving our goals. A lesson I’d learned many times before, but was comforting to remember. It didn’t matter if I wasn’t the strongest or fastest, if I could keep a cool head and stay composed, I could keep going. Indefinitely.
I wish that same level-headedness presented itself during the descent. Instead, everything went to shit.
As we prepared to embark on the 40 kilometre descent, the weather took an unexpected turn. Clouds obscured the sun, and the temperature plummeted. Within fifteen minutes, my teeth chattered uncontrollably, and despite wearing gloves, my hands numbed. Every ounce of focus was required to grip the handlebars and maintain control of the bike.
If there's one thing to know about me, it's that I despise the cold. I was not having a good time. And I had still had forty-five minutes of frigid freewheeling to go.
Eventually we made it down to a lower altitude and (slightly) warmer air temperatures, but the damage had already been done. I’d caught a chill and just couldn’t get warm.
“Pit stop?” Sean asked, his hands also a frightening shade of white.
My response came in the form of more chattering teeth, and we quickly pulled into a nearby cafe to fuel up on coffee and hot food.
Plates of sizzling prawns, Padrón peppers, and tomato bruschetta were spread across the table. We devoured it all in minutes, willing the steam to heat us from the inside.
“What a day, eh?” I managed to speak through still-numb lips.
“What an adventure” Sean replied, looking far more chipper.
We sat for another fifteen minutes, defrosting, before re-mounting our bikes and covering the final descent to Adeje.
As we approach the turn to Taucho, Sean jokingly signals with his left hand.
“Don’t you dare!” I shout from behind. But the seed has already grown shoots.
“What if…"
Día quince
We already knew that another ride was going to be a big ask of our bodies, especially after the elevation of the last couple of days. But we had a new mission, or more accurately—a new cafe—that needed exploring, so on the bikes we hopped.
It was a cafe we’d passed the weekend before whilst riding up to Tamaimo. It was cute and quaint and highly coloured—pretty much all of the things I find myself irresistibly drawn to. Unfortunately we’d already stopped at a cafe a mere 5km earlier so couldn’t quite bring ourselves to stop again so soon.
“We must come back!” I pleaded, watching it disappear over my shoulder as we continued the climb.
Now, a week later, we were fulfilling that promise.
The ride was hard. As expected, our legs were tired and took a significant amount of persuading to even turn the pedals. The climb felt long. It dragged. I couldn’t keep a level-head.
The next few kilometres passed slowly, my mind wandering to all sorts of hostile places. The usual grilling and doubting of my ability. The familiar comparison to all the riders who passed me on the road. I knew the intrusive thoughts weren’t to be trusted, but I also didn’t have the energy to fight them.
“When is this going to end?“ the words fell out of my mouth unexpectedly. Usually a sign that I need to take a break, eat something, and reset.
Fortunately, the café was only a few hairpin turns away, and, as usual, the sight of a table in the sunshine and the promise of fresh coffee worked its magic to banish the negative voices that had, minutes earlier, been so loud.
Once again, I’m surprised how swiftly something that once felt so hard can fade so quickly into a distant memory. Reflecting on my time in Tenerife, I recall those initial rides where merely rolling out of the apartment sent my heart rate soaring and lungs fighting for air. The relentless, steep gradients of the climbs that pushed my legs to their absolute limits. The freezing descent from Teide and the fear that took hold as I tried to keep my bike, and my head, stable.
All of these things—at the time—felt hard.
Each of these challenges—in the moment—felt overwhelming.
Yet I persevered through them all.
This led me to entertain a dangerous thought: what else could I overcome?
As we sat, legs outstretched, soaking up the warmth of the sun, it dawned on me.
“It’s our final week” I murmur, eyes fixed on the ground beneath me.
“It is” Sean replies, one eyebrow creeping upward, sensing something brewing.
I glance up, a slow grin forming. “And we both love a challenge.”
His eyes narrow. “We do…”
A pause. Then, a glint of mischief sparks in mine.
“So let’s make sure we finish with a bang.”
P.S if you’ve enjoyed my writing so far and think others might quite like it too, it would mean the world to me if you could spread the word 💜
I love your writing Jess! I was in the islands a couple of weeks ago for the GranGuanche Road and reading your post today sent me back there🤩 Good luck with your challenge, it sounds like a fun one!