Gravel riders have a reputation for riding an unsuitable bike on inappropriate trails, but some of us, like Timo Rokitta, take this as some kind of challenge and try and up the ante whenever possible. In his latest laugh-out-loud-funny ride report, Timo describes taking part in the recent Schlaflos im Sattel (Sleepless in the Saddle) event, which was held in Erdbeertal in south-west Germany. A non-stop-through-the-night event which features plenty of über technical MTB trails sounds like a perfect event for Timo to tackle on a gravel bike. Will he survive? Read on to find out.

"Sleepless in the Saddle" - mercifully shortened to SIS - sounds less like a bike race and more like a support group for people with questionable ideas about leisure. In reality, it's one of Germany's longest-running off-road cycling events. For more than twenty years, riders have willingly descended on the Erdbeertal to spend an entire night bouncing over roots, rocks and improbably steep hillsides. The concept is beautifully simple: ride the same lap over and over again until either dawn arrives or your determination to continue riding leaves.

Victory doesn't necessarily go to the rider with the largest thighs. More important is the ability to make sensible decisions at three o'clock in the morning while sleep-deprived, covered in dust and navigating carpets of tree roots. Or, failing that, at least avoiding ending up in the bushes too often.

That's precisely what makes SIS so appealing. It feels far less like one of those impeccably organised sporting spectacles and much more like a giant family reunion for people who consider road rash a perfectly acceptable fashion accessory. Everywhere you look, people are fettling bikes, exchanging technical wisdom and laughing. Between tents, toolboxes and camping chairs, fierce competitiveness somehow coexists remarkably peacefully with genuine helpfulness.

For years, mountain bikes dominated the field. Recently, though, more and more gravel bikes have appeared - those curious hybrids that look as if a road bike and a mountain bike made one life-changing decision after a particularly long night out. Many people still think they're nothing more than machines for farm tracks and gravel roads. SIS is an excellent opportunity to discover just how much trail they can really handle.

"I swear I won't behave like an arsehole on the trail, or may lightning strike me while I'm taking a dump!"

It's the 1st of August, just before 9 p.m. Organisers Hermann and Phaty stand on the stage overlooking the enormous field of riders, preparing us for the long night ahead. Hermann casually mentions that the final - and apparently particularly vicious - trail has an alternative route. The audible sigh of relief from the crowd tells you everything you need to know about that section.

Then Phaty takes the microphone. There's a brief emotional moment before everyone joins in the traditional oath, surely one of the very few sporting pledges that doubles as both motivational speech and curse: "I swear I won't behave like an arsehole on the trail, or may lightning strike me while I'm taking a dump!" The crowd erupts in cheers. There can hardly be a more dignified way to start an endurance race.

“We're swallowed by a huge cloud of dust in which the rider ahead is more a matter of educated guesswork than eyesight.”

The starting signal transforms the entire field into a stampeding herd. Everyone pedals as though the overall victory depends on reaching the end of the first hundred metres of gravel before anyone else. Seconds later we're swallowed by a huge cloud of dust in which the rider ahead is more a matter of educated guesswork than eyesight. After a rapid descent on tarmac, the course takes a brutally sharp right turn into the forest at the entrance to Weidenthal. Welcome to the actual race.

The first climb quickly persuades everyone's enthusiasm to settle into a slightly more sustainable heart-rate zone. The field stretches out and alongside the Weisenbach begins the longest climb of the lap, affectionately known as the Long Towel. Quite why remains a mystery. Perhaps because by the time you reach the top you'll desperately need one. 

Then come the first sections of singletrack. The opening one is positively welcoming - almost polite. The second section, however, has noticeably poorer manners. Roots protrude from the ground like badly installed electrical cables, rain gullies demand unwavering concentration and the final loose descent reminds the gravel bike that none of this featured in the brochure.

After a few comparatively civilised kilometres, the infamous Direttissima appears - a trail that has almost certainly ended many an overly-optimistic course inspection. At the top sits a medical tent, thoughtfully positioned in much the same way as a lifeboat beside the queue for a roller coaster. 

“The trail plunges steeply into the valley, twists through tight switchbacks and generously scatters roots and boulders across the ideal line.”

As a gravel rider, this is where not only sweat appears on your forehead, but increasingly vivid calculations about the current replacement cost of carbon components keep appearing in your mind. Some sections look unpleasant even for mountain bikes, which is saying something. 

Eventually, after this extended mechanical massage, you reach the pit lane. Relay riders wait for their turn while others lounge comfortably outside their tents, drinking coffee and cheering everyone who passes with the enviable freshness of people who have actually slept. At the finish arch, the timing chip is briefly touched against the reader and then the whole process begins again.

The first few hours disappear surprisingly quickly. Riders constantly appear, overtake you or are overtaken in return. Shortly after midnight, however, the atmosphere changes almost instantly. The forest falls silent. The lights of other riders disappear behind the trees until several minutes pass without seeing another soul.

At the same time, the temperature drops to around twelve degrees Celsius. Only moments ago I was drenched in sweat; now I'm digging out a wind vest and arm warmers, hoping my fingers don't give up before the brakes do.

The course changes with every lap. The dust grows deeper, the braking bumps become larger and the trails feel as though they've spent the entire night being relentlessly pummelled by hundreds of tyres. The final trail, in particular, evolves into a loose cocktail of dust, sharp-edged rocks and exposed roots. In the glow of helmet lights, the forest now resembles the set of a post-apocalyptic film - except that everyone here has paid for the privilege.

When a rider directly ahead of me loses control and cartwheels down the hillside, common sense suddenly becomes remarkably fashionable. I remember Hermann's advice from the briefing and decide, from that point on, to use the alternative route. It's slightly longer but much smoother to ride. A few deep patches of sand ensure that my heart rate doesn't become complacent.

Lap follows lap. Sometime shortly after five o'clock, the eastern sky finally begins to brighten. The first birds start singing, blissfully unaware of the strange collection of humans who have been wandering through their forest all night.

Just after 6 a.m., I roll back into the Erdbeertal after completing eleven laps. The night is over. Following an improvised cat wash, I wander over to the results board. Fifth place out of seventy-five solo starters. Not bad for a bicycle that many people still associate exclusively with gravel roads.

One thing is certain after a night like this: a gravel bike is capable of far more than gently meandering along country lanes. It can fight its way through seriously demanding trails and, in the process, even leave a fair number of mountain bikes behind.

Pictures courtesy of Mandy Rodriguez / SIS Herman Daniel