Meet the TCRNo12 Mike Hall Bursary Riders

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Words by Jake Thorpe

Photos by Sam Dugon

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Why it exists

The field is deepening. Professionalisation is the word of the moment. As ultra-cycling emerges from the subcultural shadows, people are beginning to take notice.

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Our sport has never been naturally accessible; it would be naïve to pretend otherwise. And now, as the discipline matures, strategies refine, and sponsorship seeps in, the commitment required to contest the sharp end becomes ever more costly. To possess the time, the money, or even the notion to spend up to three weeks racing across a continent has always been a privilege, and will remain one. Yet we, as a race, have a responsibility to extend that opportunity to as broad and varied a field as possible. Diversity, in every sense, forms the bedrock of both our actions and our vision.

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Introduced for TCRNo8 and now spanning the full portfolio of Lost Dot races, the Mike Hall Bursary is one initiative helping to rebalance the scales. Through providing race entry, support with expenses, sponsored equipment, coaching and mentorship, the bursary addresses more than just financial exclusion. It recognises that the barriers facing riders without established experience, insider knowledge, or supportive networks are more complex than cost alone.

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At its heart lies Mike’s unwavering commitment to accessibility: the belief that races should be decided by the aptitude, attitude and athleticism of individuals, not by the privileges available to them.

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So, let's meet this year’s riders.

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Maksym Matvieiev

For Maksym, the bursary has been crucial in opening the door to Lost Dot racing. A previous recipient at TPRNo4, the Ukrainian rider now hopes to “apply the tough lessons of that gruelling route” in pursuit of a GC finish on an even grander stage.

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Maksym appears to thrive on complexity. The fact that “finding places to sleep, searching for water sources on remote mountain passes and planning meal stops take just as much energy and concentration as the training itself” is, to him, a great part of the appeal. As he explained, “each trip is like a reboot.” He hopes the resilience forged through such a holistic challenge – and the serenity that comes from tapping into that elusive flow state – will sustain him long after he reaches the shores of the Ionian Sea.

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But Maksym has no intention of keeping the rewards of this experience to himself. He hopes that another Maksym – his son – might one day look to his father’s efforts and find inspiration of his own in this “honest, beautiful challenge.”

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Luca Bessems

Like Maksym, Luca feels it is the texture surrounding the TCR that makes it something worth racing. “The race gives me a goal to work towards – a reason to dream, plan, prepare and execute,” she explains. “Finishing is simply the result of that process.”

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Whatever complexities await her on the road, however, starting will be a comparative breeze. Having moved from the Netherlands to Trondheim 18 months ago, her debut TCR couldn't be more convenient. Her attachment to the country stretches back. At 23, while studying outdoor education, Luca cycled the length of Norway, sleeping in a tent among the woods as she went. Travelling largely alone taught her to feel at ease in her own company, and unsupported racing was the natural evolution: enforced simplification – just rider and bicycle.

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Luca’s burgeoning passion for ultra has naturally crept into her work. “Ultra-endurance sports inspire me because women already perform close to men, and the research suggests this gap may continue to narrow,” she explains. Now, writing her master’s thesis at the Olympic Centre in Trondheim, she hopes her research into female physiology in ultra-endurance sport might help unlock some latent potential, both in her own racing and among women more broadly.

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Ultimately, Luca credits the women already blazing trails in the sport with inspiring her to forge a path of her own. Her compatriot Nicole van Batenburg has been a particular influence: Nicole first took to the saddle at the same age as Luca, and later inspired a replicate attempt of the NorthCape4000.

When the conversation turns to her own ambitions, however, Luca keeps her cards close. “I have some goals for myself,” she admits, “but I’m not sure I want to share them.” And with good reason: success remains an intensely personal measure. What she will share is a hope that her efforts might resonate beyond her own race – “to inspire more women to ride, to race, and to see what they’re capable of.”

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Małgorzata Gryszczuk

The first thing I learned about Małgosia is that she loves cycling uphill. It’s no wonder, then, that she has five Everesting challenges to her name, two of which are “10K ROAMs”. For those unfamiliar with common elevation-challenge parlance – and I don’t blame you – that means completing a continuous ride that incorporates over 10,000 m of vertical gain. Not bad going when you’ve only got 24 hours to do it in.

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The second thing I learned about Małgosia is that her appetite for riding appears insatiable. It has taken a coach, a mentor, a pairs partner and a Race Director to rein her training back to something resembling sustainable. Yet once you understand why she races, that appetite begins to make sense.

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On 19th July 2023, exactly three years before this year’s race begins in Trondheim, she was struck by a car while cycling and suffered multiple spinal fractures. Daily rehabilitation followed. Learning to walk again was the first milestone; her first 100 km back in the saddle another. She hopes the TCR, which she will ride as a pair with her friend Kinga, might mark the final step on her road to recovery – “a way to bring closure to the accident and everything that followed.” Her preparation, much like the rehab of recent years, is a discipline in which she has found unexpected delight. “I was surprised by how calm I felt throughout the process,” she admitted. “It was as though I had been preparing for the TCR for the past three years without even realising it.”

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In fact, Małgosia’s journey to the race, on the whole, has been one of discovery. Her relationship with her equipment has changed as she has learned just how little she needs, and what’s truly essential. She has found a new sense of calm in riding alone, through remote places and into the night. “There’s no fear anymore,” she reflects, “only curiosity about the world and the people in it.” That curiosity has reshaped the way she relates to others, too. “I’m no longer shy about starting a conversation with a stranger in a foreign country or complimenting someone on their cool shoes.” It is an immense shift in perspective, and one Małgosia attributes to the confidence forged through hard, consistent work. Little wonder, then, that her reasons for racing transcend the race itself: “The bike is only a tool – a reason to explore, to challenge ourselves, and to discover both the world and who we truly are.”

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For Małgosia, success, too, transcends the individual. “If someone watches our little dot moving along the route and thinks, ‘If they’ve been riding for so long, maybe I’ll go for a night ride today. Maybe I’ll take on my own challenge and do something I never thought I could do…’ – then that would mean the world to me.”

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Wojciech Wronka

From the moment I met Wojtek, it was clear he was coming to the TCR to race. After winning his first ultra, Poland’s North–South Marathon (MPP), in a remarkable four-way tie, he went on to round out the top 20 at last year’s Race Through Poland – an experience he described as “brutally educational.” His race ended with a 5 km trek on foot, without navigation, to the finish line. Looking back, Wojtek reckons that “90 percent of the issues came down to money: no bike fit, improvised gear, and sleeping outside every night.” Yet the experience only sharpened his appetite to test himself against the best, and to discover whether he has what it takes to compete a major race at the pointy end.

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Wojtek understands acutely the limitations imposed by a tight budget. “Money affects safety, longevity, and inclusion in often exclusive cycling communities,” he explains. “Doing things differently can challenge the norms.” But necessity, we know, is the mother of innovation. Wojtek builds his own bikes, prioritising practical components that are comfortable, safe and repairable. 

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His understanding of the spirit of the race rests on similarly modest foundations. Far from the grandeur and prestige of classification titles, the TCR is, for Wojtek, grounded in “fairness and respect, using only resources available to all, and valuing the shared understanding between riders who’ve faced the same struggles.” If you manage to race with these as your guiding principles, he argues, “any success becomes a reflection of how you raced, not just the position you achieved.” 

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Yet racing hard is only one of Wojtek’s ambitions. As his relationship with cycling has deepened, he has begun using his expertise as a sound engineer to document longer, more exploratory rides, pairing field recordings with images to share the experience with others. His friends started riding. Then they began riding further. Perhaps the most meaningful measure of Wojtek’s progress is that his own appetite for adventure has proved contagious.

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Jack Wright

Jack’s partner used to say that Jack was 100% bike. Now, following 18 months of gradual injury recovery, Jack admits that percentage might have waned a little. 

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Several years back, while working in a GP surgery serving a particularly deprived community, Jack began running to and from work. It was, at first, “beautiful and exhilarating”: a way to brace themself for difficult encounters shaped by an overstretched system, then to “run off the stress of the day” lodged in their shoulders and stomach. But what began as a niggle, a product of ill-fitting shoes, soon spiralled, and before long, Jack found themself unable to run or to ride, "entangled in the roots” of a long recovery. 

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Jack grew up riding bikes, inspired by a dad who rode to work “before it was cool.” A little older, and unable to drive, Jack took up the mantle – commuting first at university, and then as a bike courier in Munich. Jack’s first ultra, the Dales Divide, which came a little later in 2021, opened up the floodgates of long-distance riding.

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Throughout their life working “around the margins of society”, Jack has always foregrounded cycling in the hope of normalising movement, encouraging adventure and proving that “extraordinary things can be achieved with ordinary days.” But they are equally clear-eyed about who is afforded access to these opportunities. “As a queer, working-class rider, I have a strong grasp of how inaccessible [racing] is to many,” Jack explains. For them, the bursary is decisive: “It’s black and white. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to consider doing anything like this.” They also acknowledge that accessibility issues within cycling are structural, and a single initiative, a single race, aren’t likely to be enough to rebalance that. 

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And yet, momentum is cumulative. Participation creates precedent. By taking to the start line, Jack adds another story to the sport’s collective imagination: another example of who can belong here, and of what might become possible when the door is held open a little wider. We look forward to following along.

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