"You really ought to give racing a go."
The day before, I’d been boasting on stage at the BIKE Festival in Willingen:
Everyone should give it a go. Just get started. Keep it relaxed. Ignore the timing. Treat the whole thing as an adventure playground rather than a job interview.
Now I’m standing in the Sauerland forest, just before the first special stage of the 2026 Bosch E-MTB Challenge, and I realise: I’ve been lying to myself.
My heart rate rises. My hands get clammy. Somewhere amongst the birch trunks and beech leaves, my ego takes control.
Of course I want to be quick.
Of course I want to look good.
Of course I want to be better than the others.
Welcome to the world of motor racing.
The problem with the Olympic ideal
The Bosch E-MTB Challenge is actually a rather likeable event. An enduro race for ordinary people, at least in the amateur category. No World Cup stars, no professional airs and graces. Instead, plenty of laughter, slapstick and long transfers through the green hills of the Sauerland. In between: so-called stages – short special stages uphill, downhill or both.
On some uphill sections, there’s even a race official keeping a close eye on things to check who takes their foot off the pedal. Anyone who does so incurs penalty seconds. In these ‘No Feet Zones’, the aim is to ride with such technical precision that… that’s right: your foot stays on the pedal. That’s, of course, virtually impossible – unless you’re trial star Stefan Schlie, who can get anywhere and rides with just 0.8 bar in his tyres for maximum traction. In the end, Stefan Schlie finished third in the Advanced category.
The best bit: nobody knows the route.
No practice runs. No track inspection. No insider advantages.
A blind date instead of a dress rehearsal.
Actually, that’s exactly my sort of thing. After all, I spend a good chunk of my free time riding down unknown trails in the Alps. Look, read, react. Improvisation rather than perfection.
But, as we all know, theory and practice are distant relatives.
My mate Florian is warming up in front of me. Squats. Frog jumps. Mobility exercises. A man with a plan.
I then swing my leg through the air a couple of times, just like Bruce Lee, and feel rather silly doing so. Flori sets off before me, dashing off between the trees. My ‘Easy Rider’ attitude has now completely vanished. Heart rate up. Killer stare. Total determination.
The starter looks at his clipboard, jots down my race number and says, “Go!”
Harakiri on wet roots
The Bosch motor kicks in.
Turbo mode.
Roots glisten in the morning light before me. It had rained during the night. They look like anacondas. Smooth, treacherous, wet from the night’s rain.
A sensible person would drive carefully now.
Not me.
I’m running faster than I actually can. In technical terms, this is called ‘overpacing’. The layman would call it a complete overestimation of one’s abilities.
The YT Decoy sits firmly on the trail. The Conti Kryptotal tyres grip the ground. My confidence is growing, but my fine motor skills can barely keep up.
Then a bump in the road. I’m pulling over!
The idea: jump over the carpet of roots, land on the other side, save time. That’s the theory.
The reality: take-off, landing, chaos. Something slips away. Maybe the back wheel. Maybe the front wheel. Maybe my whole life plan. A moment later, all I can see is the forest floor.
A fall. A somersault. My brain goes into alarm mode.
Then comes the second thought: Get up. Carry on. Don’t waste any time. Anything is still possible!
The ego doesn’t give up without a fight, after all. I drag the bike out of the bushes. My glasses are askew. The brake lever is pointing skywards. There’s blood caked on my arm.
The turbo gets me back up to speed. I jump over a root. It’s bound to work this time.
It doesn’t! I crash. For the second time. Thud! Full-on impact with the ground. Ouch! A root smashes into my ribs, my knee ploughs into the ground. Pain! A voice screams in my head: IT. JUST. WON’T. WORK!
The liberating effect of setting off on a journey
Two spectators are looking at me. It’s that look people reserve for those who’ve just proved that self-confidence isn’t a qualification. They’re looking at me as if I were a complete idiot. Like someone who’s going to kill themselves because they don’t know what they’re doing. Like those tourists who want to go for a swim in the Pipeline monster wave in Hawaii.
I’m driving more slowly now.
Much slower.
So slow that you can hardly call it cycling any more; it’s more like shuffling along.
I’ll clock in at the finish line.
And suddenly, something surprising happens.
It feels good.
The ego lies somewhere amongst the roots of the first stage. Expectations lie right next to it. The pressure to perform has also left a crater in its wake.
What remains is a sense of relief.
May, engines and small victories
We’re cruising along at a leisurely pace to the next stage.
The journeys are long enough to take in the scenery. The uplands are at their best. May light. Flowering meadows. Warm air. Erich Kästner was right: ‘If only there were a year made up entirely of May.’
The next special stage begins with a notorious ‘no-feet’ zone. Anyone who puts their foot down will incur penalty seconds.
A driver is coming towards us.
“You’d better get off straight away,” he says. “It’ll be quicker.”
Perhaps that is precisely where the secret lies.
Because I’m no longer expecting anything, I’m suddenly doing well.
I tackle sections where others fail. I overtake riders. They’re stuck on the slope, pushing, slipping, swearing, gasping for breath. This stage is a small, thin band-aid for my bruised cycling pride. ‘There we go,’ I think, climbing over slippery roots and finding my rhythm again.
Not fast. But smooth.
And surprisingly satisfied.
The most beautiful advert in the world
The final stage is uphill.
Uphill, of all things.
As I power my way up a steep slope in turbo mode, another rider beside me is battling against gravity and a lack of traction.
He looks at my bike.
Then he exclaims: “Oh, the new Bosch! I’d love to have that one too!”
I carry on driving and can’t help but laugh.
No marketing agency in the world could have scripted this moment any better.
Later, I’m sitting in the finish area. My rib is aching. There’s a remarkably large bloodstain on my jersey. I’ve long since stopped caring about the result.
What remains is something else.
The realisation that racing can actually be fun.
Not because you win. But because they reliably show you who you really are.
In my case: a man who preaches serenity on stage and, moments later, tries to play the hero on wet tree roots.
I’ll be taking part again next year.
If only to make sure the first stage doesn’t have the last word.
The fastest riders in the Bosch E-MTB Challenge
Amateur Men (5 stages)
- Florian Haymann (WoFFM) – 11:20.36 mins
- Felix Wolff (Screwloose) – 13:10.47 mins
- Sebastian Schrader – 13:22.01 mins
Amateur Women
- Elena Martinez Estrada – 16:32.08 mins
- Anja Leupold – 17:40.68 mins
- Josephine Georgi (RSV Adler Arnstadt) – 19:34.63 mins
Advanced Men (7 stages)
- Jan Schäfer (Bikestore Überwald) – 14:12.08 mins
- Marcel Schröder (YetiCyclesDe / BadBikes) – 14:43.73 mins
- Stefan Schlie – 15:20.89 mins
Advanced Women
- Tanja Jung – 19:53.26 min
- Antonia Busch (NoTalentRacing) – 20:22.78 mins
- Sarah Jahnel – 24:32.43 mins
Pro Men (Pro Stages)
- Tiago Ladeira – 15:20.48 min
- Christian Textor – 15:29.06 mins
- Erik Emmrich – 15:29.38 mins
Pro Women
- Helen Weber (Rotwild Schwalbe Gravity Team) – 16:54.85 mins
- Anna Spielmann – 17:31.31 mins
- Florencia Espineira – 18:38.76 min
German Championships – Women
- Helen Weber (Rotwild Schwalbe Gravity Team) – 16:49.85 mins
- Sofia Lena Wiedenroth – 18:57.80 min (+2:07.95)
- Jana Urban – 19:00.25 (+2:10.40)
German Championships – Men
- Johannes Fischbach (Raymon Racing) – 15:27.35 mins
- Christian Textor – 15:29.06 mins (+0:01.71)
- Erik Emmrich – 15:29.38 min (+0:02.03)
Dimitri Lehner
Editor
