Held by the Ride: Bristol Rally 2026

Three days, 300km, and a gravel route shaped by inclusion, landscape, and community.

Words: Karla Williams / @karlaxrunbike

Photos : @Allterre & @bicycle_factory

I came to the Bristol Rally almost by chance after a recommendation from a friend who described it with the kind of certainty that doesn’t need much explanation. Something about it stayed with me. I signed up without fully knowing what I was stepping into, only that it felt like the kind of ride worth experiencing.

Before the riding even began, it was clear this event was built differently.

Half of all tickets were reserved for FLINTA riders,  Female, Lesbian, Intersex, Non-Binary, Trans, and Agender. Not as an add-on, but as structure. That decision shaped everything around it, quietly but unmistakably. It changed the feeling of the start line before a single pedal stroke.

Bristol itself felt like a threshold, a city that doesn’t end so much as dissolve into the countryside. One moment you’re in traffic and cafés, the next you’re rolling straight into gravel, bridleways, and lanes that seem to forget the city behind them.

Three hundred kilometres. Three days. A loop through the South West that never holds still for long.

The route unfolded through familiar yet shifting landscapes: the limestone walls of Cheddar Gorge, the open expanses of Salisbury Plain, and the surreal proximity to Stonehenge under the edge of the solstice light. Gravel, lanes, and off-road sections stitched it all together in a rhythm that rarely settled.

The day before the start, I met Claire Sharpe in a brewery in Bristol. She was calm, friendly, and really welcoming, which helped set the tone for the weekend ahead.

Registration day carried a different energy. Not loud, but full. Seeing so many FLINTA riders in one place shifted the atmosphere entirely, not as a statement, but as a reality. There was recognition in it. Space felt shared before the ride had even begun.

Friday came with heat and distance.

The opening day was the hardest section, long climbs, technical terrain, and a landscape that demanded attention from the first kilometre. It didn’t ease. It simply started.

But what stood out wasn’t the difficulty,  it was how it was carried together. Riders passed, regrouped, waited, and moved on without needing instruction. Small gestures of encouragement replaced anything formal. Everyone reading the same land, at the same time.

The heat built steadily, and the ride became a cycle of effort and recovery. Checkpoints appeared like pauses in motion, where support from Canyon and Komoot offered food, water, and a brief reset before rolling on again.

By the time the route folded back toward Bristol, the city felt slightly changed or perhaps it was us.

The finish at the Left Handed Giant Brewery wasn’t an ending so much as a release. Pints, tacos, tired legs, and fragments of conversation filled the space, stories still forming, laughter arriving late, bodies finally settling.

What remains most clearly is not a single moment, but what the event quietly achieved.

Final numbers showed 75% FLINTA participation, a shift that speaks less to chance and more to intention made real. That outcome wasn’t accidental. It came from deliberate structure and care, led by Claire at All Terre, and supported by partners like Komoot and Canyon.

It’s rare to see inclusion reflected so clearly not just in language, but in who actually arrives at the start line.

The Bristol Rally isn’t a race. It doesn’t ask to be measured.

It’s an invitation to ride through the landscape, to move with others, and to notice what changes when community becomes part of the route.