Race Around Rwanda 2026 – Race Report by Jair Hoogland

This article was originally written by Jair Hoogland and was first published in Dutch on his own blog.

Race Around Rwanda

Race Around Rwanda is a self-supported bikepacking race on a fixed 1,000-kilometre route. It takes you through Rwanda’s diverse and striking landscapes, with a total of 19,000 metres of elevation gain. The race crosses a country known as the “Land of a Thousand Hills.” The start list features 134 riders from 23 different countries, including 20 women.

Ever since Race Around Rwanda came into existence, it has been on my radar. For years I didn’t have the right bike, so I sat back in cold Holland, dotwatching this race with a fair bit of jealousy. But if you really want something, you have to go for it. So I picked out a gravel bike, and when it finally arrived this autumn, there was luckily still a spot left to enter. The only downside: not much time to practice on rough terrain, because I definitely can’t count on Dutch “champagne gravel” out there.

Acclimatising

All winter I trained hard, and full of ambition I travel to a continent I’ve never been to before. Rwanda lies close to the equator, Kigali, the capital, sits at 1,500 metres, and the race even reaches 2,700 metres. On top of that, I expect a major cultural difference. Plenty of reasons to arrive early and acclimatise. Francien decides to come along, so we turn it into a holiday as well.

The adventure starts straight away with the flight. We fly to Kigali with a layover in Nairobi. Once we’ve made the connection and are seated on the second plane, we see a trolley roll up with my bike box on it. A relief, because travelling with a bike always adds extra stress. Unfortunately we celebrate too soon, because during take-off we see the box is still sitting on the trolley. In Kigali, lost and found helps us and expects the bike to arrive on the next flight later that day. Once that is confirmed, we arrange transport through the hotel. With scooters and then a transfer to a bigger car somewhere along a busy road, we find our way to the airport. The bike is ready, but it only just fits in the car and Francien has to lie underneath the bike box. But it works, and by the end of the day we’re at the hotel with all our stuff.

In the remaining days before the race I do short rides to get used to the traffic, the heat and the climbing. The climate is pleasant and I adapt quickly. I don’t notice the altitude straight away, but I’m also not pushing hard efforts. We explore the city, go to a handball match, do a safari and I try to eat well. Even though I’m careful with food and drink, three days before the start I still get hit by travellers’ diarrhoea. I don’t feel terrible, but I can’t keep anything in.

So far, acclimatisation:

• Getting used to altitude: happened without me noticing?
• Getting used to heat: from long-long in the Netherlands to short-short in Kigali.
• Getting used to the culture: friendly people, sometimes a bit pushy, a hectic city and long waits for your food.
• Getting used to the food: unfortunately, accompanied by lots of toilet paper.

Registration / Briefing

The day before the race is all about registration and the briefing. It takes place at the Tugende bike café. Paperwork gets sorted, the tracker is handed out, and we receive a beautiful bag containing the nicest cycling caps. Every bag and every cap is different. All locally made. The vibe in the café is relaxed, people eat and drink, and there’s time to meet other riders. After registration comes the briefing, followed by a pasta party. I skip that last part after hearing that last year it involved hours of waiting. The start is at 5:00, and I can use all the rest I can get.

Start to CP1 Nyagatare

The alarm goes off around 3:45, which gives me an hour and fifteen minutes to get to the start and eat something. Eating still isn’t really happening, but I force down a filled almond croissant. A second one doesn’t go, but there’s also breakfast at the start. So once I’m dressed, I ride over to have a bit more. Another bowl of yoghurt, some coffee, and then it’s time to line up.

At 5:00 the police arrive and will lead us to the first gravel sector. Simon, the organiser, gives the start signal and we’re off. Up to kilometre 8 it’s neutralised and we ride through Kigali as a peloton. Unfortunately someone drops a bottle, causing a crash. One rider is out of the race in the neutral zone already: a broken collarbone.

After the neutral section there’s a cobbled climb, and the riders around me immediately push on. Right away I feel I don’t have the power to go with it: too little energy. In a race like this it’s pointless to go into the red in the first kilometres, but the racing feeling does feel good, and I miss it. I have to let the big group go, because sticking to my own pace is the only way. The consequence is that I’m no longer behind the police escort and have to navigate the traffic myself. Not ideal, but so be it. Knowing how I felt two days ago, I should be happy to be on the bike at all and I need to be smart. You don’t win a 1,000-kilometre race in the first kilometres.

Somehow, probably thanks to traffic ahead of the police car, I end up back in the peloton and we turn onto the first gravel sector together. From here on, drafting is no longer allowed and it’s every rider for themselves.

The first sector is called Mugesera and is 54 kilometres long. Red, dusty gravel in good condition, with short climbs and potato fields down in the valleys. There are riders all around me and people everywhere cheering us on. At two schools there’s singing and all the kids want high fives. I keep seeing two Italians: one on a cargo bike, the other stands out because he takes extreme risks on the descents, only to almost come to a standstill on every climb.

Then the gravel ends and a brilliant stretch of perfect asphalt follows. Rwanda truly has amazing roads. The pace goes up a bit, and the next gravel sector, about 25 kilometres later, comes into view quickly. It’s called Akagera Fence and runs almost the entire border of Akagera National Park, where we went on safari earlier. The road mostly stays in the valley, again on fast gravel, which is welcome because there’s rain in the air. I feel like I can outrun the rain if I just keep riding, and that turns out to be true. The threat remains, but apart from a few drops I stay dry through the valley.

Later it gets hilly and hot again. I run out of water and need to find a shop. I reach a small village, but how do you know what’s sold where? The bar is still closed, and another place only has Fanta. Here “Fanta” basically means lemonade. It might be real Fanta, but it could also be cola or something local. The shop I eventually choose only has a sickly sweet pineapple soda, so I settle for that. This stop is also my first experience of standing still with the whole community around me. Everything is watched, and I’m fine with that.

There are a few more climbs and a kind of singletrack, and then suddenly I’m back on tarmac. It stays that way all the way to checkpoint one. Racing still isn’t really happening. I’m mainly trying to make progress and see where I end up. I haven’t looked at the tracker even once, and I don’t care that a German on 35 mm tyres passes me.

In the afternoon I reach CP1 in Nyagatare, around 25th place. Not what fits my ambitions for this event, but as soon as I have a quick cola and have to rush to the toilet, I know I should be grateful I made it here. I eat some bananas and hope I can keep them down. Since I don’t feel terrible, I decide to continue, even though I know my energy level won’t be great. That brings doubts, but stopping is not an option.

CP1 Nyagatare to CP2 Musanze

Just outside Nyagatare the next gravel sector starts almost immediately. It’s 61 kilometres along the border with Uganda. The red gravel glows in the hot sun, but the days are short here, and after an hour or hour and a half the temperature drops and I’m enjoying the sunset. Right as it turns dark, the course becomes more technical. Mainly because it gets steeper, but also because it becomes rockier. And doing that in the dark means everything slows down.

In the dark I run into Thomas, the German on his 35 mm tyres. He’s been wearing both arm and leg warmers all day, which looks odd. On this gravel sector we keep leapfrogging each other. That’s probably down to tyre choice. On the steep bits and descents I pass him, but elsewhere he’s faster. We don’t say a word, but we stay close. When I stop at a bar to get Fanta, I lose sight of him. I think I’ve dropped him, but an hour later he shows up again. That’s more or less how the whole evening goes.

After 61 kilometres, a stretch of paved road appears. Then there’s still more than 100 kilometres to CP2. I had hoped to sleep there tonight, but that won’t happen. Even if everything goes perfectly, I would arrive around six or seven in the morning. Pulling an entire night through and then sleeping in daylight seems impractical, so I need a new plan. In Byumba there are hotel options, and I decide to ride there.

Before I reach the town there’s a brutally steep, rocky climb. It’s so steep and unrideable that I have to walk almost all of it. Near the top, two locals suddenly call me back. The road I’m on is closed and they tell me to return and take a short detour over a little bridge. The detour is extremely slippery, but they help me without being asked. Without their help I definitely would have fallen. As soon as I’m across the bridge, they run back down because another rider is approaching the same spot right behind me.

At the top I see a bar that’s still open. The atmosphere is ominous and loud, with drunk people around. Still, I buy water, because this might be my last chance if the hotel plan doesn’t work out. I refill my bottles among a crowd of drunk customers, and when I leave, one drunk guy follows me for a bit. The vibe is strange, but I don’t feel unsafe.

The rider who was behind me at the bridge has passed me and is now ahead. I keep riding, knowing Byumba is just a bit further. Right after I pass him again, I spot a motel. I don’t hesitate and go in to ask for a room. It’s so cheap it doesn’t promise anything good, but I don’t see any other options for sleep. Sleeping outside is difficult because there are people everywhere, and I’m still dealing with my stomach, so being close to a toilet is a big plus.

The motel owner gives me two options: the regular one for 10,000 (about €6) and the luxury one for double. I choose the “more luxurious” option, which comes with a private shower. The shower is so disgusting that I decide not to use it. As filthy as I am, I lie down in bed wearing my cycling kit and I’m out almost instantly.

Three hours later I’ve set the alarm, but I wake up before it goes off and decide to get out of this filthy hole. While I was checking in “yesterday”, I heard the other rider behind me doing the same. I also heard him ask about “food options”. The thought of ordering anything in this motel… It would have been smart to eat something, but not here. That means energy bars for breakfast, and that’s rough. I force down two oat bars while packing. Just before I’m ready, I hear the rattle of another bike arriving. The receptionist looks surprised that I’m leaving again after only 2.5 hours.

I ride through town. The route takes a small loop, specifically for the cobbles this place has. At the end of the cobbled section I see Justin sitting next to his bike, a New Yorker I got to know earlier this week. He’s completely out of it and asks if I know a hotel. I tell him where I slept. It’s bad, but in his state it’s absolutely the best option. He’d have to backtrack a bit. I try to convince him to sleep because he’s confused and clearly wrecked. Hopefully he followed my advice.

I continue and start the fourth gravel sector: Rugezi Swamp, almost 63 kilometres. It’s pitch dark. In the forest you can’t see anything at all. Luckily I’ve just slept, because riding here requires a lot of concentration, and that makes it even more tiring. As I climb higher, I see there’s a full moon and that in lower areas I must have been riding through clouds. Strange, because I didn’t notice any wetness or mist.

The morning is in the air, and you can tell because life returns. First the bicycle couriers hit the road, then the motorbikes and the farmers. All before it’s properly light, but it’s only a matter of time. In no time, night turns to day and the place is fully awake. Only now do I realise how relaxed it actually is to ride through the night here.

Once it’s light, I see I’m in a completely different part of the country. It looks nothing like the landscape I rode into during the night. Through the forested hills I see Lake Burera, one of the twin lakes, coming closer. This is where the gravel sector ends. The road around the lake is brand new, and as I circle it I’m served one view after another. In the background is Mount Muhabura, an inactive volcano rising to 4,127 metres above the landscape.

After the lakes I join a big long road toward Musanze, where CP2 is. It’s mostly downhill, and before I know it I roll onto the hotel grounds. Each checkpoint in this race has a buffet, and this time I happily make use of it. Francien is volunteering at this checkpoint, so we can eat together.

CP2 Musanze to CP3 Kibuye

As nice as it is, the goal is to stay efficient because I want to reach CP3 today so I can sleep there. Since daylight I’ve been feeling better and the buffet helps too. Still, I’m not in race mode or thinking competitively. I haven’t checked the tracker. The plan is still to keep moving steadily and efficiently.

As I leave the checkpoint, my Wahoo immediately shows a 21-kilometre climb ahead. The first part is paved with plenty of walkable sections, but this country doesn’t do steady climbs. There are always a few steep ramps. At some point I pass a bicycle courier who then sits on my wheel. He has no gears though. On the steep bits he has no chance and has to get off, but he refuses to give up. When I look back, I see him running and pushing his bike (with cargo) uphill. When it eases, he rides again. I’m impressed and we start chatting. Finally someone who isn’t just asking for “money”. We actually have a nice conversation about cycling. When our paths split, I tell him to be careful. He replies that he does have a brake on his bike. Further on, more riders latch on, but those ones all ask “money, money” and are a lot less pleasant.

Halfway up the climb, gravel sector five begins: Volcano Belt. Only 17 kilometres, but over volcanic rock, a rough surface to ride. Sometimes even with sharp edges, so you have to pay attention. Toward the top, grey clouds appear and I catch the edge of a rain shower, but it barely counts. Later I hear from Francien that I got lucky, because the checkpoint was flooded. “It was more like a bath coming down than a shower.”

What goes up must come down. About 13 kilometres of descending is still on the menu in this gravel sector, all over lava stones. At the bottom I’m mostly relieved, and in the village I grab a cola to perk myself up.

After a short stretch on a main road, I turn left toward the highest point of the route. It barely sinks in. I mostly enjoy climbing on asphalt. The first part isn’t too steep. Only after turning off the bigger road do I realise I’m heading for the high point. It immediately gets very steep, but because I’m gaining altitude fast, there’s a constant view. It hurts, but it actually feels good. I haven’t felt like this on the ride so far, but I still don’t dare to push harder than necessary to keep moving.

Not much later I see the Yates brothers ahead. This is a duo that started as one of the favourites in the pair category. I pass them before the summit. Nice: catching the Yates brothers on the climb to the highest point.

After the top, the next gravel sector begins: Gishwati Heights. 28.5 kilometres, mostly downhill. But because the road is so bad, progress is painfully slow. The first part is okay, the surface is still reasonable there, and the views are phenomenal. The lower I get, the worse and busier the road becomes. No matter how bad the road is, there are people everywhere. It’s a matter of picking a line and trying to find the right track while chaos unfolds around me. My hands cramp up. I buy a banana from a street vendor just to have a moment of distraction.

Further down in the village I get pelted with stones and a little girl swings a stick at me. Unpleasant. Luckily I can forget it quickly, because a bit further on I suddenly enter a completely different environment: tea fields. Beautiful. The roads are still rough and I can’t constantly enjoy the landscape. Sometimes I have to walk. After the heat earlier, I’m completely fed up with kids constantly running alongside me. The monotone “money money” and “give you me money” starts to irritate me. Honestly it was already irritating, but after stones were thrown my fuse is short. To top it off, it starts raining. Before I really dip, I hit paved road again and ride away from the shower.

It’s getting dark and there’s still a long way to CP3, but it’s only paved roads now. Ahead of me a bicycle courier wants to race, but I don’t have the legs. When I pass him in the descent, he goes supertuck on his “regular” bike to come past me again. I keep my distance, because not all couriers have brakes here.

The road in the dark is long and endless, but there are few people around, which makes it relaxed. A bit too relaxed, because my energy drops and I need a power nap. Miraculously I find a spot with no people and can close my eyes for ten minutes. Even when I wake up, no one is standing around me. Exactly what I needed for the final stretch to CP3.

On the descent I’m passed by a German, and for the last five kilometres we ride side by side. We check in and can both use the now rather dried-out buffet. As soon as I’m done eating, I go to my booked hotel room and after a shower I pass out.

CP3 Kibuye to CP4 Kibeho

After 2.5 hours of sleep, I wake up before the alarm again. I decide to leave, eat some bananas and chapatti at the hotel and see that there are still plenty of bikes outside. I expect most of them to pass me, even though I feel, surprisingly, better than on day one. I’m keeping food down now. Later I hear I’m sitting somewhere around 14th place overall here. Still, I’m not really focused on that. First just ride and see whether I still feel good later today.

CP3 is on Lake Kivu, but because I arrived in the dark I didn’t see much of it. From the checkpoint it’s a solid stretch on the main road south to the next gravel sector. When I get on that road it’s still quiet, little traffic and well lit. It rides beautifully. On a section of one or two kilometres, the lights apparently don’t get enough power and I ride past flickering street lamps. It’s a bit spooky and costs mental energy. Now and then Lake Kivu is visible in the distance, but it’s too dark for wide-open views.

By sunrise I’ve already covered a lot of kilometres. The country wakes up: bicycle couriers look for jobs, kids go to school and traffic increases. In Kirambo I buy enough to drink, because after this village the next gravel stretch begins: Nyungwe Ascent.

Nyungwe Ascent is a 35-kilometre stretch straight through the rainforest. The first part still passes through villages. Here and there it’s technical because it’s slippery. Then it becomes clear: this is the jungle. It starts with about a kilometre so steep that riding is impossible. To make matters worse, there’s a short section of peanut-butter mud. I get through it fine, but clipping in afterwards is impossible. I have to clean my shoes before I can continue.

After that comes a long climb up through the forest. It’s so dense that you literally can’t see the forest for the trees. Here and there are entrances to hiking trails, and occasionally I pass rangers. Also rangers with two tourists, a man and a woman. The man is listening with interest to the ranger, and the woman, dressed far too chic for the occasion, looks disgusted and keeps spraying herself with insect repellent. I ride past, see it unfold, and look at the second ranger standing further up. We make eye contact and both laugh at the scene.

When I leave the trail I think I’m on top, but there are still quite a few rising kilometres on paved road. This is along the border with Burundi, and there are many soldiers patrolling here. What else stands out is the truck traffic toward the border and warning signs for monkeys. Not much later, I do in fact see monkeys.

There’s a descent out of the rainforest. I lose altitude quickly and enter a different landscape. This also marks the start of the next gravel sector: Kibeho Holy Land. 40 kilometres, again through tea plantations. Especially the first part feels a bit like Tuscany. The vegetation and the roads are totally different, but somehow this landscape gives me that feeling. The deeper I go, the messier the landscape gets, the worse the roads become, and the more irritating the kids get.

About the kids. During the day you constantly hear “Muzungu” and “Money” or “Give me money”. It feels like everyone has to say something to you. Sometimes it’s fun, sometimes it’s annoying. In some places like here in the Holy Land there’s a monotone buzz of “money” “money” “money”. It’s like you’re in a video game where every character has one fixed line that they keep repeating. It gets into your head and is mentally exhausting, especially when you’re already in a dip. On steep and technical parts the kids run uphill faster than you can ride. They run in front of your wheel while you’re deeply focused on finding the right line. You also have to watch that they don’t rip things off your bike, like lights. On the other hand, I understand the excitement of seeing a “Muzungu” on a fancy bike riding through a tiny village, and I can’t really blame them. Still, especially when you’re very tired, it can be seriously irritating at times. As beautiful as the Holy Land sector started, I’m glad when it’s over. Knowing I’m tired, I take the time to recover at CP4.

CP4 Kibeho to the finish in Kigali

At CP4 I run into Tom. This Brit is sitting quietly and eating. I sit down with him and decide to make full use of the food first. It’s just gotten dark and I’m weighing up what to do: ride through the night to the finish, or sleep and finish tomorrow. Then it turns out Tom and I are both in the fight for 10th place. For the first time I check the tracker. I’m tired, but I feel much stronger than before the start. First eat, then I’ll decide.

This checkpoint doesn’t have a buffet, but they bring you bowls with a bit of everything. It works fine. Once we’re seated, Ryan joins us, a filmmaker and photographer. We chat and have a good time. Tom is showing signs of Sherman’s Neck and decides to sleep. Together with Ryan he orders a jug of beer. I’m not doubting the beer, but whether I should ride on, because if I do I know I won’t find any sleep options all night.

Then Thomas walks in, the German on 35 mm tyres. He looks completely lost and almost flips out when he sees there’s no buffet. I calm him down and tell him food will arrive within a minute. He keeps complaining that the organisation had promised a buffet, which makes for an awkward situation. His English with an East German accent doesn’t help. When he says he wants to leave as quickly as possible, it triggers me. I want to race him. The food goes down well, I have a target, and because a top-ten finish suddenly seems possible, I decide to go for it. Better late than never, but for the first time I feel the race.

I set off to see what’s left in the tank. Later I hear I left at exactly the right moment. At the finish party, Ryan tells me there was a gas explosion in the restaurant. No one was hurt, but the blast was right next to the table where the three of us had been eating. Somehow, at the moment of the bang, no one was at the table: I was already back on the bike, Tom was on the phone, and Ryan was in the bathroom.

I’m on my way and happy the first kilometres are paved. Unfortunately I also notice my brake pads are worn out and I have to replace them. While I’m doing that, two riders pass me: the German with arm and leg warmers and someone else I have no idea about. Right after the repair I start the second-to-last gravel sector: Ngoma South, a massive 91 kilometres.

It’s a tough sector, mainly because it’s misty and wet. Sometimes the visibility is so poor that I have to walk. According to Komoot I’m on an orange road. In reality I’m on a 30-centimetre-wide trail where I regularly have to get off to cross little streams. The highlight here is a suspension bridge over a river. I’ve seen nice pictures of it from other riders, but in the fog I can only see a few metres ahead.

There are more hike-a-bike sections and the pace is completely gone. At times I can’t even see two metres ahead. Staring into the fog is exhausting, so I take a power nap on a low wall next to a house.

When I ride off again, Bond Almand flies past me. He goes incredibly fast and wakes me up instantly. I can’t follow. Later it turns out he may have been the fastest man in the race. He punctured at CP1, realised he had road tyres instead of gravel tyres, rode back to Kigali for resupply, and still puts down a huge result.

Slowly it gets light and I see on the tracker that Thomas is just ahead. I thought he would have ridden further away while I was changing brake pads, so he must have struggled with the fog too. I keep pushing and as it brightens I see him dawdling up ahead. Before I catch him, I first take off my night clothing. I don’t want him to know I’m right behind him, and it would be a shame to pass him and then have to stop half an hour later to change layers. Better to pass once, make a gap and demotivate him.

When I come up behind him again, he does what I did earlier: he changes clothes. That means I immediately open a gap. On the next little climb I push hard until I’m out of sight. On the following climbs I repeat this until I’m sure I have a solid lead.

There are still 120 kilometres to Kigali. I look to see if I can move up further. Bond is going too hard and Lukas is too far away. So the only goal is to consolidate the lead over Thomas. By now I have a decent gap. The problem is that it gets extremely hot, even early in the morning. After the gravel sector there’s a long paved road. No trees, and the asphalt heats up under my feet. I feel everything burning and I have to stop a few times to buy drinks. Every stop costs more time than I want, even if only because the service is slow.

Then there’s one last gravel sector of 20 kilometres: Bugesera Straight. The name says it all: mostly straight ahead. After everything we’ve already had, this feels like a walk in the park, but mentally it’s tough because it goes on forever.

After this sector I reach the suburbs of Kigali. I have to get used to the traffic again and don’t have time to check the tracker. Two climbs remain: the climb that featured in the Worlds time trial, and then a cobbled climb to the finish. On the long “time-trial climb” I decide to buy drinks one more time. One drink I down immediately, and I save the second for the top. It’s not far, but it has become so hot that I really need something. At this moment I don’t know that Thomas has closed to within a few minutes. On his 35 mm tyres he’s obviously much faster on asphalt.

I ride the climb, and at the top I want to grab my second drink. It’s too sweet. A kid asks for a sip, so I give it away instead of drinking it slowly myself. Then I roll down through Kigali in heavy traffic. On the final climb I take a wrong turn, but I don’t care. I calmly turn around and start the last climb. At the top I turn into the street toward Tugende. Francien, Simon and Violette are there cheering. Only then do I hear Thomas is right behind me, and indeed, a minute later he crosses the line in 10th.

My 9th place suddenly became unexpectedly tense. What if I had calmly finished that second drink at the top instead of giving it to a child? On the other hand, Thomas didn’t know either and, like me, stopped at a petrol station to buy drinks. A close finish.

All the way to the finish, because of the circumstances, I rarely felt like I was actually racing. But thankfully there was still a climax that felt like a race. From CP4 onwards there was a clear goal, which made for a strong ending. It’s a pity that I didn’t have that feeling for the entire ride. After months of preparation I step off the bike with mixed feelings. The racing feeling was missing, but I fully experienced the adventure of riding through an African country.

More from Jair:
The original article was published in Dutch on his own blog: klakskeopengaan.cc.
You can also follow his races and training rides on Instagram: @jairhoogland.

Image credit: Ismael (@m_ismael20)