A single day, a final chapter, a last ride. Of all the miles covered and all the roads ridden, which would draw you back to experience them one more time?

THE RETURN TO WALES

Creative Director at MR PORTER // @onebhp

Obviously there are bigger rides, there are more exotic, more exciting rides, rides I’d love to experience and others that I’d be gutted if I couldn’t have another go at, but if you insisted that I had only one to choose as a last excursion it’d hard not to be go back to the home lands - the bleak, steep, slopes in the foot hills of the Welsh mountains where I used to go for days out as a kid and the first place I really got a taste for the independence and beauty of cycling in mountains that has become an ever increasing draw for my escapes.

It’d always start on a cold grey damp Sunday morning, my folks would send me off from a random municipal carpark (I’m not cycling miles along the A49 if I don’t have to) on the outskirts of Rhayader, a pretty-ish touristy town just inside the Welsh border, full of old people, cups of tea, Welsh cakes and charity shops.

It always cold and damp at the start, but that’s just how Wales should be, you roll down the slight slope away from the tea-cups and cakes and into the damp mist, within half a mile you turn off the B-road and immediately uphill. Sharply reminding you exactly where you are.

Lungs & legs start to burn all too quickly as it's just you, a few dumb sheep ambling around and the single track road in front of you. Passing places, cattle grids, and high-teen-percentages take you up through the low-lying clouds for a few km until you break through the clouds and look across the hills and valleys above the Elan & Claerwen reservoirs that supply most of middle England with water.

This beautiful stretch of road, sweeps across the top of the hills, rising and falling with the landscape, short sharp climbs, sweeping descents and more dumb sheep to test your reflexes and grip levels. About 20km on you rejoin a b-road and race the holiday traffic down from the hills into Aberystwyth to finish with a seat on the seafront and a portion of fish and chips. That'll do me thanks.

THE IRISH ADVENTURIST

Evergreen Adventurer // PR & communications at Komoot // @fiolafoley

I come from a generation that has so much to choose from we can’t choose at all. So this is the overwhelming dilemma I’m faced with when forced to choose just one last ride. I like to ride all sorts of bikes, in all the wrong places, for all the right reasons - mostly to do with adventure and exploration. But more important than the kilometres, the height metres, the speed...are the people. It's the people who make every ride memorable and my last ride will be spent with those who have been intrinsic in the growth and cultivation of my love for cycling. (And maybe a few drunken rides home through the empty streets of Zurich at night!)

They live in Switzerland.

They aren’t afraid to take a train.

They like to drink beer and wine, preferably clad in lycra.

They love more than anything to go up and down ridiculously steep mountain passes.

We set off through the city of Zurich early on a Saturday morning to a long warm-up along the lake of Zurich and into the hills of Horgenberg. These dumpling-shaped hills with single trees sitting distinctly and lonely on their mounds, always remind me of Teletubby land.

Our legs feel great and we work well together as a group. We are well-matched and our banter ranges from deep ponderings about the meaning of life, to the state of the world, to what we’re going to have for dinner.

We ride through the hills of the Canton of Schwyz, and past its Riviera, the Sihlsee, before veering right to climb up the first mountain pass of the day, the massively underrated Ibergeregg. A gentle introduction to the day ahead, Ibergeregg’s meandering road lets us test our form to predict what the rest of the day has in store.

Treated to views of the Lake of Lucerne, Rigi and Mount Pilatus on the descent, it’s hard to keep your eyes on the road. Although feasting on views makes us hungry, at the bottom of the pass we continue to pedal until we reach the tourmaline blue lake of Kloentalersee for a quick bite to eat before butting horns with Pragel Pass and its 18%-gradient ramps.

Pragel is listed somewhere as a ‘dangerous Pass’. Its tight switchbacks and sometimes jagged cracks from the weight of the past season’s snowfall means there’s not much looking up and enjoying the view. It's through this pass that the Russians retreated back to their homeland in 1799. The road has been closed for motorized traffic on the weekends since 1981 so its one of the most peaceful Alpine climbs you’ll find in Switzerland.

By now we already feel like just two passes would have been enough for the day - but the sense of accomplishment we’ll feel at having conquered three...keeps us going. We take a very deep breath before we begin to grind up the cobbles that mark the beginning of a Swiss epic: Klausen Pass. Don’t let her fool you - she comes in threes. Klausen’s 136 curves are divided into three sections so you pedal one.curve.after.the.next until you look up and see the last 8 switchbacks and a restaurant glowing in a halo at the top.

As a collective, we are done. Sitting lightly on our bikes and winding our way down a thrilling descent, its not long before the adrenalin rustles us out of our exhausted state and before we know it, we are rolling into the train station and on our way back to Zurich.

We gather our wits and shake out our legs for one last surge of power all the way through the city of Zurich to our favorite hang-out: the green grass of Backeranlage. Basking in the evening sun, surrounded by my friends, drinking the most delicious beer, eating everything in sight - if this is my last ride I’ll go to the grave content.

Fiola's Last Ride on Komoot.

ONE FINAL SPRINT

Gravel connossieur // all-road rider // director at Focal Events // @paule78

I like to consider myself a well-rounded rider. I have no objection to riding any bike or any surface and am always keen to explore. So my last ride would have no bias to its medium or geography, it could be merely a few hours from my door stop or a multi-day epic in some far flung corner of the world. For me the only constant I seek and one that would be paramount on my final day in the saddle would be the company.

I can track back through my 25 years of riding and most often when I look back to a memorable ride the defining factor is always the individual or individuals who were present.

If I was pushed to make a choice though for the final foray on 2 wheels I would choose something distinctly familiar. A local loop of any distance but one that would present its own challenges. The pre-defined sprints for the signs, prior knowledge of when to attack on the climbs and the flow of knowing every inch of a fast descent… this is how I would want to remember riding.

After moving back to my hometown of Newcastle in my late 20’s I got to know the local riders through a road club. Soon after joining though it was apparent that there were a few individuals within it that I preferred to ride with, so a breakaway faction formed. Mid-week rides were frequently organised as we all lived in proximity. The weekend plans were often set to involve long road rides in the summer and more off-road adventures come winter.

The success of any group is always diversity in the dynamic. You need the climber, the descender, the rouleur, the joker and of course the group has its strong and the weak. Fitness is a fickle beast seeing riders periodically peak and fall in fitness forever shifting those on the front. The shifting paradigm of the fastest rider of course always dependant on the nature of that day’s ride. Through riding together, a familiarity and trust are formed and as outlined above roles are naturally adopted.

It would be this now disbanded by life group of individuals that would accompany me in a fond farewell to cycling. The dynamic changed by time and circumstance, Adam having never stopped riding hard now would be delivering the hurt. Rob having survived his time in London traffic back to challenge the climbs. Rich, house now renovated, proving his worth on the descents and Neal ... well Neal has always been too stubborn to concede on any level regardless of fitness.

The last ride would have to feature the age-old cycling tradition of the cafe stop, maybe here more thought would be afforded as to the last mid ride plate of beans on toast or slice of Victoria sponge with a strong coffee on the side.

Obviously, my selection of mid ride cafe would be one that offered me fair chance of winning the obligatory cafe sprint. I would look for the long flatter run in, no steep gradients, maybe just a small rise initially to leave the group hard down the right. Out the saddle to break free from the following wheel then seated on the rivet with heart in mouth and legs burning just hoping to see the fictitious finishing line before the wheel of a friend coming around me.

The sprint that originally brought this group together I think would be my choice. The long run in to Belsay café. A series of sweeping bends, short ups and a final raise to finish. Some of the hardest fought baked goods ever consumed.

A ride surrounded by friends, flowing banter, well natured ribbing and constant probing of others fitness levels... this would be the last ride I ever did.