The roads around Nannup test patience, bike handling and grit. Come 2026, those same roads will welcome the world’s best gravel riders in a race for the rainbow stripes.
Words by Jethro Gammie-Nagle
Photography by Patrick Boére
The figure glaring back at us from my weather app reads 1.6 degrees. Outside the window of our accommodation, the world looks crisp and cold. Inside, the heater blasts away at 25 degrees. Tom and I exchange a weak sigh and mutter the words, ‘Alright mate, let’s do this.’ Despite the chill, the sky is blue and the first day of spring has delivered a near-perfect setting for this epic day of riding.
The main street of Nannup is barely awake when Tom and I clip in and roll down to The Stopping Place, the go-to local cafe. First things first: coffee. An almond flat white for me, a long macchiato for Tom. With two perfectly brewed cups in hand, we break out the GPS unit and examine the route ahead.
Today’s ride is no ordinary loop: 114km with 2400m of elevation. It’s inspired by the infamous Seven Gravel Race – known for its savage climbs and lack of flat terrain. The event is the biggest gravel race in the Southern Hemisphere and, in 2026, the UCI Gravel World Championships are coming to town. Almost 90% of our route follows the very same roads that have decided past Seven champions and will soon decide the rainbow jersey.
Today, though, there are no rainbow jerseys, helicopters or television cameras – just two mates out for an epic ride. The excitement between us is evident as we don our brandnew Kask helmets, exchange a grin and set off for the day.
The ride begins with 15km of bitumen, undulating and windy through a valley still cloaked in mist. Timber farmhouses fade in and out, jarrah trees stand tall on the ridgelines, and the whole scene feels like a Windows XP screensaver come to life. It’s bitterly cold. I pull my neck buff up to my eyelids while both Tom and I hunker down in long-sleeve Pedalare jerseys.
We’ve stubbornly stuck to bibshorts – after a long Western Australian winter, I’m desperate for some colour on these legs. To shake off the chill, we lift the pace. Any excuse to half-wheel. We both know it’s all-out war once we hit the first climb of the day.
Step into the gravel portal
We swing off the bitumen and onto dirt, and now the ride truly begins. An open forestry road framed by towering karri trees stretches ahead, the gravel inviting us deeper into the forest. We pause to drop tyre pressures, using a felled trunk – nature’s couch – as our workbench. It’s also the right moment to take on fuel. We’ve been rolling for 45 minutes, and with six hours of riding ahead, nutrition will be the difference between finishing strong and limping home. I’m targeting 70g of carbs per hour, mostly from gels. Out here, a hunger flat isn’t just unpleasant – it’s game over.
We remount and roll out, enthusiasm bouncing between Tom and me as the road draws us further into the forest through this secret gravel portal. The surface here in Nannup is close to perfect: a blend of compacted pea gravel, softened by winter rain, over a base of dense, grippy clay. It’s the kind of terrain where tyre choice and pressure really matter.
Already, we’re thinking ahead to the first descent, where our tyres should bite confidently and let us absolutely send it. After flying along the forestry roads, we swing left and the gradient bites. On this Seven-inspired route, the climbs are notorious – 13 of them, each named to strike fear. Our first test is The Crucible: 1.8km at an average of 8.5%, with ramps pushing to 12 and 13%. It’s no alpine pass, but its loose, rutted gravel demands full respect.
The pace rises immediately. Tom and I drive hard on the pedals, each determined to show no weakness. Conversation stops; the only sounds are breath and crunching gravel. The Crucible offers no clean line, just a ragged ribbon that forces you from one side of the track to the other. Every metre is a battle for traction. I glance up and see Tom fighting me for the best line, each of us willing
the other to crack. The climb is short, but it feels like a contest that could decide the day.
We crest the top, breath ragged, neither of us bothering to hide it. Tom and I share a look and a laugh – evenly matched, both suffering, both enjoying it. ‘Only 2,400 metres to go,’ he grins. First climb done, it’s time for the reward.
This is where Nannup shows its hand. I launch into the descent, speed nudging past 50km/h. What was a rutted grind on the way up is now a smooth, sweeping forestry road on the way down. The track bends gently left and right, just enough to test your nerve – brake too soon and you lose the flow; pick the right line and you stay off the levers entirely. The forest closes in, shafts of light piercing the canopy as if we’re being pulled downhill on invisible strings. It feels endless, intoxicating. A family of emus bound across the road ahead, a sharp reminder this is wild country.
Then, brakes. The road is blocked by the bulk of a fallen karri, easily 60 years old. It’s a buzzkill, but not an unwelcome one. This is the charm of riding out here: unpredictability, the forest reminding you who’s in charge. We shoulder our bikes, scramble around the trunk, and remount. Both of us are grinning. Adventure found us early.
The weight of the Worlds
We pause at 60km – the halfway mark – and our legs carry that dull ache, the one that reminds you this route is bloody hard. Sweat has mixed with dust on our arms and faces.
Tom sums up what we’re both thinking: ‘This is harder than road riding.’ He’s right. On tarmac you can find a rhythm, settle into a gear, dance your way up the climbs and across the flats. On gravel, the surface changes with every pedal stroke. One moment it’s firm and fast, the next it’s soft sand dragging at your tyres. You’re constantly shifting, adjusting, fighting the bike to keep it straight.
As we take in the views of the forest and fields we’ve climbed above, it’s tempting to draw comparisons with Europe. The climbs are longer than Tuscany’s famous strade bianche roads but shorter than anything in the Alps, and sharper and looser than Flanders’ pavé. The only constant here in Nannup is inconsistency.
And yet, it’s beautiful. Every crest reveals a new scene: rolling green hills that give way to forest blocks of towering trees, which then tumble down to hidden rivers and farmland where cows roam freely among neat rows of hay bales. Out here, far from Perth’s suburban sprawl, there’s a sense of discovery. We set off again, riding side by side for long stretches, barely speaking – the crunch of tyres and the occasional birdcall the only soundtrack. This is bliss.
At 80km, legs heavy, we start talking about what Nannup and this course will look like in a year’s time. Barriers lining the streets, Mathieu van der Poel, Marianne Vos, Tom Pidcock and Kasia Niewiadoma Phinney – just some of the names rumoured to be racing the same gravel tracks we’re on right now. The town itself has a population of barely 1,300, but during the World Championships in October 2026 it will feel like the centre of the cycling universe.
Australia has never hosted a Gravel Worlds before, and Nannup is an unlikely stage. Yet it makes perfect sense. This is gravel in its purest form: remote, unpredictable, testing every skill a rider has. The course doesn’t favour pure climbers, nor rouleurs, nor mountain bikers – it demands a little of everything. Australian stars like Brendan ‘Trekky’ Johnston and Canyon–Sram’s Tiffany Cromwell will know what to expect, but how will European pros handle the loose surfaces, the sharp rises, the heat?
For now though, the only competitors are ourselves – and this was meant to be a ‘cruise’, or so we promised each other two weeks ago. Another descent arrives, a loose and sketchy chute that demands full attention. Arms tensed, brakes feathered, we thread our way down. For all the romance of gravel, the reality is simple: it can spit you off at any moment.
Tom nearly proves the point, his bike fishtailing wildly in a patch of sand before he somehow rescues it. We laugh, but it’s nervous laughter. Fatigue is creeping in, and we both know there are still monsters ahead on this route.
Fittingly, the final major climb is also the most brutal: Ellis Creek – 2km at a punishing 9.1% average. This is the climb that has decided the winner of Seven almost every year.
‘How are you feeling, mate?’ Tom asks as we swing left onto the 15% welcome mat.
‘Diamonds in the legs, Tommy,’ I lie.
Ellis Creek is loose, long and relentless. Just when it seems to ease, a corner reveals another wall and the dread sets in all over again. We’re both out of the saddle now, wrenching power into the pedals, our shoulders and backs screaming.
But even in the suffering, Ellis Creek delivers a view. Near the top, the road opens out, giving a sweeping vantage across Nannup. To the left, the edge drops away sharply – no barriers, no forgiveness. Eyes snap back to the gravel. One last push, and we grind our way to the summit.
Back into town
The final 20km are kinder – a long, gradual descent on an old fire road pulls us back towards Nannup. The light shifts with the afternoon, golden beams cutting through the trees. When we finally hit tarmac, it’s a relief – the bitumen feels like a hot stone massage compared to the punishment we’ve endured. For the first time all day, our legs spin freely.
We roll into town dusty, salt-stained and satisfied. The bakery is shut – a cruel blow, but that’s life in small towns: they open when they open. Thankfully, the pub is still pouring. Nannup Brewing Co. may be the newest addition to the main street, but it feels as though it’s always belonged, its verandah looking out over town like it’s been there since the 1890s.
Sinking into our chairs, it’s as if the 115km loop through the forest never happened. Yet our legs remind us otherwise, as does the fine film of gravel dust across our jerseys, faces, arms and legs. ‘That was bloody awesome,’ I say, finally letting myself relax. Tom nods in agreement.
Gravel in Nannup doesn’t hand out easy rides. It tests patience, bike handling and stubbornness. But in return, it rewards you with spectacular views, premium surfaces and the sense of having an entire gravel wonderland to yourself.
For amateurs like us, it’s an unforgettable day out.
And for Nannup – a tiny timber town in the heart of Western Australia’s South West – it’s proof that sometimes the middle of everywhere really is the centre of the cycling world.
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