‘I thought I could hang with the pros at the Scottish Gravel Nationals – I was wrong’

How does an overenthusiastic amateur line-up against professional cyclists – I very quickly found out during the Scottish National Championship

I’m still not entirely sure how I found myself on the start line of the Scottish Gravel National Championship.

For a start, I’m not Scottish – nor is anyone in my family. In fact, my surname, Schofield, is about as English as it gets; you can trace its roots to within an hour of where I live today.

Secondly, I don’t claim to be much of a gravel rider. I was visiting a friend, and when he floated the idea, I thought it sounded like a bit of fun.

We had dipped our toes into gravel before – or rather, he does it most weeks, and I once joined him for a 200-kilometre epic across the Icelandic highlands during The Rift.

And so that’s how I found myself, as summer slowly started to slip into Autumn, just south of Glasgow at a windfarm.

Somehow, I’d been myself gridded on the third row. Just two rows ahead, proudly wearing the No.1, was Cameron Mason.

Mason has become something of a force of nature on the British off-road scene in recent years. Near untouchable in the cross fields, he’s the reigning British champion and came within a whisker of the European title in 2023.

He even added the national criterium championships to his palmarès earlier this summer.

Mason would be racing a different race to me – he was going for the win, and I was just trying to survive.

However, I had a secret weapon up my sleeve to get me around the three laps of Whitelee Windfarm, equating to just under 100km, and the dry, dusty, gravel tracks.

Ahead of the race, I, quite literally, wrestled Panaracer’s GravelKing XI TLR tyres onto my trusty Cannondale.

And they provided the added grip I needed to cut through the loose top layer of gravel and follow wheels during the opening lap.

I didn’t last long with the main group, as predicted. The first uphill stretch of gravel tracks spat me out the back of the bunch, and I settled into a small chase group to start my own race.

It’s these moments where these events are at their best – when you find riders with similar ability, briefly living out your dreams of being a professional.

However, for me, I got a tad too excited on the second lap – and really paid for it during the final 30km.

I was pedalling squares as I rolled over the finishing line, covered in dust, looking like I’d been in a battle much more exciting than the one I’d produced.

I’d finished, that was the goal, and I hadn’t been lapped, a bonus. Mason had taken the title, as was expected, and he had out-sprinted Sam Chisholm some 40 minutes before the finish line came into view for me.

But that didn’t matter; gravel cycling is amazing.

Don’t get me wrong – I love the road too. But the constant talk of weight and watts? That bores me to death.

At its heart, cycling has always been an adventure sport. And in a world that seems to be getting smaller year upon year, these small gravel tracks feel like the last frontier of true exploration.

The spirit of gravel, they call it. And the Scottish championships had that in abundance.

So, what’s next for me? Well, the British nationals happen to be in my general area…