Maya’s 2024 Seven Serpents Story

By Maya Christofori

Guest Contributor

@maya.maya.pants.on.fire

Maya Christofori was the first solo female finisher at this year’s Seven Serpents event in Slovenia, finishing the 850km route in just 4 days, 16 hours, and 55 minutes. Find a reflection from Maya, photos from the event, and the official event video here…

Words by Maya Christofori, photos by Enrica Pontin and Seven Serpents

Months have passed, yet the memory of cycling across the Piazza d’Unita d’Italia, smiling ear-to-ear with tears streaming down my face, still sweeps me off my feet. I had just crossed the official finish line of the Seven Serpents race, becoming the first female solo finisher in this year’s ultra-distance race.

The journey began a year ago with my partner in crime and long-time friend Tatiana Myk when we decided to enter our first self-supported race, Quick Bite! This 500-kilometer precursor to the Seven Serpents weaves through Slovenian bear forests, skirts rocky Croatian shores, and ends with a dramatic descent into Trieste, Italy, boasting a 10,000-meter elevation gain. It was the perfect test to see if we were made for such an adventure. Little did we know, we had opened Pandora’s box by participating in this brilliantly organized event by Bruno Ferraro, who would later become a dear friend of mine.

Fast forward to the Seven Serpents race, armed with a year of ultra-racing experience. After a mentally crushing DNF at the Bohemian Border Bash Race due to severe knee pain, I was determined to tackle the 850km and 16,000 meters of elevation gain. My goal was pure adventure. I planned to spend every night outdoors, fully embracing the wild. Two fully charged power banks fed my electronics, while a summer sleeping bag and ultralight mattress provided rest during short nights. As an 8bar Ambassador, I helped with accreditations, handing out goodie bags, and final information. The air buzzed with excitement as participants gathered. Seeing so many strong female riders, some familiar from past events, was thrilling.

The night before the race, as I prepared my setup, Tatiana called. Her cheeky tone suggested she was up to something: “Maya, you’re going to hate me for this, but looking at the list of female participants, it seems you have a very high chance of winning this event. Do what you please with this information…” We hung up, and I tried to rest, determined not to let her words sweep me away.

Sunday, 12th of May, 7 a.m.

Tatiana and I led the pack as we cycled out of Ljubljana, setting the pace until we reached the first ascent into the woods. There, the official race began, and the grueling climb up “Satan’s uphill from hell” started to tear the group apart. I lost sight of Tatiana while pushing to keep up with the stronger riders ahead. The day’s heat hit hard, and I realized I had forgotten my sunscreen in the drop-off luggage. To make matters worse, my bib shorts ripped at the seam where my inner leg touched the saddle. “What a start,” I thought as I changed into my spare bibs.

Despite the setbacks, my spirits were high. The trails were exciting, and chatting with fellow racers along the route lifted my mood. Many of us converged at Predjama Castle and the first checkpoint atop Sveta Trojica. As night fell, I reached my chosen sleeping spot after covering roughly 200 kilometers. I opted to sleep at Čerkniška Cemetery, as Tatiana and I did the year before. Some might call it macabre, but it offers fresh water and quiet neighbors. The thousands of gravestone candles created a special atmosphere, and I prepared for a restful night. However, despite my exhaustion, my mind raced, and my feet were freezing. Unlucky me, the participant sharing my spot snored loudly, ensuring a short night.

Monday, 13th of May, 4 a.m.

The alarm went off, and I knew it would be a long, cold morning. After barely two hours of sleep, I packed my bags and hopped on my bike. The first rays of sunlight over Čerkniško Jezero instantly revived me, though I still craved a real cup of coffee and breakfast.

Approaching Snežnik Castle, I remembered the dense bear forest ahead with no supply points. Despite this, I pressed on, knowing I had emergency calorie bars. Riding through the forest with other cyclists, I spotted a lodge serving breakfast and took a break. I met Clayton, a familiar face from last year’s BBBR 23. After sharing some nutrition, we began our long journey through the Slovenian woods.

Endless beech forests stretched before us. My left knee started hurting again, like last year when I had to DNF at Border Bash. Determined not to repeat that, I constantly adjusted my cleats until I found a pain-free angle. At the foot of Guslica, I knew the rocky, steep ascent wouldn’t help my knee, so I pushed my gear to the second checkpoint. The smell of the Croatian shore’s salt air was a welcome change from the monotonous forest roads. I stopped at a village shop before leaving Slovenia and remembered my torn bib shorts. As a trained seamstress, I asked for a sewing kit and was relieved they had one. The tricky downhill with loose rocks stood between me and the bridge to Krk Island. I felt much safer this year on my new 8bar titanium mountain bike with wider tires and a suspension fork.

After crossing the bridge at sunset, I took the first turn onto a gnarly single trail, inhaling the rich air of herbs, dry sand, and salt. I was flying. In a seaside village, I met Bruno, who jumped into the media car to catch up. It was great to see a friend, so I took a break to eat and share stories with him and Enrica, the photographer. As night fell, I looked for shelter, knowing rain was forecasted. Spotting a bus stop by the roadside, I decided it would be my best chance to stay dry. Not ideal, but it would do. I took out my sewing kit and fixed my bibs, holding my front light between my teeth and threading the needle with numb fingers. It was a delicate task, but I managed. Philipp, a fellow cyclist I’d met throughout the day, joined me, and we settled in. This time, I used my arm warmers as additional socks to keep my feet from freezing. What a game-changer. We snuggled up to the sound of engines passing by as we fell into a slumber sleep.

Tuesday, 14th of May, 4 – 6 a.m.

I set my alarm for 4 a.m., but when I awoke to heavy rain, Phillip and I decided to snooze until the downpour eased. It took two more hours before we finally emerged from our sleeping bags, knowing it would be a long, wet, and cold morning in the saddle as we packed up our gear. At a café in the next town, we met other riders, all of us soaked and visibly demotivated. Yet, we urged ourselves back onto our bikes, each setting off at our own pace. Eventually, I found myself alone in the remote area of Baška, drenched, slightly hypothermic, and quite emotional. Despite the challenging situation, I felt a profound connection to my inner self, proud of my achievements. This sense of accomplishment drove me onward, even when I faced the daunting hike-a-bike section—a vertical wall of slippery stones on an alpine trail. Thankfully, I had my Grammtourpacking Straps to carry the bike like a backpack, taking occasional breaks until I reached the summit.

At the top, the sky cleared, and the ride to Krk Town’s harbor became progressively easier. By the time I arrived, the midday sun had dried everything out, and the morning’s cold and rain were a distant memory. Feeling re-energized, I decided to cycle the entire stretch of the island of Cres, using the favorable weather and my strong legs to my advantage.

As I crossed the island, I recalled the beautiful sunset from the previous year before plunging into Cres’s deep, dark forest. Once again, I navigated through the woods in darkness, with the eerie reflection of the freely roaming sheep’s eyes in my headlights, reminiscent of Snow White’s flight through the night. I swallowed my fears, turned up the blasting music in my headphones, and pushed on until I reached the tarmac road leading to the harbor. I pitched my setup in the same spot as last year and fell into a deep, restful Snow White’s sleep.

Wednesday, 15th of May, 5 a.m.

As dawn broke, cyclists emerged from every corner of the harbor, each chasing the first ferry of the day. I wasn’t alone in my plan to spend the night at the port. Before boarding, I decided to top off my back tire, which had felt a bit unsteady the day before. But as I pumped, my bike tipped, snapping the valve in two. The unmistakable ‘swoosh’ of escaping air signaled a rough start—I had to push my flat-tired bike onto the ferry to avoid missing it.

On the mainland, I tried to fix the issue, but without a spare valve or tubeless sealant, my only option was to install a tube. Precious time was lost. I pushed onward to the next checkpoint at Učka Mountain, a relentless uphill climb that grew colder with every meter gained.

After a quick selfie at the peak, I looked forward to a well-earned descent. But the road stretched on with endless steep ups and downs. My mood dipped along with my tire pressure. I pumped, rode 40km, pumped again, and rode another 20km before deciding to find the puncture which was stealing my air—and joy. As I knelt surrounded by tools, a fellow cyclist stopped to chat. With his company and a bit of luck, I finally found the tiny hole, fixed it, and we continued together to the next seaside town as day turned to night.

At a beachside restaurant, he checked into a hotel while I, still craving adventure, refused to settle indoors. After dinner, we parted ways, but to my dismay, my tire was flat again. Out of spare tubes and options, I found a nearby bike shop on Google, which wouldn’t open until morning. Resigned, I headed there, hoping to camp outside. But to my surprise, the lights were still on, and the owner was working late. I explained my predicament, and without hesitation he fixed my bike and handed me two spare tubes. “I hope you win,” he said with a smile.

Magic. Stars aligning. Euphoria. Just an hour earlier, I thought I’d be stuck for the night, but now I was back on the road, pushing hard into the night. Despite the looming threat of a thunderstorm, I was determined to ride until the rain caught me. When it finally did, I took shelter under a roadside bakery’s massive sun sail.

At this point, I couldn’t care less if I’d be exposed next to this busy street, or if the baker would shoo me away in the morning. I decided to crawl into the sleeping bag fully dressed in bib and jersey, smelling like a dead racoon, in order to save time when packing my bike when the rain would subside. The last thing I remembered that night were Bruno’s iridescent letters at 3 a.m. on my phone screen: “Maya, get up now and push hard! You’re almost there…”

Thursday, 16th of May, 4 a.m.

Last day. Last push. Last kilometers. Ready to conquer the final leg, I launched onto the still-damp streets, remains of last night’s thunderstorm shimmering on the asphalt. Everything was smooth until I turned onto a farmer’s road by a field. My wheels sank instantly into drenched clay. “Peanut butter for breakfast,” I muttered, scraping the muck off with a stick. Not a minute later, it happened again, but this time, frustration spilled over, and I wiped the sticky earth from my hands onto my shorts, abandoning the search for another stick. With what felt like an extra 2kg of mud clinging to my frame, I pressed on, slow but determined, until I finally reached a tarmac road.

I leaned into the aerobars, taking advantage of the favorable conditions to pick up speed. In the distance, I spotted another cyclist—a figure I was determined to catch up to. As I closed in, I realized it was Giulia, the race’s leading solo female participant. She had dominated the course for 790km, setting a fierce pace. Passing her was a bittersweet moment—my motivation soared, but my heart ached as I offered a brief smile and a whispered “Hi” as I rode by. Just 60km and one final ascent stood between us and the finish line. I didn’t know if Giulia would chase me, but I knew I had to give it everything.

I pushed the pedals hard, swearing I wouldn’t let up until I rolled onto the Piazza d’Unita d’Italia. Hiking up the steep, loose gravel road, my breath came in ragged gasps as I recorded a voice message for my mom, explaining my furious pace. I knew that if I reached CP7 before Giulia, the 30km descent on smooth gravel would virtually guarantee my place as the first female finisher. My mind was focused, my heart pounded, and my lungs burned as I finally reached the summit. An indescribable rush surged through me as I threw on my wind jacket and began the final descent. Tears of joy streaked down my face as the city and the sea came into view. I reflected on the impressions of the past days and felt a mix of relief, immense pride, and pure emotions. Navigating Trieste’s chaotic traffic was the last stressful hurdle before turning the final corner onto the Piazza. There, I spotted Bruno and the other riders who had finished before me, sitting in circles among their bikes, cheering as they see me rolling in.

Tears. Hugs. Pictures and Prosecco.

Seven Serpents 2024 Official Film

From the organizers: “Seven Serpents takes you on a journey through the heart of Slovenia to the breathtaking Croatian islands of Kirk and Cres. The route winds its way past emerald lakes, dramatic mountain passes, and charming villages, testing their legs and your spirit in equal measure. The film captures the beauty and brutality of the race, offering a glimpse into what awaits riders who dare to tackle this legendary course.”

Registration is open for the 2025 event. Learn more here.

Further Reading

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