Retiring? Quitting? Stopping.

It’s time to start asking: what’s next?

I don’t know whether to write that I’m retiring or quitting. Retiring sounds like something you earn: a Tour de France, a WorldTour contract, the Olympics. Quitting sounds like giving up. I don’t think I’ve done either. I’ve just decided to stop.

This was my final year as a full-time bike racer.

In a way, I’ve stopped once before. At the end of 2022, I aged out of the U23 ranks and couldn’t find a road contract. I didn’t know what was next, but deep down I knew my bike racing story wasn’t over.

I fell sideways into gravel, into Rebellion, into whatever the journey these last four years have been. Now, I have the same deep-down feeling as in 2022, but this time it’s telling me something else. It’s time to step away. Racing will now be a hobby, something I do for myself rather than as a career. It’s time to call it a day.

I always promised myself I’d step away when I stopped loving racing. I wanted to go out on my own terms. Don’t get me wrong, I still fucking love bike racing. It’s a part of me in a way that I cannot describe. Not just when a number is pinned on, but the little quirks that just become an innate part of a bike racer’s personality.

But, it’s a part of me that’s started to change. I have less appetite for risk, my brain does the maths on what the outcome of a crash would look like. You can’t race like that. You have to be a goldfish to succeed in this sport.

It’s not just risk; I spend more time thinking about the economics of the sport, how an event or a team succeeds, than I do about carving an extra percent out of my own body. With hindsight, Rebellion was the best and worst thing that ever happened to me. It taught me so much about myself, and inadvertently tread the path that I want to take next.

It was also the final year that I was competitive at the level I always knew I was capable of. The form I had in the Spring of 2024, wow. I remember leaving Redlands that year and seriously wanting to return to the road full time. But, for one reason or another, it never happened.

It didn’t stop me racing to win. I hit 2025 with incredible form. I wanted to prove to everyone, but mostly myself, that I could be competitive on and off road. Equally, I found an old diary entry from that week recently:

It’s April 14th 2025, I’m on a plane from LA to Santa Rosa having just completed Redlands. I won the opening stage and went into yellow. I didn’t win yellow in the end and collapsed on the final stage with sickness, but I raced full every day. I raced to win. I bloody love road racing, and this week reminded me that.

Equally, it’s the first week I’ve seriously considered how much longer do I have doing this? I came close to winning Redlands this week, but unfortunately that doesn’t mean much anymore. That’s my thing with racing. What’s next? Where’s the progression? It scares me, once I’m done, I’m done. When I walk away then there’s no coming back. My contracts won’t be there, and all will be forgotten.

That sickness I mention was the weird stomach-puking-breathing thing that still plagues me to this day. Eighteen months after writing that, I still haven’t figured out why it comes and goes. It’s been a tough period with more lows than highs. Knowing I’m no way near my physical capability.

Amongst all that, I think this year I finally worked out my ‘thing’ was as a privateer. It’s doing everything. Gravel, road, crits, TTs. I’m a bit of a chameleon. I could race at a high enough level to be taken seriously and still connect with the person at the back of the start pen. Maybe that’s because I was always slightly off the pace, always chasing a little bit more. Anyone chasing a goal knows that feeling.

It also meant I always felt behind. Always chasing my tail. A good gravel season, a good TT season, the bike packing epics, decent articles, a team, some road racing. All while being financially viable. I tried to do it all, and that isn’t sustainable.

I’ve got what-ifs. Maybe if I’d been born a few years earlier, if I’d picked different teams, if injuries hadn’t come at such awful times. Maybe, but probably not. This sport is tough, but the cream always rises to the top. I did it my way because that’s how I wanted to do it.

There are plenty of things that I didn’t do, and, if I’m really honest, I didn’t get the ending I wanted. But who does? I’ve lived my dream for my whole adult life. I’ve raced all over the world, met incredible people and seen spectacular places.

It was never just about the racing. It’s the back of team cars, the random coffee shops on pre-race rides, the nomadic circus that somehow became home. It’s having friends in every corner of the world. This sport puts you in weird and wonderful situations, and they shape the person you become.

If you’re a teenager chasing the dream I once chased, go for it. Go for it properly, with everything you’ve got. Just don’t let the contract become the only measure of whether you’re any good. And if it doesn’t happen, don’t think the years chasing it weren’t worth it. Most of us don’t make the Tour. It’s just how the numbers play out.

And finally, remember to enjoy it. Fun has dropped down this sport’s list of priorities, but trust me when I say it’s far too hard to do without it. Enjoy it, because it won’t last forever.

So, what’s next? Everyone asks that question, it equally frightens and excites me.

Let’s start with what I do know. I’m still going to race time-trials. This summer reminded me how much I love them. It’s a return to my roots, racing for nothing other than pure love of the game. I want to build a wicked fast TT bike. Chase some fast times and go after that elusive National 10 title.

Everything else, I don’t know, and that’s the part I’m most excited for. I want to stay in cycling, working on the parts of the sport I’ve spent the last few years writing about: the money, the teams, how the whole thing actually works. There’s a lot about this sport that could be better, and I’d like to help fix that. I know I don’t want to go into journalism; I want to be on the side of doing, not just writing.

You know what's petrifying? Not having the next big goal. Not knowing what to target. My life has been extremely linear since I was at school. Train all winter; race all summer. Try and win more bike races and chase contracts worth just enough money that I can justify it all. What’s the next metric? Salary? Career progression? Influence? I don’t know yet, but my inbox is open to suggestions.

There are too many people to thank, but here goes nothing.

To Dave Evans and the late John Mould, two men who I owe my life on bikes to. To Alex Dowsett and James Millard, who shaped me as a person and who I owe my whole career to. To Ryan Sosna-Bowd, for getting me out of my slump in 2022 and guiding me through what became the privateer years. To Jon and Nick Twigg, for letting me fail, for the mentorship, and for paving the way to whatever comes next.

To my sponsors, and every one of you who let me sleep on their couch, lent me equipment, helped at a race, or whatever else. It takes a village.

To Mum and Dad. I don’t think you knew what you were getting yourselves into over a decade ago. All of those long drives to Belgium, the stresses about contracts, coming downstairs and telling you I’m moving countries. You never once told me to stop. I guess it all worked out okay.

And to Maggie. I don’t know what’s coming next, but I do know that I’m going to fulfil my HAB (male version of WAG!) duties to the best of my ability.

This is a pretty serious post for a guy who’ll still be racing bikes next year. A guy who’ll still be writing about bikes, and who’ll probably end up working in the bike industry. But joking aside, this is the end of a huge chapter in my life, even if I’m the only one who’ll really feel the difference.

Bike racing has given me everything. I owe the sport so much, and it owes me nothing.