The Groad to Kansas Part The Spirit of Gravel Source From Race Bike

Unbound Gravel has become North America's biggest cycling event, with over four thousand participants and media coverage that dominates both social and cycling media channels for weeks.  Taking its place in the late spring lull between the cobbled classics and the Tour de France also allows the extra hype from big name world tour pros in attendance, Peter Sagan being the marquee rider this year.  Although much of the traditional media focuses mainly on the twenty or so male and female riders vying for the 200 mile victory, the real spirit of the event exists far behind the front group on the road.

In order to win a race like this you need a lot of help and support, and if good luck has little to do with it, you most certainly need to avoid bad luck.  For the average rider however, the key is to anticipate and prepare yourself to handle bad luck, and most importantly, to keep a positive mental attitude as well as those legs spinning.  

I personally did not have the best training coming into the event, often sacrificing sleep to  juggle work, a shop move from Denver to Golden, and taking time to raise and care for a 5 month old baby!  I was able to squeeze in designing, painting and building the perfect Foldable Integrated Wheel Bike for the event, but was nervous how this jockey would take to the new steed.  I actually thought about deferring to next year because the weeks leading up to the race were so hectic and busy. My Airbnb fell through, and all the hotels were booked.  I had already spent a lot of money on the registration, so ultimately decided I had to go through with it, and drove the ten hours from Evergreen to Emporia in an old car with an axle issue and set up my tent in a wet field, hoping to get a decent night's sleep.  

Up at 4:30am, in the dark, checking the weather and trying to eat and drink a little bit before the start proved to be too much, as I threw up riding to the start line an hour later.  I told myself it was just nerves, and joined the masses at the starting area, lining up somewhere in the middle of the more than 1,200 racers.   

The race start was delayed 5 minutes by a passing train whose heavy rumbling and shrill whistle in the gray dawn was the perfect firing gun to start this epic adventure.  Commercial Street was absolutely jam packed with fans and well wishers for blocks and blocks, screaming and shouting, cheering and hollering and ringing cowbells.  It was just awesome and awe inspiring, the spirit and energy adding a huge moral boost as we made our way south towards the first right turn and onto the first gravel road.

All went well until it did not!  The first twenty miles were pretty quick under the overcast morning skies, we rolled through some water crossings, and the group got a little smaller with each passing roller.  I followed wheels, including former winner Alison Tetrick, and went a little too fast through a water crossing and cased my rear wheel hard on an unseen underwater obstacle.  I was prepared for this, located the puncture, jammed a plug into the instantly flattened tire, and got CO2 out of my saddle bag, airing it up and getting back into the fray in a few minutes.  I had never used a plug before, so was dismayed, but not surprised when I felt the rear tire get slowly squishier over the next few miles.  Dismount, air up, pedal, repeat.  This cycle went on for about 12 miles, until I finally decided I needed to put a tube in.  Found a good spot to pull over, got out all my tools from my saddlebag and hydration backpack and went to work.  I thought I was a genius with my Slime tube pre-filled with sealant, until I realized the tube's valve stem wasn't quite long enough to get a pump onto.  I had another tube, but this one too had a 45mm valve stem for a 40mm rim.  I wasted a C02 hoping to get a little air in, but to no avail.  The front group of the 100 race stormed past, and I sat there on the roadside in the light rain out of luck, barely 30 miles into the ride and ten miles or so from the first water oasis and any hope of salvation.  I was finished.  I couldn't believe it!

Just then I remembered I had a ninety-nine cent presta-schrader adapter to use at a gas station.  I quickly fished it out, screwed it on, and finally had some good luck!  My Silca frame pump head works with both valve types, don't leave home without it!  After 40 minutes of fussing by the roadside, I was back in the saddle and praying the tube would hold.  Hold it did, and I made it to the first water oasis in a mixed group of 100 and 200 riders, where I used a floor pump to dial in the pressure, than made myself sit in the wet grass to eat a homemade rice, bean and bacon burrito, as well as drink an entire full water bottle before refilling and setting off.  I was already so far off my pace of "racing the sun" that I just concentrated on using the small groups of riders ahead of me as carrots, leapfrogging my way onward.  Riding at my own pace, alone or in small groups, I really began to notice the scenery, and appreciate its raw beauty in a way I had not in the previous years Unbound 100. We were on a doubletrack dirt ribbon, winding its way through treeless rolling hills of lush green grasses, and it felt like being above treeline on a high alpine peak, or a faraway planet's green moonscape.  

"Goddamn!" exclaimed a rider next to me as we grinded up one of the never ending rollers.  "Goddamn what?", I asked.

"Goddamn, this is beautiful!" the Durable Smooth Ride Mountain Bike rider enthused!  I agreed, and we pedaled on, happily enjoying this shared moment, unsure of what lay ahead.  I soon passed a familiar bike on an uphill, a custom Ronin I had painted for a customer a year or so ago.  Kelly and I talked about our bikes, paint, and other rides we had done, and he kindly stopped with me briefly to tighten the bolts on a loose headlight mount.  We were talking about some races later on this year when we became separated on a loose steep and sketchy uphill.  I stopped to pee after the top, hoping he would catch back up, but it wasn't to be.  

"Watch out for rattlesnakes!  I'm serious" warned a passing rider as I relieved myself in some tall grass.  

Miles later I encountered another small group of three that worked really well together, rotating the last 10 miles of steady headwind into the first checkpoint at mile 77.  It began to steadily rain as we hit pavement and rolled into town thanking each other for the pulls and talking about the course, the weather, and how many miles lay ahead By Portable 26 Inch Race Bicycle.