I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to give each of those 357 miles traversed a proper write up, nor would anyone want to read the blow by blow of each of those memories that I get to hold forever. There were the highest highs, and more lows than I had hoped for, but I’m not quite sure what I expected. An easier course? A happier stomach? Less “No Maintenance Road” signs? A magic kit fairy to drop off a clean one around mile 220? I don’t think anyone has the perfect day out there, but what I experienced was pretty darn close to perfection for one reason:
I had the best ride partner.
*****
We had quite the whirlwind trip to the middle of America. The team gathered for the first time since camp in March 2020, where I flew home from North Carolina right as the country was shutting down. The NBA had just cancelled the season. Walking through the airport was a bit eery and desolate. I remember just wanting to make it home. Kyle picked me up and I spent 2020 riding solo.
Jan 2021 brought a bit of anxiety regarding the season ahead. We cancelled our CA coast ride. I told myself I wouldn’t race or travel to a mass gathering until I was vaccinated, and that felt like it may not happen ‘till the fall.
Yet things kept falling into place. It took two seconds for Cynthia to convince me to switch to the XL and ride with her. I got vaccinated. The panic prep included quite a few back to back big rides, but also some downtime too. A new bike, new light, and a lot of support from our sponsors pulling through at the last minute, and we were off to Kansas.
The buildup to Unbound was mounting. You could tell this was it. The first big race back. You could feel the entire gravel community breathe a great big masked sigh of relief. We made it to a start line. And while the Covid finish line doesn’t feel possible, this event is what we all needed to start healing.
Friday, June 4th // 3:00pm
The pomp and circumstance was much larger than I had mentally prepared for. As per usual, we were scrambling with final preparations including eating a burrito the size of my quad. The start line was bumping and you could feel the heat of the day. I made an ice sock and tried to stay in the shade as best as possible.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1. And we were off.
MM0 – MM25: Full gas. Max heart rate. Unhappy belly {hello burrito baby.} You want the free speed of the draft, but you know you’ll pay for it later. My airway was closing with the dust and the 88 degree temps had me not smiling. Considering all my training was done in 50F and below, in the cold, wet, dark PNW {dramatic much?} I knew I had very few matches to use here, or my race would end early. Doing my best to stay in the pack, but one rider kept going to the front and drilling the pace higher. I found Cynthia and told her we had to call it and get a hold on my heart rate to start eating and digesting.
MM40: Initial plans had us not stopping for water here, but that was tossed out almost immediately after starting and realizing how much the afternoon heat was a factor. We roll into a chaos zone. People are frantic. Bottles, ice bags, electrolyte mix everywhere. We walk in, see the line, and walk out to scavenge the leftovers. We are cracking up, enjoying the respite from the heat, and the company of others.
MM81: 8:49pm // We climb out a steep rutted grade and onto a wide open prairie. The scenery resembles a painting you’d find above a hotel bed. Like it’s too perfect to really believe that this is an actual place. The rolling green hills. The cows sporadically grazing. A gorgeous gradient in the sky from pale blue to purple, pink, red and then the deep orange sun orb meeting the horizon. This red sky at night, cyclists delight. Temps are falling and spirits are rising. The white gravel two track crunches beneath our tires; it’s perfect. And then we spot Linda. We were giddy school girls. Gleefully soaking in this moment, knowing the darkness was approaching, hoping she got the shot. {It’s Linda, she got the shot.}
We were making good time and happy with our progress. Lights came on and it got pretty gnarly. We navigated this section smartly and the Hunt wheels with the Son+ dynamo hub / Sinewave beacon light setup was working flawlessly. I also had a helmet mounted light to help spot the terrain and to see through the corners.
MM119: It’s just past midnight and we made it to the refuel point. We roll in a little more battered than I think we expected. Coke, Red Bull, Gatorade and chips were all I could stomach. Water refill along with with Tums and Advil. We spent the time necessary to get going, knowing there was a long stretch ahead, but in looking back, we should’ve forced more food into the system. Maybe the distraction of a drunk driver missing a turn and plowing into the curb and subsequent building, then driving away kept us from focusing on the task at hand. Yes, we called 911. And no, I did not leave with any airheads bites.
MM169: 5:30am? We admired the deep orange crescent moon rise. We pulled over and I gave us a 4 minute timer to “rest” but the nearly charging bulls, grunting at each other from opposing pens, had us lying there not quite relaxed. We move on and make it though Little Egypt reverse far easier than anticipated. Maybe it was the extra gears? The last time I rode it was 2019 and I realized as we made it out, that yeah, I AM a better cyclist than I once was. I remember fist bumping the sky after cleanly navigating it in 2019, passing the droves of hike-a-bikers. I’ve done so much more gnarly shit since then; but even a low light, sleep deprived Rachel handled that shockingly well. Yet, maybe it was the extra gears. 😉
After that moment, I do not remember much of those early morning hours. The sunrise was gorgeous. The terrain was challenging. We were moving but not with any zest. We barely spoke and we hadn’t seen another rider, car, or human in quite a while.
Saturday, June 5th // 10:00am
MM219: Shell shocked and depleted, we roll into Council Grove a few hours past our anticipated arrival. Things were looking bleak. We were wrecked. Collapsing under the awning of the local food mart, we look at each other and nearly start to cry.
It was going to take a miracle to revive ourselves, and that started with a drunken stupor around the mart where we landed on fried chicken, pickles, a bag of ice, and a coke to start that revival process. I felt like an alien crash landing on a nearby planet, and I’m sure that’s what we looked like to the locals, going about their regular shopping on a nice Saturday morning. We were the sideshow. Clomping around in our bike shoes, spandex, and helmets, meandering like lost soldiers back from a battlefield. The hobbling bodies. The dirt caked skin. The one thousand mile stares.
It was going to take a miracle to get us back on the course. Back moving. For the moment, we wallowed in our misery:
“What are we doing?”
“Why are we here?”
“You made me do this.”
“Can we do this?”
“There’s so much left.”
“This is dumb.”
“We are dumb.”
“I am dead.”
“I am deader.”
“We are dead people.”
To be continued post delusional giggles:
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