Unbound {and into the ground} 

Saturday, 4:00pm. Mile 272. The rain had started again. The sandy mud began building up. I could not get my heart rate to increase. My body temp was plummeting. I pushed onward, in almost a panic / manic state. Two miles later, my chain dropped for the last time. I hopped off and couldn’t stop shaking. 

I felt so defeated. And I still had around 80 miles to go. The negative thought freight train was on a one way mission to sabotage me. How did I reach the end of the tracks so quickly? 

I kept flashing back to earlier this morning. To yesterday. To last year and the 2.5 mile mud pit that broke my soul. We were getting closer to that sector and my thoughts were spiraling. I vividly remember slip sliding down into this river of mud and knew I couldn’t do it again. I was beaten, broken, and frozen. {Later, I realized the route skipped that hell hole this year.} 

I pressed stop on my Wahoo and immediately burst into tears. The decision was made. Now to figure out how to pedal back to cell service. 

This is a story of one of the 4,000 attempts to reach the finish line. A story yes, about failure, but also every success. This is my story about a shorter journey around the flint hills than originally planned. But one that wasn’t short on miles pedaled with a smile. Kansas is a special place. I’d go as far as saying my gravel Mecca. It’s a place I feel at home on the open roads. After facing defeat, it’s only made made my pull to return even greater. This isn’t the end of my journey.

Friday, 2:30pm. It’s 90 degrees. Untapped Maple Creemes become the mission and I know that little extra sugar and frozen deliciousness will propel me for a while. The crowds begin to gather around the start chute and we roll to the line. One last hug with Cynthia. The national anthem plays, and my thoughts drift to Kyle. I keep looking at the flag cause if I drift anywhere else I may start crying. 

5,4,3,2,1. We roll. The cop car procession is smoother than last year. I get to enjoy the massive scene. Commercial street is packed! I smile and wave and soak up the energy in the air. Until we are stopped by a train just south of town.

We hit the dry and dusty road and things start off fairly modestly. We reach an intersection monitored by volunteers / spectators and all of a sudden I’m braking as I see two men flying through the air and land hard right in front of me. Three and a half miles into the race. Why???? 

By this point I’m gapped off the main group and know I shouldn’t put any efforts down. My free speed is over, 1% into the race. 

At mile 10 there’s a fairly steep climb. We were warned about the mud to come, but this was all shockingly rideable. We reached the cattle pens and I’m in awe. The dramatic skies! The green tall grass! The cows crossing the road! The dark navy velvet layered storm clouds! And Linda is there to capture it!

This experience oddly calming, yet also terrifying. There is sunshine on my face, and drama building behind me. The first drops come at 5:15pm and felt like water balloons crashing down on my arms. Refreshing, yet also alarming. Another pocket of rain fell an hour later, but we were weaving our way up and around the clouds towards Cottonwood Falls and our first refuel point. Everyone was rolling and in good spirits. 

Pizza, yellow RedBull, blue Gatorade, scavenged water. I try to be in and out quickly, yet ensure I get enough fuel for the long night ahead. I roll with Emily from Virginia, a former professional cyclist, and we chat for a bit. She is riding super hard, and I know I won’t be able to hold this pace. I come across a couple from Utah who climb so smooth and strong, and take it easy on the downhills (exactly the opposite of me!) so we exchange a few pleasantries as we ping pong down the road.

I’m not sure how much time has passed, or what time of day it is. Darkness has settled in. I look up and see a mass of blinking taillights. That can only mean two things. Mud & Walking. Mile 98. Oh wow. This is thick. Push, clear mud, push, hope there aren’t snakes in this grass, push more. Clear the mud. Trudge forward. Keep moving. 

There are a few with major problems. But most of us are handling it with as much calm as one can have, stomping through a late night mud wrestling match. We reach the next turn, a mile later and it’s rideable again. 

I keep knowingly lying to myself. “That’s the first of it and the last of it.” “We had our mud and hopefully didn’t eat it too.” I can hear myself laughing at my lies. There’s no way that’s it. 

A few hours later and it struck again. Mile 130 and this was bad. Greasy. Then sandy. Then pebble filled grease mud. That’s what really mucks up your drivetrain. My chain drops horrifically and is so wedged between my crank and my frame, I start to get worried. Trying not to panic, trying to put just the right amount of pressure to release it without kinking the link, but also yes, panicking. I scream an explicative and, pop, it releases. I squeeze water from my hydration vest hose at an excruciatingly slow rate to clean enough pebbles in order to remount the chain and continue walking. 

Walking makes it sound leisurely. It’s anything but. The grass on the side of the road is covering many big flint rock boulders. The surface is so uneven I’m sure my ankle will snap with every step. I’m using my bike as a crutch, and using the grass as a makeshift car wash spin brush to hopefully remove more mud than what I pick up. It’s slow and exhausting work.

The moon is full, but it’s pitch black. Our lights, bouncing every which way, remind me of a murder mystery search party Blair Witch style horror film. Looking for clues, in search of our sanity. Or maybe just the path of least resistance.

We reach the crest of a hill and phew. It’s rideable. I’m linked up with two others and we are rolling. The second refuel point is 20 miles ahead, and with any luck, we’ll be there soon. I’m feeling good, and well fueled. I drop my two new friends and I’m flying free. These miles, 135-150 are some of my favorite. I’m covered in mud, smiling like a pig in mud, pedaling fast towards El Dorado with a euphoria only reached at this point in an event. 

I reach the second refuel point at almost 3am. Nearly 12 hours into this race, 150 miles. I remember it being oddly bright, but smeared in mud & broken people. I hobble in for pizza, yellow RedBull, blue Gatorade. After emptying my bladder and as I was refilling my hydration bladders, I found a pitcher by the sink labeled “flowers.” I filled it with warm water, marched out front, and hasty attempted to water my garden, ahem – wash my bike. Lube my chain. Take care of your bike, it’ll take care of you.

As I’m rolling from town, I call Kyle. Who knows what time it is in Italy, but it ain’t 3am, so he’s likely up. I rattle off a thousand things, but mostly that I’m doing well and having so much fun. I come across another racer stopped on a bridge and ask if he’s okay, only to look at the ground and see the contents of his stomach. I offer Tums, which he accepts. I wish him the best and I’m on my way. I say bye to Kyle, as I head out of town, away from the street lights, back to the solace of me, myself, the moon and I.

I’m often asked what its like to ride at night, if I’m scared, and if I practice. (Fun, a little, not anymore)

Mostly, I find it peaceful. Typically the weather is better. The sun isn’t there to oppress you. I do usually miss “seeing the scenery,” but also find solace in the little light patch right in front of my wheel. Night riding is like night swimming. Just a blind trust in yourself, your abilities, and your gear. It reminds me of the first time I swam in the ocean at night, with glow sticks, during a red tide amid my first summer in San Diego. You know there are sharks, but you also become one with your environment. Your eyes, and heart, are more open to your surroundings.

You have the promise of a sunrise.

The storm clouds made me miss a sunset, and as the sunrise was approaching, I was getting oddly nostalgic. And just at that moment. Mud. I looked down at my gps – mile 176.

You know the drill. Ride, abort, scrape, trudge, repeat. Over and over and over again. Three miles in and I made a short video. Spirits were mid-level, hanging in there, eating Air Heads bites, trying to stay positive. It was dawn, and the sun was about to rise, making route finding a doable task. The trouble was, the route was shit whether you were in the pebble mud, or the tall grass boulder strips. There were murmurs from those around me. Grumblings, but no real conversation. Energy reserves were being diverted to walking power.

And walk we did. For EIGHT miles. At one point I literally cleaned my chain with Gatorade. Take care of your bike, it’ll take care of you? I remember getting back on, for real this time, at mile 184. Those eight miles were a time warp. And time was not on our side. We still had 41 miles until the next refuel point. The sun was getting hot, and the roads were so chunky and so steep. The bridge that was “out” was the last of my concerns. Nico and I were ping ponging (this happens when you ride “with” a single speeder) and he mentions were are in like 30th place overall. WTF happened to everyone else?!

I got to Eureka, rolling on fumes. Damage control.

Pizza, yellow RedBull, blue Gatorade, Dr. Pepper, orange Ruffles. Ice. Ice baby. So many trips in and out, filling vessels. I commented how much I’d just love to brush my teeth, and a fellow racer offers up a disposable mini brush that his wife packed for him (he had two). I call Cynthia who had already pulled the plug before midnight, and she’s at the Eureka checkpoint for our 200 teammates. I want to stop by but know I can’t spend more time stopped. The mud took that from us. I roll out, knowing I must keep moving forward.

This is where the XL and 200 courses converge, and cover the same route back to Emporia – sharing the last 125 miles. Last year, I hated sharing. This year, I think the groups that passed me changed their tune. So many nice people, passing with care, cheering me on. So many people I knew! I was low on gels and a guy offered me two of his, which I promptly ate. A new friend Hannah offered to take the lead into a headwind section. These fleeting moments of joy, were interspersed by many slow going, hot miles. I sat and enjoyed a creek crossing with two guys drinking beer. A road crossing volunteer was offering cold coke and ice – lifesaving for so many of us.

And then. Those same dark navy velvet skies were building ahead of me as I approached Hamilton, the next refuel point. I hastily got a Coke and Uncrustable from the diner, got word this storm would last for the next three hours, almost cried, and left just as it started to rain.

Am I disappointed? Not really. I believe there is nothing to be disappointed about if I did my best, and gave it my all. A DNF doesn’t have to be worse than any other accomplishment I’ve executed out in these Flint Hills. It’s only about what my personal definition of a significant achievement is.

Sometimes being fulfilled means emptying yourself completely.

***

I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank those who got me to the start line, and those who scraped me off the roadside in this Unbound journey. To my Velocio // Exploro teammates – y’all are crushers. I’m inspired daily and am honored to call you friends and teammates. To our sponsors and supporters – I’m so proud to represent and ride on the best equipment in the industry, and literally test this gear in the harshest conditions, and on coffee rides too. To Erin & the 3T crew – thank you for your immediate response to my failing body. It’s in these vulnerable times where the true heroes shine. And to Kyle, for allowing me to chase my dreams and for being my biggest cheerleader. {Ahem, maybe tied in that role with my mom, who gets points for longevity.}

And with that said – here’s the {foggy memory} food blog:
14L Water
5L Electrolyte mix / BlueFrost Gatorade {some of this lubed my chain}
10 Huma Gels / 6 Gu Gels
25 red licorice sour straws
1/2 pack AirHeads Bites
2.5 Pizza Slices
3/4 bag Cheddar and Sour Cream Ruffles
3 Yellow RedBulls {Tropical}
1 Dr. Pepper
2 Cokes
Various quantities of salt tabs, salt w/caffeine, tums, electrolyte drops

274 miles, 23 hours ride time / 25 hours elapsed, 8589 calories burned – not sure this factors in 10 miles of hiking, 130 NP, 147 average HR (195 max lol), 1143 TSS