Category / Cycling

by Shawn McKinney

GW300 V

Preamble

Lincoln’s a proper drive from my home base in Little Rock. Broken into 3 legs. First to Rogers where Megan lives. Second to KC where’s there’s Heather and another sister, Kyle on a special guest appearance. Then onto Lincoln. Each segment takes about 3 hours. Overnights in any of each. For sure meal stops.

No family in Lincoln. That’s where my Gravel Family resides. Been coming here every August since 2018. It feels like a second home. All of the necessary attributes. Lots of friends. With its good times, and bad. Triumph and failure. A place to celebrate. A place to battle demons.

Pregame

Shakeout ride was on Thursday around lunchtime. Left from the Sandhills Event Center for a little out-and-back. The first and last 12 & 1/2 miles of the course. Felt pretty good. Hung out at the expo afterwards. Checked in. Visited with some old friends and made some new ones. Like how it was to be a little kid on a bike. Hey do you ride? Me too. Let’s be friends. Simple as that.

Lots of vendors bringing with them new ideas. Get to rub elbows with some pretty amazing people. Hearing their stories. Gathering the encouragement and nerve that would be needed to complete the challenge that awaits.

Later, a nice dinner with Carmen and John, at Lazlo’s in the Haymarket. It has been awesome watching them progress from novices to experts over the past couple of years, since we first met here. Seeing their fitness gains. This year Carmen’s doing the 75. John had to step down to the 50K, but sees it as an opportunity to PR.

Lastly, visited with Kelly and Michelle, back at the event center where they were camping. We had the same conversation about who was the least prepared. You can’t trust Michelle’s assessment. She always says that she didn’t train and crushes it anyway. Same with Kelly, who’s in the Double. A 50K run Friday morning followed by 150 miles on the bike Saturday. Who does that?

Prep

Then the little shifter issue. Called Richard who runs my local bike shop. He told me to call if I get into a problem at race. Like the first Long Voyage (2021) and a bent derailleur. Lost the middle gears. Affected the outcome. Not going there again. Richard got me going. It was stressful and in a weird way, beneficial. Burned off the last of the pre-race jitters with a blow torch of anxiety. Let’s call it a test.

Start

The 17:00 start Friday was delayed. Not quite fifteen minutes. A front had passed over dropping temps by at least 10 degrees. How lucky can we get? Carmen and John were there which helped calm the nerves.

Found Andy at the starting line. He’d been called up for being a possible five time finisher. The only one who has ever been eligible as the race is only five years old and there are only so many crazy people that get past their first or second. This would be our third time teaming up.

And we’re off. Don’t know how many, maybe 50 or 75. Not a lot. Sent under a hail of enthusiasm and positive energy. It felt good. Any remaining anxiety gets burned away. Knew we’d better soak up these good vibes. Gonna need it.

It did rain a bit with some wind. Not much lightning. I stopped once about an hour in to put on a poncho. Couldn’t quite get it over my swollen Camelbak. Screw it. We don’t need no stinking ponchos. Then it stopped. Some blustery wind gusts kicked up for a while. Made things interesting. Added to the excitement of the moment. I harbored some concern over what was gonna happen down the road, if/when the MMR’s get soaked. That’s just one of many and nothing to be done, so forget about it.

The evening grew dark and all’s well. We’re making decent progress. All systems functioning nominally. Time to get dialed in for the long roll through the night. Make the necessary adjustments. Met a couple of unlucky riders in Plattsmouth who had to bail out. One had vertigo, another with a nasty sliced tire. Both seemed OK. Nothing to be done other than kind words.

Big Muddy on a toll bridge requires a quarter to cross. Carmen gave me one at the starting line. This about when it gets fun. As in Type I. Now, we’re going places. Across the wide expanse of the valley into the lush rolling fields of Iowa all under the cover of darkness.

We’d traversed many of these roads a couple years earlier. They were familiar and even comfortable. Like an old friend who can be cantankerous. We knew where the difficulties were and didn’t have to think much about them.

We’ve talked some before about how the early morning hours can get spooky. Strange lights and sounds. Overnight crossings of interchanges is never going to be fun. A couple long stretches on pavement. Makes sense. We’re crossing a major river valley and an Interstate. One of the longest climbs into a small town called Glenwood. There folks passing in cars, slowing and staring at us as if we were aliens. Maybe we had been abducted or infected by them. Then back into the climby bits. Progress was still good, not great. Everything well within tolerances.

Passed thru Treyner’s firestation somewhere in the middle of the night. They opened their doors and let our filthy selves in. Didn’t catch the name of who was pulling cleanup detail and watching the store. Looked to be pretty high up the food chain. Maybe the captain? An unmistakable boost to our morale to have them here. For communities to welcome us. Makes us feel validated and safe. A humbling experience. Jason Strohbehn’s a favored son in these and parts and it shows by how we’re treated.

Moving out of there and back into the grind of the Iowa country side. Up, down, up, down and up and down and up and down. On and on it goes. Never stopping. The climbs are punchy enough to require effort. On the other side you better make damn sure a proper line’s being kept. We mostly bombed the downhills. The climbs and chunk was slowing us down. We weren’t making good time.

As the hours ticked off it all starts to gradually wear you down. The constant stream of effort and focus means both the body and mind are burning energy. Straining eyes scan the foreground for hazards in the most minute of detail. Eyeglasses fog over from being at dew point. Eventually, just stowed them. Do you want proper eye protection or clarity of vision? What’s worse being in the ditch or having something stuck in your eye? The bugs weren’t bad. With just me and Andy, not a lot of rocks getting kicked up.

Do you ever get that song stuck in your head?, Andy asked. Yeah, but not right now. Could’ve been a Stones song. Can’t Get No Satisfaction. Or maybe ACDC Thunderstruck. Music, especially Classic Rock, is a safe topic out here. Nostalgia can drown the pain.

What do you think about? I’d been riding quiet for some time. I’ll tell you what doesn’t get thought about. That we have 200 miles left to ride. What’s happening right this second gets priority. There are countless issues to contemplate. They seem trivial in a normal context but rise in importance when in the moment. Starting with navigation. I already mentioned vision. Related to that is lighting. How it all gets maintained absorbs all of my attention. Turn the light intensity up on the downhills, back down again once at the bottom. To preserve power. If I do it right, there’ll be plenty for tomorrow night. If I make it that far.

On top of hydration? Filthy bottles caked with who knows what, from the roads. How about some food? Oh shit, watch out. F, almost went down there. Let me get my heartrate back down. How much further to the next stop. Is the drivetrain starting to play a tune? There’s strategy and tactics. When can I stop vs. How can I not stop.

The GPS headset displays the map, heartrate and power metrics. Bike computer has speed and average mph. Rarely do I look at distance traveled. Only when trying to plan a stop. Speaking of GPS, it consumes power too. I already switched on the aux battery about an hour after sunset. That keeps the backlight on. Great for navigating. No missed turns or surprises. More than a feature at night.

Again, not really watching time or distance. What difference does it make? It’s not like there’s another gear or power source for legs. They’re doing what they can do. Leave them alone. Let them do their thing.

Just before the nature trail segment we caught up with Brian. He’d been out ahead of us for an hour or two. Could see the blinky lights appear and disappear in rhythm with the hills.

The three of us rode together for the next hour. It was nice being able to relax, chat and just crank the wheels over that smooth, flat and well maintained trail. Gave the mind a much needed rest from the strain of the downhills.

Once we hit the other side, it was time for another stop, in Shenandoah. Jamie Tracy had his van by the Caseys. This was now the third year I’d seen him out there. His wife Christie had passed through hours before. She eventually was the first woman finisher. I had drop bags there. A change of socks, gloves, head gear and lights. Grabbed the powder for the 2nd half, refilled water tanks, and off again. No time to hang out, even though it would have been nice.

Not long after was the sunrise. That’s always going to bring a boost. This one was foggy and overcast. A kind of gloomy mood seemed to settle in. Underscored the task that lay ahead.

Riding through the Windmill farms was routine. We’d been warned numerous times about the heavy chunk. It was anticlimatic. Didn’t even have to slow down. Well, maybe once. Just more prime Grade A chunk. By then we’d grown fat on a steady diet.

Hamburg, MO. A Great Stop. Maybe the best of the day. Super nice little river town. I was happy to be out of Iowa after 100 miles. We clipped the top corner of Missouri. Enough to say we’d been there. Passed another rider before reaching town. More pavement, and now that the sun burned off the cloud cover, it’s starting to look like a beautiful day. The townfolk were nice considering how awful we looked. They in their Saturday finery and us being not so fresh. Friendly chatter and even some cheers. As if we weren’t Bushwackers riding out from the hills after another night raid.

Beginning to show signs of wear, but you got to keep a happy face. Not that have a nice day fake bullshit happy. What else was there to do? No use complaining. We all knew another 125 miles of Shane’s Little Shop of Horrors awaited us to the finish line.

Rolling out of Hamburg meant crossing the US Hiway 2 bridge over the MO river basin. Not a fun crossing. A long stretch of paved shoulder with no safe egress. This means cars and trucks whizzing past with no escape. We have to trust them. That they’re not out of their minds or distracted by phones. Most got over. Some didn’t. One laid on the horn. Obviously confused. How dare we ride there. Wait a minute. This is not an Interstate. Race or no race, we have every right to the shoulder. Find something to like about it.

In any case this is how I roll. Busy interchanges are the only way into / out of most towns, bicycle infra being what it is. More hazards than you can shake a stick at. Not recommended. Do something often enough and it becomes normal. Probably not OK for you. Fine for me.

Next, we’re back on gravel where we rule. Had a long way along the river headed north into the wind. When Andy and I started working together. We’re not exactly breaking speed records, but not losing more ground. When we helped a rider get his wheel plugged. We’re on the bubble and losing time again. So what. Form Over Function. Not even a hard question. Yes, stop and help the rider.

Afterwards, more work headed north and west as we made our way on a meandering path back to Lincoln. Climbing out of the river basin, more hills and a rising tide of wind from the north.

Upon entering the course with the 150 milers there was a checkpoint at the Arbor Day Trail. A winding, chunky little patch through the park that I could have done without. That’s OK. It’s not always about me. Compounding woes we almost missed the water stop. The 150 riders had long since passed. Their timing strip was being taken down. We stopped and talked to the driver who pointed us back to water.

They waited on us. About half a dozen. Angels lent from a town nearby. I can’t remember their names. They didn’t know exactly who we were either. It didn’t matter. Is there ICE? Yes, we have cooler over there. A water hose was produced along with some snacks that I had no need for. The water and ice were enough. Along with the kindness they showed helping us get our act back together.

About when we started to notice the heat. Nothing bad actually. Just enough to know it gets to play its part. Did I mention hills? No matter, just put that on repeat. Then the MMRs kept us sharp. I did not mind them. Enjoy is a better word.

Trucks and volunteers started to pass by. Need anything? I could use a bottle of cold water. Tear open an LMNT package and pour it in. Shake and down it like some kind of weird gravel junky. Get that salt fix. Could have been refreshing? Take that sun. We win for now.

Speaking of the mind, it becomes trouble ignoring its symphony of pain. Which hurts the most rings the chorus. Or, the question everyone asks, how do you sit that long on a bicycle seat? Well, yeah, exactly. There are workarounds. A good fit, saddle, bibs, chamois and cream of course. Don’t make me tell you my Chamois Butt’r allergy story. I’ll tell you. Just keep asking about butt pain and you’re gonna hear about it. I promise that you won’t like it.

A tolerance develops. There are limits. They can be pushed aside with more training. I didn’t train as much as I would have liked. When you punch it all in the answer becomes maybe not what you want.

To think about it is to grant it power. Push it back. Besides, the neck hurts even more? A riding position for 24 hours isn’t real comfy. We don’t have neck pillows that work on gravel bikes.

What about us the legs beg. You’re not cramping, what do you have to complain about. Been doing hack squats for about a day. Quit your whining. The back ain’t exactly celebrating and the hands are screaming bloody murder. Palms getting cut up. Oh well. What about me poor arms. Don’t we get some love? Shut the f up. You got aerobars. What more do you want. The tummy’s notably absent from this sad song. It really wants to help. But, it’s language of love is cheeseburgers and corndogs and they’re not yet being harvested from the fields.

That’s not Andy getting out further ahead. We’re just letting him think so because it’s good for his ego. Him on one gear speeding away from me on 12.

Probably should’ve broke out the ear buds. The symphony of pain was growing louder.

And still we slow. Everything’s dropping. Power, speed, heartrate. Another 20 miles to the next stop. I need food to replenish. Have another bread ball. It’s Wonderful. Why can’t I swallow it? Spit it out. Can I interest you in another gel pack? Naw, just a salt stick for me, thanks.

What the hell, am I complaining? We’re on House Money. What with the summer training and health drought. A month earlier couldn’t even say I’d make the trip let alone line up for the 300. Most likely would’ve dropped down to the 150. Like back in ’22. Decided to go for it. With the second century now behind, it’s all good.

Gratitude can be a salve. Sure, the wind, rocks, legs, neck were under constant review. A perfect backdrop into not finishing with zero regrets. Failing the greater challenge’s better than just another finish. These gains must be appreciated and put into perspective.

That spot up on a hill. So green and lush. It offers trees and shade. Looks so nice and peaceful up there. The wind feels like a gentle autumn breeze. Maybe I could stop for a moment. Might find a cookie if I dig around enough. Could answer some of those texts of encouragement that have been coming in.

Who are you calling? Have you found what we’re looking for? Does it matter if the finish line was crossed? Or are the experience and lessons enough? A finish is good but it’s not why we’re here. There’s more. Got to get a hamburger and think about it.

When the Yukon arrived. Didn’t want to mess it up. Told not to worry about it. They’re ferrying riders from western Iowa / eastern Nebraska and back all day and night. Won’t accept anything extra as payment. 3 feet Cycling. Not the last time our paths will cross.

After

Carmen, John were back at my truck. When I learned about Michelle’s concussion. It’s a long story and not really mine to tell. The short version is she’s OK. John PR’ed the 50K. Carmen didn’t get to finish her 75. She found Michelle unconscious and stayed with her until the ambulance came. Later she made sure her bike made it back to Lincoln. She gave up a finish and helped a friend who needed it. I wouldn’t have expected any less from her. That’s how this Gravel Family rolls.

I did get to hang out with Michelle at the finish line. We had that hamburger and waited for Kelly to cross. A muted celebration. I picked up my four pack of Climbing Kites and headed back to the hotel room.

Day After

Andy finished of course. Eleven minutes before the cutoff. I wasn’t there. He got that award for 1500 miles of hell. He says it’s his last. He’s done with single day events and wants to focus on things like the Great Plains Gravel Ride. We had breakfast with his wife Kristy and I had a nice time hearing how they met on a bike ride. If you want to talk to Andy, you best get on two wheels.

Afterwards it was back to KC for another meetup with sisters, Kyle, in from Seattle, and Heather, who lives in Waldo. Onto Rogers for another night hanging with Megan and Cameron. We topped it all off with an ice cream run.

A more perfect ride could not have been asked for. Was it the outcome I wanted? It’ll do.

by Shawn McKinney

About Getting to the Starting Line

The hard part of an event is getting to the starting line. Can we push those barricades aside, or do they become insurmountable.

I made reference to some of the difficulties in an earlier post. It’s not fun to talk about. Actually, I hate to discuss it. Not only is it boring for the listener, it’s a form of acceptance. Talking about it makes it true.

For sure part of this is just the natural aging process. Our bodies become less resilient. Exactly where that marker lies is highly subjective. For example, someone in their 40’s is probably past their prime but can still achieve personal bests, especially if bloomed late.

The 50’s can be OK. There’s a dropoff, more like a ledge and then a plateau. The key’s stability. Given a certain input we can achieve a predictable output. No surprises. Just keep cranking that wheel.

The 60’s is when things can go haywire. Chronic conditions that were dormant rise to the surface. Old health conditions from an earlier age return. That bad joint. Decades of poor choices in our youth have a way of making themselves known later on.

Again this is all subjective. We each have our own timelines.

The question becomes how much is too much. There are hard stops. That knee replacement probably will end your ultra career. Certain types of chronic conditions can halt intense conditioning, based on severity.

I’ve been teetering for a few years now. Again, no details. Dig around here and you’ll find references, not that I’m recommending it.

What difference does it make? Nobody cares what you’re going through. I mean, we care, but we have our own problems, and can always point to someone who has it worse.

For examples hang around the finish line of any long distance event. The stories will inspire. We’re amazing creatures, capable of much more than we think.

Which brings us to gratitude. This cup is definitely half full. That is I’m still getting to the starting line — somehow.

It’s all about what’s in front of you. Forget the declines and disappointments and focus on the challenge that lie in wait. The knee’s already shot, lets see how many more miles we can get out of it. What do we have to lose? That rocking chair can wait.

by Shawn McKinney

It ain’t easy

2025 was all lined up. On paper it held promise. Coming off a fairly strong year, was feeling pretty good. Got thru the flu in Feb and started ramping up. Plenty of time for Coast2Coast and that was to be the perfect springboard for another Long Voyage (now called Gravel Worlds 300).

Returned from Unbound (as a volunteer) in early June and knew right away something was off. My heart rate was elevated and was having other problems that I’ll not go into here. Fitness was definitely off. Couldn’t sleep, wasn’t eating right, riding was out of the question.

Might be dumb, but I’m not crazy. Or, maybe the other way around? Yes, some of these events are challenging and atypical. But, I have had good success training for them. It’s not in the head. Either you’re ready, or you’re not. You can’t think your way into the starting corral.

You can think your way out of it. But, that’s not what was going on. Well, what the hell is wrong? Are there cardiac issues? Nothing to mess with. Riding’s fun but it’s not worth risking health problems.

It’s the other way around. Health is paramount. Setup the appointments, went to the specialists and as of today, everything checks out good. I started training again in earnest last week and it’s going good also. Just in time for Gravel Worlds. Will I line up for the 300? Perhaps not. There are other distances. I may have to drop down.

We shall see.

by Shawn McKinney

2024 Year In Review

Hadn’t done one in a while, the last being back in 2020. Then as now feels significant. Each having somehow triggered a threshold, cumulative effect of many changes. It seems that all year-in-reviews are mixed. There will always be ups (getting into the Unbound 1000 mile club)

And downs (pulling the plug, mile 265 Long Voyage)

The good news, positive indicators are more plentiful than negative ones. We’re moving in the right direction.

Saline County, Kansas

I’m not an elite athlete. Just a regular Joe. Like to think pretty good at riding a bike. Done for health benefits. The adventure. Try to often and with friends whenever possible.

Not going into challenges. No fun to talk about, nor all that interesting, or even unique. We’ve all got them. No complaints for 2024.

It’s more fun to discuss the benefits of being outdoors. The many reasons why regular exercise is good for us and how cycling fits.

Dropping down into Alma, Kansas. Unbound 200

All as an excuse for the amount of time that I dedicate to it. Happy to argue that it’s better spent than in other ways. Can point to remote work as the enabler. When you take the time formerly spent commuting, and transfer to riding, it becomes easier to defend. Almost, but not quite a no-brainer.

Does it mean I’m not crazy? Let’s lay the facts bare. We’re talking about hundreds of hours.

Enough time to start a new business (been there, done that), or to pursue an advanced degree (not interested). Instead, I’m out there, as in literally.

No trainers. Everything outside this year. Did do a bunch of events. But, most of the miles was grinding over local routes. We can talk about not driving to ride. Meaning, start from home. That rule’s tough to follow when it comes to events. Who will ride TO the event? Hundreds of miles away. I know some people who do. Strong minded and well disciplined individuals. I’m not that committed. I can respect it though. It makes sense. Just not ready for it, yet.

Outside Kremmling, CO

Not always riding on a trail, although they are given precedence, much of it on the roads, paved or not. About the same number of miles as I used to put on a car.

Riding on the roads can bring dirty looks and words. We’ve been driven off. Targeted by enraged (or disengaged) motorists. It doesn’t happen often or even all that much. Very rarely. But, when you ride a lot, it happens. Call it an occupational hazard. Can’t be taken personally. It’s about us and them. Roadway designs. Defenses and solutions. There are better places than others. We’ll save that discussion for another day.

Given the drawbacks, can’t recommend this level of commitment for everyone. It works for me. Pretty sure that drivers aren’t all that happy, so it would work for some of them too. Less time spent in a car is better no matter how you look at it.

What I’m pretty sure about is to be back next year. Have some ideas on how to shake it up and extend into new territories.

We’ll see how it all plays out.

by Shawn McKinney

2024 Long Voyage

Change was in the air. It was cool, but fixing to get a lot warmer. A new venue, Sandhills Event Center, just outside of Lincoln, Nebraska. A new vibe. The event had just changed hands. The route wandered further west than ever, into the Platte River basin. Don’t ask me what the Platte river looks like. I couldn’t tell you. It was dark. I’m getting ahead of myself.

Back to the route. It started on the NE side of Lincoln and worked its way around counter-clockwise in a loop. Actually, more like an inverted heart. Here’s a screenshot of the map:

Many different types of road surfaces. Mixtures of crushed rock, pea gravel, sand and dirt. Gradients between medium course and fine. Not much chunk and usually fast rolling. When laid deep, it gets dicey. Especially, when sharing with others (like cars). Imagine riding your bike through a layer of sand or gravel that is two or three inches deep. This gives you an idea. Not that it’s like that all the time – or even all that much.

On occasion, a road or a section of one gets sloppy. If you’re not paying attention, the wheel slides out. This can happen if you are going too fast or too slow, or if you don’t have the right line. You’ll be down in a heartbeat. My first year it happened twice, about 10 miles apart just 20 miles into the race. The first time I was rolling 30 mph and it scared me. The second time, 5 mph and it pissed me off. Had another 100 miles to go. It was frayed nerves and bandages with just a gentle tinge of heat exhaustion by the end. Sound like fun?

Actually, it was a blast. Learned a pretty good lesson too. Slow down. Fast is fun until it’s not. You’re not as good (of a rider) as you think. These so-called non-technical farm roads can be humbling.

The topography starts flat. It becomes hilly for a bit. Then, it turns flat again as we cross the Platte river basin. It ends with the classic Gravel Worlds rollers for perhaps the last 100 miles.

To say I was ready is an understatement. Not a stone left unturned. Training, nutrition, hydration, preparation were dialed in. As per custom, arrived a few days early to set up. Don’t like to be rushed. Rode the shakeouts. Hung out at the socials. Had a few nice meals with friends.

Like Carmen and John, of Lincoln. We met last summer, when they did the Buccaneer (32 miles). Up until that time, the furthest either had rode. All winter and spring they trained. Indoors and out. Working their way up to the Privateer (75 miles). Things were going great until Carmen got hurt on a training ride. She messed up her thumb badly enough for surgery and tendon reattachment. They’re tough. Just last week she got cleared to ride outside again and guess who’s back on the bike.

There’s also Michelle and Kelly, from Wichita. Michelle, rode the Privateer on Saturday. Kelly snagged a podium spot for competing in a double (25K run, 150 mile ride).

Don’t let these smiles fool you. Beasts one and all.

L to R, Venny, Michelle, Carmen, John and Kelly.

There’s always a bit of pressure on that starting line. Why I like to get there just a few minutes early. It helps to have friends around but you need quiet time to concentrate on the task at hand. All those months of preparation come down to this moment.

The first 200 miles, all good. We departed with what I’d classify as perfect riding weather for this time of year. Temps down in the 80’s. Winds fair and roads in great shape. You’d think with these conditions confidence would be soaring. Especially after all the hard work put into this year’s training effort. That was not the case.

Andy and I teamed up after the first five miles. I already knew he was a strong rider and reliable teammate because we rode together here last year. The entire second half along with two others – Greg and John. He on a single gear and mine had 12 (with electronic shifters).

We made good time. Mostly riding alongside in the beginning. Later, in the night, I’d get out ahead and he’d catch up every mile or so. Usually, there’d be some kind of wisecrack. On a 24+ hour bike ride stories will start to fall flat. Talking requires energy that can be preserved or used on practical things – like staying focused. Points will always be added for comedic effect. One liners a premium. But the laughs became increasingly rare as time passed and the temps crept up.

No surprises. We didn’t sign up for a cake walk. It’s called the Long Voyage. There aren’t any shortcuts. This is Nebraska. It’s supposed to be hard. (Find something to like about it)

Overnight was mostly uneventful as we traversed the Platte river basin. Initially, there’s the excitement of the experience. Andy began to struggle staying awake as we got into the morning hours. He had told me that when you fall asleep on a bike, you can still hear road noise. However, everything goes black. Obviously, not a good thing. I stopped drifting ahead and kept the conversation going.

There were towns to pass thru. A little eerie in the middle of the night rolling through without a soul in sight. Not even a car. Crickets. Where is everyone? They must have rolled up the sidewalks, or maybe the aliens got them? Speaking of, what are those creepy lights floating over the corn field? Oh, they use it to power their spaceships. What’s that – they drink it too?!

Like I said, a little weird. A sleep deprived mind gets to play tricks.

When the sun came up things were still good. At this point, we’re far enough ahead that a 7mph pace would finish. When I got the money shot.

The day played out like an old song on a worn out record. If you were born after 1985 think DVD. We knew the chorus but wanted to hear it again anyway.

As the temps climbed, so did the hills. We endured and made more jokes. Got into a discussion about starting an event and what to call it. Andy’s calling his “Free Ride” for two reasons. First, after the song by Lynyrd Skynyrd. Second, because he doesn’t want to charge anything for it. Well that’s all fine, but it’s NOT a Skynrd song! You must be thinking of “Free Bird.” You can’t use that name. I’m calling my gravel event in Arkansas “Free Bird.”

About when we crossed I-80 for the 5th time. I casually flipped the Interstate a Free Ride Bird. I don’t know why. Things were starting to get on my nerves. Back to the song. Maybe it’s Jethro Tull? No, they’re WAY too dark for that jazzy tune. I could hear it in my head …

Come on and take a free ride
Free ride
Come on and take it by my side
Come on and take a free ride!

— Edgar Winter “Free Ride”

The last bit of levity that could be mustered. It had turned into a war of attrition. My gut was playing a song of its own, and it sounded more like Jethro Tull.

So you ride yourselves over the fields and
You make all your animal deals and
Your wise men don’t know how it feels
To be thick as a brick

— Jethro Tull “Thick as a Brick”

These fine humans ran the Casey’s in Crete. It was the 2nd to the last stop (mile 252) on our Long Voyage. It was somewhere after 4pm and had been hot for many hours. I remained inside for a long time debating whether to call it quits. Others were there as well. It could not have been pleasant for them, messes that we were. We left behind pools of mud from the sweat dripping from our filthy bodies. No problem they told us with a smile. Their kindness made a huge impact.

Andy and Robin were cheerfully having ice cream like it was a “Saturday in the Park”. I dared not risk it. Downed a coke and had some pure water. It tasted good, but it wasn’t good for me. Poured a bottle of orange Gatorade into a Camelbak and diluted the rest with more water and ice. It was the strongest mixture I could handle. Previous stops I’d put two packages of LMNT into that 2L bladder. That’s 2000 mg sodium! Crucial for maintaining. Water without electrolytes means cramping and eventually hyponatremia.

Left Crete and crawled the next 10 miles to constant headwinds and more rollers. Andy had got out ahead and every now and then I’d reel him back in. Robin would stop, and I’d leap frog him. About then support vehicles pulled alongside and asked if I was ready to quit. I’m Good! I’d hear myself say it, but didn’t believe it, and could not squelch the negative thoughts about what lay ahead. I knew damn well what was there. Ended up pulling the plug mile 265. The decisive factor was of course the heat.

Be lying if I said it wasn’t disappointing. I’ll take a DNF over a lengthy recovery. Heat’s no joke, and I trained for exactly this. There are no guarantees. Ultras take us to our limit by definition. It’s possible to finish – or not. A shift in the winds, scattered shower, a few bites of a burrito, ounces of water or degrees of temperature can get you across the finish line or not. We deal with the outcome, gather takeaways and regroup for the next challenge. In this case there was nothing to be done. The hills won.

Epilogue

  1. Was careful when flipping the “Free Ride Bird” that no motorists saw it. The beef was between me and the Interstate (for whatever reason) and not the good people using it.
  2. Was happy that Robin and Andy each finished their 300 mile rides.
  3. I rode the 35 miles back to town with a support vehicle that included one paramedic and one bike mechanic. They were friendly, professional and compassionate. It turned out to be an ideal way to get pulled from the course. We drove to the finish line along the route. This provided me a back seat perspective on how they do their job as they helped other riders. It gave closure.
  4. Carmen and John were at the finish line (just like last year) waiting on me. The difference, last year I actually finished and this year didn’t. The kindness they showed was the same. They helped me unload from the van and walked me across the compound and we loaded my truck. I had to reassure them multiple times that I was OK, could drive back to hotel, etc.
  5. The event itself is in good hands going forward. I haven’t decided what capacity my return will be, but Lincoln will always be like a home to me.
by Shawn McKinney

Unbound ’24 Race Report

Arrived at the starting line 615a and took my place at the back of the pack. Snapped a few shots. Didn’t realize until later, caught Tim Hornik and his tandem partner. I saw them again Sunday morning on the podium in the men’s para category. Tim was wounded in action 20 years ago and lost all sight in one eye and most in the other. An avid cyclist, he’s been doing this event for many years. Surely this must be a good omen.

Also on hand was my brother Kelly who’s doing the 50 and cousin Gregg.

The Three Sanchos we called ourselves in ’16 (when this shot was taken) during our first attempt of the 200 mile course. This place tends to get in the blood.

As the national anthem played, LeAnne Rimes’ beautiful voice ringing, I contemplated gratitude. My wife, kids, brothers, sisters, parents, friends and employer all played a part. My LBS, Arkansas Cycling and Fitness. Training partners. The event organizers. They did an awesome job putting this on. The volunteers. A very long list. Some say getting to the starting line is harder than a finish. So many people helped get me to this one. I had to acknowledge that before letting go…

A few moments later we’re off. Cheering and cowbells. The air was crisp. The sun didn’t want to come out and play. I was OK with that.

A rider went down hard before we made it out of the block. Oof. Can’t unsee that and feel bad for them. Nothing can be done about it. It’s time to GO.

Not much different from the other 6 times. A ton of energy. Folks lining the street. We’re headed North this year. No train to block this exit.

The mood upbeat if not confident. A 3rd try for a fifth finish tends to make one wary. I’ve experienced the highs and lows of this event many times. An upbeat start is no harbinger of success. The cynical side wants to take over and has to be tamped down.

Despite these mixed feelings there was no dread which is a good sign. A decent nights sleep Friday for once. Training and prep were well executed. Legs feel good and promise in the air.

Caught up with fellow Arkansans Jed and David. Met Jed on the course back in ’17 and David not long afterwards.

We used to call ourselves the Arkansas Three. Back when we thought 5 finishes were in the bag. That was then and this is now.

Jed had some troubles and was derailed for a couple of years. David has been battling a serious heart condition. We’re crusty veterans of this race and hold no illusion. Finishes don’t come easy.

The going was good those first 40. We worked together and kept pace. I reconned the middle 75 (Eskridge to Alta Vista) earlier in the week and knew what we were fixing to get into.

Just outside of Eskridge (mile 40) is when the fun starts. Divide road.

Non-trivial. I crawled thru this section working my way around the other riders. Rocky, loose, rutted and punchy. Choose your line carefully. Sharp rocks jut up everywhere.

I got in front of David and Jed ahead of me. Keep the mind in the present. Don’t get in a hurry. We can make up time later. Have fun. Why we’re out here. Before we know it, we’re dropping down into a beautiful valley town called Alma (mile 71).

Gregg was waiting and quickly did the needful to get me going again. Caught up with David on my way out of town who was resting with his wife and daughters.

The next section (Alma to Volland) has nice rollers but its minimal maintenance roads (MMR) are tame in comparison to the previous section. It was here I bumped into Andy Phillips earlier in the week when doing recon. He was out on Bobby Thompson’s Flint Hills Ultra, a 1050 mile bikepacking time trial.

Nothing new for Andy. A veteran of all sorts of these kinds of events. Member of the Unbound 1000 mile club. Finisher of Cannonball and Long Voyage (3 times). Takes off from his home in Topeka on a single speed. Rides however many miles to the town hosting the event and then back home again.

When the sun started to peek out of the clouds David slowed and reminded me that I had to ride my ride. I wasn’t happy about leaving him behind but he was right.

As the air continued to warm, my legs started to cramp. I managed by altering cadence and getting in and out of the saddle. I learned the simple act of counting (in the head) with each breath staved them off. No idea why other than getting the mind to refocus.

Little Egypt road (mile 104) is where my troubles usually started (when on the North course). Had no difficulty on this day. The road itself was in much better shape than years past. Many riders had to walk these hills. I stayed in the saddle.

I knew in advance that if in decent shape by the second water oasis, Alta Vista (mile 112), my chances for a finish were good. In previous years (19, 21) only bad things happened here. Not on this ride. I stopped and the volunteers poured cold water over my head and legs. AHHHHH it felt SO GOOD!! If you’re reading this THANKS!! Y’ALL ARE AWESOME!!

Spirits were soaring as I rode out of town and really from that point on. Yes, it was still warm. Yes, I was riding solo. Yes, there are more miles, hills and chunky sections remaining. None of that seemed to matter. My pace continued to pick up and passed many more riders.

The plan was to meet Kelly and Gregg at CP2, Council Grove (mile 150) around 8p. There I would change into a fresh kit, sit and have a meal. Relax for a spell. Was looking forward to an iced Infinit Cold Brew. Maybe a cookie. But THAT was a Breakfast Club strategy and I was on a Midnight Club pace.

My phone got disconnected from the network and messages weren’t received meaning they didn’t get to the checkpoint in time. No matter. I had paid support (Crew For Hire). I arrived at 630p. A dropbag was waiting with the essentials.

A new plan was being drafted on the fly to get into the Midnight Club. The support crew refilled my bottles as I rebooted the phone and called my brother. They were 18 miles from the checkpoint and I asked them to turn around and meet me at the finish line.

The last 50 were a thing of beauty.

Crossed the line at 1045p.

This gets entry into both the Midnight and 1000 mile clubs. Was a wee wobbly once the adrenaline left. What now? Neil Taylor (Minister of Gravel) guided me out of the corral and made sure I received a medal, patch and glass. Items that go to every finisher. Thanks Neil!!!

When I found Gregg and Kelly and was sprayed with champagne (as if I’d won the race). Having eaten very little solid food, I was famished and a feast was waiting. Settled on smothered steak and gravy from IHOP. It maybe doesn’t sound good to you and never would’ve ordered it myself, but it was EXACTLY what was needed.

Also talked with Kelly Wenz who almost beat the sun. Waited around but missed Jed’s finish not long afterwards.

When I snapped a shot of Nick Gilroy who rode a Walmart single speed beach cruiser with his buddies. I saw them out around Little Egypt and couldn’t believe it. What in the …?

Cool dude. He had us cracking up. Why’d you do that? Something about losing a bet.

My brother then drove me back to the hotel where a hot shower and more food were waiting. Began to anxiously check the results for David and Bill Jeffery who was out doing the XL. I’d heard from a friend earlier that David made it to CP2 and was headed for Emporia. I texted and told him we’d be at the finish line. Was driving there when he texted back that he was pulled from the course. Still don’t know why but having breakfast with him and Jed this weekend and will get the story then.

Sunday was a day of celebration. Always one to attend the Unbound closing ceremony, this day Jed and I were up there as well.

by Shawn McKinney

Top 10 Reasons Cyclists ❤️ Motorists

  1. Useful when getting to events, support, hauling gear, etc.
  2. Not all bad. Especially when parked.
  3. Close passes (buzzing) keeps the mind sharp.
  4. No mini-marts without cars.
  5. The ones with bike carriers are nice.
  6. Loads of useful advice like when to stop, where to go, what to do with ourselves.
  7. Sometimes they’ll even honk to let us know how much they care.
  8. Deep down they love us too and would miss us if we were gone.
  9. Their taxes subsidize our roads.
  10. We all have to do it sometimes.

Obviously, it’s satire. In truth, most of us are motorists too. At least here in the states there’s literally no other way. I write this to find humor which counteracts hate.

by Shawn McKinney

The Long Voyage Pt. III

It fell over with a sickening thud. I was standing in the shade beside the corral. Had just arrived onsite. It was 4:45 pm. Immediately, a pair of friendly hands were there to help. Carmen and John (Lincoln, NE). Grew up downriver, just across the border, in Missouri. Went to Northwest Missouri State University (Go Bearcats!)

Met them at the route meeting two nights before. John lifted the bike and Carmen took my things as I quickly (and nervously) ran thru a check to make sure nothing was damaged. Minor adjustments had to be made. The seat had been knocked out of alignment. It had fallen on the right side. Was concerned the derailleur had bent again (repeat of 2 years ago). All was fine and we exchanged contact info this time.

Also on hand were Michelle and Kelly of Wichita. We had met at last year’s Gravel Worlds. Kelly and I teamed up the last half of the 150. How it goes when out there. Friendships are formed fast, out of necessity. Nowhere to hide. Kelly ran the 50K earlier in the day and would line up for the 150 in the morning. Michelle the 75 miler.

Carmen and John did the 50K gravel course on Saturday. They are still relatively new to the scene but early indications are they’re doing great. Everyone finished btw, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

It was time so I took my usual place at the back of the pack. Was good to see Andy (from Topeka) in the lineup. We’d met a couple of years before, after my first attempt at Long Voyage. He finished and I didn’t. That’s another story.

Don’t remember much more about those last few moments. Dan Hughes (Lawrence, KS) snapping photos and offering encouragement. Also exchanged a few words with Matt Gersib. Pirate, local legend and all around cool dude. He completed a Long Voyage back in ’21 and is onhand this year as a promoter of the event.

The temps were as expected, somewhere north of 90. It was also muggy although not unusually.

And we’re off. Neutral start, rolling the first couple miles on pavement before hitting gravel. I rode the first 15 miles as a shakeout the day before and was getting my “sea legs” back. It felt good but had no illusions. A lot of things had to go right and only one thing wrong. Had done the math. Knew my chances of making it thru the first night were good and on into the early afternoon of the next day. Wasn’t sure about what would happen after that. Getting into uncharted territory.

Caught up with Andy at the first stop (Weeping Willow mile 46) around 9pm. He’s on a single speed (as usual) and goes at a different pace. It wasn’t long before he got out ahead of me. I was creeping along in the darkness. Applying brakes on the descents. One careless moment, a bit of loose gravel and the ride would be over. Wasn’t quite ready to let ‘er rip.

It was many miles before I talked to another soul. Occasionally, a blinky light way off in the distance. I remained on course.

Had a funny encounter with a voice somewhere in the darkness. Was it just in my head? Just before crossing the toll bridge over the Missouri river into Iowa. “What’s your ETA back in Lincoln?”, it asked. “Late”, was my one word reply. There was something else, uttered unintelligibly, couldn’t quite make it out.

No matter. There was work to be done. Iowa can be a lonely place. It greeted us with loose and chunky gravel. Makes the going tough as you slip and slide along. Have to maintain momentum which requires more power. “This gravel is a friend”, was the mantra. Trust it don’t fight it. Let it go where it wants.

Lightning flashed to the south and west as eastern Nebraska got pelted by a front. Friend or foe? Too early to know.

After the first century was a stop at Jason Strohbehn’s childhood home, in Treynor, Iowa (mile 109), around 3am. Jason’s another organizer of Gravel Worlds.

My brother Kelly and I wandered into Lincoln five summers earlier. Looking for adventure. We got what we bargained for. The hospitality is what keeps us coming back. The heat is optional. Call it a bonus. A test of will. One of the best events in Gravel. A real sufferfest. Endless miles of twisty, hilly, sandy, chunky, gravel goodness. If you can ride these hills you can ride any.

I met Jason’s father Thursday evening, walking around the venue when surveying the starting line. A friendly guy. Like father, like son. They grow good humans in Iowa.

That stop was run by Jamie, who I had met at the course meeting Wednesday. He assured me then that he wasn’t leaving until the last rider passed thru. Gave us expert help, weather reports, advice, encouragement. There was also cold water, gatorade, cokes, ice, pizza. He’s married to Kristie Tracey, pro athlete. Last year she was struck by a car while training. Suffered devastating injuries including severe head trauma and compound fractures to bones in her leg. She’s battling back having successfully finished this year’s Long Voyage (way before me).

I met Kristie back in ’21 at the first Long Voyage stop. She had just pulled the plug due to a mechanical. What struck me at the time was her positivity. Took it in stride.

There were others at Treynor. It was perhaps a little too cozy. Didn’t want to leave. Some discussions over the storm and its bearing. I put on a rain jacket. Stowed spare batteries in ziplocks. A once over on the bike. Wet lubed the drivetrain. “Head north as fast as you can, might just miss it”, Jamie’s calm words of advice rang in my ears as I departed.

Not long afterward the rain came. I allowed a moment of self pity before checking it. This front is what’s going to get me across the finish line. It should draw much of the heat out of the atmosphere.

When I was overtaken by emotion. All of the things to be grateful for. A long list. I didn’t understand what was happening but realized something was guiding and powering me effortless thru the darkness. Truly a transcendent moment.

I really enjoy riding at night. It’s much cooler in the summer of course. It also brings back something of the child in me. Back when we would sneak out from backyard campouts. Meet other kids. Our parents of course were unaware. Long before technology, cell phones, trackers and surveillance. We’d wander the neighborhood. Chasing and running from dogs. Communion with the nocturnal animals. Wonderful memories brought back after having been long forgotten.

Soon it would be sunrise. A blessing and curse. Certainly, it’s inspiring as the surrounding countryside lights in amazing detail. Those hills we’re laboring over offer beautiful visas. It’s also when the adrenaline stops and fatigue sets in.

Next stop was Missouri Valley (mile 151). Refueled at a McDonald’s off the Interstate. It was 8 am and about half full. A few other riders were there. We smelled bad and probably looked like hell.

Once they knew what we were up to their suspicion turned into curiosity. “Are you the leaders?”, one youngster asked. “Naw, we’re pretty much last place”, Andy flatly replied.

And Then There Were Four
Nothing was said. We just ended up riding together the next 100 miles. The morning air provided a slight chill. Enough to consider putting my jacket back on. I decided not knowing the forecast called for temps to be in the 80’s. Nothing like the blistering triple digits a couple of days ago.

I pushed back thoughts of finishing. Keep the mind in the present. The next 50 miles were hilly. One wrong line away from a bad outcome.

Knew I was in the company of greatness but had no idea it was Johnny Gravel. A 68 year old veteran of these kinds of events. He was accompanied by Greg. At 62, no spring chicken either. He had completed a Long Voyage last year. The rains and mud had slowed him down and he missed the cutoff by a couple of minutes. They gave him a finish anyway (well of course the Pirates would) but there was unfinished business.

They hail from the Twin Cities. Greg had talked Johnny Gravel into it. Rounding out our group was Andy. Who as I said had completed Long Voyage in ’21 and last year.

l to r, Greg, Johnny, Andy

About when the temps started hiking up. It was probably in the low 80’s but as the sun bears down the road temps feel about 10 degrees warmer. By this time we were helped and cooled by the north wind that had just a touch of west in it.

Having fallen behind during the night, riding hills and unfavorable winds in Iowa, had to make good time in order to hit the cutoff. We worked together. Johnny was keeping an eye on it. At one point he announced our average went over 10mph. Now well into the third century, thoughts of a finish were allowed to creep in.

Mile 245 was a stop in Valparaiso. We had just lost site of Andy. I knew there was the checkpoint at mile 261 but this late in the day supplies can get low. We refueled and soon were off again.

Just before the checkpoint my electronic shifter malfunctioned. “Y’all go ahead. I’ll catch up”, I told them. Knew it was:

  1. Derailleur battery dead
  2. Shifter batteries dead
  3. Other

Hoping it was #1. Had spares for the shifters too, but they’re a pain to replace. If it was #3, I’d be calling Don at Triple D City Car Service, Lincoln, NE. We agreed to a modest fee up front and he’d fish me out of whatever hole I fell into (on the course) if need be.

Don kept an eye on the tracker and texted messages of encouragement. Cool dude. If you’re ever in the Lincoln metro area, need a ride or SAG for an event, Don gets a strong endorsement.

It ended up being the derailleur battery and was replaced in a couple of minutes. Now caught up with Greg and Johnny again we could only speculate how far ahead of us Andy had gone.

Checkpoint

Mile 261 anxiety was building. We had fallen behind again due to the stops and now were back in the bubble. Darkness was setting in but had one more trick up my sleeve. A packet of Infinit Cold Brew snagged from the swag table during check-in on Thursday. Had been saving it for just this moment.

Loaded that into one of the bottles, mixed in some ice when Greg asked if I was ready to roll.

The last 40

Early on, Johnny and Greg were on my tail. Lost them over the next hill as I entered “The Zone”. Fatigue and pain were forgotten. The dim twilight illuminated the lines into a sharp focus. Concentration was absolute. After nightfall my eyes adjusted to the headlights and continued to bomb the downhills.

Holding the line can be difficult, especially at night. It was never in doubt. Again, that presence guided and protected as thoughts of my parents set in. We lost my father in 2015. My brothers and sisters all helped take care of him. We lost my mother during lockdown. She was in an assisted living center. We weren’t allowed in to see her until the very end. Huge regret over that period.

Felt like they were saying it was OK.

Caught up with Andy a few miles outside of Lincoln. My hearty greeting must’ve startled him. At the finish line my friends were there to help even though surely they were tired from the day’s events. It hadn’t been easy for the others. The storm from the previous night saturated the course with rain making it a muddy mess. Then the wait as Johnny and Greg finished Dead Fucking Last (DFL).

Could not have scripted it better. Luck, planning or divine intervention? Probably a little of one and a lot of the others.

Experiencing life changing perspectives. Doing what seemed impossible. Amends with the past. Makes the pain worthwhile.

This Long Voyage is over. The next begins.

by Shawn McKinney

Why are you here?

We must all be looking for something.

There should be no surprises as the queue snakes its way alongside both ditches. We were warned.

Trudging, stopping, starting, barbed wire gnashes our bodies. Over the mud is the only way out.

Don’t do it! You can’t ride this road. No skipping this queue. It’s not a freeway. Everyone has a turn.

How it goes when riding in the prairie. Keep walking like everyone else. It’ll pass. Don’t know when.

Over that next corner or hilltop will be a respite.

Or not. Truckers will honk in solidarity. They understand. They’re with us. If only a moment. Are we losing control? Where is the line and have we crossed?

Forget it. The mud has released us. We’re done walking. Scrape off and get on with it.

It must be 20, 30 miles later when the sun gets to play its part. Why are you out here it also seems to be asking. Don’t you know what I can do to you?

Don’t listen. It’s no friend. Get ahold of yourself. The oasis is not that far and we can fill up. Not in spirit. Yeah, there’s upbeat music, but this is no party. Keep going.

Eureka’s 40 miles and motors will bog in the heat. Where is that threshold? There it is down deep. An angry stir. Better back off just a bit.

We won’t make it in time and might as well quit? Are we only here for the finish?

Fuck that shit. It’s more than that. Keep pouring down the salt and sugar. Hold steady and don’t lose focus. No one knows what lies ahead.

Grind up and back down. Over, over and over again. Those river bottoms are whispering us to stop. Don’t fall for their lies. We can’t stop. Not here and not now.

The thirst. Maybe they’ll come with the cold water again. Like last time we were here. Remember how cold it was? How good it tasted? Where are they?

In that quiet, peaceful little town they are waving and shouting. Did we do something wrong? Are we seconds under the cutoff?

That means we’re still in this. But we can’t rest there’s more work to be done. Get moving even though all we really want to do is stay.

A storm can energize or drain what power remains. It’s a choice. Get back what the sun took. Complete the cycle.

Why are you calling? They can’t get to us. I hope you find a way back home. We have to go. Our power has returned. Why would we stay wet, cold and huddling?

It feels much better and hope returns along with its seductive promises. We’ve earned one more chance to find out why we came.

And the Flint Hills will always reveal her beauty to those willing to endure the pain. She plays hard to get. Punishes in order to cleanse. Where it can be washed by the rain.

Now that we’re climbing again we must be careful. Over the wet, rocky slopes and let er rip across the open spaces in between. Hold that line and go faster.

After the rains fickle winds get to change direction. Pushing gently against us. Perhaps the hills and the wind are working together. They won’t let us leave until we know why we came.

Another oasis bodies lay spent and contorted. Expressions range from grim to defeated. There’s the timing strip. Who’s going to stop us now?

Not the Hills.

Sorry about that derailleur dude. It was a hell of a good try. You really showed us something today. Maybe that is why you were here.

No bloke, I don’t carry an iPhone charger. I’d give you one if I could. Here’s a phone to call support. The number is on dead phone? You could have prepared better. Maybe that’s why you were here.

You wouldn’t quit after missing a cutoff 50 miles back old man. Stopping to encourage stragglers. Maybe that’s why you’re here.

A fifth finish not this day my friend. You gave it a good fight. So you’ll help your buddies get into the club. Isn’t that why you’re here?

No, I don’t think we should ride ma’am. We’re in the mud again. Yes, I’d rather ride too. No lights yet there you calmly go. That must be why you’re here.

…

It doesn’t hurt anymore. The fear is gone leaving only peace. We must be close to finding the answer.

As darkness envelops the coyotes and moon compete for attention. The cool air draws moisture from earth and sky covering us in a cold embrace. It will be over soon and then we will know why we came.

photos courtesy of Aaron Davis

by Shawn McKinney

Gravel Cycling Hall of Fame Class of ’23

It’s 1 am Thursday prior to the start of Unbound. Exactly 53 hours before we have to line up. It has been a good week so far. Arrived Monday and have had a couple of days to get settled in. Today was pretty awesome. Started the day riding in the Hall of Fame shakeout ride. It was supposed to meet a group coming in from an overnight stay at a campground, in Pomona, KS. They got rained out and had to motor to town. We just left as one big group and spun around the outskirts of Emporia, KS for an hour or so.

I enjoyed catching up with Mark Stevenson, a.k.a. Guitar Ted, who as an inductee of the inaugural class (last year) attended the banquet to lend support for the incoming class. Mark is about as laid back as they come and really represents the grass roots segment of the cycling community, that has taken to the mixed surface roadways, i.e. gravel. Maybe you’ve read his blog, now over 20 years in print, or more recently, a podcast where he teams up with N. Y. Roll.

Later, I overheard Alison Tetrick telling Jason Strohbehm, about breaking a foot last weekend and can’t get around without a walking boot. Jason, is one of the Pirates up in Lincoln, NE. They host Gravel Worlds each August and more recent events like Winter Endurance (February). He also sits on the Board of Directors of the Gravel Cycling Hall of Fame, and gave the introduction at tonight’s banquet.

When I asked Alison why in the hell she’s riding a bike (instead of healing) it started what turned into about a 30 minute conversation. By that time, as is not unusual between two people meeting for the first time on a bike, it felt like we’d known each other for years.

She was one of tonight’s four inductees, along with the late Joel Dyke, Miguel Crawford and just Yuri (according to Dan Hughes his last name “Hauswald” is superfluous). In her acceptance speech was discussion about the challenges that women athletes face, along with battles with injuries, anxiety, depression and society’s expectations. Alison doesn’t hold back anything and it might have been tough for some to take.

I was impressed by her honesty and courage. For someone who has won her share of races, she understands the emphasis isn’t on the result, but on showing up. That is, the hardest part of a race is getting to the starting line. Finishing is comparatively easy.

Which gets back to my predicament. Facing a sixth attempt at the 200 mile course. I finished the first four. We all missed ’20 (covid) followed by a Did Not Finish (DNF) in ’21, and a deferral last year due to health. Did Not Show (DNS).

Back in ’19 I thought a fifth finish was a given. Now, four years later, still working on it. There are no givens. The night before that DNF, was no sleep. This year, a return to that pattern. It’s ironic how we can deterministically prepare for a challenge. Getting everything in order. But, sleep is not something we have any control over. Either it comes, or it doesn’t.

We’re talking about nerves. Anxiety over showing up. Like Alison said, getting to the starting line is the hardest part.