Category / Exercise and Fitness

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

How to carry the bike over muddy sections

Robb Finegan provided this tip after placing 5th at the ’21 The Long Voyage. Riders carried 3 miles after rains washed out the B-Roads on the course. An old mountain biker trick: A duffel bag strap attached to a couple zip ties can be easily stowed, makes carrying a whole lot easier.

Attach to zip ties at base of seat post

and handle bars

by Shawn McKinney

The Long Voyage Pt. II

Sometimes that trip we take ends unexpectedly. Last year’s post sets the stage.

I’ll never know for sure, if it weren’t for that bent derailleur, might’ve just finished in ’21. Other than the early rain and later muddy B-roads, weather wasn’t a factor. I flubbed the execution.

Impulsively flipped the bird driving by that same Loves truck stop yesterday on my return from Lincoln. It’s just off Nebraska Highway 2, near Syracuse. A visceral reaction. Nothing against them. It’s what happened there. The emotions are still raw, one year later.

Which may help explain why I signed up again. Made a plan and caught Covid in February. Relatively mild case. Slowed me down some. Before we get into what happened next, let’s go back still further…

In February ’06 a GI bleed continued for several days and required hospitalization. About when the doctor started discussing transfusions, it stopped. Afterwards, the diagnosis was diverticulitis. Not a particularly severe condition, managed with diet.

It could have been worse. A wake-up call. I made the necessary changes along with an increasing amount of exercise, particularly aerobic. Over the intervening period were tweaks to lifestyle. Taking the foot off the gas pedal. Achieving a work-life balance.

Back to last February, after recovering from Covid, there was bleeding again. What I’ll share, the diagnosis is Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD). There’s no cure. It’s managed with medication. The goal’s remission. No consensus on the cause or how to get (and stay) in remission. There are strong indications that it’s autoimmune. Meaning nobody knows for sure. We’re left with guesses and playing the odds.

Despite this lack of conclusive scientific evidence pointing to any particular cause, drastic changes were made to diet. Most of the stuff I loved to eat and drink were off limits. Moving toward plants, less meat. No problem. This part’s overdue. It can be turned positive.

What’s up for grabs is riding and was advised to stop. The doctor can’t make me, but It’d be unwise to do otherwise. It’s also tricky. It might be alright to ride like a normal person, say twenty-five miles a day. That’s not how I roll.

One of the meds tamped the symptoms. Would be great if it weren’t prednisone, which isn’t a viable long-term option. Gradually, the dosage was reduced and stopped in early July. No relapse. In remission? Was given the green light to return to normal activities.

Not in time for Unbound, the first Saturday after Memorial day. Had to defer that entry and volunteered instead. A gratifying experience and made up for the disappointment. It’s now summertime, no more riding restrictions and enough time for a credible shot at Long Voyage on August 19th.

Then the mishaps. Hit the deck twice the first couple weeks of July, about ten days apart. Cracked number six, bruises and scrapes. Thought maybe a broken tooth and another rib. Nothing serious. Healed up and resumed training. Lost another month and it’s only three weeks until the event. Should be tapering, not ramping up.

I was determined to give it a go anyway. Be a good test. What’s the worst that can happen? Probably a lot. Call it defiance or stupidity. Was talked out of it by both wife and coach. Neither thought it a good idea. I relented. On the last day to make changes at Gravel Worlds, I dropped to the 150 mile course.

Arrived at Lincoln early last Thursday. Did the shakeouts. Hung out at the venue during the day and rested at night. On Saturday the weather was gorgeous and so was the course. I completed the sandy roller coaster in thirteen hours and some change. Held steady until the end and it was pretty awesome. Made some friends and caught up with old ones. Inspired by hearing all of their stories of redemption and courage.

This story isn’t exactly that. It was a great ride and included a nice finish. Good enough for now. Redemption can wait.

by Shawn McKinney

Confessions of a Middle-Aged Coder Turned Gravel Grinder

Slides from my ApacheCon talk yesterday:

confessions-middle-aged-coder-turned-gravel-grinder-aceu-2019-v1

Some words about Gerrit Gorter… writer, professional, musician, husband, father and friend.

I just learned his treatment (for a disease I shall not grace by naming) has been discontinued.  He has listened to my stories, encouraged the continued pursuit (of silly things like riding gravel), and to never lose the childlike curiosity to try new things.  This talk was for him.

by Shawn McKinney

The Dirty Kanza Effect

It happens every year.  The Dirty Kanza entices me with the idea that it can be mastered.  This year will be the year I have that perfect ride.  If only my plan is executed flawlessly, if my training holds up, if I can continue to hydrate and eat like I practiced.  This will be the year I get to return to Emporia in time to enjoy that beer at the finish with my friends and family.

That’s how it felt last year, and the others.  This year once again, flush with confidence and those first twenty-five miles were a thing of beauty.  A gorgeous sunrise, cool temps, tame roads and we were all smiles.  It’s an illusion.  Every endurance gravel event presents unique, i.e. never before seen, challenges and the DK is no exception.  In ’16 DK was the heat, and the south winds that made it a brutal sufferfest.  DK ’17 brought rains during 3rd leg that wreaked havoc.  DK ’18 had those punishing north winds.

DK ’19 will be remembered as the year of the heat.  To a lesser extent the course itself presented challenges.  For example, the gravel was chunkier, more hills over long sections.  But, for me it was the heat that brought difficulty.  To understand what happens think about when the radiator in your car gets overwhelmed.  Maybe it gets low on water, the fan stops working, or even the thermostat fails.  That’s what happens to me.  I can’t keep my engine cool.

This is when I start consuming more water, which leads to an electrolyte imbalance.  I try to keep up of course, consuming various concoctions but it’s always too little, too late.

Actually cramps around mile 80 seem to be a thing with me and the Kanza.  Happens Every Damn Time.  I now believe that I must have a defective left quad.  Always starts during one of the longer climbs.  Usually late in the morning.  Maybe halfway up when the red lights start to blink and the cramping begins.  This year, I had the antidote. In our DK swag-bags were packets with cramp pills and lotion.  I had these tucked away in my handy chase camelbak and immediately placed a couple tablets beneath my tongue.  As they dissolved I tore open the package and slathered the cramp lotion onto my left thigh and it actually — worked.  Or, I thought it worked.  At least for a while, say 10 miles before the whole process replays itself once again.

A hot engine means a slow, inefficient one and so one has to maintain at a lower capacity, say 75% or even 66%.  That 14mph trot has become a 10mph crawl. If there’s water to be found anywhere along the way by all means STOP.  Keeping the water tanks topped off is one of the things that helps.  But, if there isn’t water, don’t stop.  Don’t stop at the side of the road to sit beneath those lovely shade trees (with all of the others) unless it’s absolutely necessary.

Above all, don’t worry about it.  For example, don’t think like this:

If that hill up ahead continues for what looks like another mile with portions having a grade of more than 15% and we’re into the wind meaning most likely I’m going to have to get off and walk.  Especially because the very coarse-grained rock and ruts make it tricky finding a proper line with all of the riders dismounting and walking…

It’s still twenty miles to the next rest stop.  My stomach isn’t working very well and my energy levels will continue to dissipate making it likely that I’ll need to slow down even more…

Instead, focus on very small details of the ride.  A kind of mediation.  Focus on breathing.  In, out, in out.  Focus on form. Smooth strokes. On things that can be controlled, like cadence.  Focus on other tactics like the line you take.  Little else is more important than that.  Take a bad line, it’s over.  In other words, think about what’s happening NOW.  Let everything else fall to the wayside.

What works for me.  I avoid like the plague the clusters of casualties who gather at the roadside, unless help is needed.  Stop and help the rider from Minnesota find her cell phone. Stop and talk to those in obvious distress, who’ve wrecked, unresolved mechanicals, etc.  Provide water/food to those in need.  That kind of thing.  The positivity of the present.  It’s the culture of gravel.  It’s why we’re out there.  The negativity, replaying all of the bad stuff that’s already happened, or yet to, must be pushed out of the mind.

It’s OK to think about future positives.  That tailwind on the last leg.  That cloud that might dump cooling rains.  The dropping sun means cooler temps.  I ALWAYS get a second wind at sunset.  A secret weapon.  It can be counted on, when the barn is smelled.

My last leg to Emporia from Council Grove was the second most enjoyable part of the ride.  After the smiles on the first leg they returned again for the last.  The roads were tamer.  Fewer hills.  I was able to maintain a decent pace that last 50 and cross the finish line at 1:06am.  Jim Cummins was there to congratulate us.  I made sure to tell him that the new course was AWESOME.  It was in fact perfect and I had the best ride ever, if not a perfect one.

There’s always next year.  That’ll be when I finally master the DK.