Category / Riding Gravel

by Shawn McKinney

PXGD250

The hardest part is the training. The race itself is pure adventure. Since I was already ramped up after last month’s Long Voyage … why not again? It wasn’t on my original plan but, fit perfectly. Opportunities don’t come along every day.

Why another trip to Kansas? If you restrict the conversation to unpaved, it’s some of the best riding around. Show me a state or region with more unpaved roads (and I’m going there). A bunch of friends are doing it, it’s fun, let’s go.

This one’s called the Pony Express Gravel Dash. Held in Marysville, Kansas. One of the stops for riders in the 1860’s. The town (and region) has maintained a connection with its past. We checked in at the Pony Express Barn & Museum.

There was a coffee house, pub and bike shop nearby. I’m signed up for the 250 mile “beer run”. We’re starting at 630p Friday. The course goes clockwise along a big oval and has over 120 turns. It looks kind of like a big pig. We take off its snout on the right side.

Friday 730a was the start of a half marathon run. Kelly, Zak and Matt were in it.

L to R, Mark, Zak and Kelly
L to R, Matt, Zak and Kelly. Image courtesy of Pony Express Gravel Dash FB page.

Spoiler: all 3 finished that and the 250 mile beer run (ride) that starts later in the day.

At 746a was a 9/11 memorial. A team of local emergency responders was deployed. There were words spoken over the public address. The affair was subdued and dignified. Struck the right chord with me. That we never forget what happened twenty-five years ago.

It’s also my daughter’s birthday. She was three years old when it happened. And it was my mom’s birthday too. Many things more important than riding a bike happened on this day.

Everyone was super cool and we were made to feel at home. Had breakfast at the coffee house when Jennifer Kilbourne popped in with her husband. They were also in town for the race. She finished fourth of her thirty-five mile race on Sat. Just missed a podium by a couple of minutes.

Later, had a late lunch at the all-night diner, right next to our Travelodge. Did the final preps and laid down for a nap.

As I got up the words “It’s all downhill from here”, hung in the air. It was now 545p, 45m before the start. Told Andy he wasn’t going to live that one down. He was stretched out in an armchair over in the corner of the room. His wife had dropped him off that morning and we hung out all day.

A usual suspect in these adventures. We’ve ridden together numerous times in the last few years.

The hotel room was controlled chaos. Stuff scattered, “neatly” in piles. Bikes, totes, packages, powders, lights, batteries and other gear. Food stacked on the remaining shelves. Coolers, water packs, bags of ice. It takes a couple of hours to get it all packed up and loaded again after one of these deployments.

The nap definitely helped. Touched sleep for an instant. Just enough to feel refreshed.

Soon we’re at the start, smiling like it’s a Sunday morning. Was asked for final thoughts by a man with a microphone …

“It’s all downhill from here.”, was my reply. Maybe the delivery wasn’t as convincing as Andy’s. Everyone seemed satisfied and so we went with it.

Jed and “Cabot Kelly” Spencer were there. She’s riding the 120 on Saturday morning and ended up getting first place both in this race AND the “Great Plain Gravel Cup” series. Champion in the masters class. It wasn’t even close. She won every race but two. Jed’s been a riding buddy of mine since the first leg of our second Dirty Kansas (now known as “Unbound”).

“Wichita Kelly” Wenz is here also. Another distinguished member of our little club. He ran the half marathon earlier and was also hanging out with us all day.

Courtney’s doing the sixty-five miler. She got first place in the masters class for her event. It wasn’t even close. Second place came in over an hour later.

Mark and Renee Hoffman are the co-race directors and this the thirteenth year of the event. Met them both at Unbound’s expo a couple years ago. Always wanted to come here and try it out. I know this part of the state and when I saw their passion for the experience couldn’t help but get drawn in. When I found out they were having a 250 miler this year, a beer run, that leaves in the evening and goes all night. Well, say no more. I’m in.

Mark and Renee Hoffman

They are handing it off to Joy Cross-Kramer who was on the starting line of the 250 (as a competitor). She’s tough, high energy and a super cool. Undoubtedly the event’s in good hands going forward.

Joy Cross-Kramer

In addition to being the mayor of Marysville, Todd Frye’s a core member of the race committee and fellow rider. He ran a race in the next town over called “Haddam Hounds Hundy”, designed the 250 course we’re getting ready to ride and is known to have a fondness for dirt roads, i.e. Minimal Maintenance Roads (not gravel).

He promised to go “easy” on us but I remained skeptical (for good reason). We saw Todd numerous times over the next twenty-four hours as he met us at many of the stops along the way providing neutral support. We weren’t the only ones who stayed up all night.

All of this lends a special emphasis to the occasion. When the mayor is also a rider who designed the course and is himself a race promoter. You know that a lot of stops are going to be removed. It showed in the way we were supported, and the attitudes of the locals we met along the way.

And we’re off. As is my typical modus operandi, I left town in last place. There were nineteen riders in this race. I passed half a dozen or so over the first miles. Felt OK, not great despite it being a beautiful evening and a stunning rollout. Wide expansive views of the river valley as the sun was beginning its descent.

There can be an uneasy feeling toward the beginning of the ride. Not enough invested to feel good about it. A lot miles to travel. My mind was rebelling and enlisting body parts in its mutiny. For some reason it wanted no part of this.

For the first half of the course it seemed like half of the time was spent on Minimal Maintenance Roads (MMR). They’re fun but bring challenges. Not just rocks, they’re rutted and have scraggly bushy things shooting up. The roads were sandy and had layers of (what looked like) moon dust. It gets nerve-wracking slipping and sliding about. There will be close calls if not mishaps. A line turns into a rut and you better hop or stop. A wheel slides out and the bike wants to go down. We got choked on the dust flying off the wheels in front. Somewhere in here Kelly got ahead and it was just Andy, Matt and me. We mostly rode in silence. Sometimes would be a wisecrack or observation. Complaining is out of the question. Small talk can get tiresome.

image courtesy of Andy Phillips

Got into a discussion about aliens and the chances of getting snatched. Not a new subject out here. We spotted a blinky taillight ominously flickering in the middle of the road. I heard that they leave these behind. Who’d they get? Maybe they already got one of us. How would we know, is there a test?

Later, Andy admitted he sometimes liked building mountains from mashed potatoes. Not sure what any of this means right now. File it away for later.

It was a new moon and pitch black, except for our lights and the lightning on the northern horizon. Here we go again.

The first stop Todd was waiting with his family. They handed out bottles of water and good cheer. He told us later that the storms were actually WAY up north of I-80. In York, Nebraska. That must be 100 miles away! Nevertheless, it was our constant companion for the remainder of the night.

The small towns all seemed deserted until we hit Concordia which was hilly and quiet too. We stopped at the quick mart. There were some natives watching us curiously. Surely, wondering what we were up to. One asked the same question we always get. How far are you riding? I told them a fourteen-mile loop. It sounds better at 1am out here in the dark with thunderstorms looming. Maybe they won’t think we’re crazy, or aliens.

Andy and Matt in Concordia

We picked up Kelly again and continued north over roads alternating between MMR and sand. The lightning was now higher in the sky and grew more intense. Still no thunder.

Just before we got to Courtland, the halfway point, I stopped to swap batteries on the headlights. Andy and Matt got out ahead. We bumped into them again at the brewery. After that it was glimpses way off in the distance, or tracks in the dirt and mud.

What about the storms? They’re “probably” going to miss us because we’re so slow. Stay on the dry route, we were told.

I’m now limping around (when not riding) and my good knee hurt like hell. WTF? It’s the best knee I’ve got and this? Probably just a niggle. Ignore it and continue on.

Irrigation Ales Brewery

The morning light brought some of the coolest roads on an open range section near the Pawnee Indian Village. Amazing views and a blast to ride. Tricky, technical, might be a little sketchy? Hell yeah, let’s do ‘er.

image courtesy of Andy Phillips

A neutral “breakfast” stop in Chester. Eldon ran it. He had a table with coffee, donuts, and other snacks laid out. A pretty good stop. Even had a box of rice crispy treats, which fit nicely in the jersey pocket for later.

It hurt to stand up so I stayed in the saddle and cranked. Had to get off and climb a couple chunky hills. There was one road that makes Unbound’s Little Egypt look like a bunny trail.

One of the “easier” MMRs

How’d you like that section? Todd asked at our second to last stop. We made it to Haddam. Todd’s hometown. He pointed to a building across the street with a faded sign. Used to be the family’s Pontiac dealership that his Dad ran. He had good news and good news. The storms had already crossed our path AND we’re switching to the “wet route”, meaning no more MMRs.

We then hit sections that had been rained on. The roads held up (we didn’t have to walk), but grew sloppy and tacky, sucking power from dwindling reserves.

The wind became a factor. At no time in our favor. The first half from the south. Switched directions from the north. Great, a “reverse unicorn” (headwinds all the way around). It had also picked up a bit. Was it gusting 30? Probably not quite. Kelly and I started working together, each taking one mile pulls.

“All hell’s getting ready to break loose in about thirty minutes”, Kelly casually mentioned. It was maybe 2p when it hit.

We ducked into a shed next to an old farmhouse just as the skies opened up. A good time to stow gear and get ready for the last bit.

“This is how we make the next news feature.”, Kelly commented wryly. Similar thoughts. When the angry farmer appears with a shotgun. Our luck seemed to hold as the rain let up and we rolled on.

What was that about no more MMRs? Well, maybe just a few more. We did have to walk for a bit. Maybe a mile or so. This is how it goes. You’re not getting out of this ride without it. It’s fine. Not much to differentiate the remaining miles until we reached the last stop in Hanover.

The rain picked up as the temps dropped into the low 60’s (F). Starting to feel chilly. That’s fine by me. I’ll take that over heat any day.

We were REALLY looking forward to some solid food as I opened the door at the quick mart and was met by a nice lady holding a mop. Dirty doesn’t describe our appearance. Shoes caked with mud. “C’mon in!”, She exclaimed and told us not to worry about making a mess.

Grabbed some water and went to the counter and asked if they had anything hot. “I can cook you a hamburger!”, the other nice lady smiled.

I almost started balling right there. Not sure why. Relief, gratitude, happiness? As much as I wanted to take her up on that offer, we didn’t have the time, settled on a cold sandwich and waited outside in the rain getting ready to roll again. She brought it out to me and it was the BEST sandwich ever.

The last fifteen were both hard and wonderful. A rainbow to the northeast as we rolled into the last river valley. The sun peeked out from the clouds for the first time in hours. It’s only five more miles, I lied to Kelly. Actually it was more like eight. Five sounded better.

About when he blurted out Andy’s a f***ing liar. He was joking of course. But, at no point in the ride was it all downhill from anywhere. In any case it was time to let those endorphins flow, we’re almost home.

Rolled across the finish line. All the happy faces. Kelly, Jed, Jeff, Courtney, Mark, Renee, Todd, Jennifer, Matt and of course Andy finished.

What do you want me to do with this? I asked Mark. It was the pint of beer I’d been carrying in my jersey pocket ever since the brewery. Delivered, unopened as required.

“Now you get to drink it”, he said.

The rest was standard fare. It’s all about recovery. Give the body what it needs after the abuse. Food, sleep, rest, all good.

Not Andy. He rode home to Topeka the next morning. An all day ride. Had more storms to ride through but that’s no more of an issue for him than it is for someone else to turn their windshield wipers on.

Before I left town, made a last stop for gas and got in a conversation with a couple of old codgers who were hanging out having coffee. What are you in town for? One of them asked. The race. Another asked what distance.

“You’re a lot crazier than you look!”, As I walked out of the door. Couldn’t argue that point.

by Shawn McKinney

The Long Voyage Part V

Was a tad bummed after not finishing the Unbound XL last spring. I had a ton of fun out there but knew the summer was long and needed another adventure. I considered the alternatives and naturally, this race, a.k.a “GW300” got picked.

I received the obligatory eye-roll from my lovely wife Cindy after telling her of my plans. It’s her job to be skeptical. Someone has to keep me from going off the deep end.

In my defense actually finished back in ’23. But, did not finish in ’21, ’24 and ’25.

That puts me at 1 for 4. I will point out that not a lot of people finished the XL this year (if that helps). There was a whole lot of mud. Only the strongest and fastest got across. I had trained well for it and my health was currently good. So, why not? Who knows how many more of these chances come along.

Signed up in late June and that left about eight weeks to prepare. I’m old school. Two training blocs, four weeks each. First three weeks “stairstepped” volume. Rest on the fourth week. Do it again with a bit more volume. Back-to-back long days on the weekends. An all night ride the last weekend. Call it a dress rehearsal.

Keo rolling down County Farm road. He’s gearing up for another run at the Arkansas High Country (ARHC). He and Myles are having another crack at the big loop in October. We rode together a few weeks ago. A dry run for each of our races. Riding at night must be practiced and it’s always better to team up. We had a good ride. (Thanks Keo)

It was cool that night but it has been hot all summer. Hotter than previous years. Riding in the heat is not going to be fun. We get used to it, but why? There are benefits. We can go to races in Kansas and Nebraska and not be affected by their heat. It feels cooler to us.

That might sound like a slim advantage and maybe it is. There are fitness benefits. Exercising in the heat is harder than when it’s cool. The heart has to do more work for the same power output. Our version of Rucking. When it cools our systems are tuned and ready to perform at peak. If it doesn’t cool, you’re still better off than if you otherwise didn’t train in it at all.

Admittedly this is tricky and I’m not recommending it. You may remain unconvinced and that’s OK. It’s not for everyone. There is a process and it must be practiced. It brings risk. You can’t just wing it come race day. A few years ago one of these tests failed. Had to call a friend to pluck me off the course. Had just crossed the Clinton bridge when it hit. Fifteen miles from home. It could have been worse. My friend had a car with air conditioning, cooler, ice, cold water and every kind of electrolyte drink. (Thanks for that Dan).

The margin for error is slim. It goes from being fine to not in minutes. From heat exhaustion to stroke if you don’t back off. We don’t want any of this to happen in places where there’s no help. Actually, we don’t want it to happen at all.

Arrived in Lincoln Wed and met with Carmen and John Ragland. We had a nice time at dinner and the riders meeting. They have volunteered to provide bailout for the 300 riders and have for the past three years been at the start and finish making sure that my race went OK and offer their friendship and support. (Thanks Carmen and John)

Rode up the elevator to the Rooftop with Jason and Sofia. Also met up with Jeremy. We shared some war stories. He started working for Lauf some time back. Their sponsorship and support of Gravel Worlds has no doubt contributed to the success of both organizations. (Thanks Jeremy)

Everyone seemed to be in a great mood. Relaxed even. A good sign. Sometimes there’s an ominous feeling in the air. When unfavorable conditions are in the forecast. The weather can get interesting. This year it was unbelievably nice. As in I could not believe how nice it was.

This event remains one of my favorites. It’s well run. The terrain and courses are excellent. Every year they change, which takes a ton of work. You have to curate it. The roads are dynamic and must be tested and driven repeatedly. Signs are made. Recon is done. Road marshals are placed out on the course. They’re doing everything possible to make this a safe but challenging place to test ourselves.

There’s not that much money in it. It ain’t easy dealing with all the stuff we throw at them. Jason and Sofia are our ambassadors to the event. They are always super cool and easy to work with. They understand what we came for. (Thanks Jason, Sofia)

Later that evening finished the prep work on the two bikes I brought. One’s for my brother Kelly, who’s arriving Thur for the 75 miler. This will be his second time here. Here’s the bike he’s riding.

Dan’s here for the 1500 meter swim on Fri and the 75 miler on Sat. A combination that apparently he’s the only one doing. Bringing a Lauf Seigla with him. There’s usually fun to be had when Dan shows up with that bike. The really cool thing is we all started riding gravel on the same Raleigh Willard that Kelly’s riding. An early purpose-built gravel bike. Guitar Ted helped Raleigh design it, and it has held its own with the modern bikes.

It was Feb of ’16 and my brother Timothy obtained, assembled and shipped each of us one. Everything changed after that. They can go just about anywhere and endure enormous abuse while still performing well. Not top of line efficiency. Fast enough for my kind of riding. The platform is versatile with proven durability.

Thursday was check-in day. At the expo 11a and a shakeout ride with Mike Gerwig. He’s also doing the 75 miler on Sat, afterwards driving up to the Black Hills of South Dakota for further exploration. That’s Mike’s job. He gets to travel across the country in his van and ride his bike. I want to be like Mike when I grow up.

That night Dan, Mike and I had dinner before returning back to the hotel for the final prep.

Got to sleep in Friday which is good. Later, had lunch at Runyuns, with Kelly and Dan. Then a return to the expo to allow Kelly to check in for his race. I ran into Shane who’s lining up for the 300. He’s more on the pointy end of the stick. Will he be fast? His dad Jeremy wasn’t quite sure. A pretty cool bike he’s riding and ended up being only eight and a half hours faster than mine.

We then returned back to the hotel where I spent the middle afternoon hours drinking electrolytes, making calls and taking it easy.

Race starts at 5p. We arrived a bit early and mingled near the starting line. We reunited with Carmen and John along with Michelle and Kelly Wenz. “Wichita Kelly” is also doing the 75 miler on Sat. Michelle crashed here last year and has decided to not ride it. She’s tough and riding in other places. I have no doubt she’ll get back up to speed. All of this was really good for my spirits. The mood was upbeat and relaxed. We laughed easily and that’s exactly how I like to be when I roll out of town.

In the starting coral I noticed Kristy and Andy. He’s doing the 150 on Sat and claims to be done with the overnight stuff, after snagging a fifth finish last year. That fifth Long Voyage gets you some kind of commemorative saddle. According to Andy it’s huge. (No, I’m not going for one) Now, he just does “easy” things like the Great Plains Gravel Ride or the Pony Express 250, down in Marysville. Speaking of Pony Express, Wichita Kelly says he’s doing ‘er too and so does Courtney, who was the last person I talked before being sent out into the wild.

I always start in last place. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just that I’m slow. Oh well. It’s kind of fun watching everyone else take off in a rush. I’m trying to relax here. Fast starts stress me out. This is how geezers ride.

The first 20 miles were mostly solo. I had to pee. The gravel roads out of town are well populated and traveled. Don’t laugh. This is what happens when you get older. My heart rate was high for the pace but reckoned all the excitement got the better of me. Eventually found a rhythm and a groove.

Caught up with “The Sean” after a couple more hours. We met last June on the Unbound XL course. Cool dude, total badass. Even though I’m just “A Shawn” it only seemed appropriate that we band together and form a team of Seans during this part of the race. The pace was relaxed and we cranked our way to the first stop in Beatrice. It was also in these sections we started riding on the rail trails.

This is all good because night riding can be tricky. It’s mentally taxing to maintain a proper line. We don’t have these concerns on trails. Most of the other roads on the early southbound course were otherwise smooth with not a lot of hills. Just mild undulations. Very relaxing. This meant we get to keep a decent pace without a lot of work. We save our matches for tomorrow, in the hillier sections.

Past Beatrice were more trails and a few miles of minimal maintenance roads (MMR). They were pretty rustic. A couple small stretches had to be carried because of mud. We could tell the area had received a lot of rain recently. Be sharp or bad things happen. Lines disappear and get rutted. We’re now in the dark. That’s OK. Actually, more than that. I enjoy this kind of riding, but it comes at the cost of mud and that means time to carry.

There wasn’t much to differentiate the first stop in Beatrice from the second in Marysville. At night they seem the same. We were early enough that locals were hanging out in both places. We did our business and would politely answer any questions coming our way. Some were friendly, others you could tell didn’t know what to make of us. Can’t say that I blame them. We’re invading their space. For the most part they were respectful. The clerks were always super friendly.

I got out ahead of Sean a few miles past Marysville. I reasoned that he would be fine as there were a number of other riders back there. He’s a big boy and can fend for himself. Knowing the forecast called for scattered showers and isolated thunderstorms made me uneasy and wanted to maintain a steady pace.

I scanned the western skies for signs of lightning and saw nothing. The moon had long disappeared and a few stars peered out of the clouds. This offered some encouragement. Maybe the forecast was wrong? About when a flash caught the corner of my eye. Off to the northwest. What was that? It could have been a shooting star. Aren’t we passing through the Perseid about now?

It’s difficult to articulate why we do this. I don’t mean riding bikes in general. Its positive effects are well understood.

I mean why do “crazy” challenges like this? What possible reason would someone need to ride 300 miles in one go? Part of the reason it’s hard to explain is because we don’t know ourselves. Only that it’s good. There are moments in these rides that are better than good. They become transcendent. I had a moment like that three years before out here and I’m having one again now. Under similar conditions. Alone, late at night, on a road never before ridden. Not knowing if I’ll make it back in time. What dangers or difficulties lie ahead. Out of the quiet stillness and darkness is another kind of help. Something approaching closure. We can talk to people we’ve lost and can say things to them that have never been said before. That they can hear us. It is comforting and peaceful. There are tears. Where the deepest, best parts of our lives are appreciated and understood. Wish I could explain it better than this.

Just before reaching Pawnee City another flash. This time unmistakable. That’s lightning dude. Started doing the math. Nebraska City’s 60 miles and 5 hours away. That’s when we join up with the 150 milers and switch to the “Wet Course” meaning no more MMR’s.

I studied the course earlier, but couldn’t remember exactly how many MMRs were left and precisely where they were. Three or four. Between Tecumseh and Neb City. Tecumseh was still 20 miles away. I was prepared to walk, but wasn’t certain how my bad knee would hold up. Let’s just say its got a mind of it’s own. It was then I decided to get thru Pawnee fast and minimize the chance of getting caught by the brunt of the storm. Since Tecumseh is only 20 miles, I could just top off the tanks and keep going.

The lightning show started, covering the western and northern sky. In the predawn light there wasn’t any way to judge distances. Wasn’t yet hearing thunder and so knew it had to be more than 10 miles away. As the eastern horizon showed a glimmer of light I was hit with the first raindrop and stopped to put on a poncho. Glad that I did because it then started to rain, almost before I took off again. Now I’m hearing thunder too. Huge lightning bolts zipping in all directions. The rain was not heavy but it continued past sunrise. The roads seemed to be holding up. A little slop here and there. Nothing that wasn’t easily handled. Then it slowed and stopped about when I rolled into Tecumseh. Where we might of escaped the worst.

A “full” stop this time. Complete with the luxury of eating a breakfast sandwich and slamming another Redbull. Refilled all of the water tanks. Snapped this shot with Juan. The funny thing, the last we met was on the Unbound XL course. Under similar conditions (early morning storms). Now his derailleur works. Then I lent him a chain tool to convert his bike into a single speed. Neither of us finished that day. Today we made a pact that it was gonna be different. Rolled out of town feeling pretty good until making the first turn and …

Crap. Matt and I had been playing leapfrog all night when he passed again. “What should we do?”, He asked. When I told him that now is a good time to carry.

No worries. As in literally. Stop Worrying. Gonna be alright. Stretch the legs and enjoy the fresh, clean air. Lots of people seem to enjoy walking. Why not us? Hope it doesn’t last too long though. Is there another mile after this? Was this a two-mile MMR? Nope, only a mile. We even had a stretch the last 100 meters where a strip of grass cleaned the mud that caked onto our shoes.

“Nice MMR”, I mumbled to myself. Climbed back on and pedaled off. Now, every time we get to a turn my mind tells me it’s another MMR. Quit your whining. Let it be one. So what. And that next muddy MMR never came.

Getting to the top of the course the mind flips into the other direction. “You’re gonna finish”, It wants to brag. Shut up. There are a hell of a lot miles left and anything can happen.

Mile 208 was a checkpoint for the 150 milers. They’re long gone but the neutral support remained. I was weary and my mind was fogged. “Need me to work on the bike?”, A bright voice asked. Why of course. Could you get the drive train happy? “Yes, I do believe I can”, The Shimano dude replied.

I was starting to relax for the first time in a long while and let some of the good vibes flow. Didn’t have to top off the tanks but there were other things to tend to. Found my drop bag and started swapping out batteries, discarding things no longer needed. Grabbed powder, snacks and changed into a fresh kit. When we had a conversation about the Red Bull Romaniacs. A crazy motorcycle race in Romania. The father of a father-son team had ridden it a couple of years ago and it was cool hearing about it now. A pleasant distraction and reminded me that there were crazy people everywhere. The son, Ben started with us the day before but had to drop out in Beatrice. I was impressed that instead of being disappointed he decided to turn it into something positive. All of the volunteers here were great.

Riding out with a fresh kit, my drive train wasn’t the only thing happy. Again had to suppress the optimistic thoughts. We’re entering the hilliest stretch and did not know how high the temps would get. It was also muggy. Still, a wind out of the north was cooling and would eventually push me home in the evening.

The next stretch to Weeping Water was hard but not terrible. Hadn’t eaten anything substantial in hours and the constant intake of electrolytes was causing my stomach to sing. It needed food and nothing being carried was on its menu.

Just hold out to Weeping Water, there’s food there. Rolling into that beautiful little town I looked over and saw a food truck just off course next to a quick mart. I debated stopping when I remembered that Andy was saved by a burrito from this very same food truck last year. Ordered the soft taco, went inside the mart for more water, ice and Redbull.

Here is a good time to recount on these stops locals would wander over to talk. Again, I appreciated the distraction. When I would learn something about the town, culture or lives of its people. They’re friendly in Nebraska and that makes us feel welcome.

My spirits were on the upswing as I rolled out of town. Now getting into midafternoon. The heat still not bad and drops from here. The food worked and there were less negative scenarios to hold back the optimistic thoughts.

The air museum in Ashland was cool. I’d heard there was a SR-71 and was looking forward to seeing it. It was instead a F-117A Nighthawk stealth fighter. OK, I can live with that. I’d already seen the Blackbird.

Getting to Ashland was an important milestone in my head. Now there were only 40 left. I relaxed and tried to coax myself into enjoying these last miles. Messages began flashing again on my GPS from loved ones. Made me feel validated and I can’t tell you how much it means to me. I received them at midnight and they came in at four am. You’re doing great, keep going, they would say. Now, there was nearly a constant stream.

The last two miles we got routed onto a little mountain bike trail and I loved every meter of it. Was a nice change after the miles of gravel. We’re almost done now.

Crossing the finish line and the wave of positive emotions. Kelly, Dan, Carmen, John and Andy were there. Everyone finished. NYC Kelly had achieved a personal best in mileage and got his first finish on the 75 mile course.

The rush of dopamine that follows a finish only last about a day. We then have to find another fix. Why I’ve never understood the one-and-done value proposition. We do events because we ride a lot. We don’t ride a lot just for one event. That means this story really doesn’t have an ending. It’s only until we do ‘er again.

by Shawn McKinney

The Song of the Prairie

An unconventional Unbound XL race report.

Searching for rainbows again? They’re out here but beware, I expect to be paid.

A price will be extracted from you, bargains not made.

There you go again, still trying to ride, where you already know that no one can.

Each step carries a heavy burden, ask not how many. It ends when I’m done, not impressed with your plan.

The harder you fight only brings you more pain. So let it flow through, like the wind and the rain.

Cry all that you want, it won’t matter in the end. I have no pity for you. Only love, and forgiveness to mend.

It all gets entangled. The birds and the trees. The sky with the land.

Every blade of grass, hill and mud puddle, are part of my plan.

You are now feeling what happens entering this place. I care not whether you finish your race.

These cuts by the thickets and scrapes of the rocks, are meant as caresses, as I force you to walk.

You now know the road’s not for riding, go on if you dare. Or, give up and go home, the prairie won’t care.

Don’t ask me how far it is, or long it will take. The answers are clear, if you don’t break.

Be sure to show gratitude with dignity and grace. Else be punished for arrogance, you better be braced.

Have no fear, it won’t last long. Your ride’s just a moment and ends with a song.

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

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

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