I race gravel, enjoy trails, and miss the NorCal roads (sometimes)
I’m struggling to come up with a plan for this one. Because I can hardly imagine a more uneventful day than this, and if I stay on point, then the whole story will probably fit into a single paragraph. But I’m gonna do my best to inflate it a little.
In a nutshell, I pulled my inner Dylan Johnson, in a sense of executing a nearly perfect race, but then finishing in the same Nth place as the day before (8th and 7th are the new 16-17th). The struggle is real.
Photo by Aaron Davis
A Russian soccer coach once said at the post-game press conference: “We played better than the opponent today, but sometimes in sport, the team who scores more goals wins”. And the greatest journalist and commentator of all times, may his soul rest in peace, did not miss the chance to make a good laugh out of this, pointing out that it’s not “sometimes”, it’s always this way, every single time. And this funny banter will be a perfect epilogue for today’s story.
La Grind is a two-day gravel stage race in Emporia, KS. Saturday is 100 miles of relentlessly undulating roads, south from a gravel capital of the world, and Sunday is another 65 miles of the same medicine. We’ve been blessed with practically perfect weather: dry roads, cool air, and moderate wind. And I personally got to experience a princess treatment throughout the weekend, courtesy of my incredible friend Brian, who did all the hard work of planning and driving, leaving me with only one thing to do: enjoy riding my god damn bike. But paraphrasing the quote above, “I had a wonderful ride, but sometimes the guy who comes to the finish line ahead of you wins”. Duh.
Earlier this week, I was hit by a time truck. It's like a time machine, but bigger because it's from Texas. It hit me twice to ensure that I got the message.
Monday morning was challenging, in the usual way of body and mind begging for recovery from a fun weekend. Two days of skiing and dealing with two teenagers — give me a break. On top of that, the driveway was covered in snow, the living room looked like a refugee camp, and you can never give your skis too much care, can you? Oh, and don't forget to check the mail! That's another five minutes of justified procrastination. What's in the mail? A toll road bill. From three months ago, when we hit an express lane in Austin. That brought back some sweet memories of seeing our good friends who we went to visit in November.
But there was a second half of that trip that had something to do with riding bikes. And funnily enough, this Gestalt was still waiting for closure, too. Coincidentally, to the extent that it almost raised a conspiracy theory in my head, the very next day, I got another piece of mail with a Lonely Star™ stamp on the envelope. Alright, alright, this time, it was a UPS package with no stamps, and it even came from Chicago, so what? Life Time logo and heftiness were just as good to give it away — my precious is here! Look at her:
Photo by Scott Tribby @s_tribby
It’s a lot harder to write about the event that you’ve done and written about before. That’s why my race reports from this year’s Lake City Alpine 50 and RAD are still due. Can’t quite find an inspiration. And the longer I procrastinate, the harder it becomes, as the memories fade and are replaced by new experiences. Grassroots Gravel 2024 took place 2 days ago. I don’t have a plan for this story, but I’m gonna try to go with the flow and see where it takes me. At the end of the day, it goes along well with my plan for the race: my pacing strategy was not to think about one (too much); and part of the fueling tactic was to go with the “Flow” who was a fueling partner of the event (what a clever wordplay, huh?). Let me prove that to you right away...
There’s an early morning group ride that I and a few other cyclists are doing. Supposedly, every Tuesday at 7 a.m., but life is life. Sometimes, it’s family obligations, sometimes work, and sometimes, you do such a great job destroying your body over the weekend that you can’t even get out of bed. That was certainly the case for me today. The weekend itself wasn’t that hard (even though Trestle is never particularly easy on the body), but accumulated fatigue definitely was close to its peak. I hated every second of my life from 6:00 when the alarm went off until 6:44 when I shut the garage door and, one revolution at a time, was on my way to the start of the ride. The only thing my brain was productive with was making all kinds of excuses, including those that were straight-up lies (like I slept through). Legs weren’t bringing any motivation or confidence to the table, either.
“How’s it going?” a friend asked me.
“It’s 7 o'clock, don’t ask.” as grim as it sounds was my half-sincere, half-joking response. With a smile, of course. Only good vibes!
The first climb of the day went pretty well. I didn’t want to jump ahead of the train, but I was not going to let Aaron open a gap on me either. It’s just a fun group ride; no one’s racing here. But I needed that little boost to my confidence. And suddenly I felt fantastic! I kept pushing into every single climb for the rest of the ride. Couldn’t help myself. I was huffing and puffing but smiling at the same time (thankfully, there’s no video evidence of my grimaces that I consider to be smiles). Then falling back for a little chat. Then rinse and repeat.
Now, to the point of this write-up.
I’m so grateful to the folks I’m honored to ride with, especially today. Whatever I say will be an understatement. I felt pumped. I felt positive. I felt simply happy when I got back home. Happiness is such a simple word, but if you think about it — true happiness doesn’t hit you as often as it seems. It’s a moment to cherish. And to be grateful for. I want to thank the people I was riding with today. None of that would’ve happened without them. I would’ve bailed in the blink of an eye (I guess I wouldn’t even open one in the first place, let alone blink).
This ride made my day today. I hope that putting this experience into words will remind my future self: Get out there, you got this, and it’s worth it!
Photo by Tyler Philips @tylerphillipsphoto
I want to start at the end. Because what happened was a true highlight of my already unforgettable day. In the moment (and for the next two hours of driving home), I felt like I had won the Olympics or something. We rolled into the finish “corridor” (I’ll explain the quotes here later) as a group of 5, and I won a legit bunch sprint! Of course, not for the win, but only a 33rd place overall. But you gotta start somewhere, right? Or it might become the peak of my “career,” who knows. Either way — there’s a lot to celebrate!
But right before the sprint… Nope, let’s go back to the start and follow the timeline.
This race sells out rather quickly, but sure enough, I managed to miss the moment when the registration opened in mid-January. I was only 15 minutes late, but it was already sold out. Put my name on the waitlist without too much hope and moved on.
Fast-forward to May 30th, around 3 p.m., when I was in my kitchen having lunch. I’ve got an email that there are a few spots available, and I can get one if I’m swift enough about it (10 people were on that email, with only 6 spots on the line). Snatched it!
The Hundo is a mountain bike race that is 62 miles (100 km) long, with 7350 ft (2250 m) of elevation gain. But none of these numbers matter. What does is that it takes place in Buffalo Creek — an absolute Heaven on Earth. And we’re about to send it big time! Well…
Fun hurts. And dumb fun hurts twice as much.
My buddy Tim caught me at the “right” moment. I already had my entire racing season planned out, but it didn't hit me (yet!) that I might be trying to bite more than I can chew. But the second weekend of May was still open, and he suggested we do a little trip and race Sarlacc Attack 50K MTB in Fruita, CO. I said what my son always says to me when we ski together: “If you send it, I'll send it.” The man can not unring the bell, can he?
After grabbing a number plate and a T-shirt:
— Hey, one last thing. Where should I put my drop bag?
— Umm, you can leave it right here, — says the volunteer, pointing at the corner of the registration tent, — but I can’t guarantee it will get to the aid station. So, if there’s something you really need, you better take it with you.
That’s a USAC-sanctioned event where, in addition to a registration fee, you actually need a license to participate. Hillarious, right? Well, not even close to how I was about to ruin the day for myself.
I don't remember how many soccer balls I had in my childhood (not a lot, though, it was a tough time). But I vividly remember one of them – it was a classic black and beige-white, vintage AF. Maybe it left such a sharp footprint in my memory because I also remember my father stitching it up after some good beating in the mud. Can't really imagine myself doing the same nowadays. With modern goods, you don't even have a chance to express love and care; that opportunity has been taken from us by mass manufacturing, for better or worse. Open “my orders”, click “buy it again”. Problem solved. Convenient and soulless experience.