Fun Hurts!

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.

5 seconds

40 minutes into the ride, we were still in a big leading group when we hit an infamous “D Hill”. In subpar weather, this road is a total disaster (Google Unbound 2023). But on a given day, it was fairly rideable, and the only thing it demanded from the riders was a little bit of patience. A few minutes of just staying in a pace line and not doing anything stupid. And even that was a bit too much of an ask for some. A “racer” tried to pass my friend by jumping out of the rut that everyone was going through, his front wheel slid right back in, and slashed my friend’s rear end, sending him into the ditch. Stupid jerk.

I stopped for 5 seconds. To check on my friend, to make sure he’s alright. Literally five seconds. Time distortion in a bike race is a real thing, so I checked that with my gps recording. He said he’s okay, and I kept going. Five seconds were more than enough for the group we were in to disappear behind the nearest hill. Could I or should I have waited for him any longer, so that he could sit on my wheel to recover from what happened, and then help with the chase that was about to begin? Maybe. Now that I know that he had to stop multiple times to fix his jammed brake housing, I can say that it wouldn’t have helped any of us. I believe I was a good buddy given the circumstances. Or at least I tried.

For a couple of minutes, I was confident that I’d reel that group back in sooner or later. Every few hundred meters, I was picking up people who fell off the bunch, and that was giving me a feeling that I’m making some progress here. Well, it couldn’t be further away from reality. As we discovered after the race, the moment when that crash happened coincided with the moment when riders at the front lit it up by throwing a massive attack, and separated themselves from the rest. And in a nutshell, for the next five hours, I was on my own against a solid group of five working together against the headwind. The 20-minute gap that they put on me at the finish line does not even sound too bad, given such a massive difference in numbers.

Dangling carrot of hope

Not much happened in those five hours, really. After I passed everyone who didn’t make the selection (and that didn’t take long), I was living up to the name of the race. The Grind in its purest form. Imaginary target ahead, real wolf pack behind. You can’t win nothing, but you can easily lose it all. So what can you do? You put your head down and you do what you came here for — you keep fucking going.

Photo by Aaron Davis

It’s also not our average course somewhere in the middle of the Rockies with breathtaking views, blazingly fast and technical descents, or Routt County ranchers out on their porches ready to shoot you in the nuts if you take a wee in the corn field. 15 minutes outside of town is more than enough to get a pretty good idea of what the landscape around you will look like for as long as you are out there. Mind you, it’s not as desperately daunting as the prairies south-east of Pueblo. But not very diverse or entertaining either. There’s one thing that does bring memories of those training rides east of Greenland… the soul-sucking headwind. It’s no better down there than it is here at home. Sucks just as much, and never gets tired of it.

I had no carrot. I was one. For a good 30 minutes (give or take, not gonna go and check, sorry), I had a group of four riders chasing me. Two dudes and two leading ladies. All that time, they were only 10-20 seconds behind, but couldn’t quite close that gap to the rider in their plain sight. And I couldn’t quite figure out what would be the right thing to do. The most obvious line of action would be to ease off for a moment, let them catch me, and then work together so that we all can go faster. Sounds like a no-brainer, but I had all the time in the world to overthink this, which was a somewhat welcomed mental distraction. They’ve got numbers, what takes them so long? I came up with the theory that they only go that fast because they have me dangling up the road. And if they don’t — they would naturally sit back and begin soft-pedaling. At some point, I figured that it’s worth “losing” 20 seconds of time to try and see what would happen. So, on the next hill, I shifted into “Kansas granny” gear (it’s different from “Colorado granny” by having quite a few teeth less) and waited.

Soon after hopping on this train, I realized that I couldn’t be any closer to the sad truth of what was going to happen. Pace dropped down. I took a couple of good pulls, hoping that it would set everyone’s intensity level back to where it used to be. Sadly, that didn’t spark an inspiration. I did get a good amount of rest, though, and started to think that it’s time to make some changes. Luckily enough, the group came to a sharp turn, the formation was no more, and everyone was on their brakes. I can’t even say I attacked. I just kept the momentum and rolled away. But I had no interest in letting them catch me ever again.

Inner motivation

Well, as disappointing as the outcome of the “catch a carrot” game was, it was a good time killer. But from this point in time, and until I crossed a finish line, actually nothing happened. Nothing you could see with the naked eye. But deep inside, the angels and demons were awake. The red guys were sneaky. They didn’t try to bluntly say “what’s the point, just go easy”. They knew I’m not dumb enough to listen to that. But they’d rather go like “hey, this gear is not sustainable, you’ll blow up and bonk, go lower”, or something along those lines. They somehow know how to make it sound reasonable, don’t they? And it plants the seed of doubt.

Why aren’t angels such vocal creatures? Why don’t they just keep cheering on you, telling you all the motivational stories that they watched on youtube in abundance? I feed them with content relentlessly, but when I need them the most — they are all Leslies the low talkers.

Only one came to help. And this will all sound corny AF. But I’m not writing this as a script for Netflix series. I’m just telling my little (very, very small, that no one would ever even read) story, and I have no reason to be insincere. I thought about my family. What would my boys say if they had a chance to be right there, on the side of the road, just a few hundred meters ahead? Would they like to see me cruising along with a big smile? Would they say: “Hey, Dad, hop off, get a beer, and give us a hug?” Did my beloved wife take time off to stay with the kids and let me leave the house for three days so that I can leisurely ride my bike around? I could do that right here in CO, and then be back home for dinner, couldn’t I? So, literally with them and only them in mind I told myself: man, get your shit together! Well, maybe with a bit of hope that someone can flat, too.

The end (of the day)

Came in 8th overall. In any other race, I’d be stoked about being in the top 10 (and I don’t think I’ve ever been in top 10 in a gravel race ever before, so what am I even so stingy about). But for no objective reason, my appetite was bigger that day, and I felt like I wasn’t where I deserved or capable of being. Chilling in a hotel room, I was looking at the results table. Hold on, I know this guy who came in 6th! We met at the Austin Rattler last year. I was racing on a single speed and he was on a “normal” bike, and I beat him (I checked that a few days later, and no, he was in fact 20 minutes ahead of me, but in the moment I mistakenly thought I did beat him there). I should be able to keep up with him tomorrow!

And I couldn’t help but steal the highly strategic plan that Brian had for the Saturday stage and make it mine on Sunday. Quote: “I’m gonna suck that wheel, like there’s no tomorrow.” And boy, I did, but that’s the story for the next installment…