Useful when getting to events, support, hauling gear, etc.
Not all bad. Especially when parked.
Close passes (buzzing) keeps the mind sharp.
No mini-marts without cars.
The ones with bike carriers are nice.
Loads of useful advice like when to stop, where to go, what to do with ourselves.
Sometimes they’ll even honk to let us know how much they care.
Deep down they love us too and would miss us if we were gone.
Their taxes subsidize our roads.
We all have to do it sometimes.
Obviously, it’s satire. In truth, most of us are motorists too. At least here in the states there’s literally no other way. I write this to find humor which counteracts hate.
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 Tracey 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:
Derailleur battery dead
Shifter batteries dead
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.
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! A pang of regret each time. Knowing how it’ll end. Worse than before. You can’t ride this road. There’s no skipping this queue. Not a freeway. Everyone has a turn.
How it goes when riding on the prairie. Keep walking like everyone else. It’ll pass. Don’t know when.
Over that next corner or hilltop will be a respite.
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 over?
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. There’s upbeat music. This is no party. Keep going.
Eureka’s 40 miles and motors will bog in the heat. Where is that threshold? There down deep. An angry stir. 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.
We can be energized by a storm or frightened and allow it to drain what power remains. It’s our choice. Returning to us what the sun took earlier. Completing 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.
It’s 1 am Thursday prior to the start of Unbound. Exactly 53 hours before we have to line up. It has been a good week so far. Arrived Monday and have had a couple of days to get settled in. Today was pretty awesome. Started the day riding in the Hall of Fame shakeout ride. It was supposed to meet a group coming in from an overnight stay at a campground, in Pomona, KS. They got rained out and had to motor to town. We just left as one big group and spun around the outskirts of Emporia, KS for an hour or so.
I enjoyed catching up with Mark Stevenson, a.k.a. Guitar Ted, who as an inductee of the inaugural class (last year) attended the banquet to lend support for the incoming class. Mark is about as laid back as they come and really represents the grass roots segment of the cycling community, that has taken to the mixed surface roadways, i.e. gravel. Maybe you’ve read his blog, now over 20 years in print, or more recently, a podcast where he teams up with N. Y. Roll.
Later, I overheard Alison Tetrick telling Jason Strohbehm, about breaking a foot last weekend and can’t get around without a walking boot. Jason, is one of the Pirates up in Lincoln, NE. They host Gravel Worlds each August and more recent events like Winter Endurance (February). He also sits on the Board of Directors of the Gravel Cycling Hall of Fame, and gave the introduction at tonight’s banquet.
When I asked Alison why in the hell she’s riding a bike (instead of healing) it started what turned into about a 30 minute conversation. By that time, as is not unusual between two people meeting for the first time on a bike, it felt like we’d known each other for years.
She was one of tonight’s four inductees, along with the late Joel Dyke, Miguel Crawford and just Yuri (according to Dan Hughes his last name “Hauswald” is superfluous). In her acceptance speech was discussion about the challenges that women athletes face, along with battles with injuries, anxiety, depression and society’s expectations. Alison doesn’t hold back anything and it might have been tough for some to take.
I was impressed by her honesty and courage. For someone who has won her share of races, she understands the emphasis isn’t on the result, but on showing up. That is, the hardest part of a race is getting to the starting line. Finishing is comparatively easy.
Which gets back to my predicament. Facing a sixth attempt at the 200 mile course. I finished the first four. We all missed ’20 (covid) followed by a Did Not Finish (DNF) in ’21, and a deferral last year due to health. Did Not Show (DNS).
Back in ’19 I thought a fifth finish was a given. Now, four years later, still working on it. There are no givens. The night before that DNF, was no sleep. This year, a return to that pattern. It’s ironic how we can deterministically prepare for a challenge. Getting everything in order. But, sleep is not something we have any control over. Either it comes, or it doesn’t.
We’re talking about nerves. Anxiety over showing up. Like Alison said, getting to the starting line is the hardest part.
My brother Timothy mail ordered and assembled this 2015 Raleigh Willard exactly 7 years ago today. It sounds like a cliche that it all changed afterwards, but that’s exactly what happened. The initial cost was $650. Was more than capable of handling anything I could throw at it.
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.
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 a couple bugs, including corona in February. Both relatively mild. 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, bleeding again. Fortunately, not as severe. No hospitals. It didn’t stop.
We’re not going into the details and you’re welcome. 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.
It’s now been almost five years since Oracle announced the donation of Java’s enterprise layer to the Eclipse foundation. It stipulated a name change, removing “Java”, ostensibly due to trademark issues. Eclipse chose “Jakarta” as the new name.
As Java programmers, we understand organizational boundaries of dependent modules are enforced via package names. How we reference them in our code.
For many years now we’ve had this durable base of auxiliary software coming from the platform and the 3rd parties that comprise its ecosystem. It’s free and shields us from the intricacies and accelerates development. Makes our job easier. The reason I continue to use Java.
The programming language itself factors into why we choose to use it too. Java ranks at or near the top, in my estimation. We’re not discussing theory or practice here and I’m not trying to convince you the platform’s viable.
Back to the main point. There’s a cost associated with using free software, despite the language in which it was written. Sometimes it changes. Always for reasons outside of our control. That means we must change our code to accommodate. The Jakarta migration requires that millions (billions?) of lines-of-code be changed. We’re talking about the biggest disruption to the Java ecosystem in its 27 years.
Not a rant-post and we’re not going over tactics here. That has all been covered elsewhere. I will point out that converting the code is simple. Just change the package imports and pull in the newer versions of the libs into whatever dependency mechanism is being used.
If you can find all of them. As of today, many affected suppliers have published Jakarta compatible releases, some are still working on it, while still others have it on their roadmap.
That’s quite remarkable actually and demonstrates the robustness of the ecosystem. It’ll handle it — eventually.
The runtime’s ready, with a logjam in the projects upstream. Until all of the projects we use have published their compatible packages, we can’t migrate. In turn projects dependent on us must wait until we publish our conversion, and so on. We can replace our non-compliant libraries (a ton of work) or wait.
What’s hanging in the balance is which Servlet container runs and which version of the JVM will be in use. Older code can’t run in newer containers and vice versa. There are ways to sidestep the compatibility restrictions. Conversion routines that modify the packaged bytecode so it works with the jakarta namespace. Can you say shim? For me, I’ll wait just a bit longer. Hope it doesn’t take too long.
Update
April 24, 2023
Many of the suppliers are getting their migrated packages released. For example, Spring 6, Apache CXF 4 and Tomcat 10. Yesterday, I was able to run tests inside of Apache Fortress Rest runtime using them. Soon, Apache Fortress will be able to release its packages supporting jakarta. The logjam is finally starting to break up!
Sung to the tune of “Message In A Bottle” by The Police
Just a question say, I’m completely in the trees, so Another bug in the way, so c’mon help me please, oh More erroneous than any scan can take Rescue me before I lose my hair, oh
I’ll dump questions on the world I’ll send dumb questions to the world I hope that someone sees mine I hope that someone knows mine I hope that someone answers mine Your guess is anecdotal, yeah And these guesses cause me trouble, yeah
A week has gone since I wrote my post I should have known this right from the start Only hope can keep me together Just a little luck and then we can release No luck at all means we’re fucked
I’ll dump questions on the world I’ll send dumb questions to the world I hope that someone gets mine I hope that someone knows mine I hope that someone answers mine
Your guess is anecdotal, yeah And these guesses cause me trouble, yeah So, don’t be guessing on my post, no
Googled again this morning, can’t believe what I saw Hundred billion questions popped into my chrome Seems I’m not the only one that’s confused Hundred billion other people, still searching for a clue
It sounded good at the time. Fueled by the liquid courage a few IPA’s brings during the cold winter month’s planning of the summer’s upcoming events. I received the invitation to enter a new ride, called The Long Voyage.
The courage lasted until this arrived in my inbox:
“Congratulations! You have been selected as one of the 100 riders for the inaugural Gravel Worlds: The Long Voyage sponsored by Komoot! This event will challenge your mind, body, and spirit and we can’t wait to hear and see your adventures!”
Oh, crap. 300 miles across some of the most godforsaken roads in the Midwest. Set to take place in late August, long before the summer heat has subsided.
My last Gravel Worlds was in ’19. Finished the 150 mile gravel event in just over 13 hours. Crossed the line and had to sit down for a few minutes (first time ever). Walked to my truck, drove 1000 meters, pulled over and lost my cookies. That was my finish line experience.
The Long Voyage is 2X that distance. 30 hours to complete, start at 5pm, ride all night and the next day. What have I gotten myself into?
Training
Knew I had to step up my game. The last couple of years has been a struggle on the longer events, which have been described in painful detail here. The problem’s called ‘rot gut’. Get halfway into an all day event and stomach stops working leading to all sorts of difficulties.
So, I hired a coach, Frank Pike, and started working on a structured training plan. I also worked on my hydration strategy, experimenting with various mixes.
Things were going pretty good. I was getting stronger and headed for the first big challenge of 2021: Unbound’s 200 miler in the Flint Hills of Kansas, the week after memorial day (June 2).
Being a 4x finisher, my confidence was high. That lasted for all of about 70 miles, until the heat kicked up and I found myself struggling to keep a proper pace. Things came to a head at mile 125 at the 2nd neutral water stop in Alta Vista.
Little Egypt Road, mile 75
“Good job, you made it just under the cutoff!”, the volunteer stated as I arrived. Oh, crap. Just Under The Cutoff. Barely able to maintain 10 mph and facing a stiff headwind home. I pulled the plug. My first-ever DNF at DK.
I was bummed, but remained resolute in fixing the problems and not giving up. Frank introduced me to an expert in sports nutrition, Nicole Rubenstein, who helped me determine my sweat rate and calculate a proper level of intake of electrolytes.
The problem is called hyponatremia and occurs when the sodium level in the blood is too low. I was taking in proper amounts of fluids, but not adding enough electrolytes. I started taking 340mg salt capsules in addition to what’s in my drink mixes.
Another area that I needed work on being calorie intake. It was tough to find something that’s tolerated over the course of a race, say 12, 16, 20 and with my upcoming ride, 30 hours. Under Nicole’s direction I started rolling plain white bread into little balls, and carrying in ziplock bags. One slice is 120 calories, easy to carry and well tolerated.
More Training
In the weeks leading up to The Long Voyage the training miles increased. 300, 400 miles per week. Back-to-back centuries, double centuries, all night rides, midday rides (in the heat) were part of the plan. Also continued with the structured intervals on the trainer.
Ready
A couple of weeks before The Long Voyage I felt good. I tapered my training under Frank’s direction. Rest was a priority as was eating right and avoiding things like beer.
Starting Line
At 5pm the weather was hot. But, a front passing through would bring some rain and cooler temps before nighttime. Frank provided last minute instructions. My buddies, Dawn, Jerry and Mike, were riding Saturday and there to provide encouragement. I lined up with the 70 or so other riders and we’re off.
Most of the others, say 50, were much faster and sped off into the distance. That was fine by me. It’s a long ride. No need to hurry. My goal was to maintain a leisurely pace, between 12 and 14 miles an hour. There were about 20 others that remained in the back. We had pleasant conversations and played leapfrog until the storm hit.
I’m pretty comfortable in the rain, and so didn’t have any problems when it hit. Fortunately, no lightning and most of the roads were fine.
Just before the rain
First Stop
When night fell the rains had stopped. I rolled into the first stop, Weeping Water (no pun intended), around 9:30 pm (mile 54). Because The Long Voyage is unsupported, the stops were convenience stores in small towns. I refueled and hit the road again, feeling pretty good.
The first minimal maintenance road (MMR) was just before the second stop, outside Syracuse. MMR’s are lightly maintained. Graded occasionally, but gravel is not laid. This means they get muddy. The consistency of the mud can be described as peanut butter. Very sticky, it will quickly build and make riding impossible. Try to ride it, and a derailleur or the chain will break.
That first MMR was rideable because the rain over this section was not heavy, but it was an indication of what’s coming.
Second Stop
The next stop was a Loves truck stop (mile 80) just outside of Syracuse, Nebraska. We first saw its giant sign 10 miles away but it would disappear and reappear again as we descended and climbed the hills.
I rolled in about midnight and so far things were according to plan. Refueled and enjoyed a treat of fresh pineapple and was on my way again in about 15 minutes.
Mishap
Leaving the truck stop I flubbed hopping a curve, hit it head-on and did an endo (back wheel raises up and over) and dropped it hard on the concrete. It was embarrassing as there were maybe a dozen riders who were sitting outside and witnessed it. One helped me get up. I thanked him as I assessed the damage. Besides my pride, I noticed one of my aerobars got knocked loose. After readjusting and tightening I rode off again.
Back on the road is when I realized the bike’s derailleur was damaged and returned to the truckstop. As I fiddled with the derailleur the chain came off and got twisted in the spokes of the rear wheel.
When it hit that this ride might be over. A long way back to Lincoln (60 miles) and I had no way to get there. I was bummed. How could things get so bad after being good just minutes before?
GPS track at mile 80 included two false starts
Calm Down
Eventually, my mind eased and I worked the problem getting the chain back on again and reassessed the situation. I don’t have gears 4 – 9, but I do have 1-3 and 10-12. I can make this work.
Off Again
Now 1:00 am and in dead last place I took off again. It was a tough decision, leaving the relative comfort of Syracuse into the darkness, knowing my bike could break down at any time leaving me stranded.
During the first half hour, I beat myself up. The skies had cleared and a nearly full moon had emerged. We had a candid discussion about competency, i.e. the lack of. Eventually, I got over it and found a rhythm. Not having the middle gears was a setback. It meant either standing up in tall gears or spinning in short ones.
My chances to finish were slim, average speed had dropped to around 10 mph and I lost an hour at the truckstop. Oh well, shit happens. Find something to like about it.
Rednecks
About 4:30 am (mile 115) a truck approached me with their bright lights on. “Turn your f***ing brights off”, I muttered to myself. The truck slowed as it passed and a man stuck his head out the window.
“Hey!”, he greeted, before this…
“YOU’RE WAKING UP THE DOGS, WHAT THE F*** ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE YOU STUPID MOTHERF***ER”, he shouted.
I could tell there were others inside the cab with him. These hicks must have been up all night drinking and who knows what else. I wasn’t in the mood to discuss, on friendly terms or otherwise, lowered my head and kept riding. Fortunately, they drove off.
Adams
Soon, I rolled into Adams (mile 120). Blink, and you miss it (even on a bike). I passed the closed convenience store and heard shouting from a block down a side street. I looked and saw two riders in a dark parking lot. This was our refueling station. I would have missed it if they hadn’t called out. There were cases of bottled water stacked up, a water hose, paper towels, an air pump and some misc tools.
I got reacquainted with Molly and Steve. We met over the first 50 miles of the course. Molly was upset and told us about being harassed by the rednecks. They stalked her and tried to run her off the road. She called 911 and a deputy showed up. He told her boys will be boys. I would have been pissed too. She didn’t know what to do next.
“You can ride with us”, Steve said.
“Yeah, you can ride with us”, was my reply.
Before we left, we spent time getting our bikes cleaned up, mud out of the chains, gears and brakes.
“Thanks for letting me ride with you guys”, she said.
I had already figured out that she was a badass and so it’s not like we were doing her any favors. Everyone pulls their own weight.
Team Up
Now three strong we worked together and rode on through the night. About an hour later, as the eastern sky brightened so did our spirits. In 30 minutes, a beautiful sunrise greeted us and I began to entertain thoughts of finishing once again.
MMR
That’s when the next MMR hit. Backing up, earlier in the night, before the mishap in Syracuse, there was a nice lightning show down south. Not worried about having to ride through it, I didn’t think about how it was soaking the roads in our path.
It means either trying to ride the ditch or carrying. One cannot even push the bike on the road because the mud builds up and freezes the wheels. Missing my middle gears, there was no way I was going to pretend I had a mountain bike. Steve actually was riding a mountain bike and so he had some success riding to the side. Molly and I carried.
Four Miles
For four miles we carried. Built on a grid, each segment of road is exactly one mile. Each mile carried felt like an eternity. Over each hill we hoped to see a stop sign marking the end.
That is when we would stop and clean the mud off shoes, cleats, and the bikes, if we were dumb enough to try to ride any part of it. The cleanup took about 20 minutes. Walking a one mile segment at about a two mile per hour pace followed by the cleanup meant each MMR cost about 50 minutes of time.
Do you remember those old cartoons where the characters are moving but the same terrain gets recycled? That’s what this felt like. Haven’t I passed that tree before? Are We Even Moving?
After the third mile of carrying our hearts sank. Ahead was yet another MMR and another mile of carrying. Up to this point Molly had endured without complaint. Now her determination began to flag, as did mine. How much more of this can we take?
“What do you have to say about this predicament?”, she asked, somewhat rhetorically.
I repeated a line that Frank told me back at the starting line. “You have to embrace the suck”.
Satisfied with this response we accepted our fate and trudged on, not knowing this was to be the last time.
Beatrice
The halfway point was Beatrice (150 miles). I was supposed to be here by 6:00 am and it was now almost lunchtime. This is where Steve tossed in the towel and called someone to pick him up. I couldn’t blame him.
“Do you need a ride to Lincoln?”, he asked me. I politely declined but congratulated him on sticking it out thus far thanked him for being a good guy.
This was probably my lowest point, other than the truckstop. I was very hungry but the store’s fresh food options were dismal. I gambled on a sausage and egg biscuit, but it didn’t pan out. Tossed into the garbage after one bite. I settled on a giant payday candy bar and a coke but my stomach wasn’t happy and tossed them also.
“I’m not stopping”, I told Molly somewhat defiantly, popping another bread ball into my mouth. It was seasoned with some good ole Nebraska dirt, from the MMR’s. (Note to self: make sure you seal those ziplog bags containing foodstuff) She was inside the store talking to her husband on the phone.
“Me neither!”, she exclaimed.
And then there were two
Leaving Beatrice we turned north headed back to Lincoln. For the first time since the starting line, we’re now getting closer to the finish instead of further.
We were wearing down and saddle sore but worked together and did alright despite now headed into a stiff headwind. As expected, our pace slowed considerably. I was missing those middle gears more than ever as they are most needed when riding into the wind, over rolling hills.
After the MMR’s any chance we had of finishing on time was over. If I had had a working derailleur I might have tried anyway. It would have meant crossing the finish line at say 2:00 am Sunday morning. Another night of riding. The last 50 miles being the hilliest of the course, I knew it would be a struggle, literally uphill.
Without saying anything to Molly, who was still talking about finishing, I began to calculate where to pull out. 200 miles sounded like a good number. That’s the number of miles I should have rode at Unbound back in June. It felt a bit like a consolation prize, but I was ok with it.
Wilbur
Rolled into the Casey’s General Store in Wilbur (mile 176) at 1:30 pm. Here was a first class watering hole, complete with fresh pizza and icey’s. I hadn’t eaten solid food in almost 24 hours.
We got some looks from the nice townsfolk of Wilbur and we must’ve smelled bad. They were polite about it, but kept a respectful distance. Not that I could blame them. I doubt it helped matters that one of the items on my shopping list was a bar of soap, but we sure thought it funny.
“Try to look serious”, she told me before taking this shot.
What do you buy when strung out from the road? Soap and iceys, of course.
This is when I told Molly about my plan for stopping at 200. By this time she was getting tired, suffering from saddle sores and readily agreed. Our next stop was Crete at mile 190. The next one after that, mile 225.
We decided Crete was the place and called our respective rides so they could meet us there.
Molly at mile 176
The End
It was anti-climatic pulling out at 190. Definitely felt like there should have been more to this story. I had another 100 miles left in the tank. But, was satisfied with getting this far, after the earlier mishap. It could have been worse. This is why we never take a finish for granted. Shit happens. It’s all about the execution. The course has the final say. Find something to like about it.
Molly and I said our goodbyes, exchanged contact info and called it a day. A Very Long Day.
Aftermath
Getting back to Lincoln, had a nice beer and burger and soaked in the atmosphere of Gravel Worlds’ finish line. This Is A Great Event. Its gotten bigger over the years but has retained an Indie vibe. The organizers are very nice and cool people. I’m very glad to see their success.
Went back to the hotel around 7:00 pm, showered (of course) and slept for 12 hours. Woke a little sore and very hungry. I had the first of two breakfasts, followed by a couple of lunches. Later, I met my sister in KC and we enjoyed a nice dinner.
All-in-all a pretty good ride.
Next Time
Will I do it again, who the hell knows?
First 190 miles of a 302 mile course around Lincoln, NE
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