An Indiana Girl On A Bike

Day 1

Marc and I had scheduled the last week of July and the first week of August off for vacation sometime in January. We had talked for months about what we were going to do and where we were going to go. We talked about going to Colorado again. My brother used to live in Longmont and we made the trip to Colorado every year for almost 20 years, and we both missed the mountains. We talked about driving up to the upper Peninsula of Michigan and getting a cabin and exploring the wilderness up there. We talked about driving to the start of the Michigan Coast to Coast route (a 200 mile route across the state on gravel roads from Lake Huron to Lake Michigan) and then riding the route on our bikes. However, that would be complicated, as we would have to have a location to park our car for over a week, or get a rental car there and then back.

We talked back and forth, and we weren’t sure that we wanted to spend any time in the car. Day to day life is busy and stressful, and filled with deadlines, responsibilities, schedules, and traffic. The entire purpose of vacation is to escape, and that is what we wanted to do. In the end, we decided to pack up our bikes and head out our front door. We decided a good location for the first day of riding was Potato Creek State Park. The park is about 60 miles from our house, and we knew from experience that when you’re bike packing with loaded bikes that weigh over 65 pounds, 60 miles a day is about the limit if you want to enjoy the day.

We thought we could leave home around noon, and make it to the park in plenty of time to set up camp and eat supper. However, we grossly underestimated the packing and bike preparation, and we ended up not getting out the door until 1:40 pm. That meant we would have to pedal fast, which was not going to be an easy feat. Marc weighed the bikes before we set out. Mine weighed 67 pounds and his weighed 83 pounds with the bikes and equipment all together.

When we set out, it was HOT. It was about 87 degrees, and the sun was relentless. Marc had created a route on his Garmin, however, we had to re-route 3 times due to summer road construction.

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Even though it was hot, hot, hot, and we were in a hurry, we tried to enjoy the day. We passed by fields of mint that smelled like chewing gum, and fields of peppers and potatoes. There was hardly any traffic. It was such a pretty route!

I also saw a really cool barn that looked like the farm it stood on was abandoned. I am a sucker for old barns, so I had to take a picture. We also got lost for a while, and we were both getting very low on water. I saw a young boy on a bike pass us and I asked him “Is there a place we can get water that’s close?” He said “You mean like at someone’s house?” I told him no, but that a gas station would be nice. He then said “Oh, yeah, there’s a gas station in town.” He still wasn’t understanding, and I said “So, exactly where is the town?” He then directed us to take the road and curve to the left, and it would take us right into town. We stopped at a gas station and got water and some chips.

We pulled into Potato Creek State Park close to sunset. The woman at the entrance charged $4 for the two of us and our bikes to enter the park. She then directed us to the campground, which was three miles from the entrance. We were racing the sun, and it was crazy that once we got to the park we still had three miles to go!

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I hadn’t been to Potato Creek State Park since the kids were little, and we took a cub scout hiking trip there. My memory of the park was that there was a lake, but very little woods, and mostly open fields. The park had changed so much! It was lovely, and the road winded through some beautiful forested areas. Marc rushed to set up the tent, and I rushed to get food ready. We had planned a dinner of peppers, onions, avocado, refried beans, and rice wrapped in tortillas. It was comical, because it was almost dusk, and I was trying to cut peppers and onions while swatting mosquitoes. I was doing a dance, while Marc got out the bug spray. (It didn’t work!) Marc set up the small camping stove, and I threw everything together in one pot just to get it cooked, and get us fed before it got dark. We wrapped everything in the tortillas, then the two of us paced back and forth, trying to eat and swat mosquitoes! We couldn’t figure out where to wash dishes, so we wrapped everything in plastic bags to wash later. Below is a picture of the chaos.

We took showers and then settled into our tent. The setting sun had not cooled it down, so it was still very hot. Marc rigged a battery operated fan at the top of the tent to cool us off. We had blow-up mattresses and memory foam to put on top, so it was actually pretty comfortable. With the fan and the soft mattresses, I thought I might possibly go right to sleep after pedaling 60.01 miles. I was wrong. It was just hot. And the campers next to us had a fire going, and they were very loud. We assumed that 10:00 would come and they would go to bed, since this is usually campground quiet time. I was wrong again. The later it got, the louder they became. I could only assume they were enjoying way too many alcoholic beverages. They also didn’t put out their campfire. I was still pretty sure a park ranger would call them out and make them be quiet and put out their fire. Do I need to say I was wrong again? The party boys went at it until 2:30 am. I ended up covering my eyes with my headband and putting on my headphones to play some music to drown out the noise. The problem was I had to turn the music up loud to drown them out. My Fitbit said that I ended up getting 4 hours of very restless sleep, and my sleep score was 58. Do I need to explain that a score of 58 is POOR?!

The next day we got up and started packing to go. The amazing thing is that the partiers who had been up at 2:30 am were also up! I had assumed they would sleep until noon. I was very thankful for the nitro coffee that I had packed, and it tasted wonderful So wonderful in fact, both Marc and I had two cans and some oatmeal bars.

We ended up getting everything packed to make our way out of the park by about 10:20 am. We decided to take the bike trail through the park to see what it was like. It was lovely, and it meandered through the woods to the front entrance. As we left the park, I took a picture of Marc by the lake, and Marc and I snapped some pictures on the bike trail.

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Day 2

Our destination after we left Potato Creek State Park, was Shipshewana, Indiana. Shipshewana is in northeast Indiana, and is a tourist destination because of the Amish and Mennonite population there. The population of Shipshewana was only 658 at the last census. Because of the Amish community and the small population, both Marc and I assumed the route there would be peaceful and lovely. We expected little traffic, as Marc had made a route which bypassed highways and consisted of county roads.

We got on the road after 10:00 am, and it as already a scorcher of a day. There was full sun, and temperatures were in the high 80’s. It was so miserable, I found myself hoping and praying we would pass through some sprinklers. Just as I had this thought, we saw farmer’s pivots watering the fields in the distance. An answer to a prayer! We stopped at each one, and laughed with delight. Marc was like a little kid that I had to take kicking and screaming from the water park. He insisted on staying in the water as long as he could. I snapped a picture, laughing, as he just stood there and checked his bike. He wasn’t budging. It was positively delightful, and I too felt like a little kid. We had lucked out!

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After we passed through the pivots, we hit a series of county roads that were like highways. It was crazy! Cars were speeding over 60 mph, there was no shoulder, and the traffic was terrible. We tried to re-route, but all the county roads were the same. We were baffled as to why in the world there would be so much traffic in what we thought was the middle of nowhere! Marc kept checking his phone, trying to re-route us, and we did manage to find some roads that were lower traffic.

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We pulled into a small town called New Paris around 1:30 in the afternoon. We were both starving, and we were excited to see a little, authentic looking Mexican restaurant called Antojitos. We parked our bikes and went inside, because we could see the bikes from the window. There was only one other customer in the restaurant, and he asked us where we were from and where we were going. After two days on the road, the food tasted fabulous! The salsa and guacamole were very much homemade, and either it was the best salsa and guacamole we had ever had, or we were very hungry! When I went to pay the bill, the owner got very confused as he could barely speak english. He handed me a calculator and asked if I could add it up for him. I did, and handed him back the calculator. He didn’t charge tax, but I didn’t know how to explain that to him, or if his prices already included tax. I took a picture of our food, and Marc took a picture of me and my bike next to the restaurant sign.

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We really just wanted to take a nap after lunch, but we got on our bikes and headed northeast. There were more crazy county roads, before we got to Indiana State Road 5, which would take us straight into Shipshewana. This road was amazing! It had a separate lane for the Amish and their bikes and buggies, so we could travel safely. We took this road for about 10 miles, and it led us directly to our hotel. Yes, a hotel and not a tent! I enjoyed seeing the buggies and the Amish on their bikes. There was an old man with a long white beard and a straw hat who was riding an electric bike. I assumed the Amish must make exceptions for older people who can’t care for a horse or ride a bike. The bike looked like an old Amish bike, but it was equipped with a motor. I really wanted to take pictures, but I thought that would be disrespectful, so I only took one picture of a buggy from behind, so they wouldn’t see me.

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When we got to the hotel, we saw that is looked brand new, and it was so nice! It was within walking distance of the town’s shops and restaurants, and the rooms were huge.

We got our room, showered, and looked at our phones to find a place to eat. It was strange, because it was only abut 7:00 and the entire town was pretty much shut down. We ended up getting a pizza at a carry-out place next to the hotel. We ate it in our hotel room, but Marc was still so hungry, he said he had to go find more food. So we walked through town and found ice cream and cookies at a gas station. We then went back to our hotel to have a VERY blissful and quiet night’s sleep.

In 2020 most of the races for the Michigan Gravel Series were canceled. With the advent of COVID vaccinations and lifted restrictions, the 2021 series was not only in full force, it also added a few new races. Hart Hills is a gravel race in Hart, Michigan that is one of the newly added races to the Michigan Gravel Series. According to Wikipedia, Hart is a small town encompassing 2.07 square miles, with a population of 2,126; hardly a sprawling metropolis! It was founded in 1856 by Wellington Hart, and that is about all the history that is known for this tiny town. The race was to be held May 1, 2021, and the course for the short series was only 25 miles. I thought it was odd that the course was so short, as races for the Michigan Gravel Series short series are typically between 30 and 40 miles. I should have known that because Hart, Michigan is very close to the shore of Lake Michigan that it would be a sandy course! I was absolutely not prepared for the conditions I would encounter on May 1st. 25 miles ended up being more than enough of Hart Hills! The map below shows the location of Hart.

We left for Hart the night before the race, to save ourselves from having to get up at 3:00 am in order to make the race start on time. As luck would have it, the hotel was next to a bike path that would take us just a short distance right into town. It was very chilly for May 1st, and we all dressed in long sleeves and winter tights for the race. The plan was for Marc to stay with me on the course and help pull for me against the wind. My sister Arlene was racing her gravel bike, and I was racing my fat bike.

Getting our race packets and getting ready for the race start was non-eventful. I snapped some pictures before we set out, and the other photos were taken by the race photographer. Because of COVID restrictions, we were all supposed to wear masks at the start for the first mile. As you can see from the start picture of me at the bottom of this picture gallery, there weren’t many people complying with the restrictions. At the time I was only two weeks out from my first COVID vaccination, and I wasn’t happy about the lack of compliance.

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We started the race, and I tried to stay with Marc and the lead pack as we rode the paved road through town to get to gravel. I found myself completely out of breath, and totally unable to stay with anyone. When the weather is cold, a very strange thing sometimes happens. My lungs shut down and decide they are NOT going to take in cold air. As a result, I become totally breathless, and my legs don’t work. This is a phenomenon that only happens in the cold; I never have problems in warm weather. When we left the pavement, the gravel road was covered in thick sand, and we had a head wind. It made it even more difficult to keep any kind of momentum. I was struggling so much, that I remember looking at my Garmin to see how far I had gone because I was totally spent. I had only gone five miles! There was thick sand and hill after hill, all while fighting the wind. Marc was becoming increasingly frustrated by my inability to stay with him. But then, as luck would have it, the bolt came off of Marc’s back wheel, and he was in danger of losing his wheel. He slowed down and told me to go on. From then on, I was on my own. The race didn’t get any better and the wind picked up as we hit more hills, pelting me with sand. I had sand in my teeth and eyes, and I remember thinking that this was the most ridiculous thing in the world, racing a bike in the freezing cold, climbing hills, and getting blasted with sand! What was wrong with me?!

Just as I was about to give up, we pulled onto pavement and a miraculous thing happened! We had a tailwind! I flew at about 30 mph on sweet pavement with the wind at my back, and I was re-energized. I was surprised that there were so many miles of pavement, and I was thrilled when I saw the finish line ahead. I rode so hard, I was hoping that I had finished well. I passed the finish line and parked my bike, looking for other riders that I knew. I didn’t see anyone, so I checked my phone to see how I had finished. I had finished 1st, and there weren’t any other fat bikes in yet! It was then that the wind picked up even more, and one of my gloves blew down the street. I tried to retrieve it, but then my bike blew over. Tables, pamphlets, and bikes were blowing down Main Street! It was wild how the wind kept picking up and up! I then heard the announcer say he had found a glove, so I went to claim it.

I wondered if Marc had to be rescued, but then I saw him cross the finish line. He had very carefully ridden his bike back to town, and he luckily hadn’t lost his wheel. Our friend James finished 3rd in his age group, and Arlene finished 3rd in hers.

After we all caught up with each other, we decided to eat out at the only pizza place in town. Because of COVID, we were all nervous about inside dining. However, the outside idea proved to be comical. The tables and chairs were blowing over, and our bikes blew down the street with a table. We decided to secure the bikes and eat inside. This race was typical of most races…while I’m on the course I’m suffering so much that I wonder what in the heck I’m doing, then I pass the finish line and I feel so great I want to do it again! It’s funny how awesome races always seem in retrospect.

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The Dirty Donut is a race held in the small town of Martin, Michigan. It is not a part of the Michigan Gravel Race Series, and can best be described as a fun race for all kinds of riders, from the serious to the recreational. It also happens to be my sister Arlene’s favorite race. I jokingly accuse her of “sandbagging” since she likes to ride the short race (22 miles) with the more recreational riders. It’s easy to feel like a superstar on the bike when the riders around you are walking hills! You can choose to do the “donut” or the “sprint” race. If you do the donut race, you get five minutes shaved off of your race time for every donut you eat at designated stops. The sprint race is for the more serious racer, and there is no donut eating. I opted to race the 41 mile fat bike sprint race and Arlene opted for the 22 mile sprint race on her gravel bike. There was no female fat bike class, so I had to ride in the co-ed division. That meant I had to compete with the boys!

Arlene and I loaded the bikes and made the trip to Martin the morning of the race. Marc opted not to go, because he had projects to do at home, and he said the silly race was not for him. When we got there, we parked at Martin High School and got our bikes ready. A man there asked if we wanted him to take our picture, and I said yes and handed him my phone. I think Arlene and I looked like serious racers!

My 41 mile race was to start first. The announcer talked a little bit, and then the count down began. Soon we were off. I stayed to the left and tried my best to stay with the lead group as they rode behind a pace car, which was to lead the entire race. I was thrilled as I managed to stay with the lead group until we turned off into the woods. Then things got very scary! I had never stayed with the lead riders for so long, and we were a tight pack in the woods on a winding road. It was unnerving not to be able to see the road in front of me, and to be surrounded by so many riders! By mile five I lost my nerve completely and I held back a little bit, as the lead group slipped away. Then I was passed by a group of men on fat bikes. The last man in the group yelled “Come on and hang on until the first donut stop!” I jumped on his wheel and was thrilled I was able to stay with the group! I ended up averaging 19.8 mph all the way until the first donut stop. I think I maintained this speed until about mile 15. I assumed the group, who were very fast, would eat their donuts and then they would catch up to me. However, I never saw them again. I then had to try and catch the wheel of any rider who passed me. At one point, when I was crawling about 11 mph against a terrible headwind, a couple on a tandem passed me going about 17 mph. I forced myself to stay with them all the way until I could see pavement ahead. I was racing so hard because I knew there were no other women and just a few men in the co-ed fat bike division, and it was my goal to beat the guys and make it to the podium.

Arlene was waiting for me at the finish line, and she snapped my picture. It turned out that I finished the race at 16.3 mph, one of my fastest fat bike times ever, and I got second place! Arlene won her age group in the 22 mile race. That day was so HOT! I had run out of water at mile 35, and it seemed I was thirsty for days afterwards!

As we were waiting for the awards ceremony, the second place winner in Arlene’s age group came up to us and said “You’re the girls from Indiana!” as if we were celebrities! She knew that Arlene was the 2019 Michigan Gravel Series gravel scholar, and she said “You’re indianagirlonabike!” and that she had read my blog. At first, I was taken aback. It never occurred to me that someone actually read my blog! Then, after being freaked out and feeling like someone was asking for my autograph, I decided it was very flattering, and it was nice of her to come up and talk to us.

Then it was time for them to announce the fat bike awards. This was a co-ed division, and there was no female division. However, they announced the winners and said “The winners of the male fat bike division are…” and they named the third place winner as the second male winner! I had worked way too hard for this, so I immediately put down my water bottle and went up to the announcer and told him that I was the second place co-ed winner, and there was no male or female division. He stuttered and then corrected himself. The man with the second place medal around his neck sheepishly took the medal off and handed it to me. He said “Yeah, that’s what I read on the results”. He looked embarrassed. Arlene said she was proud of me for standing up for myself. The podium picture is the center picture under the title above. Third place is in yellow. It was fun to have a podium picture with boys!

The Dirty Donut also gives award for King and Queen of the Donut. The male and female who eat the most donuts and still finish below the cut off time are awarded a jersey. This year the King of the Donuts for the 41 mile race ate 20 donuts and the Queen ate 9. I’m not so sure if I ate 9 donuts that I’d be able to ride 41 miles…I’d most likely slip into a sugar nap and wake up after everyone had gone home! Although the idea of having 5 minutes shaved off your finish time for every donut is tempting…

The Cow Pie Classic is held in Ionia Michigan, a small city southeast of Hart. I love this race. The promoters go out of their way to provide a very entertaining experience. Part of the race goes through a farmer’s field, where you dodge cow pies spray painted with orange bull’s eyes. You then go through a brief ride through the woods, onto a two track trail through a field, and then through a barn, before exiting back onto the gravel road. It’s the cow’s feeding time, so there is usually a cow mooing symphony, with people ringing cow bells alongside the road. But most of the race goes through rolling gravel roads that are very FAST! This year the fat bike competition was stiff, with 6 women and 16 fatbikes overall. I was really concerned, because all of the women were strong, and one of them was a cross fitter who was probably 25 years or more younger than me. I started this race solo, because Marc was in a wave ahead of me. I don’t think I’ve ever ridden a race harder, and I stayed with the lead group in my wave all the way into the pasture. As we hit the pasture, the wave scattered. I could see the riders on skinny gravel tires were taking the grass and dirt easy, but it was no problem for my fat bike. As I came close to the barn that led back to the gravel road, I saw Marc. He saw me and immediately started riding faster. He said he had held back, waiting for me. The rest of the race was a blur. I have never, ever had a race where we rode so hard and stayed with groups of riders the entire race. It was crazy fast, and I couldn’t believe I was staying with guys on skinny gravel tires, and sometimes passing them. This was honestly the race of my entire racing career. The stars aligned on this day. I was energized, my bike was fast, and there were continual groups of riders to tag along with. When we finished, I checked the results on my phone. I had gotten first place woman by 11 seconds. I also finished 4th out of 16 overall, including the men!

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The Divide Grave Race in Manton, Michigan was July 25th. Marc was working on our deck project, so I made this 4 hour drive to Manton, Michigan solo. The morning of July 25th I left at 5:45 AM to make the race start on time at noon. With the time change and stops, along with warm up time, I couldn’t leave any later. The Divide is, I think, the absolute toughest race in the series. It is hilly and sandy. Sandy is actually an understatement!

The ride to Manton was so looooong! I had several complete stops due to traffic construction, and the car drive seemed to go on forever. By the time I got to Manton I was exhausted. This race really is difficult to describe. It is always held the hottest time of the year, and it begins at 12:00 pm. The heat always makes this race so brutal! And the course really can’t be described to do it justice. It is hill after hill, after hill. The roads are sandy and difficult and winding. It is just HARD. And the seasonal road, Gilberts Corners, gets more difficult every year because it is not maintained. I think even a four wheel drive Jeep would have difficulty maneuvering this road. It is ankle deep sand, deep ruts, and holes. Most of it is completely unrideable, and it stretches on for miles. This year I tried to ride the road on the grassy edges. It worked for a while, but then I fell off the grassy edge into the woods. I then tried riding the grassy strip in the middle of the road. I ran sections that were ankle deep sand with my bike, and I jumped on my bike with my feet unclipped out of the pedals for the downhills. I ended up walking a rocky section because of a rider walking his bike in front of me. This road seemed to go on forever, and most of the riders around me were walking their bikes through every sandy section. The entire race was just exhausting, especially after the four hour car drive. When I was two miles from the finish, a woman who looked like she was in my age group passed me. There was no way I was going to let that happen! She was on a gravel bike, and I was on a fat bike. As soon as I crested the last hill before the finish line, I took off and never looked back. I beat her by less than a minute, and I finished 3rd in my age group on the fat bike against girls on gravel bikes. Our entire A1 team did well at this race, and we all posed for pictures afterwards. The four hour drive home left me so exhausted, I slept A LOT for the next three days!

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Freeport, Illinois is a small town with a population of 25,000 that is located in northwestern Illinois, close to the Wisconsin border. According to Wikipedia, it is known for hosting the second Lincoln-Douglas debate in 1858, and is also known as “Pretzel USA” due to a popular local German Bakery famous for its pretzels in the 1850’s. The local high school even has a pretzel as its mascot to honor its heritage.

Freeport is also known to cyclists for its endless rolling hills of gravel. Each year there is an organized “10,000 Ride” that boasts 10,000 feet of elevation over the course of 100 miles. The route is available on line to download, for anyone who wants to ride the route anytime throughout the year. Excited about such an epic ride being so close to home, a group of local riders had organized a ride in May. Marc and I were invited, however, we had to bow out. We had to work the day before, and Freeport is a 3 hour drive from Valparaiso. This meant we’d have to get up at 3:00 am to start the ride at 7:00. It was also predicted that temperatures at 7:00 am would be in the 40’s. We both decided that this was definitely a bucket-list endeavor, and we planned to ride it together in June when the weather was warmer, and we had time off.

Well, summer came quickly, and on June 14th, we headed to Freeport at 5:00 pm to do the ride. We had decided to spend the night in a hotel. We thought it would be best to start the ride fresh, without a 3 hour car drive prior to the ride. We also booked the hotel for the following night, so we wouldn’t have to drive home after being on the bike all day. The weather was predicted to be 80 degrees and sunny, with low winds. It sounded like perfect weather.

We woke up the following morning with the intention of getting Starbucks coffee, as there was a Starbucks just blocks from the hotel. We thought we’d enjoy our coffee, then drive our car with our bikes to a park, where we could leave our car and start the route. The first glitch came when I got up and drove to the Starbucks, and there was a sign on the door that said it was temporarily closed. Sigh. Bad luck! I then drove to a gas station and got some really weak looking coffee. I took it back to the hotel and added almond milk. It tasted terrible, and it wasn’t Starbucks. But it would work. We then loaded our bikes and gear, and headed to the park. When we got ready to set out, Marc decided to leave one of his water bottles at the car since he didn’t have room for it. This turned out to be not his best idea ever.

So here we were, ready to begin an epic life adventure! I loaded the course on my Garmin, then pressed start. The Garmin should have showed us the route, along with turn-by-turn directions. However, the Garmin would only pull up the map with the words “Ready to Navigate” at the top of the screen. I pressed start, but then got an error message saying that there was no navigation available. Marc then attempted to pull up the route on Strava. We spent the first half hour of the day making wrong turns and starting and stopping the Garmin. I finally figured out that while the Garmin would not give me directions, it would show the color coded map. As long as I was in the blue, I was on course. The problem was I couldn’t see the colors without reading glasses! It was pretty comical. Every time we came to an intersection with three ways to turn, I’d have to get out my reading glasses. Thank goodness I had them in my pocket! The map was a little off in spots, and we ended up taking a handful of wrong turns.

However, most of the course was rolling roads without intersections, so we were able to ride for miles and miles without looking at the Garmin. Because of all the technical difficulties, we didn’t really get started until about 9:30 am. This was a very late start for a 100 mile ride, and I worried that we would run out of daylight. We hadn’t thought to bring lights!

The first 20 miles were deceiving. The hills were fast rollers, and it was exhilarating! The countryside was also so much more beautiful than I expected. At times it felt like we were on top of the world, surrounded by rolling fields of green, with cows and farms in the distance.

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Our first water stop came at about 21 miles into the route, at a little town called Stockton. We stopped at a Casey’s General Store to get water, and then we split a banana and Cliff bar. My intuition told me that Marc shouldn’t be carrying only two water bottles, so I bought him a third bottle that he could put in his back pocket. I then noticed a building with a train mural, and I parked my bike under the mural to take a picture. We were then on our way.

After that first water stop, the hills started to get steeper and longer, and the sun started to get hotter…and hotter…and hotter. By about mile 40 I kept looking at my Garmin and calculating how much longer we had to go. The climbs in the heat made my head feel like it was going to explode! I found myself praying for cloud cover, and checking my water supply.

As the hills got steeper and steeper, the descents got scarier and scarier! Some of the roads were hard packed dirt, but some were so hard packed they were almost like asphalt, and they had a smattering of white rock gravel covering them. They were sketchy and scary, because the farther and farther you got into the descent, the faster the bike went! The hills were also winding, so if I saw a turn coming ahead, I would tap, tap, and tap my brakes while keeping my weight back on the seat. I kept hearing our friend Jeff telling me to “Shut up Lou! Don’t look down, just look ahead!” He had ridden with me at Gravel Worlds in 2016 and he had coached me through every scary fast descent, and I could still hear his voice. So I just kept my weight back and looked far ahead of me to where I was going, while letting the front of the bike float. I was extremely thankful that I had gravel experience. I wondered how a novice would have handled those downhills! At one point, Marc was traveling 35 miles an hour and saw a curve coming. He tried tapping his brakes, but his tire spun out and he barely missed going off the road. He did go down, but not all the way, as he caught himself. We were both being very cautious, as this was a fun ride…not a race!

Somewhere around mile 35 or 40, we came across a farmhouse with two dogs in the yard. As we approached, the dogs took off after Marc. They were pit bulls! Marc squirted them with his water, and they ran off. I held back at a distance, trying to get up the nerve to race past the house. Dogs can run at about 22 mph, and I was calculating whether or not I would be able to outride them. Marc was yelling at me to come on, as the dogs lay in wait in the front yard, just daring me to come near. I clipped my right foot in the pedal and took off as fast as I could. I soon had pit bulls chasing me, one at each ankle, as I screamed at the top of my lungs. I imagined that if their hillbilly owners heard and saw me, they probably got a good laugh. I made it past the farm, my heart racing. I knew that if they had caught me I would have no doubt been mauled. I have pepper spray, and I scolded myself for not carrying it!

At mile 51 we came to our second, and last water stop. It was a dirty little gas station in the hamlet of Hanover. Our bottles were empty, and it was the heat of the day. The ride was turning out to be so remote, that I wondered if we could make it back to the car without running out of water, or make it back before sunset. It was getting hotter and hotter, and it seemed like the gravel was getting chunkier, and the hills were getting bigger. We split another banana and each had a small bag of chips. Doritos! I can’t remember the last time I had Doritos.

After we left the last water stop, I noticed the gravel got chunkier, and we were headed into a head wind. And those hills! They had gotten so much bigger, and Marc noticed that it took us 45 minutes to go 5 miles! At one point, a farmer in a tractor pulled out in front of me. As I rode behind the tractor, all I could see was the tractor and the wall of a hill in front of me that looked like it went straight up. I couldn’t see the sky! I was amazed at myself that I followed that farmer straight up the hill, and I made it to the top. I wish I had a picture of that. Marc did take a picture of the hill in the distance, but it doesn’t do it justice. It’s funny how hills don’t photograph!

By the time we were at mile 80, Marc only had 1/2 bottle of water left, and there were no more water stops. We had no idea what was ahead, and since we had taken 45 minutes at one point to go 5 miles, Marc decided we had no choice but to cut the course. If we went back the way we came the last few miles, we would cut about 9 miles off. We were not only low on water, but we also had no food. We foolishly set out with a banana and a few Cliff bars, and we had been riding all day! So I said OK! I was fine with ending our epic journey with 91 miles instead of 100!. However, this meant we would have to go past the dogs again. I was sick about it, an I wasn’t sure if I had the nerve to do it. As we approached the white farmhouse, we saw both dogs lying in wait in the front yard. They saw us from a distance, and set out to chase us. We weren’t even in their territory yet! I turned around and said that the shortcut was a no-go, and Marc yelled that we had no choice. He went for it, spraying the dogs with what little water he had left. He made it past the farmhouse as I watched from a distance. I just couldn’t make myself go. When I saw that the dogs had retreated to the back of the property and they weren’t visible, I took off. I thought I was in the clear when I heard them coming. I once again screamed so loud that I could probably be heard for miles, as the dogs wouldn’t give up chase. They finally turned back to their yard, and I was extremely relieved. After the dog chase, the sun had gone down a bit, and it had gotten a little breezy. It was so beautiful, I was wishing we had taken lights and extra water so we could finish the 100 miles instead of just 91.

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Soon after the dog chase, we could see the town in the distance at the bottom of the rolling hills. I was both happy and sad that the ride was over. As we headed to the car, I had a thought. Life is just like this bike ride. When you’re sick, or you’re having a terrible day at work, or you’re having problems with a relationship or with money, it only means you’re in the middle of a climb. Once you get to the top of the hill, the view is amazing. So don’t ever give up! The ride is absolutely worth it! I snapped a picture of our shadows as we loaded the bikes on the car to drive back to the hotel. This is a ride I’d definitely want to do again…with extra water and some pepper spray!

Well, we lived through 2020 and somehow made it to 2021, and the race season has begun. Despite the Covid pandemic raging on in Michigan with an infection rate higher than all of the other states, the promoters of the races that are a part of the Michigan Gravel Race Series have had a year to figure out how to comply with Michigan’s Health Department standards and still have their races continue.

Waterloo Grit and Gravel was the second race of the Michigan Gravel Race Series 2021 season, and was to be held at the Waterloo State Recreation Area in Chelsea, Michigan. The Waterloo Recreation Area is the largest park in the Lower Peninsula. It has fishing lakes, picnic areas, mountain biking trails, equestrian trails, swimming beaches, and hiking trails. It’s an absolutely beautiful area with rolling gravel hills that pass through breathtaking forests. It’s one of my favorite races. Last year when Marc and I were riding the course, we passed through a meadow with literally a sea of yellow butterflies fluttering across the road. Below is a picture I took while warming up before the race on April 17th. Spring has not yet arrived in Michigan, so the canopy of trees covering the roads is still sparse.

The race was to begin at 9:00 am, which is 8:00 am Indiana time. This meant that Marc and I would have to get up at 3:00 am in order to be on the road by 4:00 am. This is the hardest part of racing, and the part which Marc hates the most. He struggles with the lack of sleep and the driving in the dark. It also makes it extremely difficult when we’ve had a three hour car ride and we get to the race with little or no time to warm up. This race would be no exception. The fog and dark on the Interstate made for a difficult drive, and we got to the recreation area about an hour before the race was to begin. However, we had to get our race packet and prepare our bikes, which meant we might have 15 minutes to ride before we had to line up at the start.

When we got to the park we had to pay $9 for a day park pass, and we were directed to a parking lot. Once in the park, we were told we had to wear masks. I asked the man who parked next to us where our packets were, and he pointed to the end of the parking lot where there was a hill that led to another parking lot. I got on my bike and rode to where he pointed, and there was a woman there who scanned my race admission ticket on my phone and pointed to a long row of metal bike racks with numbers on them. We were to look for our race numbers. Our bag with our race plates and other goodies, such as a water bottle and some gels, was below our number. It was really a brilliant system, because we were able to get our stuff and not have any contact with anyone. A picture of the bike racks is below. Usually races have tables set up where everyone lines up to get their packets. However, with Covid regulations, they had to minimize anyone having contact with others as much as possible.

I had about ten or fifteen minutes to ride around before the race, however, Marc was busy getting his bike ready and he immediately rode over to the start to line up. I was out riding and rode right past him when 9:00 approached, thinking the fat bikes were in the second wave. Marc flagged me down and scolded me for not getting up front with the fast guys for the race start. All the fat bikes, tandems, and single speeds were to start in the first wave at 9:00. We were to stay six feet away from each other, so I was stuck and couldn’t move up to the front of the wave. We were also to wear our masks for the first mile of the race, however, I noticed that while everyone was respecting each other’s space, hardly anyone was wearing a mask. The start of the race, pictured below, is in a parking lot and proceeds out of the park onto pavement for a few hundred feet before turning onto a gravel road.

As soon as the race began, I immediately began trying to pass people to make it to the front of the pack. Marc was right behind me. We turned left at the park entrance onto a paved road, and rode a short distance to where we were to turn right from the paved road onto gravel. At the corner, I saw a man on a gravel bike who had crashed. There were orange cones at the corner marking the turn, directing racers to the outside of the cones. It looked like he had gone to the inside of the cones and had wiped out on the gravel that was spattered on the pavement, which the cones has apparently been protecting us from. He got up and got back up on his bike, so it appeared he was OK. I always hate seeing crashes right at the race start. With so may riders packed together, race starts are the sometimes the most dangerous part of the race. That’s why I usually stay to the left to avoid and try to pass others.

This race has about 1,000 feet of elevation gain in the first nine miles. So I knew right away we would be climbing hills, and I wouldn’t be warmed up. It typically takes me at least a half an hour to get my heart rate up, so I knew that I would be gasping for air up those hills. Marc has planned to stay with me during the race as he didn’t want to compete. He immediately began yelling at me to stay on a wheel. I call him Coach Marc the whip cracker, because he is a pretty ruthless coach. He constantly yells, and he tells me he’s doing it for my own good. It’s so funny, because we have this conversation all the time. I tell him to be nice and encourage me, and he says it’s not a coach’s job to be nice, and I need to toughen up. It makes me laugh because he is right. Well, Marc was not being nice today. Every time a fast wheel would pass us and I couldn’t stay on it, he would get upset. At one point he told me “you’re so close to being an 18 mph rider if you could just stay on a wheel!” Then I snapped back, “I’m a girl on a fat bike chasing guys on skinny tires. What do you want from me?! Be nicer!” I also told him to just leave me and I would be fine, because I’d won plenty of race without him.

I can’t remember how many miles we were into the 30 mile course when I saw a photographer at the top of a very steep hill. That was all the motivation I needed. No way was I going to get my picture taken being the last one up a hill. So I stood up and passed all the guys who were riding up that hill, including Marc.

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Shortly after the hill, we turned onto a sandy road that runs past the Cassidy Lake Special Alternative Incarceration Facility. This is a prison that used to be a minimum security boot camp. It is surrounded by high fences and barbed wire, and the road that runs past it is poorly maintained (maybe to discourage prisoners from escaping?!) and it can sometimes be in very bad condition. A few years ago during a winter race, there were deep ruts in the road that made it extremely difficult to maneuver. Today it was loose sand with a few pot holes. We settled into riding behind a heavier rider doing about 17 mph. Every time a faster rider would ride by, Marc would motion for me to follow but I just couldn’t. I was barely hanging on to the fat guy with my 3.8″ tires on sand.

After the prison road, the course turned onto some very smooth, rolling pavement. This would continue for miles until the sprint finish. It was discouraging that we had a headwind for the last few miles. There was a girl ahead on a mountain bike and Marc said “there’s a girl up there!” I tried sprinting several times to try and catch her, but every time I would get close there would be another hill and she would slip past me. As we turned right into the park towards the finish, I saw my break as she hesitated with the line of cones. I pulled ahead of her, thinking I had crossed the finish line, but the finish line wasn’t there. It was very confusing and I yelled at a guy in the road “where’s the finish line?” He pointed to the right, where there were more cones, and I could see the arched finish line with the finish time in big red letters. The time said 1:53. As I crossed the finish line and heard my name being mentioned over the loud speaker, I immediately looked around the parking lot to see if any other girls on fat bikes had finished ahead of me. I didn’t see any. In fact, I hadn’t seen any girls on fat bikes the entire race, so I had no idea if they were ahead of me or behind me. I pulled out my phone and checked the race website, and saw that I had finished first. There were no other finishers yet. Since there was to be no awards ceremony due to the Covid restrictions, Marc and I went back to the car. After we changed, I asked Marc to take a victory photo of me in front of the backdrop they had set up for that purpose.

As it turned out, I beat the 2nd place fat bike female by almost 55 minutes! I laughed because Marc had pushed me so hard and I could have easily won the race just going for a leisure ride. My average speed was 16.4 mph and the 2nd place finisher averaged 11.1 mph. The 2nd, 3rd, and 4th finishers were within less than five minutes of each other. 5th place had some mechanical issues and didn’t finish. I finished 12th overall out of 23 (men and women combined). I beat 8 men!

Two days after the race, I went to Terre Haute for my mom’s 83rd birthday. When I proudly showed my mom my race pictures beating the boys up the hill, she looked at the picture, then was silent. After some hesitation she said “Lou, that doesn’t look like you.” I laughed because Mom did not think it was a flattering photo. I told her that I didn’t want to look pretty, I just wanted to look tough!

I love living so close to Lake Michigan. The Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore (which has recently become the Indiana Dunes National Park) has a magical quality to it. It literally looks different every time I visit it. Sometimes on a sunny summer day, the water will reflect the sky and be so blue that it looks like the Caribbean Sea. On a really clear fall day, Chicago is usually visible across the water. In addition, the rising and falling of the waves make the shoreline disappear and reappear. In the winter months, when the shelf ice forms, the lake is at its most majestic and mystical. Just one night of below zero temperatures can turn the sandy shore into an arctic playground, complete with ice caves and ice mountains. Along the protected lakeshore, there are the houses from the 1933 World’s Fair Exhibit, “The Houses of Tomorrow”. My favorite is the pink Florida House, which is pictured above. I snapped the picture on a recent bike ride. The trip to the beach from my house is almost exactly 100 kilometers (62 miles), and is one of my favorite weekend destinations.

But something sinister has been afoot on the lakeshore. In the last six years the water level of Lake Michigan has risen by three feet. While fluctuations of the water levels are not uncommon throughout history, the rising of the waters in the last six years is unprecedented. This is due, in part, to the rising temperatures of the lake and climate change. I’ve lived close to Lake Michigan since 1992, and it is most definitely not the beach that I took my boys to when they were little. Kemil Beach used to have a beach beyond the boardwalk,and large boulders surrounding the shelter. That portion of the beach has since disappeared. The boardwalk has been swallowed up by water, and the road that runs along the lakeshore was destroyed by the waves last summer. To save the road and the homes along the lakeshore, the National Park Service had to haul in tons of sand and rocks to rebuild the shore. It’s ironic that a large part of the National Park and protected lakeshore is not natural, but man made.

On March 2nd of this year, after we had a week of warmer temperatures, I decided to take my fatbike to the beach to see if the shore was still rideable. Because the temperatures were still close to freezing, I was hoping the sand would be frozen enough to ride on. I drove my fatbike to the Kemil Beach shelter and unloaded it, then rode the short distance down the road to get to the shore. It was an incredibly beautiful day, and the water was almost as blue as the sky.

When I first set out, I thought it was a mistake to have made the trip. The sand was soft and there was a lot of foot traffic, making the sand very difficult to push through. I ended up walking the bike down to the water. Once down close to the water, I got on the bike and was happy to see that the sand was hard enough to ride on. It didn’t last long however, as there is a large section of Kemil Beach where pebbles always wash to shore. It was almost impossible to ride through the pebbles, but I kept going. Once I got past this portion of the beach, the sand became hard packed and I found I could ride almost as fast as being on the road! This was exhilarating, and I hoped I could ride the the bike all the way to the steel mill, which is about 7 miles down the shoreline.

However, this was not to be. Once I got past the pavilion at the state park, the shore ran out shortly after Porter Beach. This portion of the beach used to be rideable, and it was possible to ride all the way to the mill. In the winter when the shelf ice forms, it’s still sometimes possible to make the trip. But on this day, since the shelf ice was gone, going any further was a no-go. Below are some pictures of the end of the line, where there was no way to get around the seawall.

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So, I reluctantly turned around and headed back. At first I thought I might time the waves and be able to make it to the other side of the seawall before the next wave, then I decided it would not be wise to get wet at temperatures hovering around freezing. Although of course, Marc would have totally just kept going. Below is a picture of him forging ahead in close to the same spot a few years ago. The wooden planks he is riding around can be seen in the distance of the first picture above.

As I flew back down the shore to Kemil Beach, I was disappointed that I couldn’t have kept going. I decided that I would ride back to Kemil Beach, then back to the the Lakeshore Drive, and over to Central Beach. When I was almost to Kemil Beach I saw a fatbiker that I didn’t know walking his bike through the section of pebbles that were difficult to ride through. It looked like he was re-thinking his decision to try and ride the beach. I told him to not be discouraged and that the beach got really hard packed and fast in just a little while. He said thanks. It was strange to see someone on a fatbike that I didn’t know.

When I got back to Kemil Beach, I rode my bike as far as a could in the soft sand, then walked my bike up to the road. I then rode along the lakeshore road to the road that goes to Beverly Shores. It had been years since I had been to Central Beach, and I wanted to see if it was possible to ride the shore there. Central Beach, when the boys were little, was a beach that mostly only the locals knew about. You had to park your car in a small lot, then do a hike through the woods to get to it. Central Beach is known for its large sand dunes, and the boys used to sled down it with plastic sand sleds. Below is a picture of Central Beach from the end of the lakeshore road, which dead-ends on a waking path that leads to a cliff, with a view of the beach. I took this picture on another one of my bike rides.

When I got to Central Beach, I took a road that has been blocked off to traffic, that leads straight to the beach (bypassing the parking lot and hike through the woods). There used to be a pass between the sand dunes that you could walk down, that led directly to the shore. I assumed I could still do that, although the last time I had been to Central Beach was about 15 years ago when my nephew Michael was a teenager.

I got to the sand at the end of the road and I dismounted my bike. I then started walking through the deep sand, thinking I was going to be able to walk down to the beach. I was totally shocked to see that the sand just ended, and I was on a cliff with the beach about thirty feet below. I was shocked and confused for a minute, and was trying to figure out where the beach had gone! I looked to the left and right, thinking there had to be some way to get down to the beach, but there wasn’t. The beach had completely eroded, and it appeared they had trucked in millions of pounds of sand and rocks to build out the cliff I was standing on. This must have been in an attempt to save the road and the bathrooms that are still there. I just stood there, completely shocked that the beach no longer existed. I was flooded with all of the memories of the boys swimming there. I stayed for a while and took pictures, although the pictures below don’t really show the height of the cliff I was standing on. My bike is lying at the edge of the cliff in several of the pictures.

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As I rode back to my car, I couldn’t help but worry about the future of the beach. If the waters keep rising at the pace they have in the past six years, there is no way anyone can truck in enough sand to save it. It made me even more incredibly grateful to live so close to such a natural wonder, and to have the physical ability to enjoy it.

This year, spring in Northwest Indiana has come early. The months of March and April normally see cloudy skies and snow or freezing, cold rain everyday. The sun doesn’t typically shine on most days until May, and our growing season is much shorter than the southern parts of the state. This year, however there have been more sunny skies and warmer temperatures than I can ever remember. Because of this, most free weekends this spring I have taken a trip to the beach on my road bike or gravel bike. It is wonderful to have a destination, instead of riding the same country roads everyday, surrounded by nothing but cropless fields (and lots of wind!)

The last time I rode to the beach it was about 54 degrees with a north wind the entire trip. The sun was shining and the cloud formations were just amazing. I knew that once I got close to the lake the temperature would instantly drop by about 10 degrees, so I wore thermal gloves and a jacket. I took the long way to the beach, which was exactly 42 miles to this spot where I always love to stop and take a picture. The sky and the water were close to the same lovely shade of blue!

I sat on the stairs of this little pavilion in the picture and took some pictures of the beach. I thought about eating the peanut butter sandwich and carrots I had packed, because I was crazy hungry after riding 42 miles against the wind. Plus, I just wanted to look at the water and listen to my 70’s music on my headphones. However the north wind coming across the lake was so cold my hands were freezing without my gloves when I attempted to get the sandwich out of my backpack. So I decided to ride to the shelter down the road to see if it was a little bit warmer there. I sat on a bench in the sunshine when I got there and ate 1/2 of my sandwich. Whenever I pack food for a ride, I try to eat it in small bits. They say you only need about 120 to 180 calories an hour to sustain energy. Too much food in the stomach is like throwing a big log on a fire. It can smother the fire, but putting no wood on the fire can make it go out. So you have to eat. The trick is when I pack food, I try to eat a little bit every hour, instead of eating it all at once, so it is like little bits of kindling on the fire. I had eaten a nut bar at about mile 20.

As I sat and ate, I reminisced about taking to the boys to this beach when they were little. One Easter we even had an Easter egg hunt at this spot. The boardwalk and the beach are now gone due to the rising waters, as I had mentioned before. I have a picture of Andrew at age 2 sitting on the rocks of this beach. I thought of that as I snapped a picture. The beach used to extend for quite a distance after the rocks.

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After I was done eating, I rode down the lakeshore and took some picture of the homes built for the 1933 “Homes of Tomorrow” Exhibition in Chicago for the World’s Fair “Century of Progress”. The houses were transported by barge across Lake Michigan and are now a part of the National Park. Private owners were able to work on restoring the houses in exchange for a lease to live in them. Some of the houses have been under restoration for years. In 1992 when I first moved to the county they were all abandoned and were falling apart. The only two completely restored are the Florida House and the prison-like house called the Wieboldt-Rostone house. It was designed by an architect in Lafayette, Indiana, who designed many buildings on the campus of Purdue University. It was made with Rostone slabs, an exciting new material in 1933 that was said to never need repairs. It has withstood the test of time very well, but it is not pretty!

The Armco-Ferro House is a steel framed house with a porcelain enamel exterior (it’s the house on the right below). This too, is not an attractive house, but looks like it has held up well. To the left of it is the House of Tomorrow, which is the house that has suffered the most and is still under renovation.

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Shortly after they were moved from Chicago across Lake Michigan by barge in 1933, this is what these two houses looked liked:

After I took a few more pictures of the beach, I was ready to head home because clouds had started to move in and the temperature kept dropping! I was looking very forward to the tailwind on the way home, and I figured the tailwind would keep me warm. It was not to be. I was so cold I was thinking there was no way I could make the 30 miles home without a heavier jacket. But, an amazing thing always happens once you get just about 5 or 10 miles past the beach. The clouds part and the sun shines and the temperature raise by about 10 to 15 degrees!

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At mile 54, about 18 miles from home, I was enjoying a tailwind and a very fast downhill when I hit a bump and the seat of my bike came off! Luckily I wasn’t hurt, but I had to ride the bike for a mile to get to a safe place to pull over. Of course this was the day that I forgot my multi-purpose tool, so I had to call for a rescue from my bike mechanic and hubby, Marc. My old Trek has a seat post that accommodates seats with different rails than the ones that are on my bike seat. Mine are oval, and the Trek accommodates round ones. I knew the seat always needs tightened because of this, so it was kind of silly to forget my tool. The problem is that the only seat my butt can tolerate is the seat that is on the bike. So my mechanic showed up and fixed the seat, and I was on my way back home to ride another day!

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Maintaining fitness through a seemingly never-ending northwest Indiana winter is a continual challenge. Daylight savings time begins the first of November, and it is pitch black at 5:00 by the time I get off of work. When you add in the wind, rain, and close to freezing temperatures, exercise after work outside is a no-go. Then the cruel wind, rain, and darkness turns into foot-deep snow as the winter wears on. Temperatures typically drop in late January or February to sub zero or single digits. Riding a stationary trainer or jogging on the treadmill hardly prepares you for racing and climbing dirt and sand hills, doing a 100 mile group ride, or chasing fast wheels all summer long. It doesn’t entirely escape me that as I get older, if I let fitness slide in the winter, then summer fitness may be harder and harder to achieve; or it may be impossible to regain at all.

What, then, is the solution? This year I decided to try and cross-train outside in my own back yard, which I can do in the dark, after work, without worrying about dangerous traffic on slick, icy roads. So I asked Marc for cross country skis for my birthday. I decided I definitely needed more than spinning my stationary bike in front of the TV screen, or jogging mindlessly on the treadmill.

The cross country ski idea turned out to be a bit comical at first. For starters, I had no idea that skis come in all different types. There are skating skis (OK, I NEVER want to go that fast on snow and ice!), classic skis, backcountry skis, or touring skis. In addition, you can buy expensive skis with mohair skins, and there are some types of skis that need to be waxed. The mohair is in the center of the ski to give you traction, and the ends of the skis are slick and are waxed to make you glide across the snow. Marc opted to buy me skis that didn’t need mohair skins or the waxing (too high maintenance!), so he bought me fiberglass waxless touring skis (these skis have rough scales in the middle and are slick on the ends without the need for waxing). He found a pair of skis on clearance with mohair, but he said if they discontinued the skis I wouldn’t be able to buy mohair for them when it needed to be replaced. I also had no idea that ski length is based on your weight and the poles’ length is based on your height. In addition, I had no idea that the bindings are the part of the ski that your boots clip into, and there are different types of ski boots. Mark initially bought me backcountry ski boots, as these boots are heavier duty and he figured they would be warmer. That was a $150 mistake! Apparently backcountry boots have thicker rods that clip into the bindings, making it extremely difficult to clip in or out of the skis.

So, finally after getting all the gear, here I was, all set to ski off into the sunset in my new skis. I got the skis for my birthday in October and then I waited for snow. And waited. And waited. And waited. Northwest Indiana typically sees snow the first of December and we don’t see the ground again until March, but the past couple of winters have been freakishly mild and unpredictable. Most of December and January had alternating rain, freezing rain, or light snow. I was super excited when we finally got our first snow near the end of January. The weather swiftly shifted from 40’s to the teens overnight, and it snowed. And snowed. And snowed!

After that first snow, I trekked outside in my winter gear all ready for my adventure. It was quite comical because it took me about ten minutes to clip into the skis (I had no idea at the time that it wasn’t my fault that Marc had bought the wrong boots!) Once clipped in, I was off. I had watched a YouTube video about how to step and glide in the skis. It was actually pretty easy and fun until I hit the little downslope behind the garden. I almost fell backward from going so fast, and I realized I had NOT Googled how to ski on a downhill! I figured I needed to keep my weight forward, and it worked. After a few passes of the yard, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself, so I went a little faster. And I went down. Hard. I had Googled how to get back up once you fall, but it didn’t work. I was not strong enough to push myself back up, so I attempted to unclip my boots. It was impossible. (Again, this was not my fault as I didn’t realize I had the wrong boots, which were almost impossible to clip out). So there I lay in the snow trying to figure out what to do. I was seriously hoping the neighbor wouldn’t see the crazy girl skiing in her backyard who had just fallen down. Then I noticed Marc running across the yard. He had been watching from the back door and thought I had broken a leg or something. But alas, the only thing hurt was my pride. And the funny thing is during the entire ordeal, Titan, the neighbor’s hound dog, was running back and forth in the yard next to us barking his little hound dog head off at the crazy lady sprawled out in the snow.

After skiing around the backyard after work a few times (and getting the right boots!) and listening to my sweet 70’s music on my headphones, I decided I really wanted more adventure. Loops around the backyard can get pretty boring, even though skiing was the great workout I was looking for. I can’t even express how tired your arms and legs get moving like that for over an hour. So I decided to take the skis to Lake Michigan. That was quite the experience! The day I went to the beach it was about 14 degrees with a foot of snow, and the beach was deserted, except for one other skier and a snow shoer. The shelf ice made it look like I could ski all the way to Chicago! Making tracks in the deep snow was challenging though, and I regret that I had to turn around after a couple of miles because I just couldn’t get my hands warm. That is one thing I have yet to figure out – keeping my hands from freezing. I was wearing two pairs of winter gloves but the cold poles just felt like they were next to my bones. I really didn’t have any idea exactly how deep the snow was until I took off my skis to get off of the beach and back to the main road, because I didn’t think I could ski up the hill. I took off my skis and quickly sunk into the snow over my knees. It was absolutely hilarious because my legs were stuck and I couldn’t lift them out of the snow! I somehow managed to get them out and hike up the hill, because there was no way I could get the skis back on. And yes, that is a picture of Chicago below! It’s amazing how you can see across the lake to Chicago. I wondered how long it would take to ski there if I could. I ended up skiing about four miles and wished that I could’ve been out longer, but it was just too cold.

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As luck would have it, the snow that came at the end of January stuck around until the end of February. I bought skis for Marc for his birthday on January 2nd so he could join me in my escapades, but his skis ended up not arriving for several weeks – just in time for the snow to start melting! He did join me in the backyard a few times, and on one particular evening as we were skiing, the snow turned an incredible pink the second the sun set and hit the horizon. It’s amazing that all of the pictures below were taken in our backyard.

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In addition to my skiing escapades, I was bound and determined to do at least one ride a week outside. But riding bikes on the icy roads where a car can slide into you is not wise, and it is also very painful to ride out on the open road with the winter winds. So every weekend all winter long I try to ride either on the shore of the beach with my fatbike, or on the trails surrounding the beach, where there is lots of wind protection (and no cars!). Plus, taking a tumble off the bike into deep snow typically doesn’t hurt and is almost always hilarious.

Shortly after the first snow, Marc, our friend James, and I headed to the beach to see if the shore was rideable. The amazing thing about Lake Michigan in winter is that the shore literally changes daily. Shelf ice can form overnight and turn the shore into an arctic landscape. The shore also recedes and disappears, so that at times there are parts of the beach that aren’t rideable. Pebbles and rocks also get washed ashore during the winter that can be impossible to navigate through before the shore freezes completely. On this particular day, since temperatures had not yet fallen to the teens, the snow was extremely soft and deep. Trying to push 4″ knobby tires through the snow was an incredible workout, and at times laughable. Marc attempted to ride through some ice at the shore and got his bike stuck. He left it there and walked away (see the pics below!) while James and I couldn’t stop laughing. I took a picture of his bike, stuck in the ice. Then Marc decided it was a good idea to try and dodge the waves, but his timing wasn’t quite right. He got hit by one, and almost ended up taking a nose dive into Lake Michigan. I always just ride the shore, but boys will be boys, and they almost always do something either daring or stupid (which makes riding with boys all the more entertaining!) On this day, we rode the bikes from Kemil Beach to the pavilion at the state park, which is about 4 miles. The snow was so fresh and soft that it took us about an hour to get to the pavilion.

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When we got there James asked if we wanted to ride back on the beach or through the trails in the nearby woods. I opted for the trails, thinking it would be an easier way back. That was a mistake. The beach turned out to be pretty rideable because the wind blows the snow across the shore, and there are some icy spots where the snow isn’t too deep. There is no such luck in the forest! With all the trees and wind protection, the snow just stays put. It was so deep that I could barely get the strength to push the wheels through it. James and Marc went in the lead so I could try and keep my wheel in their tracks. This was quite laughable, because I felt like I was in kindergarten and I couldn’t stay inside the lines! My wheel kept going outside their tracks into the deep snow, where I would get thrown off the bike. Then when I tried to get traction to get going again, it was quite the feat. We ended up riding out to the Calumet Trail, which was more rideable. I managed to stay right behind Marc for the four miles it took to get back to our cars. When I looked at my watch I saw that it took us about an hour and a half to go eight miles. When we got back to the car I felt like I had gone 12 rounds in a boxing match.

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2020. Where to start? March 16 I got a call from my boss, saying that the office was shutting down. We were to work at home 80% of the time, and had to maintain social distance over our office’s three floors due to a new pandemic of what we were calling at the time the Coronavirus. The word COVID hadn’t yet hit the media. We all thought the drastic measures would last for a few weeks, and then would we would be back at work. For most of us, I think at the time we thought it was a new flu and everyone was overreacting simply because of the unknown. I don’t think any of us could have imagined what was to come in the days ahead. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Our state office completely closed to the public. I was to spend more time at home than I had in 29 years. I baked bread, made cookies, and tried not to read social media or watch the news because it was too disheartening. It was a presidential election year, and my desire to disassociate from everything that was happening meant that I had no idea who the Democratic candidate for president was until my son mentioned it sometime over the summer!

My one escape, cycling, was something that I could still do, but I had to do it solo. I seriously missed group rides and getting together at Ironwood on Thursday nights. And I really wanted to race. But the inevitable happened. Melting Mann was canceled. Then Barry Roubaix and Lowell. Then the HellKaat Hundie. One by one, the races fell to the wayside. Promoters had to scramble to find ways to save the smaller races, while still adhering to local health department and state guidelines. And worse of all, I couldn’t go home to see my mom and dad. I couldn’t risk getting them sick.

As the weather warmed, and infections declined, people began to get braver about venturing outdoors. Sometime in May, Marc asked if I wanted to go for a ride on the gravel bikes with our friends Brad and Tim. I really wanted to go, but I felt nervous. The entire ride I stayed behind Marc and tried to keep my distance if we stopped. I remember being so nervous about it that it just wasn’t fun. We rode to Dunn’s Bridge, about 50 miles round trip, and I kept thinking I shouldn’t be doing it. We stopped and posed for a picture at the bridge. It seemed as if nothing was every going to be the same. I didn’t enjoy the ride.

Spring turned into summer, and our office remained closed. The virus wasn’t going anywhere. At some point, the governor ordered mask mandates for everyone. Slowly, businesses began to partially open. Even though I was still avoiding social media and the news, I couldn’t help but hear about people struggling with unemployment. Businesses closed for good. Some of my co-workers struggled with the schools being closed, and then over the summer, the lack of day care centers being open. I found myself being riddled with guilt over feeling sorry for myself about races being canceled and my lack of socialization, when others were suffering so much worse. And people were still getting sick and dying.

Once the weather warmed up, things began to look up. Businesses were under less restrictions and I noticed more people being out. Sometime in June, Marc asked if I wanted to do a century ride with the A1 Cycle Center group. It was going to be hot and humid that day, and we were going to be outside the entire day, so I said OK. This was to by my first real group ride of the entire year, and the year was half over!

This was to be a 100 mile ride, so we got to the A1 Cycle Center at about 6:00 am. As we pulled up into the parking lot I saw very few riders that I knew. I knew Brad and Tim. so I decided I would just follow them as riders left the parking lot. I had no idea there were two groups – a very, very fast group, and a slower group. I unknowingly left with the fast group. A1 is in Merrillville, Indiana, which is a very big city. We had to weave through far too much traffic than I would have liked, and I was thankful for the large group. I felt safer in numbers. But I did NOT feel good otherwise. These guys took off like a rocket, and when I looked down at some point I saw we were going over 30 mph! Somehow with the traffic, rolling hills, and insane speed, I managed to stay with the group for about the first 25 miles. Once we stopped at a gas station to get water and the route got flatter, it was all over. The hills slowed the guys down. There was no stopping them on the flat road. I looked around and wondered where all the girls were that I saw when we had first pulled up into the A1 parking lot. From miles 25 to mile 60 there was just me, Marc, and two other riders. At times there was just me and Marc. We talked about cutting the course, and just heading back, but by then we were too far in. We would have just as far to get back!

When we got to a town called Momence, we saw the group all gathered at a gas station. We stopped to eat a peanut butter sandwich and chips. Not long after we were done eating, we saw another group of ridings pull into a business down the street. This was the slower group. I was so glad to see them! It was hot and windy, and I did not feel like riding hours back to our car in the heat and wind. Solo rides are just hard. It turned out that this group included all of the other girls that I had seen in the parking lot. They said had wondered what happened to me. I told them I apparently left with the wrong group! As it turned out, these were extremely strong riders. By the time we got back, we had still managed to average 18 mph for the entire 100 miles! I was more than happy to realize I had somehow managed to keep my fitness level despite the current COVID craziness.

Racing Through The Pandemic – Waterloo, The Divide, The Cow Pie Classic and The Dirty 30

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As the summer lumbered on, something amazing happened. The Divide, a race scheduled for July 26th, announced that they were going to take precautions and forge ahead with the race. They were to be the first race of the 2020 Michigan Gravel Series that had not canceled. They were going to allow racers to choose their race times, so there would not be a mass start. You could choose your own starting time in 10 minute intervals, or you could choose the smaller mass start with about 30 other riders. The rules were that you had to wear a mask for the first mile and while in the park. Volunteers in the park were masked and sat behind registration tables with plexiglass separating themselves from the racers. There was to be no award ceremony, and everyone was given a plaque and the opportunity for a picture. There would be no after party, no podium, and no socialization afterwards. I didn’t really care. I just wanted the opportunity to race!

Marc decided he would set up a lounge chair in the park and wait for me while I raced. He hadn’t been training for the race season, and decided he would opt out. Race day went as scheduled. It was funny that I couldn’t hear the woman in the park who was sitting behind the plexiglass with the mask as she gave me race instructions. I kept saying “huh?” and she finally got frustrated and peeked out from the plexiglass to talk.

I didn’t have much time to warm up, and soon it was time to line up. The race announcer made sure everyone was socially distanced and had their masks on. He told racers that even if they thought the mask thing was silly, they needed to keep on their masks out of respect for other racers. He reminded everyone to keep their masks on for the first mile, until we crested a hill by a cemetery, and riders began to spread out. This was an extremely hard thing to do! The Divide starts out uphill, and I was huffing and puffing to keep up with riders. By the time I saw others tearing off their masks, I was feeling like I was going to pass out. It was HOT and the mask made it so hard to breathe. The race was only about two miles in when the rain that had been threatening blasted us full force. It poured and poured and poured! I was dreading the sound of sand in my drive train, and I was not happy it was storming so early on in the race. I felt bad for Marc sitting in the park alone.

About ten miles into the race, the rain stopped and the sun came out. Then the HOT went to HOTTER! It felt like it was 90 degrees, and I was suddenly extremely grateful that I was soaking wet so I was getting cooled. This race was so much harder than I remember. The sand on the roads was so deep, and the hills seemed so much steeper. Some of the descents were fast and scary, and the sand was so deep at the bottom of the descent, that I found myself being extremely thankful for my fat tires. I have no idea how anyone could do this race on a skinny tire gravel bike. That would take some very serious bike handling skills! When we hit Gilbert’s Corners, a seasonal road loop, the sand was literally ankle deep. Even with the fatbike I couldn’t maneuver the bike through it. So I found myself jumping off of the bike and running through the sand. This was exhausting, and nerve wracking at the same time, as there were some very fast, curvy sections, where you could not see what was up ahead. When we came off of the seasonal road back to the main road, there were fist-sized rocks, uphill, to get through. I was pretty pleased with myself that I rode through this section without getting off of the bike.

The bad thing about a race without a mass start where everyone starts out together, is that you find yourself alone with no other riders to form a group and draft and help pull. I did this race mostly solo, with just a handful of other riders around me. The final few miles were uphill on pavement, and I saw a heavier male rider who was stopped. I told him “good job we’re almost there!” to inspire him. As I headed into town near the finish line at the park, I realized that I had no idea how I had done. With most of the riders having different start times, there was really no way to gage what place I was in. As it turned out, I finished 4th overall (against the skinny tire bikes!) and 1st (and only!) fat bike. As I looked at the other riders’ times, I decided to race my fatbike next year in my age group as opposed to the fat tire category, which usually draws very few riders. I think my fat tires clearly had an advantage on the sandy seasonal roads. I would have had to be so cautious on a skinnier tire bike that I don’t think I would’ve finished well. The first two pictures above are from the race. As I was handed my finisher’s award, I hoisted my bike over my head in triumph. It felt good to be racing Michigan gravel, even though the COVID restrictions had put a damper on things. And I was alive and well. This fact was not lost on me.

This post is dedicated to my dad, Carl Richey, who taught me well how to live a life lost in adventure. When the wind is blowing through my hair on a gravel road, I think of the times I sat on the gas tank of his Cushman Eagle motorcycle while he took me and my four siblings for a spin at the same time down the alley behind our childhood home. I think about the times I was too tired to climb back up the sledding hills at Memorial Park, and he would grab my hand and pull me back up the hill for another exhilarating trip back down the hill on my aluminum saucer. I also think about all those trips hanging onto the back of his painter’s truck with my friend Tracy after we would wait patiently every day for the sight of his truck returning from work. Daddy, I wish you could’ve been with me on all of these adventures of 2019. You were with me in spirit.

This past year has been an adventurous year of gravel racing, long road trips, and bike packing.  I raced all but one of the races in the Michigan Gravel Series, as well as a few races outside of the series such as The Dirty Donut, Illinois Kanza, and the fall Lowell 50.  I also had some amazing road bike adventures with the boys, which included a two day, 224 mile bike packing expedition with Austin and Marc to Van Buren State Park, a 220 mile round trip to West Olive, Michigan with the A1 Cycle group, a six day, 396 mile bike packing vacation on fully loaded touring bikes with Marc to Traverse City, and a trip to Ty Ty, Georgia to ride on some dirt roads in the middle of nowhere in 100 degree heat.

This blog got lost somewhere in between riding and life, work, and family. When I looked through the previous posts, I realized the blog fell off somewhere in April when the grass grows, flowers bloom, and yardwork takes up what little time is left.

The fifth race of the Michigan Gravel Series was the Barry-Roubaix gravel race in Hastings, Michigan on April 13th.  Last year I had finished in 6th place and had just missed the 5-place podium. I was extremely hopeful that somehow I could pull of a 5th place and make the podium, as I was racing 20 pounds lighter, as well as racing with Black Floyd tires, which are slick 3.8 inch fatbike tires.  I was hoping getting rid of the knobby tires and 20 pounds of fat was going to make me faster up hills! Barry-Roubaix attracts over 3,500 riders of all skill levels each year, and I had no illusions of actually winning the fatbike class.  Even though the fatbike class is small and typically around a dozen riders, these are hardcore Michiganders who take their cycling very seriously.  I needed to shave about 12 minutes off of last year’s time if I was going to make 5th place, if conditions were similar. The entire town of Hastings closes down for the after party and awards ceremony.  It’s a podium you’d never forget if you could make it.

My favorite memory of Barry-Roubaix is fighting with Melanie Splitgerber, an amazing local rider, to get to the front of our wave before the race.  Hundreds of riders line up behind people holding wave numbers, and the waves are sent off every few minutes.  Melanie took charge and just started walking around people saying “excuse me, excuse me”, fighting to get to the front of the wave as I stuck with her.  When the race started Melanie was off like a rocket.  I drafted behind her, barely hanging on.  I remember looking back and seeing the entire wave about a block behind us.  I wished I had a Go-Pro camera to capture that moment! It wasn’t to last, however.  As soon as we turned off of the pavement onto gravel, I could barely hang onto Melanie as other riders began to pass us.  I lost Melanie somewhere in the first two or three miles. 

I don’t remember a lot about the race, other than it was so incredibly windy, and even though I had raced Barry-Roubaix three times before, I didn’t recognize the course.  I didn’t remember it being so hilly! About two or three miles from the finish line I came across Mark Goodrich, another local fatbike rider.  He was suffering, and we rode together and talked.  It was then that I saw a girl on a fatbike pass me.  There was no way I was going to let her do that, so I immediately took off.  Poor Mark.  After the race he seemed upset that I had dropped him, as he thought I thought he was going too slow. I told him that it was the girl who put the fire under me, and it had nothing to with him!

As it turned out, I got 4th place fatbike in the 36 miler and the girl who I passed ended up in 5th place, two minutes behind me.  Melanie ended up in 3rd place.

The podium experience was awesome, except it was just too funny that as I approached the stage they handed me a can of beer.  I held it up as pictures were taken.  As I walked off the stage they said they had run out of medals and would have to mail them!

The next race in the series was the HellKitten Fiddie on May 5th.  For this race I was riding my gravel bike as there was no female fatbike class.  There were 9 women registered in the 55 plus age group, and I know that several of them were extremely strong riders.  My sister Arlene was also racing in this age group.  It was to be her 3rd gravel race since she won the first ever MGRS gravel scholarship.  She was new to gravel and was still very nervous.  For this race I encouraged her to stick to the left and pass riders in an attempt to get up front, which was my strategy in every race.  Her instincts told her to stick to the right so that she didn’t get in the way of faster riders.  I told her this was a race, and she needed to stick to the wheel of one of those faster riders! If you don’t try to stay with a pack of riders and draft, you end up totally alone against the wind, and your race time suffers.  It’s definitely not a way to win races. 

The HellKitten is one of the harder races in the series.  The short course is 50 miles, and most of the climbing is in the last 20 miles.  Also, the course is very sandy and rocky.  I almost always cramp near the end.  I remember this day as being mild temperatures in the 60’s and perfect wind conditions.  I felt on top of my game as I drafted behind a group doing 18 mph for the first 20 or 30 miles.  However, once the climbing began I found myself grinding it out alone.  As it turned out, I finished at 15.6 mph which was my fastest time by a long shot on that course.  I think my previous fastest was 15 mph.  But sadly, my fastest wasn’t fast enough.  I finished in 2nd place.  I had won my Kitten Mittens twice before, and I vowed to get the mittens back next year.  I did earn a nice big Cannondale sleep shirt for my efforts.  Arlene finished in a respectable 6th place, and beat the woman who beat her at the Lowell Classic Gravel Road Race.  She took my advice at the start and said that it made all the difference. 

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Five days after HellKitten, Marc, our friend Austin, and I decided to go on a bike packing adventure to VanBuren State Park in Michigan.  Marc had been talking about taking a bike trip for years, and we had finally planned it.  As it turned out, the day we were to leave, May 10th, it was raining and about 40 degrees. Since this was the only time we had off and was also the only time Austin had available since he was expecting a new baby, we decided to tough out the weather and go anyway.  The day started out almost comical.  We rode the 13 miles to Austin’s house to pick him up, and as soon as we got there it started raining.  About ½ mile from Austin’s house Austin couldn’t find his wallet, so we turned around to go back to his house. 

We stood outside freezing while Austin looked for his wallet.  Once he found it, we hit the road again.  About 30 miles into the journey we stopped at a Family Express gas station and got some clear plastic donut bags to put on our feet, which were freezing and wet.  We had started off about 8:00 am and by the time we got to the gas station it was already almost noon.  We were still approximately 83 miles from the park and we had been hoping to get there and set up camp before dark. 

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As luck would have it, the wind was coming from the north, which meant we had 83 miles of headwind to go! Luckily, as we crossed over into Michigan and hit some gravel roads, the sun came out and began to warm us.  The wind didn’t settle down though, and it got really hilly.  I decided that hauling 50 pounds of fully loaded bike up gravel roads is not an easy thing to do! 

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We had packed peanut butter sandwiches, bananas, and granola bars with us, so we didn’t stop for lunch.  By the time we hit a small town called Coloma, it was almost dark.  We decided to stop there and eat dinner, since it looked like we were going to be setting up camp in the dark and wouldn’t be able to shop and buy food and then cook it.  We stopped at a run-down Mexican restaurant, and I remember being so hungry that I couldn’t stop eating chips and salsa. I didn’t care that the restaurant was bordering on the sleazy side.

We got to the VanBuren State Park Campgrounds, 113 long miles from home, after dark. Austin and Marc went into the campground headquarters to reserve a camping site and buy some firewood. The temperature was dropping quickly, and it was predicted to be in the low 30’s all night.

We set up camp in the dark, using the lights on our bikes to light up the campsite. Austin tried to build a fire, but the logs just smoked because they were wet. He kept at it for quite some time, adding sticks from around the campground and some fire starter that he had brought with him, but he gave up in a coughing fit when the just smoked even more after all his effort.

We walked to the bathrooms and discovered that while the showers had hot water, they were unheated and the entire top of the shower stall was covered in screens that kept bugs out, but let all the weather in. That was quite an experience after riding in the cold all day!

After the freezing shower, Austin settled into a hammock, and Marc and I settled into a backpacking tent that left us shoulder to shoulder with barely any room to move. It was destined to be quite the night. I could not get warm, and the hard camping pad made my hips ache. I kept rolling from side to side trying to find the sweet spot. It was not to be! The next morning, I got up early to get dressed and pack to go. I wanted to go into town someplace warm, but I could not get the boys out of bed! Austin was quite snug in his hammock and wouldn’t budge, and Marc was happy to have the whole tent to himself. What finally got them moving was the threat of rain. As we packed up to go it began to sprinkle. Before we even got out of the park we were stopping to put on full rain gear as a torrential downpour began. We headed back to Coloma to get to a restaurant to eat breakfast. We stopped at a small Mom and Pop type diner and stripped off our rain gear as the rain had stopped. I don’t remember ever being so hungry in my life. We ate omelets, hash browns, and toast, and when the waitress suggested blueberry pancakes we said “why not?” I think I would have been content to just sit there and eat for the rest of the morning. This big breakfast turned out to be our best idea ever, because as it turned out we would not stop to eat a meal for the rest of the day and we would spend the last 62 miles of the ride in 40 degree pouring rain.

After breakfast we stopped at a grocery store and bought some peanut butter Uncrustables, bananas, and some other snacks to get us home. The first 40 miles or so were pretty nice, as the north wind was now a tailwind blowing us home! When we passed a church that had been converted to a haunted house, I had to stop and take a picture. Marc and Austin wanted to keep going, and they asked me not to stop. But I decided that I deserved to stop and take as many pictures as a I wanted after riding all those miles and that night at the campground!

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Soon after I stopped to take those pictures, the rain started up again and never stopped until we got home. My feet were frozen by the time we said goodbye to Austin. The last 13 miles home were hard miles!

The last week of May we decided to head to Ty Ty, Georgia to see family for the Memorial Day week. I was in desperate need of sunshine and warmth! My hopes and prayers for warmer weather were definitely answered, as it turns out temperatures were in the 100’s for most of the week! It was an odd kind of heat, though, as there was little humidity, and we discovered that taking shelter in the shade offered almost immediate relief from the blazing sun.

Marc had decided to take his Surly Ogre to ride on the Georgia dirt roads, and I took my Niner RLT gravel bike. Our plan was to explore some of those amazing roads in between visiting family.

Georgia was much different than I expected. The roads in the country were a sandy, red dirt and clay that quickly turned to an extremely slippery mud when wet, then very rapidly turned rock hard in the blazing sun. My gravel bike was definitely the wrong bike. The 34mm tires slipped and slided all over the sandy roads, and they wiped out in the mud from the farmer’s pivots.

We saw no other cyclists anywhere the entire time we were in Georgia, even when we went into town. However, the people of Georgia were very polite. I noticed that motorists moved way over when they saw us, and they waved and smiled. One day when I walked into the local Dollar General in my bike helmet and bike kit, a woman looked me up and down and laughed. She said “Well that’s something you don’t see every day!”

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The week after we returned home from Georgia, there was a race scheduled in Martin, Michigan which was not a part of the Michigan Gravel Race Series. The Series starts out with a bang, with back to back races every weekend for the first month of the series, then there are a few weeks break between Barry-Roubaix and the HellKitten Fiddie in May. After that, there are no races until The Divide at the end of July, and then Uncle John’s Dirty Ride the first week of September. I always find myself getting racing soft during the lull, so I had asked my sister Arlene if she’d like to do the Dirty Donut Race in Martin, Michigan on June 9th. I had been seeing ads for the race in my Facebook news feed for months, and I thought it would be a fun race. There were several donut stops throughout the race, and riders could earn five minutes off of their total race time for every donut eaten. In addition, anyone eating a dozen donuts would find themselves being awarded the “Dirty Dozen” award. You could also enter the sprint race, where eating donuts was not required. I opted for the sprint race, as I’ve discovered that donuts are not the greatest fuel. They either sit in your belly like a lump, or they burn off so quickly your blood sugar crashes.

Marc said that he had no interest in the Dirty Donut as he was simply tired from all the back to back racing, and also from the trip to Georgia. He had also planned an overnight biking trip to Holland, Michigan with the A1 cycling group that weekend. So Arlene and I decided to go by ourselves to the race, and the plan was for Marc to ride with his buddies to Holland, camp overnight, then ride over to the Dirty Donut in Martin and we would take him home.

As luck would have it, it rained all day the day of the race. Arlene opted for the 18 mile sprint race, and I opted for the 40 mile sprint race. My race started about an hour before Arlene’s, so she would have to sit in the car in the rain waiting until her race began. Marc had ridden to Holland the night before, but all the camping was sold out and he was lucky to find a hotel in Holland. The weather was no friendlier in Holland than where we were, and Marc had to ride all the way to Martin to meet us in the pouring rain.

The rain stopped for the first ten miles of the race. It was fast and flat, and I found myself riding with a group of a dozen or so riders, dodging endless water filled potholes, at about 20 mph. It was great fun! I remember as we came to the first donut stop, everyone stopped and I ended up alone. As I looked ahead, there was a huge hill in the distance. I thought that was unnecessarily cruel for those stuffing themselves with donuts. It was shortly after that first stop that it began to rain…and rain…and rain…and rain. It never let up, the hills kept coming, and there I was, solo for most of the race, being left behind by all the donut eaters. My brakes were filled with grit and sand, and they made a terrible noise. My gels were covered in muck, and I had no choice but to eat some of the grit. At the last donut stop I saw two guys lying on the ground, moaning with their hands on their stomachs.

About a mile and a half from the finish line there was a very big downhill with a sharp turn to the left. As I sped down the hill and started to turn left, I realized my brakes were gone. The sand and grit had apparently worn down the pads. I unclipped my foot and put it down in a pile of sand at the the edge of the road, just stopping the bike before I crashed into the woods. It was at the end of this road that we were to turn right to head towards the finish line. In the distance I could see a volunteer waving traffic on at the intersection. I saw her wave on a car as I yelled “I have no brakes!” She quickly put up her hand to block traffic, as I rolled around the corner. When we got to the finish line I was thankful we had to turn left onto grass, so I could slow down before stopping at the tent to get my finisher’s medal.

The mess afterwards was almost comical. I had sand and mud in my hair, inside my pants, and over every inch of me. I have no idea why I didn’t think to bring a towel or a trash bag for all of my clothes, when I knew rain was forecast all day. As it turned out, Arlene and I had to go to the bathrooms, fill our water bottles with cold water, and dump it over our heads over and over again in an attempt to clean off. The race was held at some type of motor speedway and there had apparently been an event the night before. The bathrooms were filthy and were littered with wrappers, cups, paper, and garbage. After we managed to get as clean as we could, we saw Marc at the car. He had ridden in the rain all day and didn’t have clean or dry clothes with him, so he stopped at the local Dollar General and bought a complete outfit, including shoes, for $20! Gotta love the Dollar General!

It turned out that I got first in my age group in the sprint race. Arlene managed to get first in the sprint race and the donut race, and third overall in the 18 miler. We teased her and accused her of sandbagging, since most of the riders in the 18 mile race were recreational riders and not serious races. Since there was no food we could eat in the park, and awards were hours away, we opted to leave and go find lunch and let the medals be mailed to us. This race lived up to its name.

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On July 2nd we were invited to ride to West Olive, Michigan with the A1/Alt Red Cycling group. The plan was to ride to West Olive, have a cookout at one of the group’s couples’ beach house, spend the night in a hotel in Holland, then ride home. This was a 150 mile one-way trip, and I was told the group would average 18 mph. I was seriously worried about being able to keep up, as this was a group of guys and only one other girl. I was told not to worry, as the other girl was also concerned about being able to keep up, and the group was not going to ride hard and leave anyone.

Marc and I decided to drive our bikes to our friend James’ house and leave our car there. This would cut 30 miles off the trip, and would make it so that we didn’t have to leave our house at 4:30 am or 5:00 am, as we were scheduled to meet the group in Michigan City around 7:00 am.

As luck would have it, we had a south wind all of the way to West Olive! It was extremely hot, hovering close to 100 degrees, but the tailwind was sweet! We easily averaged 18.6 mph for 120 miles. The worst part of the trip was dodging thousands of potholes on Highway 12. It was like an apocalypse road. It was hard to believe that there are highways in America in such bad condition.

When we got there, we all had to go out and put our feet in Lake Michigan. I seriously wanted to just dunk all of myself, but we still had to get to the hotel, which was 20 miles away in Holland.

Our friend Brad, who was spending the night with family and had his wife come up with the car, offered to take us to the hotel. I was extremely grateful! Our hotel was a Day’s Inn, but it was cheap and the beds were hard as a rock. Still, I didn’t care. That bed felt pretty sweet!

The next morning we went to a Mom and Pop type restaurant and pigged out on breakfast. We learned from our previous bikepacking trip not to skimp on breakfast! The ride back was hot, hot, hot, but we were once again blessed with mostly a tailwind. We decided to ride along the coast and take the highway once again, to avoid the hotter, hillier inland. The ride along the coast is so pretty when it goes through the tourist areas, such as St. Joseph. We stopped for some photo ops because it was so lovely. A few miles from New Buffalo, the highway got really bad. The potholes were enormous, and asphalt rocks were scattered all over the road. It was pretty unbelievable that a highway that goes through a touristy town would be in such bad condition. These last few miles were so tiring I found myself being extremely thankful we had parked the car in Michigan City! Still, I was very impressed we averaged 16 mph all the way home, as we weren’t with a group, and we had some cross winds to deal with. This is a trip I’d love to take again.

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The Lowell Classic Gravel Road Race on April 6, 2019 was the 4th race of the 2019 Michigan Gravel Race Series, and was to be my sister Lenie’s first gravel race. I’ve raced Lowell seven or eight times, more than any other race, and it remains my favorite. I love everything about this course. The race starts and finishes at Fallasburg Park in Ionia County, Michigan, which is about a 2 1/2 hour drive from Valparaiso. The park is lovely and encompasses over 180 acres, with rolling hills, views of the Flat River, pretty forests, and an historic covered bridge.

I’ve ridden Lowell in every condition imaginable; in 25 degree temperatures, in non-stop freezing rain, in hurricane wind conditions, under overcast skies, in 60 degree sunny weather, after a rough winter that resulted in dodging thousand of potholes, and on a beautiful, breezy fall day under canopies of orange and golden trees. No matter what the conditions, Lowell is just fun. I love the rolling hills where I can get my speed up to float up to the top of the next hill, the super fast flat sections, and the climbs through lovely forest views, as well as a climb through a vineyard. I also love that it’s a relatively small race where I can always run into another rider that I know. For these reasons and more, Lowell has captured my heart. I couldn’t think of a better race for Lenie’s first gravel race experience.

Lenie arrived at our house in Valparaiso the night of April 5th, as we were to leave for the race the next morning around 4:00 am. Our friend James was going to ride along with us, and we had to pick him up at his house in Michigan City on the way there.

Lenie was a bundle of nerves the night before and the morning of the race. She went through her packed things several times, checking to see that she had gels, hydration mix, gloves, and so forth. She was stressed about forgetting something, about dressing too warm or too cold, or about how much water she should take. I felt bad for her, as I know what it’s like to be a new racer the day before and the day of the race. It’s absolutely a jump off of a pier into unfamiliar waters. I remember before my first race, Iceman, I had nightmares the week before the race. I was a road rider and I had signed up to do a mountain bike race on my Surly Pugsley (which is testament to the fact I had no idea what I was doing! Racing a 35 pound bike!) I had dreams of falling over on the dirt hills, clipped in, while other riders ran over my head. I actually had such trepidation about clipping in that I asked Marc to put flat pedals on my bike the day before the race.

Lenie sincerely wanted someone to ride alongside her for her first race. While I completely understood her feelings, I knew it was best for her to go it alone. She needed the experience of knowing she could dig deep and do things she didn’t know she was capable of doing. Gravel racers have grit and gumption, and she needed to release her inner graver racer! Plus if she had a cramp, needed to walk a hill, or needed to slow down, she could do it without being pressured to stay with someone.

As it was, race day morning went without a hitch. We packed our things and our bikes, and headed to Michigan City to pick up James. I snapped a photo along the way when we stopped for a bathroom break at a rest stop somewhere in Michigan. James was making sure the bikes were secure, and I spotted the moment as I walked out of the bathroom. The sun shining behind his head, full of promise, was an omen to me that Lenie was going to have a fine first race! It’s funny how moments like this are so fleeting and how the capture really doesn’t reflect the actual picture. There was a dumpster in the parking lot, which was blocked by the bikes! Nevertheless, I could see that it was going to be a fine weather day and that Lenie was going to have a fabulous experience for her first race.

When we arrived at the park we unloaded our bikes and rode to the park pavilion to pick up our packets. Lenie was to pick up a long sleeved jersey that Emily Mileski was bringing to her from the Grand Rapids bike shop. As we rode back to the car I recognized Emily and shouted out her name. As luck would have it, the jersey fit Lenie perfectly. She looked like a gravel racer ready to fly!

Soon, it was time to line up to start the race. Lenie was smiling and said she was feeling good. I, on the other hand, was feeling pretty bad. Three weekends of racing in a row, along with being a little dehydrated, had left me feeling very tired and a little nauseous. I was thrilled and excited for Lenie, but I found myself actually wishing I could just go back to the car and take a nap. The competitive spirit in me, however, had me lining up to the left as usual to pass riders so that I could be one of the first riders through the covered bridge. (The start is a neutral start until riders pass through the bridge, then the race is on!)

Even though I wasn’t feeling it, I had a great start. I had no problem passing riders to get to the front of the pack. After we crossed through the bridge, we turned right where we would encounter the first monster hill shortly thereafter. Riders usually leave me in the dust on this hill, but I found myself keeping up with most of them up the hill. I didn’t see any other female fatbikers pass me. Surprisingly, I felt pretty good for the first 10 miles or so of the race. It was at about mile 10 that a slip of a woman on a fat bike passed me. She probably weighed 98 pounds soaking wet, and I knew from other races that she was a force to be reckoned with. I quickly passed her, and we ended up going back and forth for five miles or so before she slipped away. Once she slipped away, my mojo waned. I found myself not having sore legs or cramping, but actually feeling so tired that I just wanted to take a nap on the bike. Whenever that happens, I realize that my heart rate is not wanting to stay elevated for whatever reason, whether just needing rest or being dehydrated. It was from this point on that I decided to simply keep a steady pace. I didn’t see any female fatbikers pass me, and I figured I was securely in 2nd place. I just didn’t have the energy or gumption to try and catch the tiny girl flying in first.

After I crossed the finish line, I took out my phone to look at my “Find Friends” app to see where Lenie was. When I first pulled out the phone it said that Lenie was 15 miles away. I immediately felt worried. Was she going to finish? Was she stopped or in trouble? Just as I thought this the phone updated and said she was 0 to 4 miles away! She was not only going to finish, but she was going to finish well! I decided to stay at the finish line to wait for her so I could snap a picture of her crossing the line.

I was so very proud of Lenie, that she set out for the great unknown and she succeeded in her journey! It is clear that she has both grit and gumption, and that she is an official gravel racer! Lenie wrote about her experience on the Michigan Gravel Race Series Gravel Scholar blog, which can be found at https://www.michigangravelseries.com/blog

As it turned out, Marc finished 2nd place male fatbike in the 50 mile race, James finished 3rd place in his age group and I finished 2nd place female fatbike. The slip of a girl who placed 1st left before the award ceremony, and the girl who placed 3rd told me “you’re fast!” as we stepped onto the podium. I have to admit I didn’t mind that the 1st place winner had stepped out before the awards. I placed 2nd to her 1st overall for our age group last year for the series, and standing next to her tiny frame I look a mile wide! Overall, it was a great day on the bike on sweet gravel roads in Michigan. Some weekend I’d like to take the time to just ride these roads for fun with friends, rather than racing them. When I do, I’ll be sure to take lots of pictures!

Melting Mann was the 2nd race of the Michigan Gravel Series, and was scheduled for March 23rd, 2019. The race begins and ends in Vandalia, Michigan, and travels through Newburg, Penn, and Marcellus Townships in Cass County. The ride gets its name from the challenging Mann Road, a seasonal road that is closed to automobile traffic in the winter months, and is not maintained like the other county roads. Mann Road boasts that it turns “bikers into hikers”, with its challenging, sandy hills which roll through a heavily wooded area. The road can be covered with rocks, limbs, leaves, pot holes, or snow and ice. The Melting Mann course is extremely challenging in general, as the course rolls through low, swampy areas which flood and freeze in the winter months, then thaw and become thick mud in the wet spring. Since the race is held each year at the very beginning of spring, one never knows what to expect with the road conditions. Below is a picture of a rider in one of the low lying areas. I’ve only ridden Melting Mann once before in 2017, and the conditions were similar. I admit this is my least favorite race of the gravel series. Both Waterloo and Melting Mann are held so early in the season that you never know what to expect with road or weather conditions, but Melting Mann is much more challenging with 600 more feet of climbing, and more difficult hills.

Marc had signed up for the 60 mile race, and I had signed up for the 36 mile race as I was doing the short series. Marc’s wave was to start at 9:00 am and mine was to start at 10:00 am, which meant that I would be waiting for an hour in the cold. I don’t think the race promoters thought that one through; riders often come together, and they don’t all do the same race. Most races will have start difference between waves of 10 or 15 minutes. It was predicted to be in the 20’s and 30’s on March 23rd, and the weatherman couldn’t have gotten the weather more correct! It was 22 degrees when we arrived in Vandalia. We picked up our packets and got our bikes ready, then did a quick warm up. After Marc’s wave left, I opted to stay in the car. By 9:40 it was still about 25 degrees, and I reluctantly left the car to warm up again. I rode for about 4 miles, then decided to go and line up for the wave start. My Instagram/Strava friend Jason stood next to me while his wife Molly took a photo.

Jason and I lined up near the front of the wave, in an attempt to stay with the lead group for at least a while. The announcer began counting down, and we were off. I saw two female fat bikers in front of me; a tall, thin blonde woman who looked about 40, and a young girl who looked to be in her early 20’s. I kept both of these girls in my sight until about 10 miles in. Then the tall girl slipped past me, and try as I might I couldn’t catch her. The young girl and I went back and forth for a while, until she too slipped out of sight. The roads were dry and were extremely hard packed. This was nothing like the course I remembered, and I was surprised at how fast we were riding. I decided to stand up and power up every hill, as I was pretty sure I was in third place as I hadn’t seen anyone else on a fat bike pass me. The low lying areas were a little bit soft, but they were dried out and weren’t muddy like years past. The swamps were still eerily frozen.

It was on Mann Road that I first got a cramp in my right quadricep while trying to grind up a sandy hill. Mann Road was sandy and extremely hilly, but thankfully it was clear of trees and limbs this year. It looked as if someone had been through the area with a chainsaw from the remains of the cut branches and trees at the side of the road. When the pain hit, I immediately sat down, switched to an extremely low gear, and tried to spin out of the cramp. Thankfully it worked. I then took 2 or 3 drinks of my Camelbak in the event the cramp was from lack of hydration. This would continue for the rest of the race. I couldn’t power up hills any more, and instead had to spin up them seated.

Shortly after turning off of Mann Road, I saw another very large woman pass me on a fat bike. She and a man (who I assumed was her husband) were wearing matching orange and black jerseys. She passed by me so fast I assumed she was with the group doing the 24 mile course. I reasoned that if she was that fast she would’ve passed me long before now. I still thought I was in 3rd place, but if she was with the 36 milers that meant I was in 4th.

About two or three miles from the finish line I spotted the tall woman on the fat bike in front of me. I hadn’t seen her for the past 20 or so miles, and I was surprised I had caught up to her. I decided to stand up and ride as hard as I could to possibly catch her. My cramps had been coming off an on, but they were off as I stood up to pass her on one of the last hills. She yelled “Grind it out!” as I passed. It wasn’t more than a mile or so from the final sprint, and she never caught up to me. As I sprinted across the finish line, I thought that I had possibly gotten 2nd or 3rd place. I had never ridden a course as tough as Melthing Mann harder, and my legs were toast. It turned out that I had gotten 5th place, as I had apparently never seen the women in 1st and 2nd place. I did, however, end up at 1.8 mph faster than I had ridden the race two years ago. My time was about the same as my time at Waterloo, which was a much easier course. So I was happy with the results even though I had not placed.

The funniest part of the race was when I met up with my friend Kelly at the after party. She had never raced gravel before, and she had been a reluctant participant. When I saw her I said “How did you do?” She said “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, but gravel just isn’t my thing!” Well, it may not be her thing, but it turned out she had gotten 3rd place in the 24 mile race. On her first race! Our friend Austin got 3rd place in his age group on the 24 mile race, and he proudly stood on the podium with his 6-year-old son Levi on his shoulders. The young girl who passed me about 10 miles in had ended up getting 3rd place in the 36 miler. After the podium ceremony she came up to me and said she had been admiring the rims on my bike when we had been going back and forth, and she said she knew I was a serious rider by the looks of my bike. So Marc my mechanic gets a special shout out for that. When I told him what she said he said “I build you good stuff”. All in all, it was a great day on the bike, and I earned points for the gravel series. And even though Melting Mann is not my favorite race, they do know how to throw an after party, complete with food, drinks, warming fire pits, raffles, and a Yeti!