Tallgrass prairie once covered over 170 million acres of North America. Today, the vast majority of this prairieland has been developed and plowed under, and less than 4% remains. Most of this breathtaking reminder of our country’s past is found today in the Flint Hills of Kansas, home of the Dirty Kanza gravel and dirt road race.
This year’s Dirty Kanza was to be held on June 4, 2016. The race begins and ends in Emporia, Kansas and winds its way through the Flint Hills and the towns of Madison and Eureka. Marc and his friends Jeff and Eric signed up for the classic 200 mile race, and I signed up for the 100 miler.
The week before the race, the weather was predicted to be sunny and warm in Emporia, and no rain was in the forecast. Last year’s race was held when Kansas was having historical flooding and unseasonably cold weather, and the course conditions were brutal. Marc had ridden last year and had broken his collarbone before finishing about 25% of the race. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that the course was predicted to be dry.
We traveled to Kansas on Thursday, June 2nd, and checked into the Emporia University dorms. There are very few hotels in the Flint Hills because of the small population, and the university had opened up its dorms for the racers. As we drove into town, I saw that the campus was lovely. It was also obvious that the small town of Emporia is extremely proud to be the home of the Dirty Kanza. Many of the town’s businesses had their windows painted, wishing racers luck. There was also a church sign that said “Congratulations cyclists. You have finished the race. Keep the faith. 2 Timothy 4:7”
Friday, June 3rd, our friends Eric and Steve did a short pre-ride of the beginning of the course with us to check out the conditions. We rode about 10 miles out of town. The ground was hard and dry, and the gravel was chunky, like Indiana gravel , until the road turned onto some finer gravel that was hard packed and seemed almost like asphalt. We predicted that the course was going to be very fast this year.
Saturday, the morning of the race, we got up at 4:00 am to eat the breakfast that had been prepared in the student union for the racers. The start of the 200 mile race was to be at 6:00 am and the 100 mile race was to follow at 6:20. As we walked to the student union we noticed that the ground was wet. Jeff said that there had been a downpour during the night, which had not been predicted. We looked up in the sky and saw that it was cloudless, so the storm had apparently passed through.
The race start was just blocks from the university and was on the main street of town. After breakfast, we rode to town and saw that the racers for both races were already lining up. I wished Marc luck and snapped his picture as he left to join the 200 mile racers. Soon, it was almost time to start and the song “The Final Countdown” was playing. People were singing along, and the crowd was beginning to get noisy. The announcer then said it was time to roll out. The race was to be an easy roll out with a pace car until the riders were led out of town to gravel, just past the Cottonwood River.
Some races are supposed to have a neutral start, but the riders roll out at speeds over 20 mph as soon as the announcer says go. This race was different. It was a very nice and easy roll out, and some of the riders continued to chat as we moved slowly through town. Shortly after we passed the Cottonwood River bridge, we turned right onto gravel. I hit mud and water almost immediately. Part of the road was completely flooded with several inches of water from the previous night’s downpour. For the next few miles I rode slowly through the mud and water, trying to find the best course. I was amazed by the number of riders down at both sides of the road with broken chains, mechanical issues, and flat tires. There were dozens of them! I’d never seen anything quite like it. However, it didn’t spook me, as I was pretty confident that the flooding and mud would pass pretty quickly. We had pre-ridden this part of the course the day before, and I knew we would soon be hitting some very hard packed, fine gravel. I thought it was highly unlikely that flooding and mud would be a problem there. It turned out that I was right. The next ten miles or so were fast and flat. I looked down at my Garmin and was very happy to see that 10 miles into the race I could still see the leaders not very far in the distance.
The next 10 or 20 miles were a blur of rolling, extremely fast descents, and long, steady climbs. As we rode into the Flint Hills the course became rockier and steeper. There were several very short, steep walls that were covered with fist sized stones and large boulders. These were difficult to maneuver, and my back tire slid in several areas when I tried to get traction on some of the boulders. I remember climbing a wall of rocks and then getting to the top of the climb and looking up. The view took my breath away. It was indescribable being at the top of the Flint Hills and viewing the miles of rolling prairie as far as I could see. I turned to a rider next to me and said “This is so beautiful, and I feel like I’m missing it!” Several times I took my iPhone out of my back pocket to try and snap a picture on the fly, but then decided that it was way too treacherous to try and ride with one hand.
At mile 39 we came to a creek crossing at a bottom of a descent, where there was no bridge. I took the opportunity to snap a picture because everyone had stopped to dismount their bikes and get into the water. A very friendly girl in a blue kit walked next to me as we hoisted our bikes and stepped into the water. She yelled at the photographer standing in the middle of the creek and asked him to take our picture. She laughed and looked at me and said “This ain’t your Friday night ride sister!”
On the other side of the creek was a very steep,muddy hill, and there was a traffic jam of riders walking their bikes to the top of the hill. This would be the only hill that I would walk for the rest of the race.
At this point we were just over 10 miles from the checkpoint in Madison, Kansas. I looked down at my Garmin and was excited that it looked like I was going to beat my time of 3:40 that I had gotten at the 50 mile Hell Kitten Fiddie race just the month before. As I rolled into Madison I looked up at the red timer and saw that I passed the checkpoint at 3:39! I looked up and saw that the Purple Chamois Butt’r tent, my hired support crew, was the very first tent lining the streets of town. As I got off my bike two girls came up to me immediately and took my water bottles and Camelbak to fill them with water. I grabbed two banana halves off of the table and quickly ate them, then looked around for some more food. The peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that were on the table were nothing but bread smeared with just a drop of peanut butter and jelly, so I passed on those. I then got my chain lube out to oil my chain as another girl held my bike for me. I then asked where the porta-potties were and was directed down the street. The entire stop, I calculated, took no more than five minutes. I had packed my own peanut butter sandwich in my Camelbak, so I put that in my mouth and chewed as I pedaled out of town.
As I headed north out of Madison, I was immediately hit with a ferocious headwind. I knew that it was predicted that there would be a headwind for most of the 50 miles to the finish line, but I had hoped the weatherman was wrong. Within 10 miles, I was seriously regretting my decision to not rest and eat more in Madison. I was working hard to try and maintain a decent speed, as it got hotter and windier. All of the extra energy I was putting out meant that I was draining my water very quickly, and I found myself worrying that I might run out.
For the next 30 miles the climbing seemed endless, and it felt like I was crawling. There were muddy two track jeep roads that had turned into singletrack because of the deep, muddy ruts in the road. On some of this singletrack there were lots of riders and it was frustratingly slow because there was no way to get around them. There were also lots of short, steep rocky climbs, and I noticed that more and more riders were saving their energy and were walking the hills. On one very steep climb I looked up and saw a photographer at the top of the hill. By this point I was debating if I should just walk the hill and save my energy. However, there was no way I was going to walk while someone took my picture, so I pedaled on. This particular climb was so bad that I was spinning in my lowest gear and didn’t know if I was going to make it up because it was so rocky and muddy I was losing traction. As I crested the top of the hill I tried to smile for the photographer. He snapped my picture and said “Nice climbing! Rebecca Rusch walked this hill.” (Rebecca Rusch was a previous winner of the DK 200).
The last 20 miles to the finish line were relatively flat. However, the wind was getting fiercer and I looked for other riders around me to help block the wind. A very friendly older man from Kansas, whose name I forget, stayed with me as we took turns pulling for each other. As two other riders passed us, we joined them as well. The friendly man moved out in front to pull for everyone, and after a short while one of the men pulled out in front of him. I assumed we were all going to take turns and help pull for each other, when the young man in front of me slowed down and put his hand down to let me know to get off of his wheel. The two of them then took off. The friendly man I had been riding with commented on how rude and unfriendly that was. These were two very young guys, in their 20’s, and neither of us were in any competition with them.
Shortly after this, my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and thought it said that I had a missed call from Jeff. I knew if Jeff was calling that meant something had happened to Marc. Marc had crashed the year before and had broken his collarbone, and I felt panic, thinking he may have crashed again. I immediately stopped and dialed back the number. It was Joey, my son. He was back at the dorms and wondered when I was going to be finished because he wanted to eat! I told him I was racing and I was 20 miles away, then hung up. This call had cost me my wind protection and temporary riding buddy, as the friendly man I had been riding with had gone on.
A few miles after Joey’s phone call, I noticed my Camelbak felt very light. I was afraid to drink it, thinking that I might have to ration my water, as both of my bottles were empty. I stopped and took my Camelbak off and pulled out the bladder to check it. It was completely empty. I looked at my Garmin and saw that I had 18 miles left to go. I felt a moment of complete panic. It was hot, I was thirsty, and the finish line was at least an hour and a half away, as slow as I was crawling against the wind. Two riders passed me and I yelled at them “I’m out of water!” They said that there was a support tent right at the end of the road. I could see what looked like a light blue canopy just ahead, so I pedaled towards it. It was a false alarm. It was just an old semi at the side of the road. I then looked to my right and saw a house, the first one that I had seen in many miles. I knew I had no choice but to knock on their door. As I got off the bike I saw there was a man and woman sitting in the backyard, between the house and garage. I approached them and asked if I could use their hose. The woman was very friendly, and she filled both of my bottles with very cold water from a pump in her backyard. She said that they had considered buying water for the riders, and that another rider had stopped and asked for a drink before I had. She said that he left before she could get it for him. She said “I guess I did’t move fast enough for him”. I thanked her profusely and told her that her kind deed wouldn’t go unrewarded. I felt like someone had been watching over me, because I had not seen any sign of civilization for miles, and this house happened to be there the moment I ran out of water!
The final 18 miles are just a blur. There is something about an incessant headwind that sucks everything that you have. Those last few miles should have been fast, as they were flat and hard packed gravel, but the wind made it a sufferfest. As I rode into town, the last few blocks before the finish line were exceptionally cruel because I had to wind through the city streets and the university campus, and it seemed to take forever. As I pulled across the road that led to the finish sprint downtown I noticed that right in front of me were the two young guys who had shaken me off of their wheel earlier in the day. I decided to pass them as I sprinted for the finish line, and I gave it all I had. I pulled in front of them at over 25 mph. The two of them raced to catch up with me and passed me just before we made it across the finish line. I didn’t care that they had passed me, because I felt happy that I hadn’t needed them to pull for me after all. As I crossed the finish, I heard the announcer say my name and the name of my hometown. I was then handed a Dirty Kanza glass, the finishers’ award, and a woman at the finishers’ tent hugged me. I found out later that I had finished 13th overall in the women’s 100, and my sprint across the finish line had earned me an unexpected QOM on Strava.
This is a race that I would love to do again, but I wouldn’t forget my Go Pro camera the next time. The scenery was so breathtaking and difficult to describe, that I regret not having more photos of this incredible adventure.
