Kansas, Illinois is a small town located about 3 1/2 hours Southwest of Valparaiso. According to the 2014 Census, the town is considered to be a Village, with a total population of only 753. The Illinois Kanza is a gravel road race located in Kansas that is in its 2nd year. It includes a 72 mile and 46 mile route, and for people not wanting to race, there is also an option of a 22 mile or 33 mile “fun ride”. I had heard about the race through a friend, and I was intrigued. It obviously took its name as a bow to the famous Dirty Kanza race in Emporia, Kansas, and I was curious as to what the terrain would be like. Indiana and Illinois do not have natural dirt and gravel roads like Michigan. The roads in Michigan and farther north are hard packed dirt and natural small rocks, which are grated for traffic. Illinois and Indiana’s gravel roads are just dirt roads dumped with thick, chunky white rock, which makes for some very challenging riding. I was told the roads would be a mix between the two types of roads.
The race was to be held on October 21, 2017. Both Indiana and Illinois had been experiencing an extremely dry and warm Autumn, and the weather race day was supposed to be in the 70’s. Because both Kansas and Valparaiso are on Central Time, we would not have to add another hour for travelling. The race start was 10:00 am, which meant we would need to leave by 6:00 am the morning of the race.
Our friend Austin met us at our house at 6:00 on Saturday morning as scheduled, and we loaded up the bikes to head to Kansas. The ride was uneventful, and it was warm and partly sunny during the drive. Our GPS showed that there were only about 3 turns onto various highways to get to Kansas. There appeared to be one main street running through the town, which is where the park that we needed to get to was located. There was certainly no way we could get lost.
When we got to the park, I headed to the bathroom to change clothes. The bathroom situation was comical. There were what appeared to be homemade chip-board bathroom stalls which were painted white. The doors were very short, and there were curtains hanging from the doors. When I went into the stall to change clothes, I understood the need for the curtains. The door was about five inches from the toilet, so that if you sat down your knees would poke out from under the doors. It was hilarious! There was obviously some miscalculated measurements and poor planning by the builder of the stalls. Trying to maneuver around the toilet to get dressed was so difficult I finally gave up, as did a girl in the stall next to me. She said “sorry” as she stepped out to finish getting dressed. In retrospect, I wish I had taken a picture of those crazy stalls.
After getting dressed, I went to pick up my racing number. I was handed a paper Road ID with the number 39 on it that I was told to pin to my left side. There would be no chip timing, but the time keepers would need to see the race number as you passed the finish line to determine how you finished.
The race start was very chaotic. It seemed like there were 60 or 70 people standing around, with no one really knowing where the race start was or where to line up. As we were waiting for some direction, Austin and Molly struck a silly pose. Austin will almost always stick a finger up his nose if he has any idea that someone is about to take his picture. This time was no exception.
Soon after I snapped some pictures, one of the riders started talking. The race start would be a neutral roll out through town, escorted by a police car. The race would start shortly after we left town and turned right onto the first gravel road. There would be no arrows or signs, but little ribbons tied to sticks on the right side of the road. A blue ribbon meant to turn left and a pink ribbon meant to turn right. We were to ignore any ribbons on the left side of the road. I was wondering how in the world I was going to keep that straight when I thought “Well pink is for girls and girls are always right”. As I thought this, someone in the crowd voiced the same thing that I as thinking and several people laughed.
Soon we were off, riding down a small alley onto the main road. As we turned right onto gravel off of the main road, there was a cloud of dust as racers struggled to be in the lead. I immediately regretted not wearing a buff that I could pull up over my mouth. It was windy and the gravel was the awful, chunky white gravel that I was dreading. The wind coming across the open farm fields made keeping up with the lead pack difficult. Soon a young girl with short hair passed me, then another, then another, then another. I lost count. I was beginning to think doing this race was a mistake, and that the open fields, wind, and chunky gravel were going to make the experience a repeat of last year’s Zionsville Harvest 50. However, just as I as finished thinking this, the road curved into the woods and settled into a nice two track road with smaller gravel and grass in the middle. For the next few miles the road conditions were very variable. Sometimes they would be narrower, winding roads through woods, sometimes they would seem more like a farmer’s field than a road, and then the roads would settle back to the chunkier gravel. There were some gentle, rolling hills, and hills that curved through wooded areas. I also passed some lovely barns throughout the race, including a unique blue one with some type of Pennsylvania Dutch looking emblem on it.
At about mile 9 or 10 I saw a blue ribbon on the left side of the road and started to turn left. I saw a girl stopped there and I asked if she was OK. She said she was just getting a bottle of water from the water table, and I had taken a wrong turn! I had mistakenly looked at the ribbon on the left side of the road, and not the right. The ribbon on the right side of the road was pink, meaning I was to turn right. I thanked her and immediately turned around. As I turned around I saw a very steep hill with a lot of ruts and erosion. I rode all the way to the right , trying to get traction, as a girl with braided hair walked her bike up the left side of the hill.
Soon after this hill, the road turned right onto a road which I thought was a shortcut through a farmer’s field. There were huge chunks of stone filling the two tracks through the grass, and it was almost impossible to ride on these rocks without my tires slipping. I opted to ride on the right side of the road in the grass, and I was able to spin pretty fast in one of my lower gears. This chunky section of road didn’t last long, and soon I as riding through dirt, dodging huge holes where the dirt had been washed away by the rain. I hopped of my bike and ran around one deep hole, and soon the road led to a creek. Because I had no idea how deep the water was or what was under the water, I opted to jump off my bike, hold my bike up to my shoulder, and run to the other side. I ran up the creek bank and immediately jumped back onto my bike. Below is a picture from a friend’s Instagram that shows the creek crossing from last year. This year, because it had been such a dry Fall, the creek didn’t have as much water in it.
At some point either at the end of the chunky stone road, or at the end of the dirt road leading from the creek, I came across a rider lying on the left side of the road, where another rider had stopped to assist. His left white arm sleeve was bloody, and he looked dazed. He was holding his hand up, and his thumb appeared to hang at an odd angle. He said he had broken it. The girl in braids stopped to help shortly after I stopped, and we all checked to see if we had phone reception to call for help. The girl in braids was able to get through to someone, and I rode the few feet to the intersection to see where we were. I yelled back the names of the street signs as the girl repeated the street names over the phone. When it was apparent help was coming, we got back on our bikes, while one guy stayed with the injured rider.
Soon the road turned onto a double track road with very thick gravel. It was difficult to ride in the freshly poured gravel without slipping, so I rode down the center of the road in the grass. I found I was able to ride pretty fast if I stayed in the center. This road curved and went uphill through a patch of woods, where I saw Austin with his bike turned upside down at the side of the road. He had gotten a flat tire. I asked if he was OK and he yelled at me that he was fine and to keep going. Austin was running tubeless tires, but he had gotten a pretty huge gash and had lost all of his sealant. He had gotten duct tape from another rider and had attempted to repair the tire and put a tube in, but it hadn’t worked. Austin ended up having to call for help and get a ride back to the park.
After I passed Austin, I saw a group of riders in the distance. I was confused as to where they had come from, as I hadn’t seen them pass me. It turned out they doing the 22 and 33 mile ride and I had caught up with them. By this time my Garmin said that I was about 8 miles from the finish line.
Shortly after I passed these riders, I saw a cloud of dust in the road up ahead. This turned out to be a mile or so section of road that was completely covered with crushed limestone. It was so strange, as the road looked as if it was covered in inches of powder. There was some type of business on this road where the huge trucks going in and out had completely pulverized the white rock. There was a lot of traffic on this road that stirred up the powder into a swirling dust storm. I covered my mouth with my hand and did some quick exhaling so as not to breathe it in. Luckily, this was a very short section of road.
The last few miles to the finish line were mostly pavement and I was able to move pretty fast. I passed a group of riders who were stopped at the side of the road, and there was a girl with a pigtail in a white jersey that I hadn’t seen before. I calculated that I must be in 2nd or 3rd place as I had passed 3 girls since 4 or 5 passed me in the first few miles.
My Garmin said that I had almost 4 miles to go when I saw a sign painted on the road pointing to the right that said “1 mile”. A mile down that road a man was sitting at a table. I slowed down and asked “Am I supposed to stop?” And he said “Only if you want to. I just need your number”. I said “39” and kept going. I had no idea if that was the finish line or something else. Shortly after passing the table, there was a pink ribbon that indicated I should turn right to head into town on a paved road. As I came into town there were no other ribbons, so I didn’t know where I was supposed to turn. I passed the park, then turned right to ride around it to where the race had started. As soon as I stopped there was a woman who asked me if I had pre-registered. I said “yes” and she handed me $5. The $5 was to buy lunch at the food truck in the park.
After we got back to the park, I changed my clothes in the challenging bathroom stalls and met Austin and Marc back at the car. Marc said that the man at the table had told him he had finished in 3rd place. I had no idea how I had finished, and we looked around for the people putting on the race. It seemed to be a pretty disorganized event, and we didn’t see anyone. There was a classic car show going on, and a folk band with a violinist was playing in the park pavilion. They were playing songs like “This Little Light of Mine” and Austin and I sang along as we ate fries we had gotten from the food truck. By the time the man (named Karl I think) returned from the table where he had been keeping track of people’s numbers, most racers had already left the park. His sheet said I had finished 3rd, but when official results were posted on Facebook it said I had finished 2nd out of a total of only 9 women. There were no ribbons or awards, but prizes from a local bike shop that we got to choose from. I chose a multi-purpose bike tool. Both Marc and I had our pictures taken with the other winners who stayed around for their prizes.
Even though this race is only in its second year and it needs to be more organized, I was happy I had gone. The course was so much better than I had expected. Also, the club putting on the race, Wild Card Cycling, helped to raise over $600 for the local food bank.