The Dirty 30 Gravel Grinder was the third race of the 2019 Michigan Gravel Series and was scheduled for March 30, 2019. The race was to start smack dab in the middle of the the sprawling metropolis of Saranac, Michigan, and travel through the hills of Ionia County. (Saranac is actually classified as a village, according to Wikipedia, and boasts a population of a whopping 1,325 residents.) The race promoters had originally organized weeknight mountain bike races under the name of Milk Jug Racing many years ago. When life got busy and life priorities began to change, the race’s website said that the organizers began to primarily ride road bikes. The Dirty 30 was the result of combining the passions of road riding with single track mountain biking. The website boasts that the Dirty 30 gravel bike race course consists of almost 90% gravel roads, the largest percentage of gravel compared to other gravel grinder bike races in western Michigan.
The week before the race, both Michigan and Indiana weather decided to be excessively cruel. High winds, rain, and temperatures in the 30’s and the 40’s were forecast for almost every day. The morning of the race there was predicted to be a 100% chance of rain with temperatures in the mid 30’s. I had a feeling the Dirty 30 was going to live up to its name.
On March 30th, Marc and I did the normal race preparations, and left the house at 5:00 am with the bikes and gear in tow. Temperatures were just above 30 degrees, and it was drizzling. By the time we got to the I 94 exit, it was pouring rain and visibility was terrible. I checked radar on the phone, and saw that we weren’t riding of the storm any time soon.
By the time we reached Saranac, the rain had stopped. Temperatures continued to hover just above 30 degrees. It looked as if the start and finish line would be on a small street behind the American Legion in the middle of town. A race volunteer waved us to a parking space just next to the town’s Dollar General store. We parked, dressed, and unloaded the bikes, then picked up our race packets. In our packets we got some chain lube, a Hammer Nutrition apple cinnamon gel, and our race numbers. We also received a green paper bracelet to get breakfast for free at the American Legion. We skipped breakfast as we had already eaten our standard peanut butter English muffins. I did, however, opt to forego the porta-potties and use the American Legion bathroom. I walked right in the women’s bathroom, but there was a long line for the men’s room. I turned to the first man in line and said “This is the perk of being a woman at a bike race”. He laughed.
At 10:00, riders lined up at the start line. Just as we thought they were going to start the countdown, we were directed to all move our bikes and line up at the intersection, to the left, as we had lined up in the wrong place. We were not passing the chip timing line, so all riders would start at 10:00. It was chaotic as riders tried to line up their bikes in the positions that they had been in. I ended up on the right near the front of the wave, instead of on the left. I never like starting on the right, because sometimes it gets hard to pass people if there’s no ridable shoulder, or in this case, if there are parked cars on the town streets. It’s also not fun getting stuck in the middle of a pack of riders without being able to pass.
A few minutes after re-lining up, the announcer began counting down, and we were off. There was a pace car leading us across the main street, down a town street, then to road leading out of town on the right towards gravel roads. It was one of those starts where I struggled to breath in the cold air as rider by rider whizzed by me. Soon we hit gravel, and it was a mess. The best way to describe the roads is that it felt as if we were riding through inches of creamy peanut butter. My slick fat bike tires had no problems with traction, however, because Michigan soil is very sandy and gritty. The sand and grit flew in my face and covered my lips and face. It was impossible to eat a gel or drink from my Camelbak without getting grit in my mouth. I did a lot of un-lady-like spitting, but I reasoned that it was too cold for parasites to survive and I doubted I would get sick from eating all the dirt.
The first 10 miles or so of the race still managed to be a pretty fast course, as it was mostly flat. There were also times we diverted on to pavement briefly, so I was able to go faster and make up for lost time. At mile 10, two women on fat bikes dressed in pink matching jerseys passed me. They were pulling for each other, and try as I might, I couldn’t catch them. I kept them in my sight for miles, but as we reached hillier terrain they slipped away.
Shortly after the women had passed me, I latched onto the wheel of an older man on a gravel bike. He was going pretty fast against the wind, and I was hoping he could pull me back up to the women. Most men are more than happy to assist a woman rider and let her draft, as they realize that they are riding in a different class and there is no competition. However, this man was not friendly. As soon as he looked back and saw me, he began weaving back and forth so that I would get off of his wheel. He then sped away. In my head I passed him and flipped him off.
Because I had been riding so hard I soon realized that as usual I had over dressed. I was burning up! I unzipped my jacket and first layer, but it wasn’t long before I got cold. It then began to drizzle, and I struggled to zip my jacket up with one hand. I couldn’t do it, so I suffered for miles, until the rain got bad enough that I realized I had to stop for a few seconds to maneuver the zippers.
Shortly after zipping up, I looked ahead to see the biggest hill of the race. The mud was so thick on this hill and it was so steep, that I wondered if I was going to make it up. For a brief moment, I considered conserving energy and walking. I looked up, however, and saw a photographer at the top of the hill. Race photographers delight in positioning themselves at the worst sections of courses as I imagine they enjoy capturing the agony on riders’ faces. So since walking was not an option, I decided to smile at the top of the hill and do a “woohoo!” shout out. Here is that moment!
I think after I climbed this last hill, there was only about five miles left. By this time I was soaking wet, covered in mud, and my feet were frozen. I was also very hungry. I kept looking at my Garmin. I began counting down the miles and they seemed to go on for an eternity. I think sometimes it might be better to not ride with a Garmin, as it might be less torturous having no idea how much farther I have to go. As we hit pavement for the final 1/4 mile or so sprint, I rode as fast as I could and passed a woman on a gravel bike and a couple of men. Marc snapped my picture as I passed the finish line, and you can see the other riders behind me. The look on my face says it all as to how I was feeling.
As soon as I crossed the finish line I went back to the car and stripped all of my outer layers right there next to the Dollar General and put them in a black garbage bag. Once I was stripped down to my shirt and shorts, I got in the car (thank goodness for tinted windows!) and changed into dry clothes. My face was covered with mud and I washed it with water and toilet paper from the glove box. As I headed back towards the finish line where Marc was looking for food, I heard the announcer call my name. I had somehow managed to pull off third place. I took a step onto the podium next to the pink ladies, who had changed into clean pink jackets, while Marc snapped a picture. The woman who got second place, it turned out, beat me at Barry-Roubaix last year by 12 minutes. Today she had beat me by only a little over 3 minutes. I told her “Good job!” and she pointed to the fist place winner and said “She pulled me the whole way!” It was then I decided I need a group of pink ladies so that we can all pull for each other!
