An Indiana Girl On A Bike

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!

Waterloo Grit and Gravel is a bike race through the Waterloo Recreation Area in Chelsea, Michigan. Waterloo is the largest park in the Lower Peninsula and covers more than 20,000 acres, with pristine forests, rolling glacial terrain, and 47 miles of hiking trails. The race promoters advertise that “Most of the roads will be dirt and rock. There may even be mud, ice, and snow. Expect to get dusty. Expect to get grimy. Expect to have the time of your life!” The race was to be the first race of the 2019 Michigan Gravel Series and was scheduled for March 16th. March is still winter in Michigan, so the promoters were being honest when they said that snow, ice, freezing rain, or mud could all be a possibility. The forecast the week before the race was pretty grim, both for Indiana and Michigan. Rain was predicted almost every day leading up to the race, and race day was expected to be partly cloudy with a high of 30 degrees. That meant it was going to be highly unlikely that the roads would be dried out. The day before the race, the picture below was posted on Waterloo’s Facebook page. The picture was what riders could expect to encounter the first 1 1/2 miles!

The race start was to be at 9:00 am Indiana time, and Waterloo is over a three hour drive from Valparaiso. That meant that we would have to leave about 4:30 am Indiana time to ensure we had enough time to stop for a bathroom break, pick up our race packets, and get ready.

Saturday morning we woke up to temperatures in the 20’s, loaded the bikes, and headed out. It was an uneventful trip, until about an hour and a half into the drive. Suddenly, we were caught in a squall on Interstate 94. A blizzard swirled around us, and visibility was almost zero. Marc panicked and yelled “What do I do?!” I told him to just follow the semi in front of us and look at his tail lights, as we couldn’t see the lines on the road and had no idea what lane we were in. As the snow continued, we saw a police car at the side of the road that had gotten hit, as well as another car that had gotten sideswiped. A semi was off the road in a ditch. The road was a sheet of ice. I checked my weather app and saw that we were going to drive out of the storm within a few miles, so Marc just kept driving. Racers were posting pictures on the race’s Facebook page concerning cars off the road.

Miraculously, as soon as we drove out of the storm the sky began clearing, the sun came up, and the roads cleared. My weather app wasn’t predicting any more precipitation for the day.

Thankfully, we arrived safely about 45 minutes before the race start and began the routine of bike preparations and race packet pick-up. I had ordered a bike jersey in a size medium, and I picked it up with my race number. The jersey was huge and I had to trade down for a size extra small, which was still roomy. I am not small by any means, and I shake my head every time I buy clothing nowadays. It’s the fattening of America! Sizes keep getting bigger and bigger, but I hadn’t noticed this with athletes’ clothing before. Normally sports clothing runs small. The woman who handed me the jersey apologized and said they had never ordered from this company before. I also got a patch and a pair of socks to match the jersey.

After putting on my race number, taping sports gels to my bike, then trying my best to warm up (it was freezing!) it was soon time to line up for the race start. Marc was registered in the fat bike long series for the MGRS, and I was registered for the short series, so Marc was to start in wave one with the racers doing the 100K race. Marc’s wave headed out 10 minutes before mine, then it was time for the 50K racers to line up. I was to race one time around a 50K loop, and Marc would do it two times. At the brief meeting before the race began, the race announcer warned everyone about the sketchy road conditions and said “This is the first race of the season. Take it easy, as we have a lot more races left and you don’t want to injure yourself out there. We’ve got a long season ahead of us.” They also delayed the race start by ten minutes to allow the people who had gotten stuck in the snowstorm on I 94 to arrived. Soon, Marc’s wave was off and my wave was next.

I tried to get as close to the front of the wave as I could, positioned to the left, so I could get around slower riders, which is always my race strategy. Here is a picture of me (in pink) shortly after the race start, which was on pavement for a brief period until we got out of the parking lot onto gravel.

We headed left out of the recreational parking area onto a paved road, then we turned right onto dirt. The road that was pictured on Facebook the day before was now frozen! The deeps ruts in the road were rock solid and my tire got stuck in a rut as I was riding fast downhill. I almost took a spill, but I unclipped and put my foot down to save myself, and rode like that until I got through the rutty sections. Everyone must have taken the announcer’s warnings to heart, because no one was riding crazy down this section of road. I was being cautious and I expected riders to be flying past me, but no one was passing me. This sketchy downhill ended quickly and soon we were riding on hard packed, frozen stretches of road that were so fast! I was amazed how everyone just stuck together, and I wasn’t seeing rider after rider buzzing by, which usually happens when it’s so cold and I’m not warmed up yet.

I also noticed that along the road there were lots of photographers; more than I usually see at a race. It was nice that after the race these photos were given to us for free via an email link, rather than the photographer charging a lot of money for photos. In some of the photos, I look quite serious.

I was grateful when the sun began to peek out of the clouds, because it was so cold! I don’t think the temperature ever got above 30 degrees. However, my gratefulness soon changed when the sun began warming the roads. We would fly through hard packed shady sections of road, then get caught in a sea of mud when we’d ride through sections of road where there were no trees and the sun was melting the frozen ground. My 4″ fat bike tires tear up the mud like nobody’s business, and I was getting covered. Mud splattered my glasses and on my mouth and covered my Camelbak. I would take a drink of water then realize I had a mouth of sand and grit and spit it out. The recreation area was so wooded and pretty, though, that I wondered what the 47 miles of hiking trails were like.

About 20 miles into the race we turned onto Cassidy Road, a road that runs by a prison with a tall barbed wire fence. This road wasn’t open to traffic, and it was an absolute mess. There were six inch deep ruts, with small paths in between the ruts, and I found myself trying to stay on a 6″ path with my 4″ tires, which wasn’t an easy feat! A girl in front of me on skinny tires slipped, and I almost hit her. I stopped, maunevered around her onto another line, and continued on. Then a man on a skinny tire gravel bike took a spill. I had the thought that if your buddy was in prison and wanted you to spring him, it just wasn’t going to happen! There’s no way you could run or drive out of this mess. After the race I looked this prison up and found that it’s called the Special Alternative Incarceration Facility, and it was formally known as Camp Cassidy Lake, a minimum security boot camp. OK, so I guess there were no hardened criminals there waiting to get sprung!

After leaving Cassidy Road, the course became fast again. It seemed that not long after this road we turned left and hit a stretch of pavement for miles. I found myself behind the wheel of a man on a skinny bike going 18 mph. I hung on for as long as I could and thanked him for the ride. He soon dropped me on a hill. We had a brief conversation before he dropped me, and he said he didn’t have the legs to ride a fat tire bike.

I think the last five miles or so were on pavement, or at least it seemed like it. When I saw the banners with the sign which pointed for 50K races to head to the finish line and 100K racers to turn left and do the loop again, I thought of Marc. He had to ride this twice! I was so glad I hadn’t opted for the long course.

As I came across the finish line, a woman at the end handed me a finisher’s medal. I thought that was so strange. Bike races aren’t like running races; you don’t get anything unless you win! Still, it was a pretty cool looking medal even if I thought it was goofy to get one.

I immediately headed to the car after passing the finish line to strip out of my clothes. Muddy doesn’t begin to describe how covered from head to toe I was! I was freezing, but stripped all of my outer layers off and put them in a garbage bag before getting into the car to change. My bike was also covered in mud, but I never fret about that as Marc is my official bike washer (and mechanic!)

As soon as I had changed, I got out my phone to follow the link I had been sent via email to check results. I discovered that I had gotten 2nd place female fat bike. And of the 32 fat bikes overall, including men, I had gotten 11th! I was surprised because I had never thought I would place. The early races of the year bring out such hardcore Michigan riders that I was really just racing to get series points, and I didn’t expect to do that well.

I walked to the celebration area to wait for Marc to cross the finish line and wait for the awards. I had foolishly forgotten to bring gloves (my racing gloves were soaking wet), and I was handed a finisher’s glass and I couldn’t hold onto it! I stood by a fire warming myself and a man offered me his handwarmer. When they announced the awards, the 3rd place finisher had already left. I stepped up next to the winner, not realizing until I saw the picture that I had stepped on to the third place podium! Marc hadn’t made it across the finish line yet, so a man standing in front of the podium snapped the picture.

For my second place finish I got a growler of an IPA from Short’s Brewery, and a Yeti insulated cup. Age group winners got socks, and first place winners got jerseys.

Shortly thereafter Marc came across the finish line, looking beat up! The women with the medals put one around his head. He had been fighting to stay in third place, and said he didn’t see any other fat bikes pass him. When we checked results we discovered he had indeed gotten third place fat bike. Marc’s award was a Yeti tumbler and a bag of Michigan DNR coffee. I told him had he made second he would’ve gotten a growler of beer!

Lord of the Springs is a singletrack and gravel bike race that combines the dirt and gravel roads of Barry County, Michigan, with the Yankee Springs Deep Lake Singletrack bike trail. This 36 mile race travels through the glacial bowls and hills of the Deep Lake area, the hardwood forests of the Barry State Game Area, the beautiful Otis Bird Sanctuary marshes, and classic Barry County gravel roads. The website for the race boasts “A day may come when the courage of men fails, but it is not THIS day”.

This race, which was scheduled for September 15th, was the 8th of 10 races in the 2018 Michigan Gravel Series. To qualify for the series, you have to complete at least four races. You are scored on your top five races, so it’s to your advantage to do as many races as possible, so if you don’t do well your lower scores can be thrown out. Also, you are given 10 bonus points for each race you finish after five races. Going into the race, I had only competed in four – Barry Roubaix, Hellkitten Fiddie, The Divide, and Uncle John’s Dirty Ride. I was in 4th place in my age group for the series and needed to do the final three races if I hoped to move up. However, I hadn’t planned on doing Yankee Springs because it includes nine miles of singletrack. Singletrack is not my greatest skill set. At my age, my frontal lobe is way too developed to be dodging trees and roots in the forest! I know all to well the consequences of a crash. There was a group of local riders who intended to race, and they were all urging me to go, promising that the singletrack was not too technical and I could easily handle it. In the end, peer pressure prevailed and I signed up.

The day of the race was misty and foggy. It was still dark out, around 5:30 am, when we arrived at our friend Chris’s house to pick him up. We pulled in front of his house and noticed that no lights were on. Marc called Chris’s cell phone and immediately got voice mail. We then debated what to do; knock on the door and wake up his wife and baby? Honk the horn and wake up the neighborhood? We opted to wait, while Marc called Chris again. Once again, it went straight to voice mail. So there we were, stuck with making a decision. Just leave, and make the race on time, or wait and possibly be late? Luckily while we were still deciding what to do, Chris called. He said he would be right out. It was apparent when he got out to the car that he had just woken up.

Amazingly, even though it was September 15th and we were traveling north, it looked like it was going to be a really hot day and we would be able to wear just shorts and jerseys. It was misty and foggy when we arrived, but it looked like the rain was going to stay away. We parked in a park a few blocks down the road from the YMCA camp, where the race was to start, and road our bikes down the road to pick up our race numbers.

Chris, unloading his bike.

When we picked up our race numbers we were given a bag with a 16 ounce glass that said “Lord of the Springs” and two packets of Clif Shot Bloks, which were flavored Ginger Ale and Mint. Yikes! I’m guessing those flavors were on a clearance rack somewhere! Still, it was kind of nice to get some swag with our race numbers.

We then rode back to the car to put our stuff away, put our race numbers on, then warm up a little before lining up to start. The race start was at the YMCA camp, and it was very crowded. We got there after riders were already lining up, and we ended up near the back. There was another group of riders merging with the pack to the left.

Lots of riders! There was another group to the left that you can’t see who would be merging with us.

Chris

Soon it was time to start. Since riders were merging on the dirt road, the pack moved very slowly as we made our way uphill to the paved road in front of the camp. Once we hit pavement, riders were off! The pack was fast, and I managed to stay with the group as we turned onto a dirt road for about five miles of fast racing on hard packed roads before we hit the singletrack in the forest. I passed all the girls on fatbikes, and I was happy to know that going into the singletrack I would be first place fatbike.

It seemed like it only took minutes to travel that five miles when we turned off of the road to the right to enter the forest. Almost immediately, riders were dismounting their bikes. There was a traffic jam on the bike trail, and we had to walk our bikes single-file on a very narrow, wooded trail. It soon cleared, and we started riding. The trail was very narrow, sandy, and root-filled. It was nerve wracking as I tried to maneuver my bike as fast as I could, while faster and more skilled riders were trying to get around me. I had to hop roots uphill, and try not to crash riding them downhill. This section of singletrack was only five miles, but it seemed like it took an eternity compared to the five miles of dirt road we had just ridden. As I tried to turn a corner on a very sandy section with a drop-off to the left, I almost crashed and went off the drop-off. My bike slammed against my knee and thigh, but I managed to stay upright. The last mile of the singletrack the trail got flatter, wider, and sandier, and I started to pick up speed. There were two male riders behind me, and I told them then could pass me if they needed to. They both said they were fine, and had no desire to go any faster. The guy behind me said he was a road bike rider and he was out of his element. We were almost to the road, when a photographer took our photo. The singletrack then turned back onto the road where there were paramedics and volunteers. They waved me back onto the trail and said that I had a little farther to go. I got back on the trail for just a short distance  I then had to run my bike up a grassy hill to the road, where I was directed to turn to the left, back onto a paved road. I immediately picked up speed as I hit the road and passed several riders. It was then that I looked down and saw my jersey was unzipped all the way to my belly button, completely exposing my bra. None of the volunteers or anyone directing me had pointed or said anything, so I was hoping that it had just become unzipped. (I was not so lucky. As I browsed through the photographer’s photos on Facebook several days after the race, there I was. Exposed! I messaged the photographer, who immediately took the photo down. I snapped a screenshot of the picture, which is blurry because I didn’t purchase it, and I doctored it a bit.)

Yes, this happened!

After I zipped back up, the paved road turned onto another dirt road. The next 15 miles or so were extremely challenging as the roads were not maintained roads. Riders on mountain bikes had to walk some of the deep sandy sections. Luckily, I was able to power through the sand in my lower gears on the fatbike, and I didn’t have to walk any sections. However, it had gotten extremely hot and I felt like my entire body was covered in sand and grit. I almost crashed several times, and I wondered how bruised my inner thighs and knees were going to be from getting racked by my bike frame.

As we got closer to the last section of singletrack, I passed several riders that I knew. I was the first one to enter the trail, with a line of riders behind me. This section of the forest was so much worse than the first trail. It was hilly and there were lots of tree roots to maneuver. There were some sections that were so steep and rooty that I have no idea how I managed to ride up them. I thought for sure I would cause a traffic jam because of the riders behind me, but no one ever passed me. I heard their voices trailing farther and farther behind me. I thought this last section of singletrack was supposed to be four miles, and I was preparing myself for what would seem like an eternity to get through it. Surprisingly, just as I had this thought, the singletrack came to an end. I was so relieved that I made it through both sections without crashing!

I can’t take credit for this. I don’t take pictures during races! I found this picture of the Yankee Springs Trail on-line.

After leaving the forest, I rode as hard and fast as I could, attempting to pass as many riders as possible. It was about five more miles to the finish line, and I was more than ready to be finished with this race. The sandy roads, coupled with the singletrack, made this one of my hardest races ever.

One of the wider sections of the first singletrack. Another photo from the Internet.

Marc in action.

As I turned to the left into the camp and past the banner, I had no idea how well I had done, but I was pretty sure I had ended up in last place after the first set of endless singletrack, where I was passed by lots of riders. I stood around and talked to our fellow Northwest Indiana riders for a while, then was headed off to wash my bike when I heard the announcer call my name. Somehow I had managed to finish third place fatbike! I took off my helmet and passed my phone to a bystander. The picture is quite funny because I look hot and bewildered, as I still wasn’t sure they had actually called my name. Marc and several of the guys were off washing their bikes and missed it. I started to walk away after I had my picture taken, and a man told me to take a prize from the prize table. I chose a Trek hat.

Did I really get third?

After this race, I managed to move up to 2nd place in my age group for the Gravel Series with the points I had earned. I also decided to never wear a jersey to a race without a tank top underneath!

Uncle John’s Dirty Ride is a race across the flat and fast dirt roads of Gratiot County, Michigan. The race begins and ends at Uncle John’s Cider Mill in St. John’s, Michigan and traverses through the wooded Saginaw/Gratiot Game area.

The mill has a bit of a history. John Beck and his wife Carolyn bought the family farm from John’s parents in the early 1970’s. It was originally run as a wholesale fruit and vegetable farm, but John and his wife soon found that this was not very profitable. They had to find an innovative way to keep the farm going, so they began selling apple cider and donuts in addition to the fruits and vegetables. Soon, the barns were transformed into a gift shop, snack barn, and cider/winery. Weekend entertainers were brought in for festival type events, and the cider mill became a sensation.

The mill is a big deal for a small town with a population of about 7,500. This small town is located in the center, southern half of the state of Michigan. It is about 3 hours and 15 minutes from our house in Indiana. With the hour time zone difference, this meant that we would have to leave our house at about 5:00 am to make the race start at 10:00 am.

The ride to St. John’s was thankfully uneventful. Fall was in the air, and as we headed north the temperature was steadily dropping. It looked like we would be in for cloudy skies and 50 degree weather for most of the day. I noticed that this area of Michigan wasn’t as pretty and hilly as northern Michigan. It didn’t look much different from the flatlands of northern Indiana.

When we arrived at the mill, we noticed the small parking area was jammed packed with not only riders, but also with families taking their kids to the apple orchard to pick apples, to eat, or to play on the playground. We parked and went to a pole barn where registration appeared to be. I was handed a number, and I heard the woman talking to a man a few steps away who had asked about registering. The event had indicated that there was registration the day of the race, however, the woman told the man she had run out of race numbers. She apologized and told him he could just ride the course for free. I was thankful we had registered a few weeks before, as I can’t imagine how upset I would be about not being able to race after traveling over 3 hours and getting up at 4:00 am.

Once we picked up the race numbers, we didn’t have much time to warm up. There was really no place to warm up except for the grassy area around the parking lot anyway, unless we wanted to ride down the hilly entrance to the mill to the highway. We lined up in the grass under a banner that said “Uncle John’s Dirty Ride”.

This was to be a neutral roll-out, up a slight grassy hill, and over to a gravel road where a pace car would lead riders to another road. Soon the announcer said “Go!” I always hate starts on the grass because getting clipped in and moving around other riders is so difficult. Before we even hit the gravel I knew I was already at a disadvantage. The pace car was NOT going a neutral pace, but was traveling well over 20 mph. We got separated from the lead group that was behind the car almost immediately. Marc was there to pull for me as he didn’t really want to race, and he kept telling me to try and stay on his wheel.

The gravel roads were hard-packed, fast, and very flat. I thought I should’ve easily been able to maintain an average speed of 20 mph with Marc pulling for me, but it wasn’t to be. It was one of those days where my brain was definitely not communicating with my legs, and I just had no energy. Our friend Austin had gotten married the night before, and we had been up late. That, in addition to getting up at 4:00 am may have had something to do with my total lack of energy. The race was very short, only 22 miles, and we managed to end with an average speed of 18 mph. Because it was such a short distance, I remember very little about the race (it was flat and there was nothing to look at except cornfields!) and it all passed by in a blur. I do remember one racer unclipping his shoe from his bike pedal and putting his foot down as he turned a corner, and I remember thinking that if he was too scared to be clipped in around corners he shouldn’t be here! Luckily, we passed him quickly.  It’s never good to be behind inexperienced gravel riders. Sometimes fast road bike guys do gravel races and they are a bit out of their element.  If they hesitate, do something stupid, or go down, they can cause you to crash.

The last mile of the race had us turning off the road and following a grassy path back up the hill to the cider mill.  I ended up in 6th place overall woman, which was frustrating, as the top 5 shared the podium and prize money of several hundred dollars. There were no age groups, so I took some comfort in knowing that the women in the top 5 were between 6 and 28 years younger than me!

After the race, we went to a tent where they were giving the racers a free lunch (vegetarian dirty rice) and free hard cider. I took one drink and decided it tasted like the sourest apple Jolly Rancher that I had ever had, and it also tasted like it must have had a cup of sugar in it! I quickly gave it to Marc. We didn’t have any friends doing this race, so we ate and quickly left. It wasn’t the most fun I’ve had, and it definitely wasn’t my best day on the bike, but I did earn 485 points out of 500 for the race series, which was my highest score to date. And even though I think I could’ve done better, 18 mph was my fastest gravel race average ever!

The Michigan Gravel Race Series is a points series composed of 10 different gravel and dirt road bike races, with some races including single track and seasonal roads. There are 10 different races in the series, and a racer is scored on their top 5 races, with a minimum of 4 races needing to be completed in order to qualify for the series. Awards are given at the end of the season for the top three overall winners, as well as the top three winners for the series in their age groups.  In previous years I had raced as many as a half a dozen races or more, but I had never signed up for and competed in the series. I decided that this year was the year that I would sign up and try to compete in at least five of the races. There were two different categories to compete in; the long and short series. For instance, Barry-Roubaix offers a 22 mile, 36 mile, 62 mile, and 100 mile race. The short racers need to compete in the 36 miler, and the long course racers can choose the 62 or 100 miler.

The five races I decided to tackle were the short series Lowell 50 (a 34 mile race in Lowell, Michigan), the Barry-Roubaix (a 36 miler in Hastings), the Hell Kitten Fiddie (a 50 miler in Dorr), The Divide (a 34 miler in Manton), and Uncle John’s Dirty Ride (a 25 miler in St. John’s).

The season’s first race for me was to be the Lowell 50 on April 7th. The spring edition of the Lowell 50 did not qualify for the series (the qualifier is the one in the fall), but I had decided to sign up for the race for the training. The winter of 2017/2018 had been an extremely long, cold one. Winter fitness includes 6 months of spinning on an indoor trainer in the basement, as well as a few outings on the fatbike in the snow. Even though I had exercised all winter, it did not prepare me for big miles outside, and Michigan dirt and gravel is especially challenging.

On race day our friend Austin met us at our house with his bike at 4:00 am. Austin arrived on time and came into the house to get some coffee before we were to be on our way, with a stop in Michigan City to pick up our friend James. The drive to Lowell is about 2 1/2 hours, and Michigan is on eastern time. This would leave us enough time to pick up our packets and warm up a little bit before the race start at 9:00 Indiana time.

The Lowell 50 begins and ends at Fallasburg County Park in Lowell, Michigan. The park first opened in 1929, and now covers over 180 acres of land. There are two spring fed streams, an island on the Flat River, and a portion of the 4,000 mile North Country Trail passing through the park’s boundaries. The race begins shortly after riding through the historic wooden covered bridge in the park that dates back to the mid 1800’s, and the course winds through some very scenic woods. I have done this race a total of six times, and it is one of my favorites.

On the morning of April 7th James, Austin, Marc and I arrived at Lowell about one hour before the race start, which did leave us plenty of time to properly warm up. It was 25 degrees when we arrived, and it was predicted to be no warmer than 28 degrees for the duration of the race. I was fretting over what to wear, as I always seem to either overdress or underdress for a race. With the temperature being so low, it was critical that I not underdress, as failure to keep my core warm would mean that much needed blood would be taken from my legs and re-routed to my organs. I opted to wear two wool base layers, a fleece jacket, and a wind jacket over the fleece. I also wore thermal tights, and base layer socks, baggies, wool socks, and toe warmers on my feet. I wasn’t sure how I was going to protect my lungs in the cold and be able to keep a race pace with a mask covering my face, so I opted for a loose buff.

Mark, James, Austin and I set out to do the course in reverse for several miles for our warm up. Within minutes, I knew I was in trouble. My body likes to go into “hibernation mode” in the cold, and I have great difficulty moving my legs when it’s below freezing. I was moving extremely slow, and my legs felt like dead weight. I only warmed up for 16 minutes, and I decided it was just too cold.  I ran the Strava app on my phone and posted the warm up. Here it is below:

I snapped a picture of the boys, then opted to go into the park shelter to stay warm for a few minutes before the race start. I found myself not looking forward to the prospect of spending more than two hours racing in the cold. The weather in Indiana for the past month had been so up and down, that I was not acclimated to 25 degrees.

Marc, James, and Austin warming up.

Soon, it was time to begin. The race start is always a neutral roll-out until riders pass through the covered bridge, and then the race is on. The first big hill comes shortly after passing through the bridge, and most of the tough hills are in the first 15 miles of the race.

This picture shows James and Marc at the race start, shortly after the bridge. James is tag number 681 and Marc is in the orange helmet.

Shortly after climbing the first hill and rounding a corner, I saw what looked like a traffic jam ahead in the road. There was a male rider lying on the left side of the road who looked severely injured, and several people were tending to him, instructing him not to move. There was also a girl sitting in the middle of the road, sobbing loudly. The riders’ instincts were to stop to assist, however, this was hazardous as riders rounding the corner were having to stop for the traffic jam. One guy on the right side of the road kept yelling at riders to keep moving to avoid an even more dangerous situation. I thought about how we had planned and prepared for the race and had made a 2 ½ hour drive, and here their race was over before it had barely begun. Also, I know all too well how a split second mistake can end up in months of recovery. I prayed that it wasn’t as bad as it looked and that they were going to be all right.

I immediately noticed that the cold was having an effect on not just me, but some other riders as well. I was struggling to make my legs move fast, but there were quite a few people behind me that were not passing me on the hills. The first 10 miles of a race are usually the toughest because it takes that long to warm up, but after 10 miles I was not moving any faster. I ate a gel, expecting it to kick in within 10 minutes, but it didn’t. It felt like I was treading gravel with lead weights on my legs, and it did not get any better. I was also struggling to breathe in the cold.

Just as I was thinking that I really just wanted to go home, a woman who looked to be in my age group came up beside me and started chatting. She said that she was only riding once or twice a week, and that her longest ride was just 22 miles. She said “You look like a strong rider. Do you mind if I hang with you?” I couldn’t believe it. Here I was feeling like I was dying, and this woman who barely ever rides was not only keeping up with me, but was also wanting to chat and draft behind my wheel! I told her I didn’t feel very strong today, then I tried to ignore her. Try as I might, I could not ride fast enough to get her off of my wheel.

Shortly after this, I noticed Austin and Marc at the side of the road. My first thought was that one of them had a flat tire, and I yelled, “Are you guys OK?” Both of them got on their bikes and started riding and Austin said “Marc got dropped from the fast group, so he decided to pull for you”. I immediately felt both relief that Marc was going to ride with me, and dismay because my legs weren’t working and I had pretty much decided just to ride the rest of the course and not race it. But Marc started yelling at me to stay on his wheel, and kept after me to ride harder. Shortly after Marc and Austin joined me, the course flattened out a bit, and I noticed I was feeling better. My goal then became dropping the chatty woman behind me. (The picture at the beginning of this post was taken by the race photographer and is of Marc pulling me, with this woman behind us.) As we rounded a corner and escaped the incessant headwind that had been slowing us down I yelled “Go, go go!” We quickly put a huge distance between us, the chatty woman, and the riders behind us. Marc then yelled “there’s a woman up ahead that looks like she’s in your age group! Let’s pass her!” We passed her, then we began passing rider after rider after we turned another corner. I was riding over 17 mph against a headwind, which I could not have done without Marc blocking the wind for me. I still struggled to stay with Marc on the hills, but the last five miles of the race I finally felt like my legs were getting the signal to move. We continued to pass lots of riders during the last five miles to the finish line. Austin was riding his single speed, and we lost him as there was no way he could compete with us without gears.

I noticed when I passed the finish line that my time was about 3 minutes slower on the gravel bike than I had been in the fall on the fatbike, even with Marc pulling for me. The cold had seriously slowed me down, and I wondered how I had finished. It turned out I ended up finishing 2nd in my age group, with the first place winner being only 2 minutes and 24 seconds ahead of me. The cold must have been a factor in her performance as well, as I have raced against her before, and she is normally much faster than me. All in all, I was happy that I had raced in the cold, as I knew it was much needed training for Barry-Roubaix, which was coming up in two weeks.

A not so bad ending to a cold day.

Barry Roubaix

The Barry-Roubaix was scheduled for April 21st, and I was happy that the race was scheduled later in the spring so that we might get lucky and have some warmer weather. It turned out that as race day approached, it was predicted to be in the 50’s and low 60’s.On the morning of the 21st Austin met us at our house at 4:00 am to begin the drive to Hastings, Michigan. The skies were clear and it looked like the weather was going to be in our favor. Both Marc and I were racing our fatbikes in the 36 mile race, and Austin was racing his singlespeed.

We arrived in Hastings about an hour before the race and parked in a school parking lot several blocks from the race start, which was downtown. We rode our bikes to the local Ace Hardware for our packet pick-ups, then back to the school parking lot to change clothes and head out on a warm-up ride. As we pulled into the parking lot we saw our friend Steve Rode from Ohio. He had never raced Barry-Roubaix before and was riding his gravel bike in the 62 miler. We talked to Steve, then headed out for our warm-up. The temperatures had raised about 10 degrees since we arrived, and I ended up taking off my jacket and going with just a jersey and a thin long sleeved base layer underneath. Marc, Austin and I all wore are matching Leo’s Bike Shop jerseys.

Austin and me, bike nerds!

As we headed out of town to find some gravel roads, I immediately noticed that this race was going to be a lot different than Lowell. I had tons of energy and easily glided up hills, even on the fatbike. We all warmed up for about five miles, then headed downtown to line up for our wave starts.

The Barry-Roubaix is a huge race, with well over 2,000 riders. There are so many riders that there were 19 different waves scheduled, each leaving town within a few minutes of each other. I was scheduled to start in Wave 13 with the other female fatbikers, and Marc was scheduled to start in Wave 12 with the male fatbikers. I lined up after the “13” sign and tried to get all of the way left and as close to the front as I could so that I could be in a position to pass other riders quickly once the race started.

I also snapped a picture with Molly and Jason, a couple that I had met through Instagram and had also met at other races, who are from Charleston, Illinois.

Molly and me, ready to roll!

Soon the countdown began and we were off. I stood up to get momentum and I rode to the left, passing as many riders as I could in an attempt to catch the lead group. I only saw two other women on fatbikes in the lead group, and they looked extremely strong.

I managed to stay close to the end of the lead pack for several miles, then settled into a group that fell off of the lead. I had not done the race in two years, and never on a fatbike before, and it seemed much faster than I had remembered. There were no challenging hills that I thought compared to Lowell, and I seemed to be sailing up them.

About 20 miles into the race a woman on a fatbike passed me. Because she was so muscular and had short hair, I wasn’t sure at first if she was a woman or a man. Then I reasoned she had to be a woman as the men had started in the wave ahead of us, and would already be past us. At this point I believed I was in 4th place as I hadn’t seen any other female fatbikers pass me.

Some time after I was passed by the strong woman, I heard two girls coming up from behind me and I heard one of them say “there’s a fatbike ahead”.  I assumed they were on fatbikes and were going to try and pass me.  I glanced back and saw that one was riding a plus bike with 3″ tires (you have to ride with tires bigger than 3.8″ to qualify in the fatbike class; my tires were 4″) and one of the girls was on a mountain bike.  They passed me and I quickly lost sight of them.

I still surmised that I was in 4th place.  Soon after the girls passed me we moved onto a seasonal road that was covered with leaves and sticks, and had deep sandy sections.  Riders on gravel bikes were slipping and sliding, several people were walking their bikes, and one man fell in front of me.  I asked if he was OK and he said “I just hurt my pride.”  This road was very frustrating because I couldn’t get around the walkers and the slow riders, even though the deep sand was no problem for my fatbike.  Thankfully this section didn’t seem to be more than a mile, and we quickly turned off to a road, where I stood up to get momentum and pass as many riders as I could.

I hadn’t ridden Barry-Roubaix in two years, and I didn’t remember the course.  I was surprised by the amount of pavement in between the gravel roads, and how fast some of the hilly sections were.  I could get enough momentum down hills at times to sail to the top of the next hill on the hard-packed, fast gravel.  The 36 miles seemed to fly by, and I felt victorious as I headed into town.

The town of Hastings shuts down it’s main street for the race, and coming into town across the finish line is quite the experience. Spectators line the streets, ringing cow bells and shouting. Marc snapped a picture of me as I crossed the finish line.

After the race, we all headed to the car in the school parking lot to change clothes and join the after party downtown, where many of our Northwest Indiana riding friends were gathered, with the food vendors, and where the awards ceremony was to be held. We all checked our race finishing times through a link that had been emailed to us, and I discovered that I had finished in 6th place, just missing the 5 place podium.  There were apparently girls in the lead pack that got past me that I hadn’t seen.  I was still very pleased with my fatbike finish, and the points that it earned me for the gravel series.

Screenshot of the results.

Hellkitten Fiddie

The Hellkaat Hundie is a charity race in its fifth year, that begins and ends in Dorr, Michigan. Proceeds from the race go to JDRF, the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, which funds research to help find a cure for Type 1 diabetes. The race website indicates that in the past four years the race has raised nearly $40,000 for JDRF. There are two different race options, the Hellkaat Hundie (100 mile race) and the Hellkitten Fiddie (50 mile race). For those not wanting to race, there is also the 25 mile Itty Bitty Kitty, which is just an untimed fun ride.

Last year I had raced the Hellkaat Hundie and I ended up going 3 miles off course because I had come up over a hill and missed that the group of riders in front of me had made a right turn. I remember the course being very sandy, hilly, and difficult. This year, since I was signed up for the short gravel series, I would be racing the 50 mile opti0n, the Hellkitten Fiddie.

Dorr Michigan is a small town with a population of 7,785, about an hour’s drive south of Grand Rapids. The race start and finish is in the parking lot of 5 Lakes Brewery, which is located in one of the town’s only strip malls. The strip mall also sports the usual small town stores of Subway and Dollar General.

On the morning of May 7th Marc and I got up at 2:30 am in order to get ready and leave for the race by 3:30 am, as we needed to be in Dorr ready for the race start at 7:00 Indiana time. (Dorr is about 2 1/2 hours away, and the town is on eastern time.) I dozed off and on in the car until 5:00 am, when I ate a peanut butter bagel and drank my coffee. I always eat breakfast exactly two hours before a race start, as I have read that is optimal for digestion, and gives you more energy.

As we pulled into the small town of Dorr, it was interesting to note that there wasn’t a single gas station opened where I could use the bathroom. The little town looked as if it were still asleep, with the exception of the 200 or so racers who had parked in the strip mall parking lot where 5 Lakes Brewery was located. I glanced across the parking lot and saw that there were two porta-potties next to the race start. I felt relieved because sometimes finding a place to empty my bladder before a race can be a challenge. Since I would be riding non-stop for 50 miles, starting the race with an empty tank was important!

I picked up my race number and a free bottle cage (the teal color matched my gravel bike perfectly) inside 5 Lakes Brewery. After attaching the tag to my bike, I decided to warm up a few minutes before the race start. It was high 50’s and the weather was predicted to get to the mid to low 60’s, so I wore the jersey that I had worn at Barry-Roubaix with a thin base layer under it. As I left the strip mall parking lot and turned onto the gravel road leading out of town, I saw the road was very washboard-like and had lots of small pot holes. I had too much air pressure in my tires, and I made a note that I would have to take some out. I hoped that the entire race wouldn’t be a bone shaker.

About 15 minutes before the race start, there was a rider’s meeting in the parking lot to go over the race rules and anything else we needed to know, so I only warmed up for about 15 minutes. At the meeting we were told to watch for a road closed sign as we would need to hike our bikes around the sign, where there was a large hole in the road. It was suggested that we not ride our bikes around the sign as it was too hazardous and could cause an accident. We were also told to watch out for a steep descent with a stop sign at the bottom, where cross traffic did not stop.

Soon it was time for the Hellkaat Hundie riders to roll out. The Fiddie riders rolled out 10 minutes later. The ride through the strip mall parking lot was a neutral rollout, and the race began after we turned right onto the gravel road leading out of town.

As we rolled out of the parking lot, I glanced down at my hands and realized I had left my gloves in the car. If I were to take a spill without gloves, the gravel would not be kind to my hands. Then, as we turned onto the gravel road that leads out of town, I realized I had not let a little air out of my tires. So this was going to be a bumpy ride with no gloves!

Luckily, the washboard roads soon turned into fast, hard packed sandy dirt. The first 20 miles or so were extremely flat, and it seemed that a whole pack of us was flying over 18-20 mph the entire time. I didn’t remember the Hundie from last year being so flat, or fast. We were only slowed down temporarily by the closed road. When I saw the sign I immediately unclipped as we had been told at the riders’ meeting not to attempt to ride around the sign. Just as I unclipped, a bunch of riders flew passed me and rode around the sign. I then clipped in and followed them. I rode in the grass and looked to the left, where I saw the large hole that we had been warned about. It had a Hellkaat sign stuck in it, so it was impossible to miss.

Soon after the closed road, I noticed a girl in the group of riders that we were riding with that had long blonde, curly hair. We kept passing each other off and on, and she would say “good job” every time she would pass me. It was kind of strange, but I felt like I should say something. I looked at her and saw that she was wearing some wild, brightly colored socks, so I said “nice socks”. I then passed her and never saw her again.

The Fiddie riders had to stop in town at about mile 30 at a checkpoint to get a sticker to prove they had not cut the course. As we rolled into town, we were met by a pretty fierce headwind. A group of very fast riders came up from behind me, and I got caught up in their group. I wondered how they had not managed to pass me before, since they were going so fast. My first thought was to pull out in front of them, but then I quickly realized that I could go just about as fast if I stayed behind them, enjoyed the wind block, and took a rest. We soon pulled up at the checkpoint where three or four volunteers were putting stickers on the riders’ tags. I got my sticker and immediately took off. The entire group that I had been riding with stayed behind, presumably for a rest.

So there I was, leaving town, solo, with no riders ahead of me to help block the wind. I remembered the ride out of town from last year, and I knew that the course was going to get hillier. I turned left onto a very sandy road that veered to the right, back against the headwind, uphill. This long, steady climb wasn’t steep, but it was very difficult. The road was soft and the slight upgrade seemed to go on forever. Then I hit hill after hill. My average speed was taking a hit, but I began to catch up with a group of riders ahead of me. At one point I came to the stop of a steep hill and flew down the hill at over 30 mph, when I noticed the stop sign at the end of the downhill that they had talked about at the riders’ meeting. I immediately got back on my seat and began to tap my brakes, while signaling to the riders behind me to slow down. At the end of the hill there was cross traffic that did not stop, and we had to make a sharp right turn. Luckily, I stopped in time and there was no oncoming traffic. The course then turned right, where it got hillier, softer, and prettier as it meandered through some woods.

It was on this section of road that I began to go back and forth with three male riders. One of the guys said as I passed him that his ego was getting crushed by all of the girls passing him on the hills. I laughed and told him he would pass me soon enough, as we had been going back and forth. Shortly after I said this we came across the toughest hill of the race. It was straight up with loose sand and dirt, and even in the lowest gear I wasn’t sure I was going to make it to the top. I did make it to the top, however, with the guy I had talked to right behind me.

At some point an entire group of us took a wrong turn. The course was marked with painted red sticks for the Hundie and yellow sticks for the Fiddie at each turn. If the stick was on the right side of the road, we were to turn right. If it was on the left side of the road, we were to turn left. We had passed a road to the left, but there was no marker. (It’s not unusual for markers to go missing.) Marc had loaded the course onto my Garmin, and it started beeping “off course”. I yelled at the other riders that we were off course. A group had turned left then had come back, and a group had gone straight and had also turned back. One girl said that she had a map and started to get it out of her pocket. I didn’t want to waste time, so I turned around, went back, and turned right. My Garmin then flashed “course found” and I yelled at everyone that my Garmin was on course. This wrong turn caused me to get a head of more than a dozen riders, and I was extremely grateful that Marc had the foresight to load the map. Last year I didn’t have the course loaded, and I took a three mile wrong turn.

With 12 miles to go I started to get cramps in both of my thighs. This has happened before, and I knew immediately that my electrolytes were off. I drank from my Camelbak, which was filled with Skratchlabs hydration mix, as quickly and as much as I could. The cramps subsided almost instantly, but I felt like my stomach had bloated and grown two inches. It then began to drizzle rain, and it felt like the temperature dropped. My gloveless hands were cold and red, and the headwind was making the rain seem even colder.

The last 4 miles to the finish line were fast and flat, but there was a fierce headwind the entire way, and I was cold. With less than two miles to go I saw a group of three women ahead that I had not seen the entire race. I caught up with them and passed them, riding as hard and fast as I could so that they didn’t catch up. I expected them to catch me since they had obviously been ahead of me and had been riding faster for 48 miles, but they didn’t. As I came across the finish line Marc snapped a picture, where you can see my cold, gloveless hands.

After the race, I went inside to 5 Lakes Brewery and changed in the bathroom. I had brought shorts and flip flops to wear as it had been predicted to be 60’s and sunny in the afternoon, but it was cold and cloudy. So I changed into the shorts and flip flops and then went to the car to get a jacket that I had thankfully brought with me. Shortly after I retrieved the jacket, I got an email notification on my phone of the race results. I had finished first in my age group, and the woman who got second was only 38 seconds behind me! She was one of the three women I had passed shortly just before we came into town. The woman who got third place is an extremely strong rider that I had never beat before at a race.

White legs, shorts, and flip flops!

Got my mittens!

 

 

 

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.

The Michigan Mountain Mayhem Gravel Grinder is held each year on the first Saturday of October in Boyne City, Michigan. Boyne City is a lovely touristy ski town at the foot of Boyne Mountain. The website for the Gravel Grinder is quite dramatic and advertises this as “a race like nothing you can imagine”. The race winds through the sandy, dirt, and gravel roads surrounding Boyne City. I had done this race twice before, so I knew that there were two really tough climbs along the route.  Mount Diablo is a 500 foot paved climb that ascends in just one mile, and Mount Bodawei is a cruel sandy, seemingly never ending climb that riders have to climb both directions. The photo below is from my Garmin, which documented the Mount Diablo climb.  It looks quite impressive!

Boyne City is a five hour drive from Valparaiso, and Michigan is on Eastern time, which adds an hour to the trip. Marc and I didn’t want to attempt the drive at 3:00 in the morning, so we decided to take off of work Friday and enjoy the drive. It was a cloudy, overcast day when we left Valparaiso at noon, but it was unseasonably warm at about 70 degrees. The weather forecast for the weekend was lovely for Indiana, but it was predicted to start raining in Boyne City at 10:00 am (the race start!) and continue for about 3 hours. I was grateful that it was predicted to be 70 degrees, as temperatures in Boyne City are typically 40’s to 50’s this time of year. I decided I could handle warm rain.

We pulled into Boyne City at about 7:30 pm and headed directly to Rotary Park, where we were to pick up our race packets. I was mildly annoyed that the girl behind the counter at the park shelter immediately asked Marc his name and began looking for his number, but she looked at me and dismissively said, “You two are together?” I answered that yes, we were together, but I needed to pick up my race packet too. She said “Oh, sorry!” and asked for my name. She then handed me a map and my number as she pointed to some twist ties on the counter. I asked her where our jerseys were as we both had ordered race jerseys and I had ordered a set of bibs. She said “We don’t have any women’s jerseys” and “No one ordered any bibs”. I told her that I had ordered and paid for both and she said “Well do you have a receipt?” I pulled out my phone and began looking for an email receipt, hoping that I had not somehow deleted it. When I finally located the email she said “Well, we don’t have any bibs or women’s jerseys”. I asked her why then had I been allowed to both order and pay for them? She apologized and offered me a men’s size medium jersey that was extremely large. I asked her if she had a men’s small, and she said no, another woman had taken the last small. I then felt bad for the man who had ordered a size small and now wasn’t going to get his jersey. They did have a jersey for Marc, which looked pretty cool. I didn’t get a jersey or bibs, but I did get a refund.

After we got our race packets, we checked into the Boyne City Motel, a quaint mom and pop type of motel a few minutes walk from town. The very friendly man behind the counter talked in a southern drawl and was dressed in a flannel shirt and baseball cap. He said that he was from Bay City, and that his city’s claim to fame was the 70’s rock band The Bay City Rollers. He said that they were from Ireland, but they had gotten their name by spinning the globe and planting their finger where the globe stopped, which was Bay City, Michigan. He then said that his grandmother used to babysit for the pop diva Madonna’s grandmother, and that Madonna had spent a lot of time in Bay City as a child and that he was “pretty sure” he had run into her when he was growing up. He asked why we were in town, and I explained that we were there for a bike race. He said good luck just as two other guys with bikes loaded on their SUV walked in the door.

After we checked into the motel, we drove the short distance to town to look for something to eat. The downtown reminded me of Estes Park, Colorado. The entire downtown area only extended a few blocks and had some trendy looking shops with crafts and souvenirs. There was also an ice cream parlor, and a few places to eat, all of which were closed. It was 8:00 in the evening and the downtown was virtually shut down. We had found a burger place on-line that served veggie burgers that was supposed to be open until 10:00. It was closed. I was beginning to think we were going to have to find a grocery store, when we turned the corner and saw a very fancy looking bar called the Seven Monks Taproom. There were people sitting outside around a fire pit, and it looked like it would be a popular place during ski season. I thought it was just a bar, but Marc walked in and asked someone behind the counter if they served food. The person said yes, and then handed Marc a menu. They had several different kinds of veggie pizzas and French fries. Marc had been talking about carb loading all day, so he was pretty excited about the fries! We ended up having a very strange sweet potato pizza with brussel sprout leaves, a tomato basil pizza, and a basket of fries with the skins on. Marc’s desire to carb load had been fulfilled!

The next morning we woke up at 6:00 am to begin getting ready for the race. The race didn’t start until 10:00, but I needed to have coffee and wake up for a while before I could eat. I typically can’t eat any food for an hour or two after I wake up, and eating before the race was going to be important. I brought some iced coffee and vanilla soy milk in our cooler, and I drank that while eating a banana. At about 8:00 I tried to choke down an English muffin with peanut butter. It took me almost an hour to finish it. We then packed everything up and headed to the race start. It was almost 70 degrees, windy, and cloudy. I was hoping the weatherman was wrong and the rain would stay away! I had put a long sleeved shirt on under my jersey, because I was afraid if it poured I would get wet and cold.  As soon as we got to the park, both Marc and I got on the bikes to ride around for a while to warm up. I quickly realized I needed to ditch the shirt and just go with the short sleeved jersey. I couldn’t believe how warm it was! I went to the bathroom and took off the undershirt, and shortly after I got back to the car it was time for the 60 mile racers to line up. I snapped a picture as the first wave got ready to roll.

Shortly after the 60 mile racers started, the announcer called out for last year’s winners to come up to the front of the 40 mile wave.  Since I had finished in the top five last year (the picture at the beginning of this blog entry is me last year at the race start), I was one of the riders able to take the preferred lead position. There were no other women riders who came up with me, but there were four or five men. I went all the way to the left. I knew that since I was riding a fat bike it was highly unlikely that I was going to be able to hang on to the lead pack, but I wanted to be in a position so that I wasn’t trapped around other riders. Before the other riders in the wave came up to join us I quickly snapped a picture over my shoulder.

Soon, it was time for the countdown to begin. The lady at the start tent had chosen Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin'” as the countdown song. I turned to my left and told her thank you because the song was perfect. 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1…we were off. I immediately saw riders fly past me as we headed through the grass to a brief narrow path through the woods and onto the street. When we hit the pavement I stood up and pedaled as hard as I could in the highest gear, trying to catch anyone’s wheel. I was riding my Sarma Shaman fat bike with 4″ Jumbo Jim tires, and I was competing against a sea of cross bikes with 32 mm tires. There was no way I could get my speed above 20-21 mph to catch anyone around me. I almost immediately regretted riding the fat bike instead of my gravel bike. What was I thinking?

It had begun drizzling as soon as we started, and the drizzle quickly turned into a steady rain. The wind swirled around me as I struggled to catch a group and stay with them. All too soon, I found myself alone. The first 10 miles or so seemed flat and fast, but I was no match for the gravel bikes and cross bikes. After about 10 miles, I saw the sign for Mount Bodawei and I noticed a bunch of riders struggling up the hill. Mount Bodawei is a very strange hill. It doesn’t look like much of a hill, but the steady incline through the sand and mud is grueling. It was so much harder than it looked, and so much harder on the fat bike! I felt like I was treading sand uphill with monster tires that hugged every inch of the road. I looked down at my speed and saw that I was climbing at 8 mph. The only thing that kept me going was the tent at the top of the hill where volunteers would be giving out cups of water. I kept my eyes focused on the tent, as I noticed one rider dismounting and walking the last few feet to the top. This was the only rider I would see walking all day. The people who come out for this race are typically hardcore Michigan dirt riders, and they don’t walk! I wondered if he might have had some mechanical issue. I kept my head down and kept pedaling.

Soon I was happily flying down the other side of Mount Bodawei. I knew that there were only two really hard climbs left, Mount Diablo, then Mount Bodawei from the other side on the way back.  After I came down the other side of the climb, I noticed a group of riders ahead of me that I had somehow managed to catch up with.  The rain had kept coming, and the roads felt like they were turning into quicksand.  The sand and mud were so deep in spots that riders were slipping and siding, and my fat bike definitely had an advantage over the skinny tires.

About five miles after Mount Bodawei the Mount Diablo climb began.  Mount Diablo is a paved climb on the way up, and you turn onto a gravel road for the way down.  It ascends about 500 feet in one mile.  I found myself almost smiling while I was riding up this hill because the pavement made it seem so easy! I settled into one gear, kept my head down, and kept spinning.  At the top of the hill, the pavement turned to the right onto gravel.

I’ve ridden this course twice before, and I don’t remember the descent down Mount Diablo being so terrifying.  My bike kept picking up speed as mud flung into my face, glasses, and hair.  My glasses became completely covered and I couldn’t see.  I had to push them down on my nose as my bike kept picking up speed and sliding in the thick mud and sand.  It was difficult even for a fat bike to stay upright in this mess.  The nonstop rain and mud felt like it was soaking into my soul.  I had been going back and forth with a younger girl on a cross bike for the last 10 miles or so, and I lost her on this descent.  I passed her and never saw her again.

Once the course leveled out, I was torn on what to do with my glasses.  I finally took them off and tucked them in my jersey.  Immediately I thought it was a mistake because mud was now flinging into my eyes and contact lenses.  I squinted to protect my eyes.  I looked at the mud puddles around me and briefly thought of rinsing my glasses in a puddle.  Luckily, just as I was thinking about what I should do, I came across another SAG stop where volunteers were holding out water.  I grabbed a cup and briefly stopped and poured them on my glasses. The girls saw what I was doing and offered another cup of water to wash the inside of my glasses.  Once they were cleaned off I wiped them with a rag I had in my jersey pocket and took off.  It was at this stop that I noticed a group of guys who all had on “Turtles” jerseys.  The pockets said “Leave no turtle behind”.  It wasn’t lost on me that I was riding a fat bike with a bunch of turtles!

For the rest of the race, I decided to focus on the rider in front of me and pass him, then pick out another rider and pass him.  I passed the Turtles guys off and on for the rest of the race, and I passed several guys on mountain bikes who never caught back up.

My Garmin was completely covered in mud and I didn’t wipe it off, because I didn’t want to know how much farther I had to go.  Finally, I relented and wiped if off.  When I saw that I had only gone 25 miles, I decided to not wipe it off again! I also noticed as I looked around at other riders that I was far more soaked in mud than they were. My bike’s 4 inch tires were kicking up clods of mud and sand that literally covered every inch of me. I thought about how challenging it was going to be to clean up before heading home, as there were no showers at the park.

I estimated that I had gone about 5 miles since I cleaned off my Garmin, when I had the terrible urge to pee. Soon, this was all I could think of. The washboard roads weren’t making it any easier to stop obsessing about how much I had to go! It was just a few miles later that I spotted a gray Porta-Potty sitting at the side of the road. There it was, just sitting there! It wasn’t in a farmer’s field, it wasn’t in anyone’s yard, and there wasn’t a construction zone anywhere close. I wondered if it had been put there for the racers? For a brief moment I actually thought of stopping and using it, when I snapped out of it and told myself I just needed to ride as fast as I could to finish the race. I then started to look around at the scenery to take my mind off my potty troubles, and I was just taken aback by how beautiful this part of Michigan is. The course wound through some really beautiful forests, and one forest was so green and mossy it almost looked like a painting, complete with a quaint little cabin. I told myself I would love to come back sometime and enjoy the scenery, rather than racing through it.

The steady rain had settled into just a slight drizzle by the time we passed the intersection where volunteers were holding up “3” signs, meaning there were just 3 miles to go. My urge to pee had been replaced by my excitement at getting close to the finish line. Meanwhile, my disc brakes had been making terrible grating noises because of the sand and grit trapped in them, and I found myself wishing it would start pouring to clean everything off before I headed in the park. Instead, the rain came to a halt as I turned into the park towards the finish line.

The announcer called out each racer’s name as they crossed the finish line. I had finished 11th woman overall, and I was the 1st (and only!) female fat bike. I had slight regrets about not racing my gravel bike, but I was also pretty happy about my finish against all those skinny tires.  Marc finished 2nd in the male fat bike division. Luckily there were hoses in the park where we were able to hose our bikes (and us!) off before heading home.

No, it ain’t pretty!

Dirty shoes…

Yes, This is my Camelbak!

Marc’s podium shot.

The HellKaat Hundie is a 100 mile gravel road race which begins and ends in Dorr, Michigan. The race was previously sponsored by a local bike shop called 3rd Coast Cycles in Hudsonville, but had recently moved to 5 Lakes Brewing Company in Dorr because 3rd Coast Cycles had gone out of business.  Proceeds from the race have always gone to benefit the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. I had done the 50 mile option, the HellKitten Fiddie, last year, and I had won the women’s master’s division, so I was really looking forward to the race again.  This year, however, I had decided to go big and do the 100 miler, not only because I thought it was a fun course, but also because I was training for Dirty Kanza on June 3rd.

Marc had broken his hip the previous fall, and he opted not to race, so I hitched a ride with our friends Kelly and Austin. Since the race was 100 miles, it was scheduled to start early, at 8:00 am.  Since Michigan is on Eastern time, that meant that it would be starting 7:00 am our time, and I had to meet Kelly at his car in town at 3:45 am!

I put my bike and gear in the back of my Kia Soul on Saturday morning, April 22nd,  and headed into Valparaiso to meet Kelly and Austin at the Ironwood parking lot.  Both of them were on time, and both seemed to be way too wide awake for 3:45 am! We loaded the bikes onto Kelly’s Excursion with Marc’s borrowed bike rack, and off we went.

The ride to Dorr was uneventful, and I was excited to see the blue sky as the sun came up.  It was predicted to be cold at the race start, 38 degrees, with the sun warming things up to the 60’s by noon.  We talked about how that was going to make it difficult to know how to dress.  In the end, we all opted to wear our jackets and just unzip if it got too hot. I did find myself wishing that races could be held in decent weather.  Most gravel road races are held in the early spring or late fall, so cold, wind, and rain are usually the norm.

It was cold as we pulled into the 5 Lakes Brewing parking lot around 7:15 am to pick up our race packets.  I had ordered some HellKaat Hundie socks for $15 to help benefit JDR, and they should have been with my racing number plate, but they weren’t. Luckily, I had the receipt on my phone and I showed the woman behind the table, and she gave me a pair of socks.  The registration went very smoothly, and we were back to the car within 5 or 10 minutes.

As we walked back to the car we saw three other friends, Dave, Mark and Chris, had arrived.  Austin and I got ready and rode around the rear parking lot of the brewing company to scope out the course.  The starting/finish line was in a very strange location as it was in the back of the parking lot, and at first I wasn’t sure where it was.  There were a few orange cones and a small tent to mark it, but it would have been easy to miss.  Certainly anyone driving by on the street would have no idea a race was going on.  This was in stark contrast to other races with their taped off finish lines with overhead banners.  There would certainly be no fanfare or cowbells ringing at this finish line!

Austin and I rode behind the parking lot, where we immediately hit gravel after turning right out of the lot.  The gravel was washboard, sandy, and rocky.  I didn’t think anything of it, because the course was 100 miles and would probably be a mix of surfaces.

Soon, it was time to start and we all lined up.  I had some crazy notion that I was going to be able to stay with Austin (who was racing a singlespeed), Kelly, and Dave (who were both on fatbikes) at least for a little while.  I turned to Austin and Dave and asked them to give me a thumbs up.  Austin put his finger up his nose and I snapped a picture.

The race was supposed to start at 8:00 am, but we finally rolled out at 8:06 am.  I managed to stay behind Austin until the 50 milers turned off from the 100 milers, which I think was about 20 miles into the race.  I hadn’t been checking my Garmin, so I wasn’t sure.  Most of the pack that I was with turned right, and the 100 milers kept going straight.  Austin had gotten a lead, and I just tried to stay focused on keeping his bright orange helmet and yellow jacket in sight.  Soon, I lost sight of him as he went over a hill.  When I came up over the hill, suddenly there was no one! I thought there were riders in the distance, so I kept going straight.  Soon, the course dead ended at a highway.  I had foolishly not loaded the course on my Garmin, so I frantically fished around in my pocket for the queue sheet.  I checked the sheet and found that I had gone several miles off course, so I had to turn around.  It turned out that the group in front of me had turned right after the hill and I had gone straight.  By the time I had gotten back on course, I was all alone.

After I had gotten off course, I found it very hard to stay motivated.  The roads were sandy and rocky, and it seemed that I was eternally treading rocks and sand up hills or steady inclines.  There were no fast, fun or rolling sections.  There was farm traffic that kept stirring up dust, and it seemed like the stench of manure and oil fields was endless. I found myself continually putting my buff over my mouth.   This was not the same course as last year, and it certainly wasn’t fun!

I pulled into the first checkpoint at around mile 48 and I saw several girls sitting down, stretching their legs.  A man with a pony tail pulled in behind me and the woman sitting at the table said “that’s the last of the men”.  Great.  I knew I was near the end of the pack, which of course I should have known since I went miles off course.  I went into the convenience store to use the bathroom.  When I got back, the woman at the table asked if she could ride my bike and try out the seat, as she had been wanting a new seat.  I said “sure” as I thought “why not? I’m almost dead last anyway!”

After I got back on the bike, the man who had pulled in behind me at the checkpoint stayed with me for awhile.  We soon came across the two girls and another one, who had a flat tire.  They waved us on and said they were fine.  I found out later these were three young girls on singlespeeds from Chicago who were also training for Kanza.

The rest of the race was pretty uneventful.  The countryside was not pretty, it smelled, the roads were not fast gravel, and I felt like I was crawling.  I found myself seriously wishing I had someone to ride with to motivate me, and I found myself envying those three girls, who obviously promised each other they’d stay together. At about mile 72 I became confused because I passed an intersection that wasn’t marked.  I turned around and went back, then checked my queue sheet, then was relieved that I was on course.

At about mile 96 one of the girls came up from behind me.  She said that she was suffering and just wanted to get it over with, so she told the girls she was with that she was sprinting to the finish.  She said that she was training for Kanza, and I told her I was too.  She said “I can’t believe Kanza is going to be this times two!”  I told her I couldn’t believe how bad this 100 miles was making me feel, and she said “Not every day can be a good day on the bike”.  That made me feel so much better! She ended up passing me and finishing in front of me by less than a minute.

I managed to come across the finish line at 7:59.  I was just thankful I had managed to finish under 8 hours, considering I had gone off course. When I have a bad race, I usually say that I’ll never do it again.  But then I usually end up doing it again! Would I do this course again? Probably. It’s for a great cause, and sometimes it’s just good to get your butt kicked on the bike.

Because of low traffic and road conditions, most gravel races in the Midwest are held in the Spring and Fall. By early Spring, most of the gravel that has been poured to winterize the roads has worn down to make it rideable.  By Fall, the gravel that his been poured for Summer traffic is typically smooth as well.

In the Fall of 2016, the Michigan Mountain Mayhem race in Boyne, Michigan was held on October 1st. The Lowell 50 in Lowell, Michigan was held on October 22nd, and the Zionsville Harvest 50 in Zionsville, Indiana was set for October 29th.

I had previously raced the Michigan Mountain Mayhem course in 2015, and I knew what to expect with the climbing and the chilly temperatures, because the race was so far north. 2016 proved to be a much better year.  Even though it was cold and rained off an on throughout the entire race, I beat my previous course record by over 26 minutes.  I finished 5th woman overall and collected $75.

The Lowell 50 would also prove to be a fast course in 2016. I beat my previous time by 12 minutes, and achieved my highest gravel pace to date at 16 mph, finishing 5th in my age division. I am in the pink and black in the picture below, helping to pull for my friend Melanie, who won 1st place in the women’s fat bike division.

I had lost 10 pounds since doing Gravel Worlds in August, and I was convinced that the lighter weight was contributing to my new found speed on gravel hills. Because of my performance at MMM and Lowell, I was really looking forward to the Zionsville Harvest 50 on October 29th. I was hoping to achieve greater than 16 mph, since Zionsville was extremely flat. It was said to be only 800 feet of climbing in over 50 miles.

October 29th proved to be an incredibly beautiful day. It was sunny and unseasonably warm, in the 60’s, when we started the race. This meant that I could wear just shorts and a jersey, which makes for an even faster ride with less wind resistance. The race was to have a neutral start, with riders starting out at the historic Maplelawn Farmstead and riding about 2 miles to the starting line in a patch of woods, which is pictured at the top of this page.

We began riding from the Farmstead at 10:00 am, and were led by a Zionsville Police car. Even though this was supposed to be a neutral start, this pace car was going very fast, and riders were already jockeying for position.

After several miles, we came to the patch of woods which is pictured at the top of this post. The race start was to be on a broad, dirt walking path through the woods, which was covered with fallen leaves. I didn’t like this start, as racers were packed tight. I knew it would be impossible to see any holes, roots, or obstacles in front of me because of the leaves and the other riders. We were also told to be on the lookout for short, steel poles at the end of the path. This wasn’t good for my PTSD, because a short concrete pole on a bike path had been responsible for my broken arm the previous winter. I snapped several pictures in the woods, and soon it was time to start.

Within minutes, my friend Austin bunny hopped a large tree root in front of me, and I was grateful that he had seen it and had warned me. Thankfully, this trek through the woods was very short lived, and soon we were going very fast on some paved, rolling hills. I was thinking that this was going to be a very fast race. I was wrong.

First of all, Indiana gravel is not like Michigan gravel. It is thick, chunky limestone, which can be extremely uncomfortable. On a drop-handlebar gravel bike, this can wreak havoc on your hands, which take a lot of impact. Michigan gravel, on the other hand, is more like natural hard-packed dirt and sand. When conditions are right, Michigan gravel roads can be almost as fast as pavement. Indiana gravel can be fast when worn down to pea-sized chunks at the end of the Summer. However, it was clear that the roads in Zionsville had all been prepped for the large farm machinery of the harvest season, as well as the Winter. Most of the roads were covered in thick, freshly poured gravel.

The hills of Michigan also offer incredible wind protection. The flatlands of Indiana, especially as the wind-shielding crops are harvested, can produce some very cruel winds. Cruel winds + thick gravel = suffering. The Zionsville Harvest 50 turned out to be 52 miles of this equation.

In addition to the thick gravel and 20 mph winds, there was also a lot of stopping for traffic across busy highways. Some intersections had people assisting with the crossing, while others did not. At one busy intersection, I got separated from the group I was riding with. For a brief period, I found myself riding alone, struggling to maintain a speed of 12 mph against the wind. I fought to catch the wheel of a rider in front of me. He was an incredibly nice guy, as when he realized I was there, he kept looking back to see if I was on his wheel. He even slowed down a few times so I could get back on his wheel after I had fallen off. I was amazed by his chivalry, and I thanked him for being a Good Samaritan and helping me out. I had never encountered that kind of helpfulness in a race before. With his help, I was able to catch up to my friend Austin, who rode with me the rest of the race.

At one point, I heard someone behind me call my name. I looked back and was confused, because I didn’t know who it was. He said he read my name on the back of my number plate and recognized my name from Strava, because I am friends with his his friend Devin. He was a guy named Ted from Terre Haute, my hometown.

At about mile 40, Austin and I were travelling very fast because we had caught a brief tailwind. As we turned a corner, I slowed down, but didn’t anticipate how fast I was going with the tailwind. I hadn’t taken the corner cautiously enough, and I went down in about three inches of gravel. I hit the ground harder than I have ever hit, and my first thought was that I was not going to be getting back on the bike.  I was angry that I wasn’t more cautious, and I was angry I crashed with only 10 miles to go. Austin helped me up and I made sure that I had full range of motion in my arm and shoulder, which had taken a huge impact. I could move everything, so I immediately got back on the bike. I decided I could be in pain either riding or sitting on the side of the road, so I decided to ride. I ended up with a bruise from my hip to my knee, some road rash on my arm, and a pulled something or other in my shoulder.

Perhaps the cruelest part of this race was that after we crossed the finish line in the woods, we still had several miles uphill to ride back to the homestead. I ended up in 3rd place in my age group, with a time of 14.68 mph. This was much slower than I had hoped, but not terrible considering the road and wind conditions.

The best part of the race was the nice gathering and lunch with friends at the Farmstead after we had finished. My sister Arlene and friend Sue had done the 25 mile ride on fat bikes, and my friends Kelly and Eric had finished 1st and 2nd place in the fat bike division. I’m glad that I had the experience, however, this is most likely a race I wouldn’t consider doing again.