The Divide gravel race in Manton, Michigan is a 34 and 51 mile race that begins in downtown Manton, Michigan and winds through the sandy dirt roads that skirt the Manistee National Forest. Manton is a small town with a population of about 1,200 that is located in Northern Michigan between the pinkie and ring finger of the mitten. The land was purchased and cleared in 1872 along the proposed route of the Grand Rapids and Indiana Railroad by two local settlers, Ezra Harger and George Manton. The railroad named the new station “Manton” after George, who was the town’s postmaster. The race was to begin and end in downtown Manton at historic Railroad park.
Race day was scheduled for July 29, 2018, and was to be my 3rd race for the season in the gravel series. This was our 23rd wedding anniversary, so there would be no wine and candles or romantic dinners to celebrate, but rather dirt and gravel with no shower afterwards until we got home.
Manton is almost a four hour drive from Valparaiso, and the race start was to be at noon Michigan time. This meant that we would have to leave at 6:00 am our time in order to make the drive, pick up our race packets, and warm up before the race.
The ride to Manton was uneventful, and we arrived in town around 11:30. We parked in a school parking lot down the street from Railroad Park and Marc unloaded the bikes. While Marc made final adjustments to his bike, I rode circles around the parking lot in an attempt to warm up. There would be very little warm up time, as we still had to ride to the park and pick up our race numbers. The skies were gray and rain was threatening. I hoped it would hold off.
The park was only about two blocks away. As I crossed the railroad tracks to turn into Railroad park, I noticed some very trendy, touristy looking shops and places to eat. I wondered what the tourist draw was in this tiny little town, and I wished I had some time to walk around and take photos. (I later learned there is an Amish community in Manton that may account for the quaint shops). There was a very old grain elevator next to the train station that seemed to be the center of town. There was also an amphitheater in the middle of the park which I learned is the home of the annual local bluegrass festival. I was so rushed, I didn’t have time to take out my phone to snap pictures, so I found these photos on line. Notice the blue skies! We weren’t so lucky.
As we rode into the park, we saw a woman giving out numbers. I gave her my name and she handed me a number plate. She pointed to a white 5-gallon bucket and told me to drop the race number in the bucket after the race. She said they recycle the numbers to use again next year. This was a first, and kind of cool they were so environmentally conscious…or maybe just cheap?
Marc and I put the numbers on our bikes, then parked them to use the bathroom. It was then time to line up, so our warm up time consisted of the few trips around the school parking lot and the two block ride to the park. Marc and I had both chosen to ride fat bikes for this race since we had never done it before and had no idea what to expect for the road conditions.
After we used the bathroom, it was time to line up just down the road from the park to begin the ride out of town. Marc had chosen to do the 51 mile race, and I had chosen to do the 34 mile race for the short series.
It didn’t take long for us to ride out of town and reach the dirt. One thing I noticed right away was how sandy the roads were, which was expected with the race being up in northern Michigan so close to the lake. I also noticed that the roads were not fast and flowing. It seemed as if I was climbing hills almost immediately. As I was climbing to the top of an extremely steep hill, I saw a photographer at the top taking pictures. I took this as a good sign, as typically race photographers will position themselves at the top of the worst hills so they can capture the grimaced expressions on riders’ faces. I was hoping that meant that the worst hills were at the beginning of the race, rather than the end. As I got to the top I said “Well that sucked” and the photographer said “Trust me, it doesn’t get any better. Have fun.” He then laughed. He wasn’t lying! I tried to find this picture on-line so that I could see the expression on my face, but I was unsuccessful.
The race then settled into an endless series of sandy, hard-to-climb-on-a-fatbike hills with very little fast sections in between. It felt like I was crawling, and I wondered what my overall speed would be. After about an hour of endless climbing, the road turned onto a seasonal, unmaintained logging or jeep road through the forest. This road was difficult, with some deep sandy areas and some scary descents. I couldn’t imagine riding it on my gravel bike, so even though the fat bike was harder to roll, I was grateful I had chosen to ride it. I also settled into a group of riders that were going the same pace as I was. One was an older gentleman on a cross bike. He would pass me, then I would pass him, and we went back and forth for miles that we were on the seasonal road. When we finally got off of the seasonal road loop and back on to the hard packed dirt, he said to me in what seemed to be a French accent “You are so good! You push me to ride harder. I’m 73 years old.” What was supposed to be a compliment was hard to take. I was killing myself to keep up with this 73 year old man!
Sample pics of the roads – courtesy of the Divide Facebook page
As we got closer to town, we passed a lot of other riders, but the 73-year-old gentleman remained by my side. I tried to decide if I should let him win, or if I should go for the final sprint. I then decided that this was a race, so I turned to him and said “You always have to sprint at the end”. I then took off, and he didn’t catch me as I passed the finish line. When I came across the line, there was no announcement like in some races, but when the gentleman came across the line, they announced his name and that he had won first place in the 70+ age group. I ended up as first place fat bike in my age group (first and only!) with a time of 2:24 which would have been first place in my age group for cross and gravel bikes. (The winner in my age group for skinny tire bikes was 2:25!)
As I pulled off my helmet and wiped the sand from my face and mouth, a rider came up to me and called my name. It was Jeff Fronek, a rider who followed me on Instagram and Strava, whom I had never met, but who had recognized me. He was very friendly and said that he had seen my name on the registration list and had looked forward to meeting me. As he was talking to me, the woman who had been passing out the race numbers came up to collect mine. I felt like I was being scolded for forgetting to deposit the number in the bucket! Jeff ended up in third place for his age group, his first podium ever! I snapped a picture of him with his phone, just before Marc came across the finish line. Marc finished 1st in his age group for the 51 mile fat bike. The trophies were hand made wooden discs that were very thoughtful.
Anniversary presents!
Jeff is on the left
Picture of local volunteer that I found on-line making the trophies
Marc in action
I had wanted to stay around town and ride around and take pictures, but it began to rain just as we finished with the podium pictures. So there would be no fun afterwards, no standing around to visit, and no anniversary lunch – just a very long ride home and with lots of clean-up. Happy Anniversary to us!
The aftermath of a race…