How I prepared for Trans Iowa

Trans Iowa was the most epic race for me this year. I was nervous. What did I get myself into? Would I be prepared? What equipment, tool or nutrition am I missing? Would I be able to hang with people? What should I know that I don’t know yet?

Looking back, I learned that 80% of this race is mental. Yes, it would be a good idea to get a few centuries in before but Trans Iowa was not decided how fit I was (of course, a certain fitness is required) but how I dealt with myself in my darkest moments. I was teaching myself a certain attitude that nothing can stop me – whether it is weather, sleep-deprivation, hunger, thirst or the blister on my pinky.

But to successfully apply this “No obstacle is too big” attitude, I had to train it.

To get ready for the worst, I had to train in the worst. I had to ride when it was the most humbling with no glory or Strava segments to get. Most of those rides were alone. No one else wanted to join. That was the best indicator for a bad ride.

I still remember one particular time that tested whether I stuck to my own philosophy. Every Wednesday I joined a group ride which was 15 miles away from my place. One day in January, I decided to ride to the group ride. On the way it started raining. The group ride was still happening but we shortened it because it got colder, windier and darker. Everyone was shivering. During the last few miles when we were heading towards the end point of the group ride I was debating with myself. I could easily ask one of the riders to drive me home, sitting in a nice warm, dry car, preferably with seat heating. Or I could ride the 15 miles in this wet, cold, and dark condition home. 

The car option was winning!

But then my conscience reminded me of Trans Iowa. Would there be an option on the course where I could get a ride? That would be called “giving up.” 

I had to ride home!

To avoid someone potentially offering me a ride I didn’t do the usual stop and chit-chat at the end point and just headed towards home. It was cold, wet, windy and dark, but I made it. I realized that more treacherous conditions had to come to make me give up!

Trans Iowa is like an obstacle course with unknown hurdles along the way. Every rider gets their own personal obstacles. It will not be perfect so it’s about how to deal with the imperfection. On a few rides, I simulated running out of water and food. I was thinking of every “worst-case” scenario possible and how I would deal with it. What if I get lost? What if my lights run out of battery? How will I feel at 2 am and how my body will try to convince me to stop and how I will convince my body not to stop. (Cinnamon rolls did the trick for me)

Trans Iowa is an epic event; it is an exciting journey with great people. It is an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment when crossing that finish line! I am very excited for everyone who will race TI 2014!

Inflated tires are overrated – The Filthy 50 race

It was a gorgeous fall day. In the 50s and sunny.

Having learned my lesson from Heck of the North, I enforced my traditional carb-loading the day before. However, instead of apple pie, I found this delicious walnut-cranberry bread from Whole Foods. Quantity will not be disclosed. (Otherwise I will see my name at the next food competition roster)

About 300 racers lined up at the start line. It will be a fast race.

For the first 30 miles I was staring as far as the wheel in front of me, my tongue collecting the dust and my legs in huge argument with its biggest enemy namely lactate. I didn’t dare to make any movement that didnt cause forward-motion. 

I could get dropped any second. 

When I looked up I found myself in a group that was way too strong for me. Why the hell was I here? I was a marionette and played along until someone would cut the strings.

The playground became a cemetery when my legs died at 32mi on a climb: Nature Road. Once on the ridge, it was time to chase. Head down (I was told the course was very beautiful. I missed out on the scenery but I can tell you all about the dust collection on my stem). I caught a few stragglers along the way. 

With about five miles to go I could feel the gravel under me more pronounced than normal.

Do I have a flat?

Wait, do I want to know the answer?

No. Ok, then keep riding and just don’t look.

After a few miles it became too apparent. I had a leak in my front tire. How inconvenient! Even more inconvenient for the wheel because I am not going to stop!

When I hit the pavement the last three miles, I was riding the rim. No air in the tire. Nothing. Nada. Null.

I must say, it is quite strenuous to ride uphill on a flat. The constant banging of the metal against the tarmac attracted some attention on my way to finish line. But it’s all good. My HED wheels don’t even have a scratch.

Results are here: http://thefilthy50.tumblr.com/results

Congrats to all the finishers of the race! I hope everyone had fun! Huge thanks to Trenton for a phenomenal race. With his entire family, neighbors and great sponsors as support, the race was a well-organized event and suited every kind of rider. A 50 miler is the perfect distance for newcomers to try out gravel racing and for veterans to change up the pace.

  

Heck of the North – My toughest gravel race this year

First, thanks to Jeremy and the volunteers for putting on such a great race! 

This race has once again shown to me that gravel racing is a team sport and the competition is me. 

Other racers make this personal endeavor easier by sharing the burden against wind, weather and terrain.

Heck of the North would become the toughest challenge I have faced this year so far.

The first 15 miles was the usual race development for me.

Got dropped. Chased back on. And got dropped again.

But this time I wasn’t able to chase back on.

I got into TT mode for the next 40 miles with Kristin in tow. All headwind. All flat.

I didn’t want to accept the fact that I wouldn’t be able to catch up to the group. It was one against ten.

My energy was slowly draining. The usual spike from an energy gel wasn’t working.

Something was off.

It started raining. Then pouring. Another ten miles to the drop-off spot. Maybe I could catch the group then? I wanted to ride with my friends.

A group of ten came up behind us. The group I was chasing for the last 40 miles.

They got lost. Lucky me!

We all stopped at the drop-off spot. I put my rain jacket on to stay warm but where was my food? I must have forgotten it. Mark and Jon gave me a burrito, gummy bears and a granola bar. I cant thank them enough for that!

That would hold me off for the last 40 miles.

But man, was I wrong!

We got back on the road. Six of us. It was still pouring. Everything was wet and muddy. Glasses fogged up and became useless. Dirt was dripping off our helmets. My cue sheets turned out not be waterproof.

Our group dissolved slowly.  It became harder to grind through the wet gravel.  Drafting became a muddy insult to the eyes.

Corey and I rode together for a while and we took turns fighting the rain. No energy to talk. Words spoken only if necessary.

The last 90 miles took its toll. Despite a gel I wasn’t able to recover at all anymore. I was crawling up rises that wouldn’t make it onto an elevation chart. Corey had to leave me behind.

Only I and two seemingly insurmountable miles to go.

I fell into a delirious state of complete exhaustion, tiredness. Thoughts started creeping up what would happen if I would stop right here and just not keep going. 

I was in my drops. Staying in my hoods became cumbersome. I was hungry. Starving. And sick to my stomach.

Food was in the pockets of my rain jacket. I wanted those gummy bears Mark gave me.

Do I have the energy to take my hand from the drops to reach into the pocket while sustaining my weight with my other hand?

That sounded awfully exhausting.

I decided to wait.

But I needed food! I had to do it! Sunglasses, trash, and a granola bar, I didn’t want in the pocket would make it difficult to get the gummy bears.

In a moment of energy I reached into my pocket.

Sunglasses.

Granola bar.

Where the heck are the gummy bears?

My surge of energy vanished. I had to put my hands back in the drops. No gummy bears.

I opened my eyes as wide as possible so I would know they are open. The yellow of the leaves became really bright. The baby heads in the middle of the roads popped up too fast to avoid at 8 mph.

Would I feel the pain when I crash? Maybe that’s the easy way out.

Okay, another try to get those damn gummy bears. Okay, Monika, don’t be so picky. Whatever I get, I will take! I was reaching into the pocket.

Granola bar.

After devouring half of the bar while losing the other half, I realized I had the rest of the burrito in the other pocket. Where was my mind?

I used the bit of energy I got from the granola bar to fetch the burrito. Too tired to unwrap, I just took a huge bite from the tin-foil wrapped burrito. It was crunchy.

I was staring a few feet ahead of my front tire looking out for rocks. I didn’t want to see the seemingly endless trail ahead of me. What would happen if I’d stop and took a nap right here? I slowed down. Was I even able to slow down? I was crawling.

If I stop here, someone would surely pick me up 2 miles from the finish? Maybe it’s easier and faster just to ride there? But that requires I actually to move my legs. 

An eternity later I looked up and saw people at the road. The finish! How the heck did that happen?!

Looking back, I know what caused my full energy depletion. I hadnt had my traditional apple pie the day before the race. Clearly, that was it! 

Results are posted here: http://heckofthenorth.blogspot.com/2013/09/2013-results.htm

Inspiration 100 gravel race – an accidental dehydration experiment

The stay in a cabin with ten fellow racers the day before the race (thanks to Charlie and his family) set the perfect atmosphere for a successful gravel race weekend – preparing race food, discussing bike gear and talking race tactics.

Every gravel race is different. With gravel worlds still in mind I was lining up at the start line with two water bottles. With refueling stops at mile 40 and mile 70, two bottles would last – so I thought at least. What I didn’t take into account was the fact that everyone else seemed to have a camel bak, which would mean the chance that someone would refuel at mile 40 would be low. 

Deek giving instructions at the start line

Roll out.

So I treated this as a physiological experiment how far two bottles would get me.

Within the first ten miles, the three leaders were already ahead of the group.

The leaders.

At around mile 40 we were still a big group

Our chase group of about 15 dabbled along for a while; no one with a strong incline to burn matches. 

I was sitting on my chosen wheel while we were passing mile 40 – a gas station and first opportunity to stop for water. 

My group chose to continue so did I. 

A lot of rollers.

Some "technical" double track

Dusty!

I was already running low on bottle number 2 but I knew mile 70 would be the next stop. Until then, so I hoped, the group would be smaller, which would make it easier to convince everyone to stop for water.

But for now, another 30 miles to go. Half a bottle had to be enough. 

It became hotter. Dust stuck to sweat running from face, arms and legs. The gravel was deep asking for a lot of effort for little forward-motion. The sudden change of gravel depth required continuous concentration. Slowly but surely, the energy level of the group started draining. 

I kept riding my own pace and at mile 50 I was by myself.

Twenty miles to go. Nothing left in the bottles. I started feeling the effects of dehydration: overheating, headache and hot feet.

Finally at mile 70 I made it to the liquor store to stop for water. Equipped with two bottles, a Gatorade and a snickers bar I was back on the road. That should be enough for the last 30 miles.

I entertained myself with old racing stories and started singing the first line of all five songs I remembered. I tried to solve my biochemistry homework, which gave me headache and caused a drastic slowdown of my riding pace.  

So I focused on the race and the potential whereabouts of all other racers. I had no clue but it gave me enough to think about until mile 93.

I realized all of a sudden that I was VERY tired. “Monika, you are riding a bike, stay focused!” It became harder to hold the grip of the handlebars. My body told me to stop and sleep. I slowed down to seemingly walking pace. The only songs that came into mind were the German and American anthems which kept me upright for the last seven miles. That was a tough race!

Yep, I was thirsty.

We were all exhausted. 

Deek handed creative awards out.

Results are here.
Thanks to Deek Surly and the volunteers for a great event and for taking pictures!

The German survival of Gravel Worlds - a 150 mi gravel race in the oven

I had the privilege to participate at Gravel Worlds– a 150 mi gravel race in no other prestigious region than in the middle of the US…Nebraska. 

The race promoter crew, PCL, didn’t lack any creativity to make this a special race. It all started on a farm owned by a German who kicked off the race with a big circular hip motion accompanied with a noise you would usually hear in the Alpes. He was shaking a massive cow bell. Surprisingly, he didn’t start yodeling.

Nebraskan weather treated us with the best of the best – upper 90s and 20 mph winds. Although this might not be the best outlook for some coldblooded Minnesotans the race was set up that made everyone a winner. Every racer had to buy a lottery ticket on each of the three checkpoints and turn them in after the race. Now we are 203 racers.  Obviously, one of us would win!

Anyway, the more realistic happiness was found in the three additional checkpoints called fittingly “oasis” along the course. That meant six water stops on a 150 mile course. I would carry 2 bottles.

The race started at 6am. I missed the memo to bring a light so my borrowed 50 lumen blinkie shined as far as to the front wheel. Well, with a start right into soft gravel and my newly enforced anti-crash-policy I lost the front group with my friends in it.

Who would I talk to now for the next 149.5 miles? I was concerned.

When finally the sun crept over the horizon and I saw more than my front tire, it was time to chase. About 16 miles and 20 matches later I caught on. I would have been fully content if the race would have been done right there. I was cooked!

At mile 30 we had to buy our first lottery tickets. 15 people stormed the gas station. But I took my sweet little time to refill water bottles and buy my tickets and left the store.

No bikes!

Apparently I misinterpreted the hectic movements of my fellow racers. (I see a trend here for my rather slow stops)

Back on the bike I was reciting the German curse vocabulary while imagining 120 miles by myself. Can I catch on again? 

Where are you, legs?

Shut up, legs!  

Didn’t work! Jens is lying!

But only a few miles later I found my friend Ted at the side of the road getting back on the bike after fixing a flat.

How convenient! That was my chosen wheel. 

Four others caught on to us and our group of six cruised along roller after roller. The sun started frying us. But it was all good. Except one thing.

Me: “Ted, you are too fast for our group.”

Ted: “I have good legs.”

Me: “I realized. Can you please ride away from us?”

Ted: “Nah, I like hanging out here.”

After some convincing, we finally got him to leave us. He ended up second that day to a pro racer.

For the next 100 miles we got baked with a consistent 20 mph wind from the South. If I was dough, I would be done by now. 

The impact of the heat can be best explained by a comment from a fellow racer when we turned towards North:

 “Oh dammit, we have tail wind.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“There is nothing anymore that gives some sort of cooling down.”

Point taken.

It was about 1 pm and around 110 miles into the race with the next 12 miles straight into the head wind.

I was alone. No one insight. No tree. No draft. Just me, loose gravel and a 100 degree breeze right in my face. My mind was already at the next checkpoint.

When my body caught up and I approached the gas station, I saw the three leaders pulling out! 

Only three!? But where are the others?

I found the answer in the gas station. One super clean rider (did he take a shower in the sink?) sitting too comfortable on a bench sipping on his fourth Gatorade.

“Are you done racing?” I asked.

“Nope. Just taking a break.”

“Haha…right! How long are you taking a break?”

“Not sure. Until I cool down.”

“Are you joining me?”

“Naah. I wait.”

Shoot, he was my only hope to mix the next 30 miles up a bit. Apparently, I annoyed him by asking him another five times because he finally got up. I had company! Someone to talk to!

We got lost in a conversation. That got us lost.

Two miles off course.

When we turned around we met up with another group of four. We ended up riding together until the last few miles before the finish. 

At the finish, I was greeted by Corey, the race promoter, a sweet jersey and a lunch box! (I wish I had a picture of that)

What a race! Great organization, challenging course, and a heck of fun! Thanks to the PCL crew for an outstanding race!

Thanks to Foundry and HED to set me up with the perfect gravel bike!

Poutines, dance performance and ditch naps – a 300 mile gravel challenge in Canada

Five weeks after my crash an epic ride was more than overdue. I also have been given the privilege to ride for Foundry, a Minnesotan bike company with the mission to work hard and ride harder. I was excited to test my new Auger in its natural habitat on gravel roads. 

The Muerto Operacion, traversing the Canadian Province of Manitoba, seemed to be great challenge to satisfy my need for adventure - at least 500km through an unknown area on unknown routes with unknown stops. 

So basically we had no clue what we would get ourselves into. Lucky us, there was a supporting Manitoban bike community that didnt think it was a good idea to have a German and American cycling aimlessly in their back yard. So they gave us maps and possible water refill stops.

Thanks to Ian Hall for the maps

Without them, we would have ended up in a ditch-- wait-- I ended up in a ditch!

Never mind.

It all started that Lindsay and Ian gave us a ride from Falcon Lake to Virden.

We learned that Tom Horton had bad coffee, that we definitely should try Poutines and that most of the time the wind comes from the west. Most of the times!

When we got up the next day for this 300mi+ adventure, we learned quickly that this day would be one of the seldom days where the wind comes from the East.

300mi of headwind! Drafting was not allowed.

Not even 300 yards into the ride and we had to ask for directions.

But, we had 70 degrees sunny weather with clear deep blue skies that made up for our yelling back and forth so we could understand each other.

The first 80 miles were on flat, nice smooth gravel. Did i mention flat?

Flat!

Kansas seems mountainous compared to Manitoba.

Neither of us had a cyclo computer so we didnt have mileage, compass and speed.

We just rode.

Since we were so far north, it was hard to tell what time it was from the position of the sun. We could have looked at the phone but we let ourselves surprise when we stopped the first time. It was 12:30 pm when we entered Wawanesa. 6.5 hours of riding. We were hungry and thirsty. We entered the only restaurant in town, owned by a British, ate our fish and chips and off we went towards Holland. 

Fish and Chips in Wawanesa.

On our way of town I almost got us disqualified when I wanted to ride the nicely paved road out of town when Corey stopped me and pointed to his cue sheets.

Ah, right, cue sheets. I forgot already about those. 

I went naturally on the nicely paved roads when Corey pointed out we had to look for a gravel road. We asked for directions.

Four hours later we entered Holland and enjoyed salami rolled chocolate chip cookies on the curb outside the grocery store. While I searched for more fat and sugar in the store Corey got invited to a wedding nearby.

Salami rolled chocolate chip cookies hit the spot

When we got back on the bike, we felt the 130miles in our legs. The next 50 miles would be the most challenging, at least mentally.

It was one road, one direction. Nothing else. Keeping ourselves entertained was key. 

Keeping ourselves entertained.

Corey, is this a cheap version of hide and seek?

Professor Monika studying maps.

New company.

We looked behind us. The sun was setting, slowly but visibly. It got colder.

The sun didnt set until 10:30 pm.

 We wanted to reach the bar in Brunkild by sunset. And we did. Barely. We both were physically and mentally exhausted. We needed some entertainment. To our surprise we got more than the expected entertainment.

When we entered the bar, I walked right into a striptease performance.

I turned around 180 degrees ready to leave.

Have we entered the wrong door? Nope. The bar is right behind the naked woman.

 Once having reached the bar safely we ordered burgers, sandwiches and the notorious Poutines, a combination of fries, cheese curds in gravy. Everything tasted great.

Poutines, chicken burger, cheese burger and melted cheese.

They tried to convince us that the next 200mi might be easier with one Jaegerbomb or 10 - Corey believed it.

The stripper told me we are now the new attraction in town. Two drunk kids came in and ordered jagerbombs for everyone. I played party pooper. Corey played along. 

We were thinking of the cold night outside. I was prepared.

Corey not so much.

His new wardrobe included an XL bar T-shirt, 20 newspapers and knee socks cut into thigh and forearm warmers. I say ghetto, he says MacGyver. (In any case, we chose not to take a picture. He might get ostracized by his local community.)

When we left it was in the low 50s. It was 11:30pm. In the next town we were greeted by a barn with full blasting music coming out. It was full house. Half Manitoba was dancing.

We had to stop here because of my need for a nature break. While I was in the woods, a car was charging towards Corey and stopped shortly before him. 

Then the car left.

Then the police came up to Corey.

Then it left.

What the heck was I missing?

The car was asking if we needed help. The police was asking what the car was asking.

Interesting investigation!

Leaving town we entered the first terrain challenge, mud! I recited my repertoire of German curse words. Despite the shortness of the section I was reminded of this little monster of mud and clay section for the remainder of the ride - I couldnt clip in anymore. 

Mud everywhere!

However, it woke me up. It put Corey to sleep. Or maybe it was the jagerbomb which made him sleepy but all of a sudden he became very quiet.

At 3am we came to an intersection where we had a choice of going north following the route or going 2 miles south into the town of Steinbach trying to find food and drinks. His MacGyver dress was not holding up to its expectations. He was freezing. 

We chose right and looked for food.

Mc Donalds was closed.

Walmart was closed.

What would be open at 3 am on a Sunday? It was Tim Horton. The irony made its circle. The bad coffee tasted wonderful and the Boston creme donuts just delicious. I had two more just for verification purposes.

Only option at 3am on a Sunday. I couldnt ask for a better meal.

Looking back, this stop was essential because the next section was brutal. Besides that was my turn to get tired. I was swerving, seeing elks in the woods and turbines as houses. At some point Corey asked to stop to put some lotions on some body regions.

When he took care of some business I found the grass to look very comfortable and soft- almost like a pillow. 

I had to test it.

I softly hit the ground and was out for the next 5 minutes. 

My bike and I needed a nap. Right here, right now!

After my little nap I was ready for more adventure. The adventure included new terrain and it didnt get easier: deep sand and creek crossings. The 20miles to the next gas station felt like 60.

Keep on moving otherwise we became breakfast for the mosquitoes.

The fact that I wasnt able to clip into my shoes didnt make it easier. We ran out of food and water. When we stopped, we became breakfast for the 100 mosquitoes.

We also learned that horse can fly comfortably 25 mph and still can bite you.

In crawling pace we made it to our last stop before the finish line - a gas station. I realized too late that the tap water was undrinkable. With all the mud I ate, that little bit of water contamination wouldnt make any difference. After refueling and some small talk with a Russian we entered the last section of the ride and finished in 31 hours with 300+ mi of headwind.

This was the second part of our route:

The course, the people and the weather was exceptional! What a great adventure!

Now I got seriously addicted. I am already thinking about the next challenge.

• Thanks to Hal for creating this great challenge.
• Thanks to Lindsay and Ian for giving us a ride to Virden plus the maps and the recommendations! What a great Manitoban cycling community!
• Thanks to Foundry, especially Matt, for a giving me the privilege to ride such a great bike! The bike is made for this kind of adventure. Very comfortable and no mechanicals!
• Thanks to HED Cycling for sweet gravel specific wheels! With 25 mm light rims that made the ride very comfortable. The wider rim fulfilled its promise for fewer flats. I had none!
• Both the bike and the wheels cushioned the impact of the gravel. My back felt great, which is usually the first affected area from rough terrain.
• Thanks to Corey for joining me for this adventure and for taking these great pictures and listening to all my stories, at least nodding at the appropriate moments.
• Thanks to Thomas from Angry Catfish for getting my bike ready and for his patience with all my bike adjustments.

Operacion Muerto

My next challenge - Operacion Muerto - a 300mi gravel challenge across the Canadian Province Manitoba - is now posted on my website:
http://monikasattler.com/11.html

You can follow this challenge via spot tracker:
http://share.findmespot.com/shared/faces/viewspots.jsp?glId=0NL3ldPJCuhlAShJdSo2Fiy0rNurXWC8v

Dirty Kanza – Now the dirty stuff

PRE-RACE

To split the drive to Kansas, I stopped overnight in Iowa, and visited my Trans Iowa friend, Steve.  During a bike ride together, I realized that something was very wrong with my bike. I decided that I will not race my current bike at Dirty Kanza. I had to find a different bike. I had one day to figure it out.

Luckily, the Sunflower Outdoor and Bike shop equipped me with a rental bike. I was nervous to race a bike for 200 miles that I have never ridden before, but the alternative, I decided, would probably have been worse.

With some big competition showing up for the race I hoped that the bike change would not be a total disaster. When I rode with Corey the day before the race I was not really confident about anything – my bike, my legs, my mindset. The bike problem drained me mentally. Now it was a matter of how to deal with it during the race.

Although my legs were heavy when I woke up on race day as soon as I saw the start line, all worries vanished and I was ready to race.

START

The first 17 miles were head down, following fast moving wheels, trying not to let the lead group get away.

But that ended at mile 17 when we came up on a mud section. While everyone took the smart way through the grass, I chose the most direct way route, straight throught the mud.  I pushed my bike, walking beside it, collecting about 10 lbs of everything that could stick to my bike (I know, I know, I had 180 miles to think about this mistake).

While I cleaned up my bike so the wheels would at least spin again, everyone and anything passed me. After about five minutes I got back on my bike and fought for 15 miles to clip into my pedals (I use road shoes because of previous knee problems).  To put it mildly, I was rather unhappy with the situation.  I alternated between English and German curse words.

After stopping at a creek to wash off shoes, bike and Monika, I was able to clip in again.  I put my head down and rode as hard as I could to checkpoint 1.

After two minutes at the checkpoint, I was back on the road. I didn’t know how many people were ahead of me. I was afraid to ask. While getting ready to grind up the next 50 miles to checkpoint 2 someone came up behind me.

Corey!

He had a flat earlier that cost him considerable time.

All unhappiness I might still have had from the mile 17 mudpocolypse dissolved. A new race began for me. A race with a friend, fighting together against our adversary, the headwind.  I say together, but I don’t really give the best draft, if any at all, to a 6’5” person.  We alternated pulling each other over the the hills and flats for the next 100 miles. We caught up with another Trans Iowa racer, Eric, and we all worked together and shared food. Man, those guys are awesome!  These moments are what makes gravel racing a great sport.

Around mile 130 they let me go. I rode my pace chasing racers in front of me. Strangely, I saw a bunch of riders coming my way. The wrong way. I got nine extra miles.  Others more.  Regrouped, ten or so of us rode together to checkpoint 3. One of the guys told me that Selene (who was also in the group) and I were second and third place as of now.

While in checkpoint 3 I ate everything I found on that table my support, the volunteer group Pablove Grub, offered. I was starving. 2 muffins, 3 cookies, a bar and a gel later I was back on the road.

Selene was up the road. For the next five miles we traded spots, but we ended up riding our own pace. I saw another racer in the distance. I wanted to catch him.  All the food I just ate kicked in and I was in TT mode catching my carrot in the distance. 

That carrot turned out to be a tough cookie though, because every time I came close, he sped up. We played that game for 45 miles. This was very entertaining because all of a sudden we were back in town with the finish line coming up fast.

Spectators were lined up for hundreds of meters along the road cheering and clapping. I couldn’t help but smile.  Although the race started on the wrong foot, I really enjoyed the day out there in the vast beauty of Kansas.  An epic day like this makes it difficult to go back to the mundane of everyday life.  But I’m happy to have the memories of our ride at the 2013 Dirty Kanza. What a great day!

Results are here

(After the race I couldnt find my car anymore and I asked the Emporian bike police for help. Seven motivated police cyclists made a town-wide search and found my car! I thought that was absolutely awesome!)

Dirty Kanza 200 – A gravel race in Kansas!

It’s Monday morning and I am back to “normal life”. Just 36 hours ago I was riding through the Flint Hills of rural Kansas. The dichotomy of the two lives couldn’t be larger. How would it be possible to express in words what happened at Dirty Kanza?!

Let’s start at the beginning….

If I had to rank all US states for a race venue, Kansas would most likely be a favorite for the lanterne rouge jersey. Still, when I heard about Dirty Kanza, there was no question that this would be on my race calendar. I have never been to Kansas before and heard so much about it, most of it that it has a lot of cornfields and is supposedly flatter than a pancake.

So would Dirty Kanza just be a flat 200 miles gravel race circumventing cornfields?

I found out very quickly that it couldn’t be further from the truth.

Race promoter, Jim Cummins, created an event that draws cyclists from all over the country and even the world to Kansas. This event is not just a gravel race. It’s an adventure, a sightseeing tour and a festival all at once.

With 900 racers coming into the host town Emporia turned into a cycling mecca. The Emporians were all giddy with excitement. Restaurants and vendors made special arrangements and sales for this weekend. This was heaven for any avid cyclist.

On Saturday at 6:00am Emporia’s streets were swarmed by all the racers buzzing through the town. The excitement and nervousness lie heavily in the air. Spectators were cheering. A great start to a great day.

Racers at the start line, Photo by Corey Godfrey

The competition was tough: Nature!

This race proved our vulnerability to the elements. The racers fought through 20-30mph head- and crosswind. 

Working my way through the hills of Kansas

Innocent looking climbs were taking its tolls on the racers. The strong headwind doubled the time to climb those hills. The roughness of the gravel put strain on the rider and played games with our equipment. 

Flats are common in this race, Photo by Corey Godfrey

But exactly these conditions made this race so special. It pushed the physical and mental limits of every racer while creating an unforgettable experience that is hard to explain to people who have not had the opportunity to experience it yet.

Only few trees on the course that could protect us from the wind, Photo by Corey Godfrey

 The challenge was sweetened by the beauty of the landscape. The rich colors of the sky and the grass made me feel I was riding in a painting.

Photo by Corey Godfrey

  The sky and grass were melting to one at the horizon with no man-made structure in sight. Complete remoteness.

Photo by Corey Godfrey

Cows and horses were lingering in the vast land of grass. There were some sections of the course I wondered if I could see the Pacific in the distance. But other sections proved that Kansas is not exactly flat.

I had the fortune to share the challenge and the beauty of this race with friends I knew from previous races. We went together through ups and downs – literally. There is a certain bonding created that is hard to describe. 

Corey and I climbing up on one of those "small hills" 

Exhaustion evaporates when anticipating the finish line back in the town of Emporia after a grueling 200 miles through the beautiful Flint Hills of Kansas. The joy of finishing is amplified by the greetings of hundreds of cheering spectators and a proud race promoter.

The awards ceremony the following day

I left Kansas with great memories that are hard to describe. Jim put on an unforgettable race that is challenging and fun at the same time.

A lot of thanks:

• Thanks to the race promoter, Jim Cummins, and his crew for a phenomenal race! Fun, challenging and very well-organized! It’s a must-do for every gravel racer!
• Thanks to all racers for making this a great race. 
• Thanks to Sunflower Outdoor and Bike shop for setting me up with a bike! Without you guys the race would have looked very different!
• Thanks to Pablove Grub for the crew support, especially to the girls at checkpoint 3 for cleaning out my dirty pockets!
• Thanks to Jennifer and Natalie for a great hospitality!
• Thanks to the Emporia bike police for finding my car.

The Royal 162

I was really looking forward to race the Royal 162 because that gave me the chance to see so many people who I met at Trans Iowa. It’s like a re-union of sorts. In fact that is why I love gravel racing – the community creates such a laid-back but still competitive atmosphere. Chris Skogen, the race promoter, is the incarnation of the gravel racing spirit. His race was a perfect example what gravel racing is all about. “Be nice and enjoy the ride.” That was his mantra for this race.

At 7 am between 30-70 racers congregated on the main street in Spring Valley, Minnesota. As a warm-up we sang Happy Birthday to Chris’s son. And then off we were for a challenging 162 miles. We had our cue sheets all printed out so we knew the course. The question remained…would I use them?

Photo courtesy of Corey Godfrey

Easy peasy tempo the first 20 or so miles chatting it up through the first few rollers. But I always had an eye on my chosen wheel to follow. Early in the race I give all racers a secret ranking from stay-the-heck-out-of-that-draft to potential-wheel-sucking-opportunity to start-appreciating-the-racer’s-sweat-odor-now…. I found my chosen wheel.

Not even 20 miles into the race and a creek crossing later it was only four of us. I was concerned! But first and second ranked wheel were right here so it was all good.

Approaching the first potential stop to refill water, wheel 1 wanted to stop, but wheel 2 wanted to keep going because his bike was decorated with water bottles on every possible spot. I was jealous!

I had to stop.  No cinnamon rolls today. My engine was still running on the apple pie from the night before.

We left the gas station and wheel 1, a.k.a. Dominic, chased and passed everything that could be of any potential threat. And when there was no threat anymore he just rode a leisurely pace which made me burn through my apple pie storage so quickly that I wished I had eaten two the night before. 

When we re-entered the Almanzo course, Dominic found new motivation to speed up. We had been averaging 17.6 mph for the past 120 miles.

My fuel light had been panic flashing at me for the past 20 miles. Finally, the German engine had to succumb.

I got dropped.

Okay. New situation for me. I had a choice. Wait for wheel 2, somewhere behind me.  Or, try to stay away for 40 miles? Let’s play the game and stay away.

Now, I had a chance to see more than rubber. Wow, what a scenic race! Volunteers and spectators were cheering. Everyone was embracing the spirit of the race. Be nice and enjoy the ride! It was sunny, the temps lingering somewhere in the 70s. A light breeze coming from the finish line. This cant get any better! What a great race!

Snap out of it! No dreaming, Monika! Oh yea….where were my cue sheets again? Which mileage are we on? Ahh…all the Almanzo racers around me would know the course. I am fine.

Well, not so fine as I found out at mile 145 when I got lost.

Yep, despite being surrounded by hundreds of racers it was still possible to get lost. (I knew why I wanted to stay so badly with racers at 4 am during Trans Iowa. Chances that I would have ended up in Missouri were insurmountably high.)

Wheel 2, a.k.a. Jim, caught up with me. We were both lost. A dead end turn-around, a phone call, 4 miles and 20 minutes later, we were back on course.

It was a little unsettling. How many Royal racers would have passed us?

While Jim and I rode side by side I was still fishing for my second to last cue sheet somewhere in my jersey pocket. No cue sheet to be found.

So while getting dropped at that beastly hill at mile 155 or so, I asked for directions by Almanzo racers to the cheering finish line.

People lingered in the grass enjoying cold beer and sharing stories about the day. What a great event! Thank you to Chris Skogen, the volunteers, and all the racers for such a spectacular time!