If you’re not a rider or racer, this one might not strike a chord, but I’m hoping it can serve as inspiration to anyone trying to do something out of the ordinary. I’ve had this gravel race on my calendar for four years, but with injuries, wedding gigs and the 1st annual Island Radio Music Awards, it just never worked out. But this weekend we pulled it off in style.
We loaded up Junyer for a quick and dirty one-night dash to the Badlands, South Dakota, for a rendezvous with the Gold Rush. In the land of the Lakota, hundreds of riders lined up in 4 different waves. I was in the final wave for the 50ish mile Fools Gold. Out of gate, the five-mile neutral rollout wasn’t so neutral and I found my heart rate spiking early. The second our escort through town peeled off, the attacks began. I pointed out Max (a UCI top 150 Junior) to Kamiah as the guy who’s going to win the race, and he was the first to attack. Howard from NH went with him and so it began. I marked a female racer from Boulder, CO, as a top five finisher and thought I’d try and hang on her wheel, but when nobody else went with the 2-man breakaway, I thought “What would Kamiah do?” and I closed the gap and joined the lead two. For the next 50 minutes the three of us rode together, pushing 300 watts (according to Max), shattering my hour of power heart rate numbers. After I lost contact with Max, my NH comrade and I gave it all we had. In total, we climbed for 2 hours and 20 minutes over the course of 27 miles and covering nearly 3800 feet of elevation. When we hit the aid station, the volunteer crew was fired up telling me, “You’re second,” and on we went. We flew down the 14-mile(ish) gravel descent still mashing on our pedals, knowing we were being chased, but having no clue how far behind our pursuers were.
We hit the pavement 2 hours and 50 minutes into our ride, still in 2nd and 3rd place. On a drop bar mountain bike with fat (by gravel standards) 29er tires and a 1×11 drivetrain, I knew the last 14 miles on pavement would be the worst, and I quickly lost contact with Howard who I’d ridden beside for nearly 3 hours. When Kat from Boulder blitzed by me I thought that was it, I was caught, but somehow, maybe it was my early morning prayer, or my wife’s GF Better Than Blondies bar, or the Rockstar aid station workers that quickly filled my Camelback and handed me a banana, or perhaps how deeply we turned ourselves inside out on the climb, I hit the finish line in 3 hours and 21 minutes, 4th overall, and 3rd in the men’s division.
The smile at the finish says it all.
Fools Gold top 3 Men’s Division.
Howard (2nd) from NH was a beast and Max from Indiana (the winner) is a straight up phenom. Max (the young gun) and I shared some big heart rate numbers, with me averaging 165 HR (he was at 160 HR) for 3 hours and 21 minutes and each of us topping out at 183 heart rate max.
So, here’s the backstory about this race. I originally planned on riding the 76 miler but knew the average ride time of 6+ hours was going to be pushing me well beyond my 4 hour weekly long ride. Being a spondy athlete and battling overuse injuries means making smarter choices. Before every ride I repeat this mantra to myself: ride smart, ride safe, ride strong. When I changed plans from the 76 miler to the 50ish miler, it was considered a “downgrade.” But as I shared with a group of high schoolers at a Bay Area commencement speech earlier this month, success shouldn’t be based off of volume, distance, size, but rather by heart, effort, and whether or not a given experience fosters meaning, purpose and connection.
I’ve got to give it to the race organizers of the Gold Rush, Perry and Kristi Jewett, who really know how to put on a great event–talk about a good vibes gravel grinder. It’s Perry’s early morning rooster calls that first captured my attention when watching their four-minute promotional video (one I’ve probably watched over a dozen times, the best promo video of any of our regional gravel events, hands down). The Fools Gold was a new race distance for this event and without it, I wouldn’t have shared this experience with my wife and daughter (who are ready to make it an annual ritual), I wouldn’t have fallen for Spearfish (one of my best friends, a South Dakota boy through and through sent me Black Elk’s Prayer and wrote me before we left “So excited for you guys to go on this trip. You might just fall for the Black Hills and never return”), and I wouldn’t have competed with and beside these two warriors–and so many others that were riding and racing their butts off in this 50ish mile throwdown.
Howard “downgraded” because of knee issues following multiple knee surgeries, but make no mistake about it, he’s a stud with an engine. Max, the young phenom was one of 9 juniors who competed in the EuroCrossCamp in Belgium, and generally competes in high level cross and XC events, riding at threshold for 90 minutes tops, so the 5-hour average time for this event was stretching himself. And I, the spondy athlete, opted to race the Fools Gold rather than ride the Gold Dust. Did we ride the longest of the four distances? Nope. Was ours the strongest field? I think not. But was our experience or effort a downgrade? Well, looking at the numbers alone I’d say absolutely not, but this story and experience wasn’t about the numbers; it was about exploring an area sacred to the Lakota people on a bike, being with my girls, connecting with people from across the region who like us, love to ride bikes, while competing and grinding with these mates.
Riding a bike, much like pain, is relative.
Numbers are fun, but it’s not about the numbers. It’s about the love of the ride, the power of place, and the connections forged.
I don’t know how my body is going to respond from this big race effort, but I do know that nothing about my experience was a downgrade.
With nothin’ but love, MWL