Reed All About It

For my first gravel event, I don’t think it could have gone better! I was nervous, for sure, because I only just got my gravel rig — a 2018 Specialized Sequoia — last October. And it’s one thing to ride gravel on a fatbike with beefy 4+ inch tires and quite another to “unlearn pavement” on a drop bar steel frame with 42 millimeter/1.6 inch tires.

Sunday was the sixth year for Mark Johnson’s 80-something mile Grumpy Grind gravel race out of Milledgeville, Il. Each year is a different course, unveiled the morning of the ride when participants are handed their cue sheets. Mark was clear in warning riders it was unsupported with just water and some snacks available at the midway checkpoint, adding riders needed to finish the 86 mile course by 4 pm.

I loved the idea of this challenge and despite my longest gravel ride having been a recent solo 100k, I was anxious to see if I could handle it, but honestly doubtful I’d make the cutoff time.

I knew several friends of the bike shop doing it, but I’d decided I was riding this by myself and didn’t let myself plan for “what ifs” and use my friends as “fall backs” in the event my ride went off the rails. I had no Plan B. If we rode the same pace? Awesome! If not, I was not going to slow down or push my pace to stay with anyone. I intended to do my thing, plan accordingly and hope for the best.

Between energy gels, waffles, protein & candy bars, I packed enough nutrition to share and had 3 water bottles mounted on the bike with powdered Roctane, Tailwind and Skratch for each. My tires are setup tubeless, but I had 2 tubes and CO2 cartridges in the event of burps or flats. Empty gel packs could serve as patches if a tire got a gash. Any mechanical failure? I’d be fubar’ed.

At 8:45am the fellas rolled toward the start area, lining up toward the front. “How optimistic,” I joked. After a few words from Mark, me and 90 other riders took off. I tried to stay loose and watch the wheel ahead and the riders around me. Joe took off quickly, as expected. He’s a seasoned gravel rider, great cyclist and finisher of several Grumpy Grinds. Zoran and Mark were near me, but I sensed they were soon off on their own so I ended up falling in with strangers.

It wasn’t my intention to be in a paceline, and I was too scared to take my eyes off the wheel in front of me to turn around and look back, but as the course steered us east into headwinds, it was nice to have bikes and bodies blocking that wind. To quote a member of our shop’s Thursday night gravel rides, “Riding in that draft is soo easy…”

About 14 miles into the ride, I found Zoran and Mark on the side of the road having snacks so the three of us hung together for the next 25ish miles. Eventually the guys fell back while I stuck to my pace and forged on alone. I wasn’t riding super hard, but I felt strong and wanted to see how long I could maintain it before buckling. But going solo meant I’d have to start following the cue sheet. Except for one near miss, I managed each turn though my system of stuffing/pulling the cue sheet from my handlebar bag for each turn sucked.

Rolling into the check-in, I gave my name, unloaded my garbage, dumped my powder-filled baggies into empty bottles, refilled them with water and took off as Zoran and Mark pulled in. The remainder of the ride was just plain awesome. Because I log the majority of my miles alone, I wasn’t bothered being the only person out there. I blew by a couple guys and was passed by a few as well, but for most of the second half, the road lay gorgeously empty both ahead and behind me.

The one challenge was a four-mile segment straight east into the wind. With no draft to ease the pain, I put my chin down and tried to pedal easy. My right quad started cramping so I took some salt, a few fingers on my left hand went numb, my lower back ached, my neck tightened with knots and I had to keep reminding myself to lower my shoulders. But there was NOWHERE else I’d rather be. These aches were minor. The pain? Frivolous! I was damn lucky to have the health and fitness sufficient to grind it out. Even during those four ugly miles, it was a privilege to be on my bike! 

As soon as that segment ended, like a horse sniffing the barn, I shifted into the big ring and sped off toward a finish that was just an hour or so away. And speaking of horse, around Mile 82, just as I was approaching a bridge, three big, beautiful horses were running free . . . straight at me! I did all I could to pull over and get a picture.

Just as the horses three disappeared, so did the gravel end, pavement begin and the bumpy finish through the field greet me. It was over! I’d made the 4pm cutoff with a few minutes to spare and finished in 31st place! Joe greeted me, having finished an hour earlier, and Zoran and Mark rolled in just 10 minutes later. A fourth friend, Seth, came in a few minutes after Z and M, but with an extra 10 miles due to a missed turn.

The Grumpy Grind was done and it was awesome. So awesome that I couldn’t finish a day in the saddle at 86.2 miles . . . when I got home, I went out for an extra 13.8 so I could hit the hay with a cool 100. Now . . . when’s my next ride?!!!

For the second year, my crazy and wonderful crew participated in the Bettendorf Halloween Parade as the “Brooms Are For Amatures Bicycle Coven,” rolling along and tossing candy to all the scariest and sweetest.

Held last Saturday night when it was cccccold, we doned layers under our costumes, filled our bags, charged our lights and hit the streets!

The early arrivals!

The first sect of our coven!

Cat Butler and his beautiful family!

Our cat witch!

Our witch who can wheelie!

Our coven killed it with the candy AND pacing, so much so that many of us had a piece or two left for tossing as we made the final turn into Splash Landing!

Last year we won second place. No news yet on how popular we were this year, but we definitely cast a spell on those crowds!!! Given that we survived such a chilly night, we may have another festive appearance in store next month!!!

I don’t know what I was thinking going into last week’s final “official” gravel ride from Healthy Habits Bike Shop. Many of the guys said it was going to be an easy pace. Uh huh.

We started a half hour earlier because the ride would be 30+ miles vs. our typical 20ish. The shop filled with excited riders, some I’d not seen join us before, but when we gathered out back I was immediately concerned with one who’d brought their fat tire bike. We were facing sustained head & cross winds of 25 mph gusting up to 37. It was not a night for fat tires.

As we rolled out on the Bettendorf Bike Path, the lone fat tire rider realized their misstep and returned to their vehicle. This made for 13 riders, and it would take me about as many hours to cease being pissed off over how hard we rode.

I was on my Sequoia whose wheels I’d adorned with LED lights in preparation for an upcoming night parade. Apparently they looked cool, giving off a Tron’esque vibe, but looks don’t cut the butter, and they certainly didn’t cut through that wind.

Our typical route out of town takes us roughly three miles along paved bike path and another two miles on road shoulder before we actually reach gravel. When we passed under the I-80 overpass, riders started to stretch out. By the time we hit gravel, I was the caboose.

And that’s how it was for the duration. Angry thoughts began raging through my head — “This is BULLSHIT!” “What the fuck am I doing out here?!” Eventually turning into self-defeating no-helpers like “I don’t belong out here!” and “I should just quit,” peppered with some mind-murders of Zoran and Bruce, who were at the front, pushing the pace.

Dan, manager of Healthy Habits, was the first to encourage me to draft, yelling over the wind, “Stay just left of my rear wheel,” which would allow me to conserve some energy as he served as a wind block. But as soon as we hit a slight incline, I’d fall off a mere inch and BOOM! the wind would knock me back and all the way across the other side of the road.

At one point he shouted, “We need to get you arm bands! Your jacket makes you look like the Michelin Man! Bahahahaha!” That’s when Dan became Victim #3 in my mental, homicidal rampage.

Then a Chinook flew overhead. Wh, Wh, WHAT?! Yes, a huge, giant, military helicopter. WTF?!!!! Of course I was too busy focusing on not getting blown into a ditch to actually look up, but then again, it was dark, so . . . yeah, helicopters.

At every turn, the group stopped and waited for me (they’re gentlemanly like that) and for a bit, I’d be able to hang until one of those huge gusts had its way with me. After a particularly bad one, Karl who was riding his MOUNTAIN BIKE (yeah, he’s pretty bad ass) hung back and played windbreaker, but as soon as we turned and had a tailwind, HE GONE!

And one would’ve thought once we’d fought all those miles into the wind, our final miles with a tailwind would be glorious reward, but I was completely spent. How did I lose my cycling fitness so fast?! It’d only been 7 weeks since Ironman Wisconsin, but holy hell, my legs were smoked.

As if we’d not gone hard enough, the boys grabbed that tailwind and dropped the proverbially hammer, their taillights quickly vanishing into the night until we regrouped at a truck stop. (Sidenote: When the ride uploaded to Strava, I’d earned 12 achievements including a QOM (Queen of the Mountain) along this first stretch of tailwind gravel. And I snagged that QOM with a minute and a half to spare. REALLY?! On a night like that, when I averaged 13.2 mph? I know the previous QOM and she ain’t no slouch! This was PROOF the pace need not have been this crazy!!!!)

Jacob was kind enough to hang back with me from the truck stop as we rolled along the streets of west Davenport back to the bike path and Van’s Pizza where the crew stopped to refuel.

I opted to by-pass the carbs and ride back to the shop with Vinny, the most relaxed 7 miles of the ride. Through our chatting, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and began to feel a touch of gratitude for my healthy body. But it wouldn’t be until I arrived at work the following morning when I could “process” the prior evening’s BS with Dan and Bruce that I’d stop being so ornery. When I brought up all the Strava achievements that not only me, but EVERY other rider but Bruce got, he offered to ride gravels with me — Bruce on his fat tire and I on my Sequoia. I replied with a flat, “Thanks.”

But neither Bruce nor Dan suffered my angst for long. Basically I needed to suck it up and reflect on the hard truth that such conditions and paces will make you a better rider. And this point was proven during my lunch hour when siting at the bar in the shop, I started reading an issue of Bicycling magazine in which a pro rider offered advice on keeping up with fast riders.

Leah Thorvilson, winner of the 2016 GoZwift Academy, said, “Plan to get dropped. You don’t always want a slow or no-drop ride–explore your comfort zone and get out of it. Look for a group ride in your area with a pace that’s challenging, but within your ability and a route you know in case you get dropped.”

(Dan later admitted to leaving the magazine open to that article. SERIOUSLY? I’m that transparent?!!!)

Today, I read a blog post on professional mountain biker Kyia Anderson who gave similar advice: “I learned really quickly that the faster you descend the better, as that is the only way to keep up with the group I started with.”

So I guess I need to swallow my pride and take on the tougher rides. Apparently my nearly 2 months of rest since IMWI is done.