Gravel Worlds: The Long Voyage

300 miles.

17,500’+ of climbing.

19 hours 32 minutes.

2nd place.

A cycling experience I’ll never forget.

Three years ago in 2020, a summer of bikepacking confirmed that cycling had become a passion.

I dreamed of one day being competitive in long-distance off-road bike races. In my first true ultra-distance race in late August 2023, that dream came true at the Gravel Worlds Long Voyage.

At 5 pm Friday, in 95-degree heat, the 100+ of us set off. As the miles passed, our group dwindled. By sunset (mile ~60), we were just 9. Someone turned on their headlight. Without a word, the rest of us followed suit. The real adventure was about to begin.

In this self-supported race, the occasional gas station was our only resupply opportunity. Our group had bypassed the first gas station stop at mile 45…the first time we put a foot down to re-up on fluids was not until mile 84. This was my first experience with a rapid self-supported resupply, and it was a learning experience. I was stoked to be first into the gas station, first in line to pay for my bottled water and bag of Peanut M&Ms, and assumed I’d then be first back on the bike. Wrong.

I watched as my fellow riders entered the gas station WITH their bike bottles and bladders, and filled up in the bathroom sink or with water from the soda fountain. As I finished paying, I watched another rider hop back on his bike and take off. The rest followed him shortly thereafter; it took me another few minutes to finally get sorted out and back to pedaling…

I’d lost the group.

I knew I’d likely be slower than most through this first pit stop as it was my first live run-through, but I hadn’t anticipated this dramatic of a difference. After those first few riding hours, I KNEW I had the legs to hang with those guys, and I did NOT want this tactical mistake to be the reason I fell off the front group. Frustrated, I started my chase. Riding in a group is faster than riding solo; with so many miles yet to go, I needed to catch up quickly, but not so quickly that I paid the price later on.

Through those first 84 miles, I’d recognized that, in part due to the 2x gearing on my bike (road gearing..50x34 up front, 11x34 in the rear), I could carry speed through the endlessly rolling terrain better than most in the group; most others were racing on 1x drivetrains, meaning smaller gear ratios. This knowledge, coupled with having a confident feel for the pace at which the group had been riding, I was confident that if I just pushed a LITTLE above where I was comfortable, I would eventually catch up. However, if those up front had seen this natural gap as an opportunity to increase separation and push the pace, my chase strategy might be all for naught. I trusted that, with 8 hours of darkness and 200+ miles yet to ride, odds were that the group pace would still be steady.

Into the darkness, I rode. In a couple of miles, I passed two riders. My confidence grew. After another couple of miles, I passed another. And then another. It wasn’t much longer until I saw more flashing red lights off in the distance. As I crested each rolling hill, I could tell I was getting closer. After a ~15-mile chase, I reunited with what was now the front 4; I made the fifth. Onwards we went into the night. By mile ~110 or so, one of us dropped back. Now we were just four.

As the four of us settled in, confident in our gap and pace, we toggled between silent paceline riding and chatting amongst ourselves. We got to know one another, sharing stories of past races, where we came from, what we do with our lives outside of riding. It fact, it didn’t feel like a race at all. Rather, we were a group of new friends on an adventure through the darkness. For me, these next few hours became the absolute highlight of the entire race, and I feel lucky to have been surrounded by a stellar group of guys - Geno, Mat, and Josh - with whom to share that experience. 

A handful miles into our third century - around 5am - the inevitable shift from ‘ride’ back to ‘race’ took place. 

I remember saying ‘uh oh’ out loud as we saw the sign for an upcoming Minimum Maintenance Road - a dirt road that, when dry, is perfectly rideable. When even a little bit wet, it turns into unforgiving and entirely unrideable “peanut butter mud,” sticking to ANYTHING it touches. The more you try to fight it, the more it globs onto itself. We’d spent the past hour riding through some steady rain…we knew we were in for it.

We hopped off bikes and made our way into the thick grass that bordered the dirt road. Geno, seeing the opportunity to create a gap, started jogging alongside his bike up front, sporadically attempting to ride when the ground/grass felt solid enough to try. The three of us followed suit.

Here is challenge through this mud - if you THINK you can ride, give it a go, and are wrong, you can’t just hop off and start pushing again. You’re faced with taking a minute (or 2, or 5) to clean out the goop that would get so thick it would prevent your wheels from spinning. The four of us scrambled to move forward as efficiently as possible for the next mile.

We finally approached the top of the slight climb in the grass, and I watched as my three companions hopped on their bikes and were able to coast down most of the ensuing grassy stretch. I attempted to do the same, but my wheels wouldn’t spin. I needed an extra few seconds to clean out the gunk.

I thought I’d been gapped. And then I saw an opportunity.

As I rolled downhill, I saw the end of the dirt road. I knew this meant that immediately after the upcoming intersection, we were back on rideable gravel. The other three - already at this intersection that lay in the trough of the wave that are these rolling Nebraskan roads - hadn’t noticed that the mud was now behind them. They hopped off bikes and started pushing up the grass once again. 

I hit the bottom of the grassy descent at a good clip and rocketed past my fellow riders as I pedaled hard up the ensuing rideable road. I looked back as I crested; their headlights were still at the bottom as I began the next descent. We had 90 miles yet to ride, but I figured if there was ever an opportunity to create a gap, this was it. I pushed hard through the next few rolling hills, looking back at each crest. Two lights were far back. One was closing in.

A few minutes later, the light caught me. As he caught his breath, I heard Geno’s voice, “We’ve got a huge gap. If we keep pushing for a bit, I think we can hold them off. Give me a minute, and then I’m ready.” He’d just put out an EXTRAORDINARY effort to close the gap I’d created, and the other two had been unable to match it. Geno and I continued to push the pace. Before long, the headlights behind us were out of sight. We were now a front group of two.

And then, more muck.

While not a dirt road, we encountered a gravel road around mile 225 that was soggy enough that it required a great deal of effort to just keep moving forward. By then, my legs just couldn’t find the power required to match Geno’s pace. Sensing opportunity to create a gap of his own, Geno proceeded to put out another unbelievable effort, and I watched him roll away from me, farther and farther away as we continued rolling up and down along the endless gravel sea. I didn’t see him again; he ended up building a gap of nearly a full hour into the rest of us over those final ~70 miles, and cruised in for the win. An impressive feat to learn about from the outside - even more so to see happen in real-time.

The final 70 miles proved to be the most challenging of the entire race.

The Lincoln area had experienced a TON of rain in the early hours of that morning, meaning the final three Minimal Maintenance Roads we had to traverse were mud.

Through a combination of bike carrying, bushwacking, and stops for shoe and bike cleaning, that first mile-long stretch of mud (mile 252) took me 42 minutes to traverse, which included nearly 9 minutes of stopped time after returning to rideable gravel to clean my bike. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t clear enough gunk off of my little chainring up front to make it usable. Thus, for the final 50 miles, I was restricted to using only my upper half of gears.

Partway through this aforementioned miserable stretch of mud, I could hear voices behind me. I was convinced that Mat and Josh had caught back up. A strong feeling of demoralization almost overwhelmed me, but I kept my head down and kept slogging forward. It was all I could do. After a few more minutes, the voices were louder, there were many of them, and they weren’t voices I recognized. I turned to see at least 20 riders tromping through the mud with bikes on their shoulders; we were now deep enough into our route to overlap with the routes of the 150 and 75-mile riders, and here they were. 

I wish I had words to accurately communicate this surreal scene and associated feelings.

Not yet 9 am, I was sixteen hours into a ride, now almost two hours solo, my bike and I entirely coated in the stickiest mud known to mankind, and here approached dozens of cyclists, carrying their bikes and stomping through muck in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska. I felt horrendous, but I chuckled to myself. “How bizarre of an experience,” I remember thinking. It’s a moment I think I’ll remember forever.

I continued to struggle forward.

The mud stretches threw off my capacity to fuel steadily, and I could feel that I was teetering on the edge of a bonk - a complete depletion of glucose that brings the body’s capacity to exert energy to a near screeching halt. I dropped my pace and focused on eating and drinking. At my last gas station stop (by now FAR more efficient!), I slammed a s’mores pop-tart and Red Bull and took a second pop-tart for the road. Never in my life have I craved a pop-tart as much as I did when seeing it on the shelf. 

Over the course of these final miles, I leapfrogged with Josh, who had caught back up and passed me near mile 255. As I moved forward, my honest mentality was more one of survival than ‘I’m going to catch him.’ I just wanted to cross the finish line.

I caught and passed Josh through the final muddy mile (~275), and held him off until the final mile. I thought I was well clear, but turned around as I hopped off for a final short bike push through the muck to see Josh right behind me. So close to the end, my mind had settled on a second-place finish; I refused to consider dropping to third. As I hopped back on the bike for a final paved mile, I gave the pedals every last drop of energy I had left to get to the line first. I looked back, and Josh hadn’t followed my effort. 

I crossed the line into a huge hug from the race organizer, Jason, who is the ULTIMATE hype man. His encouraging words to me at that moment pushed my emotionally and physically exhausted self to tears.

It was actually over. I’d done it. 

I set a goal of finishing as fast as I could - I would have considered anything under 20 hours a huge success, regardless of standings. Even with the muddy slowdowns, I beat my goal time by nearly a half hour, and had earned the second step on the podium - my third-ever podium in my 3 summers of racing a bike. Proud is an understatement.

To those who have given me rides to/from events or training rides, fed me, offered beds or couches to sleep, loaner bikes when mine had issues, supported me at races, or gone out of their way to connect me with someone who could lend a hand, THANK YOU.

To the brands who have supported me along this journey, whether it’s hydration mix and access to industry discounts (Flow Formulas), deals on bike parts that I wear through WAY too quickly (Maui Sunriders), world-class tires (Panaracer World), on the bike nutrition (The Feed), alcohol-free beer to allow me to train and enjoy my evenings without compromise (Athletic Brew Co), or a great deal on a top tier bike (Revel Bikes), THANK YOU.

To my coach (Paige Onweller), who has guided my training and been a resource for all things racing for the past couple of years, THANK YOU.

Each of you has played a role in helping me get to this place, and that does not go unnoticed. Indeed, I set high goals for myself. Discipline, consistency, and sacrifice on my part are only part of the path to reaching those goals; these things cannot be achieved without generosity and sacrifice from others, as well. The ride might be a solo effort, but by GOLLY is this a team game. 

While I’m excited to relish this moment for a while, the gears in my head are already turning. I’ll see you at the next one…!