Fun Hurts!

Photo by Scott Tribby @s_tribby

It’s a lot harder to write about the event that you’ve done and written about before. That’s why my race reports from this year’s Lake City Alpine 50 and RAD are still due. Can’t quite find an inspiration. And the longer I procrastinate, the harder it becomes, as the memories fade and are replaced by new experiences. Grassroots Gravel 2024 took place 2 days ago. I don’t have a plan for this story, but I’m gonna try to go with the flow and see where it takes me. At the end of the day, it goes along well with my plan for the race: my pacing strategy was not to think about one (too much); and part of the fueling tactic was to go with the “Flow” who was a fueling partner of the event (what a clever wordplay, huh?). Let me prove that to you right away...

Days before the race

Yep, that was my reply to a friend’s text four days before the race. With two long and exhausting rides over the last two weekends and the third one (arguably the most challenging) coming right up, all of them together, in my perception, morphed into the same, mundane and indistinguishable “just ride your bike for hours to get back to where you started” kind of a thing. I mean, it’s not that far from what these races really are for those who are not fighting for the podium.

But even within a single week of training/riding, I always find it necessary to switch things up now and then. One day, I’m going on a long road ride, and I get bored. The next morning, I switch to my mountain bike and hit the trails to have some fun. But then I get all beaten up and the next day I can appreciate another long(er) and smooth(er) gravel mini-adventure. And going back and forth between these two helps avoid burnout.

But, in a few weeks leading up to this event, the variability was at all times low. High-volume gravel, day after day. Hence the mental exhaustion. However, it didn’t mean I was going to half-ass the race. In a way, it made the first 30 miles of the course a little more fun for me.

Rollout

Last year, I was all upsetti-spaghetti about the truly neutral (too slow!) rollout that we had through the town of Pueblo. So, complaining about it being too fast this year would be pretty silly of me, wouldn’t it? Fortunately, I don’t have a problem owning my own mistakes. I like it more this way, and it’s my own damn fault that I wasn’t ready for it. Another lesson learned the hard way. The lead group of 32 riders got away, and even though I tried (not too hard, though) to put a chase on, that gap only kept growing. And a few people around me had zero desire to help. I don’t blame them. Yet, haha.

I never had a single complaint about my Wahoo Elemnt, but this was a day it gave me a little bit of a headache. Once we crossed the timing mat where the race officially begins, it just… turned off! What’s funny is that it did not go full brick mode with a black screen. It actually displayed a message “Turning off” with no way to cancel it. Well, thanks for the heads up, I guess. And, of course, it dropped the recording of those 15 minutes we rode so far. Even my old, cheap, and ugly Lezyne would never lose a recording, even when it glitched.

First 30 miles (50 km)

We’ve got a solid group of five, with three dudes and two ladies. My GPS unit was back in business, informing me that we were going just a tad faster than I was going last year when I was cold and alone. That didn’t seem right to me. There was a substantial headwind this time, but on the climbs, we were even losing ground. What the hell?

I’m not out there to teach people how to ride their bikes. As a matter of fact, I’m learning the ropes nowadays by watching races and paying attention to what my more experienced friends are doing on a group ride. So, even if I were willing to give people advice, I don’t feel like I’m the one they should be listening to. Even with all that in mind, at some point, I’ve lost my shit and told two other dudes to rotate from the front! They listened, they rotated… and on the next pull, one of them kept riding in the front forever. The last straw that broke the camel’s back was the moment when we caught up with two riders who were dropped from the lead group. By that time, we had the power of 5 dudes, and what did the guy in the front do? He sat on their wheel!

Photo by Scott Tribby @s_tribby

Remember I mentioned that the absence of goals or expectations for this race made my first 30 miles more fun than they could have been otherwise? Well, that’s where it all started. I’ve had enough and decided to put on an attack. It didn’t last long. So, I attacked once again. Have been able to open a substantial gap this time, but got caught once again. The third time is a charm, right? Went for it on a climb. It almost stuck because I bridged to two other riders ahead of us, but unfortunately, they were cooked from trying to stay in the lead group earlier and weren’t helpful. We’ve got caught again. Damn. But at least time flew by, and we were almost at the first aid station, which indicated the end of the “flat” section. Any group formations didn’t matter anymore. It’s all up and up and up from here for the next 12 miles (18 km).

Fueling plan (aka the most boring part, feel free to skip it)

Back to the “go with the Flow” thing. The last time I did a hundred-miler at FoCo Fondo, I tried to stay self-sufficient and avoid any stops at the aid stations. Unfortunately, it was hot enough for me to start craving pure water on a fifth hour of riding. With that experience in mind and considering the big climb we were going to tackle, where total weight definitely matters, I’ve decided to hyper-optimize my setup for the day. The idea was to run smaller bottles (something I never really do), and a hydration pack. By the time we hit the bottom of the climb, the bottles should be empty, and there should be just enough left in the bladder to get me over the “hump” to the aid station in Rye. There I’d get a refill of Flow hydration mix, and since the concentration of that thing is always a mystery, I just need to complement it with a few gels along the way to stay on top of the calorie intake. Yeah, I did ask the volunteer if they knew how many grams of carbs per liter it was. Not that I expected them to know it. And they sure didn’t. Maybe next year, I’ll reach out to the orgs beforehand and ask that same question. Not to be a jerk, but to bring awareness for things that matter to me and my “community” of like-minded middle-aged overachievers. Joking. Kinda.

12-mile climb

I love climbing. I also think it’s the strength of mine when it comes to racing, somehow despite me being a tall guy. (Note to myself: don’t forget to talk about the weakness of yours when we get to the last few miles.) But this one… nah, I love this one even more. There’s just one thing about it: when you are doing it, you’re not in control. The road controls you. It’s so long and steep that you can’t play games with it. There’s no recovery. You’re at your limit throughout, or close to that. If you see another rider up the road, you don’t chase him. You must be humble and keep grinding. If you do any kind of silly business — you’ll pay for it dearly.

In a way, it’s more a spiritual than a physical journey (assuming you’ve got at least enough to make it through). If you find zen in suffering up the hill — this is probably the pinnacle of such an experience. As opposed to Marco Pantani’s joy of looking at the contorted faces of people you’re passing because yours won’t be any better.

Old San Isabel

This road is always a highlight. It’s a well-deserved and much-anticipated downhill, picturesque as heaven and fast as hell if you can handle your bike well. I blew two or three turns at the beginning of it, but then yelled at myself out loud, commanding to get my shit together and focus. Helped a lot. Dropped another rider who was trying to follow me and went two minutes faster on this 25ish-minute-long segment compared to last year. It could be just better fitness, but I want to believe that my cornering gets a lot better. The necessity to keep up with my friend Brian on twisty roads makes me push myself when riding together. I still have to compensate with accelerations out of almost every turn, but there’s noticeable progress.

And this is not just what I’m thinking now, post-mortem. That’s exactly what was going through my head while I was in it. And sure enough, the universe decided to be a humbling party-pooper once again. Like, “Yeah, dude, good job, but look how far you still have to go.” And the guy comes flying by me, skidding through turns like Colin McRae. It was a pleasure watching him, which obviously didn’t last long. But I’ve got my revenge lined up.

Aid-station

Quickly in and out. Left it right behind the guy who just showed me how it’s done on the descents. We rode together for a while, turned out he’s got a cool accent. It seemed like Scottish to me (I’m hardly an expert, though), so hopefully, the comparison to Colin McRae will be a double honor for him. But sadly, Davis Rd split us apart. I knew very well how these last miles are gonna feel like, but as much as I’d love to have someone to ride with, not gonna take it easy on the climbs. Sorry.

Drag

Yeah, there we go again. All alone for an hour and a half, give or take. Pushing hard, yet having no idea if this is hard enough to keep the chasers away. Constant anxiety that they will make a train and eat you alive two miles before the finish. There’s also a chance to catch someone who makes you want to push harder, but some part of your brain tries to be a smarty-pants and keeps reminding you that there’s a chance it’s absolutely pointless. A reasonable yet destructive thought.

Oh-oh. People!

When you turn to Burnt Mill Rd, you merge into the 70-milers’ party-in-the-back kind of crowd. I’m passing one group after another. But then there’s this guy up the road, who I’m definitely about to catch, but then he jumps on my wheel, and sure thing — we’re in the same race with about 15 miles to go. He offers to work together, and of course, I agree, but he ramps up the pace, and I start hurting a little. But we’re rolling! At some point (with only 3-4 miles to go), it became clear that he was doing more work than I could match, so I was being nice, and I told him that I was going to sit up more, but I wasn't going to sprint him to the line.

With 500 meters to go, Jess says, “You wanna go?” Like a broken record, I repeat that it wouldn’t be fair for me to sprint him (which is silly, he already heard that twice from me and still offered a battle). And then I got him by five seconds. And there’s nothing to brag about here. There are two reasons I’m telling this part of the story.

First, Jess was a good sport, and respect points go out to him for being true to the Spirit of Gravel [racing].

Second, why am I giving up so quickly? This wasn’t the first time. Was I hurting? Everyone’s hurting. Did he pull harder? I didn’t ask him to. Was I doing my best at the front? I was giving it all. So why am I such a softie? It’s never too late to lose a race, dude! Stay in it, see what happens.

Conclusion

The lead group that got away at the start was 32 people (I didn’t know the exact number, but my rough estimate of 30 turned out to be quite close). Sure, I caught and passed a few, but I thought I was somewhere at the bottom of the top 20. When I met my aforementioned friend Brian at the finish line, and he told me I was in 12th place overall, I couldn’t believe it! It’s the highest I’ve ever got, and given some of the names in the top 10 — a great performance on my part. Not to mention that I was 30 minutes faster than in 2023.