I know someone somewhere just wants to say,
"C'mon, what's wrong with loving Zoo's?"
__________
Rambling preamble: The Gravel Grinder National Championship drew a crowd primarily from the mid-atlantic area. Plenty of east coast hitters showed up to race in the transcendent ‘spirit of gravel’. Like anything transcendent, the S.o.G. means different things to different people. The very idea of a Gravel Natz may offend the S.o.G. Nevertheless, riding a bike for two fifty mile loops transcends most people's aspirations for a bicycle. It's not to run an errand, commute to work, or accomplish anything material. It's not to enjoy leisure time w/ family or friends. It's not utilitarian, timeless, or useful. But for some, it simply must be done. It must be experienced. For many long concurrent hours. It offers a range of experiences for much longer than most anyone would want to experience those specific experiences. This includes that feeling of being on the metabolic limit for way too long. Feeling groupthink dictate how fast and furious you will climb, and descend, and generally hammer away at the pedals. Feeling the margins of one's risk profile stretch and blebb into uncharted territory. Everyone knows of a collar bone that has probed too far into these boundaries. To be fair, many races may be described with such experiences. The 100 mile gravel race is just longer than most. Not as long as Unbound in distance, and not as long in time as the equivalent 100 mile MTB races. Nevertheless, it encourages the participants to grapple with their life choices for hours on end. Especially as they get closer to the end which stretches time out into long painful pieces of existential discomfort.
Overview Last year my bestie frienemies finished this race in under 6 hours. With a swollen knee and twingy calf from a recent garage race fixie wreck (rolled tubie), I set my sights on 5.75hrs as a good (Leadville training) day in the saddle. The threat of rain constrained the number of starters to 238 registered and only 137 in for the full pull. Without giving away the ending, less than 100 finished the 100 mile course; the fastest in less than 5 hours, the slowest, almost double that.
The Start: It was a neutral roll out for the first two miles while everyone jostled for a place near the front. As soon as we turned onto the gravel, the pace turned ‘brisk’ and stayed that way till the end. The front group coalesced into about 30 riders fairly quickly. An hour in, on a sudden climb, I bobbled off the road and briefly off my bike. The fast-pack-o-thirty whirred past. Although I kept the pack within sight for a while, there were at least 20 of those front riders I would never see again, including District Taco teammates Jason (lil Rhino) Cooper and Stefan-Z, as well as the top two riders in my age group. (Robinson & Rojas, both Battley cat 1s in Road and CX respectively with >500 races between them). I noted Mr. GoFast Cordaro with a shifting malfunction struggling to find a go fast gear. As the front group motored away, the ‘chase’ group formed up behind, first just two of us, then three, and as dribs and drabs leaked back to our swelling numbers, it got as big as eleven.
At one point we passed PJ on the side of the road suffering with a broken collarbone and B-rad G-Berg diligently attending to him. The A group had led PJ blindly into a pair of sudden pot-holes that bounced him upside down. B-rad earned a golden halo & wings for stopping to give aid to his competitor and he later still finished first in the single speed division.
At one point, our group of ten came to a FULL stop (both feet on the gravel ground) to let two women on horses ride past. Slowly. One of the Karens raged, berating us the entire time. Yelling continuously as she SLOWLY ambled past. With f-bombs emphasizing her displeasure, she diligently explained we should not be there. She lived in the area, so we were on her (public) road and we should all go back to F*cking Faifax. I get it. I'm white and entitled, and she’s white and entitled. We had that much in common. She felt like public space is her personal playground to use as she sees fit at the expense of everyone else. I think public space should be a venue to make fun of people like her...but unlike her, I held my tongue at the time. Now I’m going to assume her horse’s name is Fairfax so she can go back to f*cking Fairfax too. I’m reminded of the redneck truck driver months ago who turned around so he could calmly and menacingly tell my cycling group "you need to choose a different road to ride on". He too can take his turn F*cking Fairfax. But I digress.
Passing through the 50 mile aid station, half the group stopped to refuel. I chose poorly, eschewing extra supplies, “attacking the neutral zone”, and dishonoring the ‘spirit of gravel’ with relish. Carrying a brand new hydrasac for the first time in a race (a surprisingly comfortable USWE), I had consumed the equivalent of three bottles in the first 50 miles and still had two bottles on my bike. I didn’t realize I’d already consumed half of each, so I was out of water by mile 65, food by mile 75, and energy at mile 90. Somewhere near the end, an anti-social pair went clear off the front without looking serious about it (they were serious), Covas went clear off the back looking as serious as the grave while I hung onto the back of the group of 8 (soon to be 7) by my fingernails. (I later learned the 50+ 3rd place finisher was in the group). As I noticed we had been racing for almost 5 hours, I seriously miscalculated and concluded I still had 45 minutes of riding left. So on the next slight rise with just over 5 miles to the finish, the lights flickered, the legs flagged, the bleak near-future broke my brain, and I went temporarily dark, questioning my life choices. The grupo seven rode away and I slow-pedaled forever. Forever, surprisingly turned into only 17 long minutes of existential discomfort. Finishing in 5:17 was good enough for 4th place in the 50+. The happy ending is that the end was at a brewery. There was much self-medicating and imbibing general anesthesia but I only had one. Since PJ got clinically medicated I drove his car back to DC.
prologue:
Special thanks to MikeT (who finished 6th in the 55+ despite still recovering from R2R) for driving us out. Lil Rhino, the fastest taco, stuck w/ the front group, clocked an impressive sub 5 hrs, winning the 35+ field and finishing in the top ten overall. Mr. GoFast struggled with an unplanned intermittent single speed and an ignominious 15 minute wrong turn out & back, but still managed to finish 6th, just behind teammate B-tell (who shaved 30 minutes off his time from last year). Mary, who is no stranger to National Championships, won her division and was the first female overall.
