It’s an exhilarating feeling. On one hand, it feels like it was just yesterday that I raced like this. On the other, it feels like a lifetime ago. The truth is, the reality lies somewhere in between. Half a year ago, I raced the World Championship in Belgium—now I’m back.
– Skviik. The screech of slamming brakes—such a terrifying sound.
– Hot vordomme. A Belgian rider shouting at another as he’s nearly shoved into the gutter.
Almost a mass crash, but luckily, nobody went down.
At 8:30, alongside 110 other riders, I started in the town of Turnhout, in Antwerp province. Ten years ago, this could have been considered a hometown race for me. I recognize so many spots from when I lived in Vorselaar, just 15 km away. The memories from that time are a mix of emotions, but even though this chaotic racing sends a few nerves through me, there’s a rush of excitement too. It’s another UCI Gravel Race, and another step toward qualifying for the World Championship.
READ ALSO: World Championship Gravel 2024
We swing around a blind cobbled corner at 40 km/h, then hit a hard right turn into gravel. I know I need to move up, but it’s easier said than done. Jasper Ockeloen is sprinting along the ditch on the right, and I consider following him, but a rider cuts me off. I’m too late—the next corner is fast approaching.
We sway left, and suddenly we’re on a sandy road. That shower I took last night doesn’t seem to have helped much—the surface is dry and loose. The dust fills the air, making everything hazy, and I can barely see. The gravel morphs into a narrow trail, and the peloton starts to stretch out. I try to stick to the wheel in front of me, but I notice a rider pulling ahead, and I can feel the groups are starting to break up. Right now, on this trail, there’s nothing I can do. No room to pass.
We sprint out of a sharp right, and I spot the group ahead. Thankfully, there are still a few riders lagging behind with the strength to push the pace.
It takes us about three minutes of intense teamwork to reel back into the 30-man peloton. This time, the crisis is averted.
We’ve only covered 20 km, but it’s been 30 minutes of pure effort. My legs are burning with lactate, but I know I need to move up in the peloton before the next split. Riders are scattered all over the road. I search for a gap to make my move, but I don’t find one until it’s too late. We hit a left turn onto a forest road, and once again, the peloton stretches out. Some riders can’t hold the pace. Another gap opens!
This time, I’m not so fortunate. The few of us left behind try to form a chase, but we don’t have the same firepower as before. The peloton inches farther away. I can’t close the gap on my own, and now I’m relying on the others to work together. But it’s clear we’re not going to bridge it, even though the pace is still blistering.
Being in a smaller group has its advantages. There’s no fighting for position, and it’s not nearly as dusty.
I grab a bottle from Lawrie as I pass him in the feed zone. He’s still got limited experience with bottle handups, but he’s a natural talent. He helped me during the Worlds, and I’ve never lost a bottle from him.
Soon, we’re riding alongside the canal, heading back toward Turnhout, ready to tackle another lap. The section into Turnhout includes a long singletrack, followed by a fast, narrow path along the canal. You need to stay focused here—there are plenty of obstacles, and if you crash you are falling straight into the canal.
My Challenge Getaway tires have been a great choice for my Felt Breed, but this time I’m not focused enough and nearly lose traction in a corner. Thankfully, I manage to stay on the wheels.
We approach the same sandy section where the first gap was made, and it happens again. In my 12-man group, the first five riders create a gap. I should try to bridge, but with the pace so high, I opt to stay behind and conserve energy—a mistake. As we turn right after the singletrack, the five ahead have already gained 15 seconds, and closing that gap feels like a tall task. Now I try.
No luck.
As our small chase group comes together, I finally start to feel strong, so I push the pace. For the next 30 km, I spend more time at the front of the group than behind others because I’m determined to reel those five riders back in.
Honestly, I’m not sure what the point is, but since the top 25% of riders qualify—which should be around 28 riders—I still believe there’s a small chance we might be in the running for a ticket to the next World Championship.
1 km to go. I give it one last push. We’ve caught two of the five riders, but the last three are still out of reach. I know we’re probably not fighting for a top spot, but I’m determined to use up every last bit of energy. There’s nothing left to save.
Now, there are six of us left as we enter Turnhout. My legs are screaming, but there aren’t many meters left. The last corner is a tight 180-degree turn, followed by a 200-meter sprint to the finish.
I take the first position into the last turn but I can’t accelerate. My legs are completely blocked with lactate, and the others fly past me. 41th place in Men Elite.
I wouldn’t say I’m happy with the result, but I’m glad to finally get the season underway. Well, I did kick off my season in the US over the last few weeks, but a snowfall in the first race and a wildfire in the second disrupted things, so this was the first real race of the year. The organizer, Bolero, is incredibly professional, so everything was top-notch. The course was super fast, and I averaged 38 km/h, despite all the sharp corners, sandy gravel, and singletracks.
My legs started to come around about halfway through, which is a positive. Even though my race mindset wasn’t fully there and I made a few bad decisions early on—like losing the first peloton—I know this is exactly what I needed to get back into the rhythm after a long winter of trainer rides, winter cycling, and no real speed work.
Big thanks to Lawrie and Babette for all your help this weekend. Next up is some solid training, and then my next big race: Traka 360 in May.
WHAT’S NEXT? Check out event calendar
The Valley of Tears is no joke. In the heart of West Texas, there’s a quiet town called Turkey, home to one of the most unforgettable races I’ve ever experienced in the U.S. Picture this: a challenging mix of sand, snow, and mud, with the backdrop of a stunning state park teeming with wildlife and buffalos. It was an event like no other. Let me take you through my journey of tackling the legendary Valley of Tears.
We are in the heart of the Texas Panhandle. It’s pancake flat in all directions. The only things sticking up are an oil well and occasionally a dusty road sign.
Welcome to Turkey, Texas, the sign reads as we approach this small town in the middle of nowhere. The atmosphere reminds me of the good old West, long before mobile phones and cars. I take out my phone to snap a photo of Turkey before we drive into this sleepy hometown, known as the home of western swing legend Bob Wills, which will be hosting tomorrow’s gravel event.
It’s the second edition of Valley of Tears Gravel, and many of the best American gravel riders have taken the trip to get here. With a prize purse of $26,000, it has intrigued many. I have made it here, too. However, as my first race of the season, I am not expecting a top result.
READ FIRST: Gravel season coming up
I arrived in Dallas on Wednesday evening and stayed a couple of nights with the Ray family in Denton. Corey and I drove for four hours to Turkey on Friday morning. We just arrived in great weather, at 17ºC with sunshine.
– Let’s check out the sand pit, Corey says.
The 94-mile race (150 km) begins on a sandy gravel road. Rumor has it that participants may need to walk 100 meters through an unrideable section if they do not choose the right lane.
– We can’t drive the last half-mile to the sand pit; the car will get stuck, he continues.
– Well, let’s stretch our legs, I reply.
We unclip the bikes from the car rack and get going.
– Baam! The sound of the gunshot sets off the 25-minute criterium race.
I enjoy criterium races; they are short, fast, and intense. However, this is my first experience racing on gravel roads. I dive into the first corner alongside the other 40 riders. I started in the third row, so there are already about 20 riders ahead of me.
The weather this evening is ideal for riding, with a dry and dusty surface. The course measures 900 meters long, featuring a new corner every 100 meters. Since the turns are on loose gravel, it is almost impossible to maintain speed, making it very difficult to accelerate enough to pass the rider in front of you.
I still give it a shot.
I take the first corner on the outside and then sprint into the next bend to pass another rider. It’s not about space; I have to brake sharply to avoid a collision. On the next stretch, I accelerate again, but I don’t have enough power to overtake the rider ahead of me. As I enter the following corner, I push the tires to their limits, feeling them almost lose grip.
The riders who started in the first row are already more than a corner ahead of me. I realize I won’t be able to catch up to them, so I focus on my own riding instead. I strive to find my flow through the course. I want to enjoy it and smile, but I know I need to concentrate.
A few riders crash in front of me, and I barely manage to avoid them. The prize money is only awarded to the first three riders, so I’m not willing to take any risks that could lead to a fall. However, playing it safe does slow me down. After 15 minutes, the first rider, my fellow countryman Thorbjørn Røed, laps me, ending my race. I estimate that about 15 riders are still competing.
CHECK OUT: Live stream from the Gravel Crit
I am not allowed to finish the race, but what a way to fire up the legs for tomorrow’s main event.
Soon, Corey and I will be heading over to the beautiful cabins at Shepherd Family Cabins and RV Campground, where we’ll spend the night before the big challenge ahead – Valley of Tears.
I am following Adam Roberge’s wheel as we approach the first sandy section of the course, just 3 miles into the race.
This morning was cold, and we woke up to a light snow flurry. The temperature has dropped nearly 20ºC (35ºF) since yesterday’s crit race. We are expecting more snow later, raising the question of how sticky the mud will be in these wet conditions.
As we hit a sandy stretch of road, there’s one rider ahead of Adam. He loses some speed, and I lose all momentum. It’s early in the race, but my legs are already burning with lactate, and I feel like I can’t push a single watt more. The riders in the left lane seem to be handling the sand better, and a group is forming just ahead. It feels like a nightmare. I see them pulling away, and normally, I’d be right there with them, but today my legs feel like they’re made of syrup. I can’t keep up. Dylan Johnson zips past me, effortlessly closing the gap to become the last rider to join the 12-man group.
I hang between the groups for a while until a chasing pack catches up. I catch a small draft, but just a minute later, we hit the worst sandy section. Corey and I tried to ride through this stretch yesterday, but we couldn’t make it. Now, I know I have no choice but to push through if I want to stay with these guys.
I charge into the sand, pushing hard to maintain just enough momentum to steer onto the sidepath, bypassing the worst of it. Our group is shattered—everyone had been riding on the edge, and some riders had to walk. I manage to regroup with the ones who made it through, and we form a new chasing pack. Ahead, the first riders are already slipping out of sight.
The wind hits my face, and I can barely move. Ahead, a never-ending gravel trail stretches for 7 miles. I turn my head and see four riders closing in on me. I’ve been alone for the past few minutes, unable to keep up when the pace ramped up in the crosswind. Up until now, we’ve been racing with the same intensity as yesterday’s crit, but we need to slow down and find a sustainable pace if we’re going to make it to the finish. We’ve covered just over 20 miles and are approaching the Valley of Tears bridge.
The four riders catch up, and I tuck in behind them, finally getting some relief from the wind as we continue north.
– I love this! I think to myself as the breathtaking, rugged terrain of Caprock Canyons State Park stretches out in front of me.
We weave between yucca plants, sprinting across patches of blue grama and buffalograss. I scan the landscape, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the 300 bison roaming the park. They’re wild and potentially dangerous, but the thought of seeing one up close excites me—though I’m too focused on following the rider in front of me to truly take it in.
– Take care, the trails can be slippery when humid, one of the riders says.
It’s Beckam Drake, a local. His advice is a thoughtful gesture—something I’m not used to in Europe, where riders rarely offer tips to competitors. The gravel community in the U.S. is so much more inclusive.
We pass Cobe Freeburn, who’s struggling with mud stuck between his tire and frame. Not enough clearance. I’ve been riding 2.0 tires, and so far, they’ve been working well—no rubbing, and they’ve helped me navigate the sandy sections. But with 10 miles still to go to Turkey, I know it could become an issue.
A race official on a moto yells to let us know the final lap is being shortened. I was prepared for the last 19-mile loop, but as the snow starts falling, I quickly understand why. It’s 3ºC, the roadside is turning white, and the mud is thickening every second.
I am pushing the pace, feeling my legs burn, knowing the end is near.
We reach Turkey, which means we are on the final mile. Beckam attacks when we pass the city sign, with Rob Hall right behind him. I lose their wheels but hold a steady gap to Tim Savre, the last rider in our group. A minute later, I cross the finish line in 18th.
I’m not cold, and I’m smiling.
– Thanks for the ride, Beckam says.
What a fun course and day. I wish I could have experienced more of it. I wish I were in better shape and could keep up with the front group, but that just means I have to come back next year – stronger and ready to tackle the full 94-mile course.
I snap a photo at the finish line, but now, when stopping, I feel the cold air bite my back. I head inside, where hot coffee and barbecue are waiting—exactly what I need right now.
There are still many riders out on the course, and I hope they make it back to Turkey safely, with plenty of hot food waiting for them. I’m not worried about a shortage; Turkey, Texas, may be small, but it’s prepared for the arrival of more gravel riders in 2026. I hope to be one of the returning for Valley of the Tears because this was fun!
Dirty Jutland is one of the oldest Scandinavian gravel events. Since 2018, Uggi and his team have invited riders to ride along the windy west coast of Denmark. 900 riders signed up for this year’s event. Many riders participate in the 130 km “One Thirty” course, some brave souls tackle the entire 460 km XL from the German border. I will share my story from riding the original 223 km Grinder from Klitmøller to Skagen.
While going south of Norway, I expected a warmer climate but it’s quite cold here. The northern breeze is chilling us to the bone. Only 11 riders remain in the front group. Out of the 400 riders starting the Gravel Grinder signed up for the event, we have narrowed down the group to the last few. However, we still have 150k to go.
On Friday morning, I took the ferry from Larvik to Hirtshals with Andreas and Anders, two riders I coach in 101percent Training. Today, Andreas had a strong start to the race but lost the front group with a puncture. Anders should be another few minutes behind him.
CHECK OUT: My race calendar 2024
The group is dominated by nine Danish riders, five from Willing Able. They are pushing a strong pace, as we have been having the whole day. But one fellow countryman is here, Vebjørn Rønning. We rode as teammates in the World Championship last fall. He also raced DNF GRVL two weeks ago in the snow. Now we are here in the cold Danish spring. I felt strong in the beginning, but it’s harder now. The tailwind helps with the pace but not with the drafting. There’s no place to hide.
The route has led us along the beach, on forest roads, country roads, through towns, and mostly on gravel. It’s beautiful and fun. It’s pancake flat. The many twists and turns, but the sharp flints are the biggest challenges.
BAM!
A rider in the group hits something and loses control of his bike. He’s down, and with the high speed, it’s almost impossible for the riders behind to avoid hitting him. It’s a domino effect, and I have first-row access. It’s too late to break. I’m in the middle of the gravel road, and a bike is flying towards me. Another rider on my right crashes into the ditch, and in a quick reaction, I manage to find a tiny gap, dodging the bike and the riders to my right. I’m through! Five riders are down. Vebjørn is one of them. None are seriously injured, and the fallen riders tell us to keep going, so we do. It’s a survival of the fittest. 7 riders left in the front.
We are passing midway, and soon, we catch the riders from the 130k route. This event is inclusive, and you’ll find riders from all levels. The many, some less experienced, riders create traffic jams in the narrow sections. I am doing my best to keep up with the riders, but I have to chase and maneuver gently (and sometimes not so gently) between riders. It’s a chaos.
I hit a rock, and it feels like my front tire is out of air. Panic sets in. Could it be a puncture? As we turn onto an asphalt road, I slow down to check, and to my relief, it’s not. But as I check my tire, a gap opens, and the leading riders pull away. I am getting dropped. I take a deep breath and summon all my strength to make a final attempt to catch up. I sprint with all my might and start counting down the seconds. 50 seconds…49 seconds…48…47. My legs feel heavy and full of lactate, and I can barely push the power. My heart is pounding, but I refuse to give up. I keep pushing, and finally, I start closing down the gap. The wind is howling in my ears as I continue to sprint. I can see the leading riders getting closer and closer. I give one final push.
Finally, I make it as we hit the gravel. Surprisingly, two fellow Norwegian riders from Sandnes are catching up. One of the riders had an early puncture, and they both stopped to fix it. They must have been chasing for hours, but they made it—impressive.
READ ALSO: Big Sugar Gravel 2023
You don’t get much draft in tailwind on a gravel road. I am still in pain after my last effort. We are heading towards the sea. I had heard about this section, and now we are finally here. We are riding on a 10km stretch of hard-packed beach. It’s an amazing road! The sand is so hard you can ride your road bike. Some cars also drive on it, but you need to be careful because there are occasional patches of loose sand where your front wheel can get stuck, and you may lose control. We also cross rivers and water pits on the beach as we maintain a high pace.
But I am in pain. I am losing the wheel in front of me. The gap is opening up again—5 meters, then 10, so 15. I don’t have another acceleration in my legs to get back up. I have to realize that I will not see the first eight riders again before the finish.
Kristoffer from Sandnes also drops, and we team up. We don’t talk much, but we have a common understanding. We are both exhausted, but we are determined to reach the finish line. Eventually, riders from the 130k group start to pass us. I try to keep up, but I am completely exhausted right now. I haven’t felt this depleted in a long time. My heart rate is high, and I think my body is a little unwell, but I have no choice – I must reach the finish line. There’s no one to pick me up, and my bags are already in Skagen. I have to keep going, and if I can just keep up with some of these riders, it will be over much quicker than if I ride alone.
Three strong masters pass me. They have a good pace but are not trying to drop one another. It’s a perfect trio to follow. The train is moving, and we are getting closer to the end, kilometer by kilometer. Now we catch Kristoffer, too.
The last hours are long. I try to focus on the tasks ahead, my biggest being following the trio. I also make sure I drink and keep eating. I am about to empty my bottles, and the hydration pack has been empty for a while already. I would have stopped at the feed zones, but I didn’t risk getting dropped by the group.
I count down each of the last 20 km. It’s a test of patience, but we are closing in on the final kilometer. Five kilometers to go. We turn into a narrow cycle path crossing some scenic nature. It’s beautiful, but I am not able to enjoy it. Instead, I am getting dropped by the group. They are disappearing, but I don’t mind anymore. I know I am going to make it to the finish in Skagen.
We are in the Northernmost town in Denmark. And there it is—the finisher banner! I cross the line, tired yet satisfied. Despite my weak last hours, I hold on to 10th place in the Grinder!
I love the atmosphere in the finish area after an epic gravel ride. The riders are all exhausted but happy. The organizer serves burgers, chips, beers, cokes, and coffee. Food has never tasted better! Andreas and Anders are joining my table and sharing their stories from the day. We all agree it has been a ride to remember. This was epic! Thank you, Dirty Jutland. We will be back!
READ ALSO: Unbound Gravel 200 – 2023
For my third consecutive year I lined up for the UCI Gravel World Championship for Men Elite. After two editions in Veneto in Italy, it was not hosted in Belgium. As we all know, Belgium is a cycling country and not surprisingly it was definitely one of the biggest and most memorable races I ever did. This is my story from Gravel World Championship 2024.
– Beeeep.
The commissaire blows the whistle for the start. I’m still standing still. I want to get going, but I am in the very back of 294 riders in Men Elite. I know it will be a fast start. In the first line, you’ll find riders like Mathieu van der Poel, Matej Mohoric, and Jasper Stuyven, alongside almost all of the best cyclocross riders. They know how to sprint out of the gate from Halle.
Finally, I see the riders in front of me starting to move. Soon, I can also clip in a start my sprint. The race is 182 km long. Despite the long race, we are sprinting as we were in the final kilometer. Everyone wants to be in the front on the narrow course. We will be racing from Halle in Flanders, 90 km towards northeast to Leuven before two laps of 45k around the town.
I’m not stressing too much; I’m just following the wheel in front of me. After just a kilometer, we hit a 180-degree turn, and I know it will be a full stop.
There it is, but something is happening. Riders are dismounting and taking shortcuts by running up the little hill to gain positions. I don’t need to be asked twice and join the runners. Back on the saddle, I think I gained 50 positions, but I’m still way behind the leading riders. As soon as we hit the gravel roads, the action begins.
People are puncturing, crashing, and stressing to overtake others. It’s as expected. Before the race, I told people I wouldn’t go too crazy at the start but rather accept the fact that I probably wouldn’t be able to make it to the front from my starting position and would instead race my own race. Most riders seem to hope they can get to the front, as they should.
I rarely find myself as conservative as I was before the race. Getting a good result could be a career breakthrough, helping me to find big sponsors and become a professional rider. However, this time I am racing with a sense of gratitude. I had a setback when I punctured in the qualifier event in Halmstad in August and couldn’t finish the race in Wales because I was sick, possibly with COVID. In the past few weeks, I have been feeling fatigued and not fully prepared for the race.
Despite this, when I received a wildcard from the Norwegian federation to race, I couldn’t turn down the opportunity. Upon arriving in Belgium, I realized that I wasn’t on the startlist due to an issue with some paperwork. I started to doubt if I would even get a race number. Finally, I did, but getting my mind race-ready for such a challenging race was not going perfectly.
I have been racing for 15 years, and I know that when the race starts, no matter how I feel, I get excited and will try to race hard. This is exactly what’s about to happen today too. On the tractor double tracks, I am overtaking riders, hitting the ditch, and as soon as we get on a road, I make sure I’m moving up, position by position.
– Don’t get too excited, Jonas. Ride smart and overtake one by one, I tell myself as I see the front of the big group a few hundred meters down the road.
– Stay with this group! I motivate myself.
I knew the strap would eventually break, and the peloton was already shattered into pieces before we hit the forest roads from Halle heading north towards Leuven. I surprised myself by realizing that my legs were not that bad today. After feeling terrible last week, they woke up just in time. I am in a fast-moving group and I am contributing to keeping up the speed. It seems like there are riders everywhere. Sometimes, we catch a small group; other times, somebody rides away. I follow a Frenchman, a Brit, a Pole, and a few Belgians as we fly through the Brabant forests.
The course is challenging as it winds left and right, up and down, on tarmac, gravel, mud, cobbles, and everything in between. It follows bike paths and farm roads and goes through villages to connect the trails. Thankfully, it’s dry. It’s a nice, reasonably warm day, with temperatures around 15-16 degrees and sunny. You can’t ask for more in October.
– Attentie!
One of the road marshals yells in Flemish and waves his hand at us. Around a tight and blind corner, an Austrian cyclist just hits a pole and lies on the ground in pain, with a person comforting him. We are not stopping, he’s taken care of, but it’s a good reminder of being cautious at all times. It’s definitely a different gravel course than what I am used to from the US. It’s almost like an 182 km cyclocross race.
We’re approaching Huldenberg where the first feed zone is located. My friend Lawrie, who is both Scottish and Belgian, is hosting me for the race and is also helping out at the event. I’m very grateful for his assistance. This morning, we practiced handing over bottles, and now it’s time to put our practice into action.
Lawrie has dressed in my Trailblazer jersey to make him easy to spot. He holds his hand straight out with the bottle firmly in his hand. I ride about 40 km/h and realize it will be quite difficult to catch the bottle. I calculate where to catch the bottle, and without being able to calibrate, I go for it.
– Perfect! I think to myself as I catch the bottle with a tight grip.
I have to smile. Even better than during practice, and Lawrie’s worries should be all gone now. He was just like a pro soigneur. I put the bottle into my bottle cage and keep riding on.
– Bam, bam, bam.
The sound of spectators hitting the barriers along the finishing straights gives me goosebumps. There must be thousands of people here, not to mention everyone along the course. At every single cross, there are at least 10 people, and in the hills, there are hundreds. I imagine I am in a Belgium Classic race, just like it feels. This must be like Ronde van Vlaanderen.
– Twee ronden, two laps, the speaker is announcing.
It seems like we’re in the final, but since each lap is 45 km, we still have a ways to go.
We travel through the train station and into the forest loop south of Leuven.
I am trying to keep up with a British rider and a cyclist from the Netherlands. We are going at a high speed, but then a group catches up to us from behind. This group consists of the fastest riders from different age categories and elite riders, mostly from Belgium. The larger the group becomes, the more challenging it is to keep up at the back. In every corner, the group stretches out, and if you are at the back, you have to sprint out of the corner to stay with the group.
The course follows a double track across the fields, where the ideal line is on a 30 cm wide trail in the middle of the wheel tracks. A small mistake could easily lead to a fall. I can see more than just the rider in front of me. I hope he doesn’t make any mistakes, and I follow his wheels without being able to see what’s ahead.
– Ooooohhh yeeeah!
A kindergarten class lined up along the cobblestone road, creating a wave to cheer us on. There were thousands of spectators. At the top of the toughest gravel hill, I saw two Norwegians cheering and waving the Norwegian flag for me. What a motivation boost!
The kilometers are passing quickly, and with the continuous variation of roads and turns, you won’t have time to think about anything more than the next corner.
– Come on! I scream to myself.
I sprint up the last cobble climb on the way into Leuven for the final time. The last lap has been pretty tough, and I am glad we are closing in on the finish. We have been passing strong riders with mechanical issues or just hitting the wall, so I am glad I can still keep a good pace in the last few kilometers. I go all out and get a gap on the other riders. It’s not important to beat them, as we are far back on the result sheet, but there’s no reason to save the legs, and the atmosphere from the spectators is encouraging.
I see the finish line. I’m almost there. I look back and notice a Swedish rider and two others are still a little behind but coming quickly. I try to maintain the gap, but I can’t. I have to accept that I am not in my best shape today, but I still manage to find a little smile when passing the line. I made it!
152nd place, they announce. More importantly, I finish another Gravel World Championship. What a day!
The World Championship is always special, especially when the UCI organizes it in Belgium. It’s a well-organized event and a thrilling race with a large number of riders. Some may argue that there are too many riders, as starting position plays a crucial role and most of the fastest riders had high seeding at the start. The winner was Mathieu van der Poel, with many top cyclocross and road pros following closely behind. I’m not complaining about my start position – I’m just happy to have been a part of this and to have competed in my third Gravel World Championship.
Will I be racing in Nice in 2025? Only time will tell, but this race has inspired me to go for next year’s as well!
It’s a beautiful day outside. Shakira’s “El Jefe” is jamming on the speakers. The speaker is counting down, and you can feel the excitement building up in the 99 elite male riders. It’s like the calm before the storm, and you can sense the tension in the air. It’s a moment that’s both nerve-wracking and thrilling, and you know that something big is about to go down.
The first stage of X Santa Vall and the Gravel Earth Series is starting. I am accelerating and pushing over 1000 watts to get to the front as everyone wants to be in the front before the road narrows for the climb. Stage 1 is considered more of a prologue, and it’s where we put all the hard work done back in Norway to the test. We have focused on building our engine, and here we push it to its limit. It’s a 6 km hill climb with a mass start.
I can see some well-known riders, including Peter Vakoc, Daniel Oss, Chad Haga, Jasper Ockeloen, Mattia de Marchi, and Ivar Silk, among others, ahead of me. The women’s group had already started climbing as they began earlier than the men. The event has attracted many renowned gravel riders along with a large number of high-level amateurs. The race is being held for three days in St. Gregori, outside Girona in Spain. More than 400 riders are here.
I quickly realize that I am not in my best shape for racing. I have to let the first group of riders go ahead of me. Soon after, more riders pass me as well. My legs are not functioning well and are completely blocked by lactate. It’s painful!
Andreas Ohldieck is passing me too. We traveled here together and stayed in an apartment in the center of the cycling capital – Girona.
I crawl towards the summit, with fans cheering me on. Despite their encouragement, I can’t go any faster. Finally, I spot the finish line. I made it!
Now it’s time for the following pizza party at the event arena!
Yesterday’s stage 1 was quite challenging for me. I knew that my preparation was far from ideal, as I had taken a two-week honeymoon break with my wife Hanna and had not been riding during that period. Although it was a planned break and I don’t regret it, the Santa Vall race came a little too early for me. This year, my training has mostly consisted of Zwift, gym work, and skiing. It’s been snowy and cold, and it’s hard to ride outside. However, since this is not an A race for me, it’s all fine. Yesterday was a bit of a shock to my body. This race was a great way to open up my legs and body for the upcoming months leading to the main events.
Andreas is pushing the pace, trying to move us up to the front. Stage two is slightly different from a typical race, as we had two timed segments of around 25 km. We were starting in group 2, and the pace is fast. Even before the timed segment. As I expected, many strong riders are aiming to catch the first group which includes the top 50 male riders from yesterday’s stage. They were starting 5 min before us.
The weather is perfect for riding today. It’s getting warmer. The temperature is close to 20ºC and there’s no wind. I unzip and take off my vest. Once we hit the start of the segment, the speed picks up. Soon enough, we are on a single track and the group is stretched out. Currently, I am in 15th position just behind Andreas. However, gaps are opening and too many riders blocking the track make it impossible to catch up with the first. Honesty, I have more than enough with keeping this pace.
The first five riders from our group slip away. I am about to lose contact with Andreas and the riders around me. The gap grows, from three meters, to five, to ten, to twenty.
– Come on, Jonas, get yourself together.
I gear up, get out of the saddle and make a last effort to stay on, I convince myself to do a 30-sec max effort as a last attempt. The gap is decreasing! I am in pain but I manage to get back in the draft. Thank, God.
We are catching a big group. I did manage to stay with Andreas and the rider through the first segment. We are now in the middle of the two segments. I see a huge group of riders ahead of us. It’s the first group consisting of the top 50 riders, including the elite women riders. I think the organizers are dividing us to prevent having too many riders together at the same time for the segments. Now we are 100 riders together.
The second segment is starting. This part is more technical; we are now lining up on a single track in a forest. The course is fun, but I feel the lactate building up again as the speed increases. This is going to be painful once more!
The segment is 30k and all the way to the finish. The group is split into pieces, and eventually, I find myself together with the German Marius Karteusch, 2nd place from the Unbound XL 2022.
We stick together until the end, greeted by a rider-only area filled with refreshments. It’s a great opportunity to catch up with other cyclists. Being part of Santa Vall is more about the community than the actual race.
– Why am I here?
As I struggled up the longest gravel climb of the day on stage three, the question kept popping up in my mind. Stage three is halfway, and it’s brutal.
It started straight into a 12k undulating climb. Close to the top, the splits started to open up, and I had to let the first 50 riders go. Today, my legs are both tired and stiff. The lactate is building up today, too, making every pedal stroke painful.
The course is 115 km long and really beautiful. There is almost no traffic. A few crashes are mostly caused by overly excited riders taking too many risks. You have to pay attention to the course, but there are not many other obstacles than some rocks and not many punctures.
Finally, I find a group of riders I can follow. The course is flattering out, and getting some drafts is now easier. We are five people sharing the workload against the wind. I feel okay as long as I can ride at my own steady pace. It’s fast enough to be able to contribute to the group. We are far behind the fastest riders, but I am glad I can finally get some momentum here on the gravel.
There is the last feed stop. I’m stopping. The other riders aren’t. I refill one bottle and grab a couple of gels and a handful of candy before I’m back on the horse. But I am once again by myself.
Riding alone while tired feels like standing still. I know I am not very fast, but I can’t go any faster.
As I ride, a group catches up with me. The group is led by Halfstein, a real gravel Viking from Iceland. I accelerate and manage to join them. I am surprised that all these riders are so far behind. As we ride, the kilometers tick away quickly. I soon realize that we are on the last stretch, going in the opposite direction from yesterday’s start. It feels like I can smell the paella they serve at the finish line. I decide to push the pace for the group during the last two kilometers. I don’t feel the pain anymore. Maybe it’s just a mental boost, but knowing the finish line is near gives me a much-needed burst of energy.
There – I cross the finish line.
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At the Gravel Earth Series, the community and the overall experience are more important than the results. We are spending a lot of time here, enjoying cold drinks, hot coffee, rice, and pasta. Santa Vall is a very welcoming and inclusive event, and it’s easy to strike up conversations with other riders.
As anticipated, my form was not yet ready for the race, but I am not concerned. This past weekend was an excellent training opportunity and a welcome return to the gravel community, and it has provided me with the motivation to work hard to regain my best shape.
Gracias, Girona, and X Santa Vall. I look forward to being back!