An incredible day with Norway Gravel Series in the mountains!
125 km and 2,000 metres of climbing filled with pure joy (and pain) at Offroad Valdres. Håkon Wisløff set a fierce pace, and I was happy to do my share of the work in our three-man breakaway. In the end, Ole Bjørn Smisethjell proved to be the strongest.
3rd for me, and I really enjoyed racing my first event on the new Felt Breed.
A huge thank you to my patient wife, Hanna, for letting me take a day off diaper duty and head to Hallingdal.
Laguna Raceway is located in Monteray on the beautiful Pacific coast of California. The raceway is known for high speeds, and even though this weekend didn’t involve race cars, the thousands of riders, exhibitors and visitors created an atmosphere you rarely experience. Arguably, the main event was the Lifetime GP La Gravilla gravel race on Thursday, where I lined up with 140 of the best gravel riders in the US and abroad.
In 2023, I won La Gravilla, though most of the biggest names then raced the MTB event, Fuego XL, which used to be the Lifetime GP race. This time, the gravel race was the main show. The course is tough, with steep climbs and narrow, twisty gravel roads where every pedal stroke counts. If you blow up here, you lose minutes fast. No time to recover.
LOOKING BACK: Win a Sea Otter Classic 2023
My wife, Hanna, and I combined the race weekend with a babymoon, as we’re expecting our first child this summer. We arrived a week early, giving us time to get over the jet lag and drive Highway 1 down to LA. We spent two nights with fellow Norwegian Christoffer and his family in Encino, did some sightseeing, and I got in some solid morning rides through Hollywood and Beverly Hills. Amazing place to ride.
Then it was Monteray. I was racing, Hanna was my support crew. My lineup position could have been better. I planned to be early, but during my last warm-up interval I missed the call, and when I got back, almost everyone was already lined up.
— Paaang!
The start gun fires and the race is on. As expected, everyone is flat out to reach the front before the first corner halfway up the climb. My legs are already full of lactate, but I manage to move up, even though there are still too many riders ahead.
We turn left onto a narrow gravel trail and the bottleneck almost brings me to a full stop. I weave left and right, trying to pass riders as we dive into a steep downhill. It’s a miracle nobody crashes at speeds up to 45 mph. I just try to hang on.
– Keep working, guys, and we’ll catch the group ahead!
I try to fire up the chasing group. It’s moving well, and we start closing the gap after an early split. I want to be in the main peloton of around 50 riders, but being in a group with names like Chase Wark, Rob Britton and Griffin Easter, I know we’ve got the horsepower.
Halfway into the 30-mile loop we hit a singletrack section. On my Challenge Gravine tires I feel confident in the corners and manage to close the gap to the back of the peloton. But as soon as we’re out, gaps open again and I have to dig deep to latch onto the next group. The front is still another 30 seconds up the road.
We’re not slowing down, but I have to be smart not to blow up. Over the next lap I do my share of the work while trying to conserve energy. At the same time, I’m surprised by how well my legs respond. I feel strong and can handle the surges without cracking. Riders start fading, and I gradually move up.
Eventually, we spot riders ahead after chasing blind for a while. The front is still minutes up the road, and the course rarely lets you see more than 30 seconds ahead—but now there’s a group. I go all-in to bridge. It hurts, but I make it. It’s Norwegian gravel viking Simen Nordahl Svendsen. Being in a group with strong names like him gives me a boost.
On the biggest climb toward the finish, we push each other until only seven riders remain.
– Oh no… chain drop!
We’re deep into the final part of the race, back on the same climb where Simen and I pushed the pace the lap before. This time he’s gone early and has a gap. I’ve been suffering the last 10 miles but am still hanging on, trying to follow the three U23 riders fighting for the win. We’ve been riding hard in no man’s land—picking up dropped riders, but too far back to catch the front, and too fast for anyone to come across.
Then my chain drops mid-climb. I have to stop. I fumble getting it back on and lose around 30 seconds.
Once rolling again, I somehow find another gear. I push all the way to the line, almost closing back in on the legend Michael Woods.
WANT TO SEE: Check the live stream from Lifetime GP
39th might not make the headlines, but I’m honestly happy with the performance. This wasn’t an A race, so I know there’s more to come. Better positioning at the start, no chain drop, and a few small improvements could easily have meant top 25 in this field—which would have been a really strong result.
315 NP for 4.5 hours shows I’m in a good place physically. With my A races—Traka 360 and Unbound 200—coming up in May, I’m confident there’s more to give.
Hanna and I wrapped up the trip with a few great days in San Francisco. I rode across the Golden Gate Bridge and climbed Mount Tamalpais—some incredible riding just outside the city.
Thank you, California, for 10 amazing days!
— Bam!
The sound of thunder echoes as lightning illuminates the horizon. The moon is blood red. Alan, Nick and I are on our way to Emporia in Alan’s Tacoma for the start of Unbound 200, the world’s premier gravel race. It’s 4:30 a.m., and we’re listening to ACDC “Highway to hell” on the radio.
— Watch it!
Alan hits a possum. He’s not to blame. It was standing in the middle of the road and impossible to avoid.
There’s something in the air this morning. I have a feeling this day will be a special one.
— In the land of the free and the home of the brave, a woman sings the National Anthem beautifully in the arena as we count down the final minute before the start.
— Good luck, Unbound riders, is the next thing I hear.
Off we go.
The pace is steady, but nothing crazy, as we hit the first gravel section outside town. Apart from a few early attacks, the 140 elite men have settled in for what will be a very long day. 207 miles, 333 km on the grassfields of Kansas.
Then the expected happens.
We reach the mud section, bringing back bad memories from three years ago. Back then, I had to run for five miles.
Three riders go down in the slippery mud. The peloton breaks apart, but comes back together. Then the mud gets so sticky that the bikes clog up completely. Wheels stop spinning, and it becomes impossible to ride.
There are riders standing everywhere. Some scrape mud off their bikes with paint sticks before trying to get going again. I find my own mud stick, scrape off the worst of it, and carry my bike to the ditch where the mud is less sticky before starting to run. Even though I’m focused on simply getting through the mud section, looking around is an unbelievable sight.
What a bike race. And we’re only getting started.
We are approaching Madison fast. After a chaotic start to the race, I’m in a 20-man chase group. I know the leaders are up the road, but this group is packed with strong riders, and plenty of guys are still behind us.
I settle in and get ready for a quick feed zone. There are Alan and Nick. I grab a musette with two bottles. No time to stop. A perfectly executed feed zone.
The Felt Breed is covered in mud, and the gears are occasionally jumping, but everything is still working. I’m not wasting time stopping. We keep pushing the pace in what is now an eight-man group.
Soon we’re climbing the iconic Texaco Hill.
The wind is picking up, and heading west we’re rolling along at 25 mph. The sun is getting warmer, but it’s nothing extreme. Still, I regret not taking three bottles in the musette.
At this speed, however, we’re in Cassoday before I know it and approaching the next feed zone. The fast gravel roads turn to asphalt, and I know we’re getting close.
There’s Alan. I grab my musette and keep riding.
– It’s insane we’re doing this voluntarily
Fellow Norwegian Anton Stensby says it with a laugh as we battle through some of the muddiest conditions I can remember.
Rain is pouring down. The gravel sprays muddy water all over me and the other 15 riders. We’ve just been caught by another group that includes Anton and Branden Lange, the American Gravel Champion. I’ve been feeling strong up to this point and am doing my share of the work at the front.
But now the crosswind as we head north is taking its toll. Whether it’s the conditions or the nutrition, I’m not sure, but my energy is dropping. I know it will be hard to stay with this group much longer.
— It’s rideable! a photographer yells as I approach a railway underpass filled with water.
It looks deep, but I take his word for it and keep riding. Half a meter deep, but I’m still moving forward.
Before exiting, I stop to rinse my glasses. It’s been a while since I’ve had clear vision. And I have time. I’m all alone now, riding at my own pace.
Anton flies by. He had a puncture and is now trying to get back to the group. He tells me to jump on.
I accelerate and hang on—for three minutes. It’s too fast, and I’m not feeling good.
I keep riding solo.
I see a rider leave the course and head toward a farmhouse.
I assume he’s out of water and is looking for help from the locals. Does he know we’re in the Midwest and that walking up unannounced to someone’s house might not be the best idea? I ride past the house, but can’t see who the rider is.
Not long after I hear his voice from behind.
— This is not my day. It’s Anton catching me again. He tells me he had to stop at a house to clean his drivetrain.
So it was him. What a story.
This time I manage to stay on his wheel for a little longer. We catch a few riders, but as we approach the final feed zone at mile 149, I have to let him go.
— Clean the drivetrain and get me some salty snacks. I give the order to my support crew.
Nick and Alan are rinsing my chain while Michelle keeps handing me bottles and food. I sit down and grab every chip I can get my hands on. After two quick feed zones, this one takes a little longer.
I lose five minutes, but at least the gears are shifting properly again. I leave with three full bottles and a soft flask on my chest.
That should get me through the final 57 miles.
Dylan Johnson, my fellow Felt teammate, comes flying past, paced by Taylor Phinney.
I manage to jump on.
The Kahola Hill is coming up. So is the temperature. It’s hot.
Since the last feed zone I’ve been hopping from wheel to wheel. Even though I haven’t felt great, I’ve managed to keep a decent pace into the headwind. On the final challenging section of DD Road, I had to let my group go and settle back into my own rhythm. I feel overheated and been considering taking a dip in one of the creek crossings.
My original plan was to cool down in Kahola Lake, but sitting on the wheels of Dylan and Taylor feels like a free train all the way back to Emporia.
I dig deep to stay with them over the climb.
Yes—I made it.
Now we turn east. The wind should be more favorable, and staying on the wheel ought to be easier.
Zigzagging on the bike is never a good sign when you’re trying to ride fast. I’m barely moving, riding at recovery pace. I couldn’t stay with Dylan and Taylor, or the riders who came past afterward.
In previous years I’ve never stopped in Americus with only 15 miles remaining, but this time I need more water to cool down. Long ago I stopped thinking about my result. Now I have only one goal: Finish.
I hear a helicopter approaching. It must be the women’s race coming from behind. I get back on the bike and decide I don’t want to be caught.
The lead moto rolls up behind me but gives me the green light to continue. Slowly, I begin riding at a decent pace again. The imaginary smell of the finish line gives me a surge of energy.
I know I’m going to make it.
The patience game is over. The self-pity and the questioning of life choices are finally coming to an end. I pull away from the moto.
There’s Emporia.
One final kick up Hilghland Hill past the college. There are no competitors around me, but I still push as hard as I can.
Then, two small turns. And there it is.
The finish line.
Finisher.
Michelle, Alan and Nick are there to welcome me. I’m exhausted, but it feels great to make it. My time is 10:45. 57th place in the pro category.
Before the race, I said I’d be happy with a top 50. During the first half of the race I was riding well enough for a top 25. Anton finished 25th after a long day of chasing. I had no mechanical issues. My energy simply faded.
Such a crazy day. It’s hard to be completely satisfied when I lost so many places in the final quarter of the race.
But today wasn’t really about results. It was about surviving the conditions and reaching the finish.
And I did.
My fifth finish at Unbound Gravel 200. Five in a row.
Unbound will always be something special. Right now, I can’t tell whether I want to come back next year or leave it at five editions.
Unbound is a love-hate relationship. The mud. The flint. The heat. The wind. The storms.
You never know what you’re going to get. Right now I am just grateful I survived one of the most epic Unbounds I’ve done so far.
And speaking of gratitude, I’m incredibly thankful that Alan, Nick and Michelle came out to help me. Having you as my crew made Unbound every bit as demanding as expected—but also a whole lot more fun.
Thank you, Emporia, for creating memories that will last a lifetime.
Blinking lights, slamming brakes, and 140 pro riders bobbing with a mix of testosterone and excitement — Traka 360 is off.
After a 5 km rollout, we’re heading toward the first climb of the day, and positioning matters. We’ve covered a few kilometers when I notice something’s off — my head unit isn’t tracking distance! Must be a bug. I decide to restart it, which isn’t exactly ideal while we’re fighting for position in the dark, weaving through the streets of Girona. Off, restart, load the map… finally it’s working. I glance down at the screen — the climb is coming up!
I make a short sprint up the shoulder of the road and move into the bunch, settling somewhere around mid-pack. Not perfect, but solid enough, with strong riders around me. As the climb starts, the pace immediately ramps up, and the next 40 minutes turn into a full-gas effort. I’m feeling good and moving up, passing riders, but the front group still feels just out of reach. By the time the sun rises and we hit the descent, there’s no space to enjoy it — I slot into a strong chasing group, and we push hard, hoping to make it back.
Just as I reconnect with the peloton around 50 km, my chain drops. Perfect timing, I think ironically to myself. No hesitation, I jump off the bike and get it back on quickly before getting moving again. I accelerate out of a corner, but suddenly I’m at a crossroads with no one in sight. I go right, glance at my screen… wrong. Turn around, accelerate again, hit another junction — left this time. Wrong again. After a couple of chaotic turns, I finally find the right direction and spot the peloton about 40 seconds up the road. I turn up the brightness on my screen — no more mistakes now.
I try to close the gap, but the main group is slowly drifting away. A group from behind catches me, and I sit up to wait — that’s when the Thomas De Gendt train rolls through. It’s fast, but incredibly smooth, and I quickly become just another passenger. If anyone can keep a high pace forever, it’s him. The legend has several stage wins in the Tour de France, Giro d’Italia, Vuelta España etc.
I hear Hanna before I see her, shouting together with the Felt support crew. The Thomas’ group made it up to the main group 15k ago, and now we are rolling into the first aid station. The feed zone is chaotic, riders everywhere, some guys are crashing — I find my support instantly, swap hydration vests, grab a musette, and roll out again in what feels like just a few seconds, still with the group.
Not long after, things start to shift. I begin to feel nauseous, and eating becomes a struggle. The energy drink I normally like suddenly tastes terrible, and even though I know I need to keep fueling, every bite makes it worse. With 200 km still to go, that’s not a great place to be.
Traka 100 is hard, Traka 200 feels inhuman — but Traka 360 isn’t really a race anymore. It’s closer to torture. At this point, it’s less of a race and more of a long, grinding survival game. I’m still in a decent group, including Thomas, as we head toward the next aid station, but the wear and tear is starting to show. My bike is making noise, the chain squeaking like an old city bike, and although the front tire feels slightly soft, it’s somehow holding up. The terrain is rough and unpredictable, and I’m honestly surprised I haven’t punctured. The Challenge tires are holding strong, but 45s feel a bit narrow out here, especially in the loose corners where I keep losing speed and wasting energy trying to get back onto wheels.
By now, the nutrition plan is out the window. It’s no longer about optimizing — it’s about getting to the finish.
At the next aid station, I see Hanna and the Felt crew again. Same routine — quick swap, new bottles, one filled with coke, and a bar. It needs to get me through the next 25 km, which includes a long climb, Els Metges.
There is one last aid station before the last 70k to the finish. I don’t have my crew there, but stop at the public feed station to grab a handful of serrano ham. After hours of sugar, the salt and texture make a difference, and I grab another handful before heading out again. I felt decent leaving the previous stop and tried to push the pace on the Els Metges, but the gradient quickly shut that down. I just got to keep those pedals turning.
With around 30 km to go, I manage to latch onto the wheel of Taylor Phinney and Nicolas Loustaunou. We’re not exactly flying, but we’re moving forward, which is all that matters at this point.
– Do you have water? Nicolas asks me. I’ve got about half a bottle left and hesitate for a second before deciding to keep it. If I’m going to finish this, I need it myself. He turns off the course to look for water, while we continue on.
A bit later, we come across something completely unexpected — a small bike party on the side of the road. I stop and ask for water, and within seconds a bottle is thrown my way. Perfect timing.
– Gracias, amigos, I say as I refill and get going again.
Not long after, I see Thomas again, pulling another group. I slot back in, and together we roll toward Girona on familiar roads.
There’s one last effort left. The organizers have added a final climb just to make sure we’re completely empty, and right on cue, my chain drops again — this time inside the cassette. It’s not stuck, but it’s enough to lose the group. At this point, the result doesn’t really matter anymore, but I still push on toward the finish.
As we hit the final singletrack, I try to reset and focus on riding as smoothly as possible. It’s easier said than done — my arms are shot, my legs are cramping, and mentally I’m barely hanging on — but I manage to get through it and onto the final stretch toward Parc del Ter.
I spot Thomas ahead and try to find one last sprint.
Almost.
At the finish, I sit down — and don’t get back up for a while. Completely empty, running on nothing but water for the last 70 km.
I knew it was going to be a hard day — 330 NP for the first hour, then 305 NP for the first four. No surprise it turned into a sufferfest, and with minimal nutrition in the second half, it was always going to be a killer.
On paper, it’s just an anonymous 61st place in the pro field, but I’m still partly happy with the race. The level keeps rising, and I was riding strong in the first third. A top 15 wasn’t realistic, but I do think a top 30–35 could have been within reach with better fueling.
The legs actually held up better than expected, and there are a lot of small adjustments that could have made a difference. More than anything, I’m happy I never gave up and got to the finish of this crazy event. Out here, just finishing is a win in itself.
Huge thanks to the whole Felt team for the support, and to my wife Hanna ❤️
Next up, Unbound Gravel.
I can barely see! The smoke is covering the 2.5-meter-wide gravel trail we’re riding. The music is relentless — it feels like we’re in a rave, but no, we’re in a race. Not just any race, but the Gravel World Championship in Limburg, Netherlands.
It’s my fourth consecutive Gravel World Championship in the Men’s Elite category. The level keeps getting higher, and as always when the race is held in the Benelux, it draws a massive field — 4,000 riders in total, with 250 in the Men’s Elite, the highest level of them all.
From the gun it’s full gas. We’re led out on a 6 km stretch of tarmac before turning onto gravel. The fight for position is fierce, and several crashes unfold in front of me. I stay cautious, but that costs me a few places — and as expected, the splits open up fast. Soon, I find myself in a group behind.
Even though we’re outside the top 100, the speed doesn’t drop. We’re still pushing an average of 36 km/h on narrow, twisting roads lined with orange farm fields. My focus is locked on the wheel in front of me, dodging rocks and potholes — but I’m also soaking in the atmosphere. Thousands of spectators line the course, cheering wildly. You won’t find this kind of crowd at any other gravel race during the season.
As the race settles, reality kicks in — it’s going to be tough to bridge across to the front groups. The race covers 180 km: three laps around Beek before heading toward Maastricht. Still on the first lap, I know my best bet is to conserve energy, stay tucked in the group, and maybe catch dropped riders later. If the legs are good, I’ll try something in the last 30 km.
DO YOU REMEMBER: Gravel World Championship Veneto
Unlike most gravel races, which are pure endurance tests where you ride at a steady threshold, this course is dry, hard-packed, and relatively flat. Drafting is key. I let the engines in our group keep the pace while I save energy.
Even with the draft, it’s still hard work — constant accelerations out of corners, power spikes above 400 W, dips under 220 W, and barely any time spent cruising around 300–320 W, where I usually sit in most gravel races.
“If you’ve got the legs, let’s go on the long climb with 20 k to go,” I tell Håvard Gjeldnes. He’s in my group, and we agree to empty the tank — last part of the race, last race of the season.
Except for the opening chaos, I haven’t been on my limit. With Maastricht in sight, it feels right to give it a go. The group’s been solid, we’ve caught quite a few riders, but now the pace is fading.
As we hit the climb, I step on the gas. Håvard follows, and we open a small gap over the top. He moves to the front, pushing a fierce tempo. A Dutch rider bridges across, but we’re pulling away from the rest. We’re not fighting for any top result, but the racing instinct kicks in — this still feels good.
Then comes the wall — a 500 m climb with a brutally steep start. Håvard is smashing big numbers; I dig deep to stay with him. He surges again, and I dig deep to hang on his wheel over the top. He’s not trying to drop me, but there’s no saving energy now. Håvard locks into TT mode and delivers one of the most impressive efforts I’ve seen all year.
We catch two more Dutch riders who manage to hang on to our wheels. The final kilometers fly by. After a short detour around a castle, we hit the finishing straight. My sprint hasn’t been sharp this season — when Håvard does his final pull, I can only hold his wheel as the two Dutch riders slip past. I cross the line in 126th.
126th might not make the resumé, but looking at the names above me, there’s no shame in that. These are some of the world’s best — Florian Vermeersch (the winner), Matej Mohorič, Tom Pidcock, Greg Van Avermaet, and many more — full-time professionals at the top of their game.
The Gravel World Championship was a perfect way to close the season — a season I’m proud of. Now it’s time for a short break before diving into the 101percent training for 2026.
WANT COACHING?: Trailblazer – 101percent Training
Thank you to all my sponsors and everyone who helped make Gravel Worlds possible. It was great to line up with the Norwegian National Team and share the weekend with a strong crew — riders, support team, and feeders. And a special thanks to Lawrie and Babette for the hospitality in Brussels.
Gear that delivered: Felt Bikes, DT Swiss, Challenge Tires — flawless performance all day — and 226ers for keeping the energy levels high.