A tough Gravel Grit n Grind 🇸🇪 but I’m satisfied with 24th and a qualifying ticket to the UCI Worlds in the UCI Gravel World Series.
I managed to hit my head on Tuesday (while dog walking), and even though I didn’t get a concussion, I wasn’t feeling at my best. I rode conservatively, tried not to use more energy than needed. I started feeling stronger as the 146k race went on, thanks to 226ers Norway supplying me with energy products.
In the last climb, we were about 30 guys left, and I was ready to hit it, but got a pain in my lower back, and wasn’t able to dig deep.
I finished 24th, which was enough to give me a ticket to the UCI Worlds in Limburg 🇳🇱
Thanks to my wife Hanna for helping out in Halmstad (and in life).
EMPORIA, KANSAS: I can hardly believe it. We’re in the middle of a 200-mile race—one of the toughest gravel events on the planet—and yet we’re riding like it’s just a 70-miler. The pace is relentless. We’re flying across the rugged trails and rolling green fields of the Flint Hills like we’re chasing a finish line that’s far closer than it is. Ever since the 5:50 AM rollout from downtown Emporia, it’s been full gas.
READ FIRST: 100-mile breakaway in Unbound 2024
My plan A was to make an early breakaway, just like last year. It would still be a hard day, but if I got away with a small group, we could ease off a bit on the climbs and push more consistently on the flats and descents. That way, I’d save energy.
And I did try. I followed several early moves, then attacked at the same spot as last year with Jan Stoeckli—my breakaway buddy from Traka 360. I know how strong he is and that he can keep a solid pace. We got a decent gap, but then he decided to sit up and wait for the group behind. I kept going solo for a while and passed the first checkpoint in the lead, but eventually, the chase group caught me. First 10, then 20. By the time we hit the Kaw Trail—the first rough section of the day—we were 25 riders.
It felt different this year. No one took charge, so it was fireworks from the start. The gravel was dry and fast, but in the Divide Road, the wheel tracks were as slippery as fresh snow. I barely managed to stay upright and lost all my speed heading into the next climb. That’s where I lost the first group.
Unlike many races, Unbound is never settled. I thought I might not catch the front again after almost crashing. But then Keegan Swenson and Torbjørn Røed came with a group from behind. I tried to hang on when they passed. Made it.
Unbound is just as chaotic as it looks from the outside. It’s nearly impossible to keep track of who’s where. Some riders are out with mechanicals, others are getting dropped from the relentless pace. Everyone has highs and lows. You can feel great one mile and like you’re done the next.
– JOOONAAS!
We approach the first aid station, and Troy—one of the Felt guys—shouts my name. These aid stations aren’t feed zones. They’re Formula 1 pit stops.
We execute just like we practiced the day before. I throw my hydration pack and bottles. Then I stop next to Troy. He hands me a new pack, and while I’m quickly putting it on, he drops bottles in my cages and hands me some rice cakes and a gel. As I grab them, our mechanic Will lubes my chain. I’m rolling in under 10 seconds. I’m back in the front group—now around 40 riders strong.
The temperature is in the 80s (25ºC) and rising. Soon we are in the 90s.
This year, like last year, the course heads north from Emporia. It’s hillier than the southern route, especially up here where we’re approaching now. For the first time, the pace in the front group dips a little. A few riders take the chance to pee. But the calm doesn’t last long—others attack straight after. I don’t see the exact move go, but riders around me say three guys are off the front.
The peloton—where I am—settles for a moment, but the speed stays high. Every time we take a left and the wind hits us, people try to split the group in the crosswinds. Some riders drop off, but most get back on after each surge.
I’m still feeling strong. Looking around, I can tell it’s just the strongest riders left—those who survive days like this. It’s a good feeling.
– Biiip.
My Bryton S810 tells me to make another left turn. I glance down—100 miles ridden, 101 to go. Almost halfway, but we’re racing like we’re already in the final stretch.
The hardest part of the northern course is probably Little Egypt—about five miles of rolling climbs, a lot of it on the loose double track. Plus, you usually get hit with a headwind at the top. It’s a decisive section. Last year, we got caught by the peloton right here. This year, I’m praying I can hold on.
The first part of the climb is decent gravel. But with so many tired legs, people are already starting to let the group go. I have to dig deep to close the gaps. I know I should move up and avoid getting stuck behind slower riders, but I can feel my energy draining. So instead of wasting effort, I decide to sit on the wheels of strong guys—ones I know can close a gap if it opens. Brennan Wertz is one of them. He’s a powerhouse on the flats, but I think I can hang on uphill and use his draft if needed.
Just like I feared, the real climb hits and gaps start opening fast. I focus everything on staying on the wheel in front of me. I’m now behind Tobin Ortenblad, Keegan Swenson’s loyal teammate. More riders are struggling, and another gap opens. I stick to Tobin’s wheel, hoping Brennan soon sets the pace again. Then I see Simen Nordahl Svendsen—the 2024 Gravel Earth Series and Gravel Worlds winner. That’s a great wheel. We form a small group chasing the front pack of 20–25 riders.
I don’t panic—I know we’ll catch them.
A few miles later, we do. Perfect.
READ ALSO: Breaking away in Traka360
The course flattens out a bit, and now it’s key to stay in a big group. We fly past the natural water stop. No one is stopping. Left turn, right turn—then a long stretch opens up ahead. Suddenly, the pace kicks up again. It’s crosswind. And someone’s trying to split it.
This time, I can’t find the right wheels. My legs blow up. I get dropped.
This is my fourth Unbound. Every edition is different, but one thing never changes—it feels endless. I’ve never been this deep in a hole during a race.
First, I start passing 100-mile riders. Then, I get passed—by fit riders, sure, but not racers. I’m crawling. Slower than I go on recovery rides. My legs just stop working. It feels like riding in a sauna. I pull over to the side of the road. Take off my helmet. Take a breath. This is surreal. Just hours ago, I was racing at the front with the best gravel riders in the world. Now I’m watching weekend warriors and first-timers pass me. All respect to them—but I didn’t come all the way to Emporia for this.
After a short pause, I put my helmet back on and start pedaling again. Finally, the Coke and Red Bull I had at the Felt pit 10 miles ago start to kick in. I still feel nauseous, but at least I’m moving.
Suddenly, four riders come past—and I latch on. It’s Jan Stoeckli, the legend Mattia de Marchi, and two others. I don’t know why they’re back here, but they’re riding well. Not so fast that I can’t hang on and do short pulls. We’re on the final 30 miles—mostly flat, with a tailwind back to Emporia. I badly need this train. It’s still brutally hot, but I feel a spark of motivation again.
– Please, go ahead of me. I’m not sprinting, I tell the others as we hit the final 5 miles. I’m completely empty, but I’m holding on for that last hill by Emporia State University. I just want to finish. Sitting behind the group helps me stay at speed. I haven’t eaten in an hour, my bottles are empty, and I don’t want anything with sugar left in it.
We turn right onto pavement—it feels amazing after 199 miles on gravel. Then a short gravel section again, but now I know where we are: the final two miles. I almost want to cry. But I’m too tired. I grind my way up the last hill.
And there it is—the finish line. Finally.
62nd isn’t the result I was aiming for, but just finishing Unbound is an achievement in itself. My fourth finish. 9 hours and 39 minutes.
I’m really proud of how I rode the first half. I just wish it had lasted—or at least that I hadn’t blown up so badly I was barely moving at times. I even had to stop for a moment. Still, being able to ride with that front group proves I’ve made real progress, especially in my anaerobic capacity and resilience. This was the fastest Unbound ever, with the strongest field to date. I averaged over 302 watts NP for the first 5 hours and spent a whole hour above 400 watts.
It’s definitely not getting any easier year by year, but even if my result was better last year, I know I’m stronger now. I just need to keep adapting my metabolism to handle the extra kJs I’m burning when I push higher power for longer.
I’m already looking forward to returning next year—to take revenge on those brutal last 80 miles. Even though I hit one of my lowest points in a long time, for what felt like forever, I still walk away with so many good memories from this year’s Unbound.
Huge thanks to Felt and Cadence Cyclery for all the support. And shoutout to CCN Sport for hooking me up with the best-looking kit of the weekend..
SEE MORE : My upcoming schedule
The Gravel Spirit is very much alive in Hico. On the same streets where Billy the Kid once walked nearly 150 years ago, the gunfights may be history—but the energy remains. The 110-mile Gravel Locos race captures that raw, untamed feeling. As I ride through the open landscape, I can’t help but feel a bit like an outlaw myself—swept up in the wildness of it all, chasing something just out of reach.
READ FIRST: Valley of Tears Gravel
– Shall I go? My friend and team mate in Cadence, Corey Ray asks.
– Yeah, attack! I respond.
Corey is a genuine cowboy from Dallas. He makes the first move in front of the 450 riders participating in the event. Before long, other riders respond, and the race gets underway.
– Splash.
It doesn’t take many miles from the start before my clean, new Felt Carbon Advanced is soaked with water and caked in mud after smashing through the first river crossing. The water is mild—it doesn’t feel cold. At around 23ºC, it’s actually quite comfortable. Hundreds of riders are charging through the same crossing, sending shockwaves through the water. Up ahead, it looks like my fellow Norwegian, Simen Nordahl Svensen, is setting the pace.
We’re the only two Norwegians here, but the field is full of international talent. Teams like PAS and Swatt are well represented, along with the Dutch Mafia crew: Laurens ten Dam, Jasper Ockeloen, Ivar Slik, and their newest addition, former WorldTour rider Ramon Sinkeldam. The American Gravel Champion Brennan Wertz is here too, along with gravel legend Ted King and local Texan standout Chase Collins.
I’m feeling good and holding the pace through the accelerations without much trouble. But I also know I can’t chase everything. Last year’s winner, Julian Gagne, along with Brennan Wertz and a Swatt rider, manage to slip away. No one really reacts, and just like that, the day’s breakaway is gone.
The temperature is climbing, and the effort in the peloton is already heating up. Attacks keep coming, one after another, and the crosswind adds another layer of difficulty. Before long, we’re down to about 20 riders.It’s summer in Texas which means the trees and flowers have bloomed and the last is dry and rough. It’s my fourth time racing Gravel Locos, and I knew it was going to be hot. As we reach mile 35 it’s 33ºC and temperature is rising.
– I feel like I’m dancing on the pedals. I think to myself.
I feel incredible—probably the best I’ve felt all year. With so many strong teams in the race, I still believe it’s smarter to follow than to attack on my own. But I also know I’m not riding as conservatively as I probably should. I just really don’t want to risk getting left behind.
Gravel Locos has two mandatory stops where you have to pause for two minutes. We’re approaching the first one. With close to 20 riders together, it quickly gets a bit chaotic.
— Which one’s the water? And the Untapped drink? I ask a helper.
He points to a bucket, and I quickly fill my bottle. I need to top up all three—there’s no way I’m making it 50 miles and more than two hours in this burning heat without them.
I grab some gels, and while filling my last bottle, I notice some riders are already rolling out. Stress kicks in as I scramble to close my bottle and chase after them. Gravel Locos has always been a gentleman’s race, where riders respected the feed zones and waited their turn—this rush feels disappointing. I’m the last one out of the stop, but I manage to latch onto the wheel of my Felt teammate, Adam Roberge, who pulls me back up to the group.
Wasted energy, but at least I’m back with the 20-man group as we approach the 3Bs. The map calls it the Norway Hill, but I still don’t feel welcome here.
Bam—we hit the first of three kickers. I drop to my lowest gear and pedal as hard as I can, but the bike barely moves. Cadence sits at 40. Magnus Bak Klaris and Mads Würts Schmidt are pushing the pace hard. I lose a few meters at the top but dig deep and claw my way back. We’re down to six riders, and the front guys are about to get caught.
The heat is brutal. I can catch my breath on the downhill, but as soon as we hit the second hill, I start to struggle. The group pulls away.
– Nooo, Jonas. Get yourself together, I scream inside my head.
But I can’t. By the time we reach the last hill, the train is gone. I settle into my own rhythm, and after the summit, Ted King, Laurens ten Dam, Chase Collins, Francesco Bettini, and Tobias Kongstad catch up. It’s a solid group. With half the race still to go, having company feels good as we head into the second half.
Suddenly, Tobias slips away and no one chases. This guy just won the Traka 360, so if anyone’s worth sticking with, it’s him—he’s not going to blow up and will motor us all the way to the finish. I accelerate to close the gap, and soon it’s just Tobias and me—like at Unbound 2024, where we rode together in the break. Now we’re behind, but still sharing turns and keeping the pace honest.
It’s been a windy morning, but as we turn north, the wind shifts to our backs. The pace picks up—fast, but the cooling relief of the breeze disappears, replaced by the relentless heat.
I feel like a roasted chicken, sizzling on a grill. The sun beats down mercilessly, and I’m not sure how much longer I can endure it. Tobias and I keep sharing pulls, but a growing doubt creeps in—I might have to stop in the shade just to survive. I weave across the gravel, searching desperately for a patch of shade. My Bryton says it’s close to 40ºC. I unzip my CCN jersey just to get a little breeze on my chest.
Then, like a miracle, an oasis appears: a river crossing. Without a word, we both brake hard and plunge into the water, submerging ourselves completely. The cold shock is immediate, a lifeline in this furnace. For a moment, everything slows—the heat, the race, the pain. We’re just two riders, caught between fire and water.– Ohh – what a feeling!
Taking a dip has rarely felt so good. We don’t linger, but it’s enough to cool me down just enough to feel alive again. As we roll back onto the gravel, I feel incredible—like I’ve been baptized and born anew. Suddenly, I can push 50 watts more without thinking.
LOOK BACK: Gravel Locos 2022
We’re cruising close to an average of 35 km/h (22 mph), but the hours drag on. At the last mandatory aid station, a big bag of ice is stuffed down my back, keeping me chilled for nearly the next hour—an icy shield against the relentless heat.
We hold the rhythm and reel in Niki Terpstra along with Matteo Fontana from Swatt, who had been in the early break. The heat is a ruthless opponent—ready to take out anyone who falters. For now, I’m managing to stay cool enough to match Tobias’s pace. Ahead, we spot Ivar Slik, the 2022 Unbound champion, pushing hard.
– Shall we pass with speed or let him join us? I ask the Dane.
– Yeah, let’s go fast. In a km there is crosswind. Let’s pass then, Tobias answers with a shady smile.
We’re into the last 15 miles, and maybe we should just let Ivar roll with us. Even though the leaders feel out of reach, there’s still a faint chance we’re riding for a top 10 spot.
I hang just behind Ivar, watching him closely, ready to attack if he looks back. As we near the turn, I signal Tobias and surge past Ivar. We rocket by, and Tobias keeps the pace after the corner. But Ivar’s got a strong kick—he quickly jumps back onto our wheels.
I flash Ivar a grin.
– Worth a shot, I say, but lets team up from now on.
A little later, another rider rolls up—Mats Würts Schmidt, another Dane. He looks like the heat’s been chewing on him, but he hooks onto our wheels, and just like that, we’re four.
Around the next corner, the final feed stations come into view. With only ten miles to the finish, I don’t really need anything, but a cold Coke sounds mighty fine.
The three of us stop to grab a quick refill while Mats keeps on trucking. This time, it’s not so easy to catch him. We regroup and chase hard, flying past riders at the 65-mile mark, but Mats keeps slipping further ahead. Approaching the last asphalt stretch into the finish, I realize it’ll be the three of us crossing the line together. I’m not exactly sure where we stand, but I’m guessing top 10.
Ivar admits he’s sitting out the sprint, so I get ready to go head-to-head with Tobias. Into the last corner, I launch ahead and open a small gap. I try to carry the momentum down the hill, but a quick glance back shows Tobias right on my wheel. I ease up a bit, saving my legs for the final hundred meters and the fun sprint finish.
Then I go full gas—but Tobias has other plans. He powers past me with 50 meters to go. We cross the line, and I head straight to the rider’s area where Allan’s waiting. I’m too wiped to talk much, but he hands me an ice cream from Untapped—just what I needed.
That was my fourth Gravel Locos—another epic event to remember. Blazing hot, high-speed, aggressive racing, and a whole lot of fun… with a serious dose of suffering thrown in. They tell me I finished 12th, which I’m more than happy with given the talent at the start. Now it’s all about recovering and getting even sharper for next weekend and Unbound.
Big shoutout to Fabian and his team for yet another fantastic event in Hico, right in the heart of Texas and the wild west.
READ MORE: 100-mile breakaway in Unbound Gravel
– Welcome to Traka! This is your moment! the speaker blasts as the race begins. It’s 5:50 AM, still pitch black, except for an ocean of red and white lights from the 800 riders at the start at The Traka 360 – arguably the biggest European gravel race.
I’m not entirely sure what I’ve gotten myself into. Last year, I raced the 200k, followed by 100k the next day, but that was spread out over two days. This year, I’ve signed up for the 360k route—a non-stop race with just a few aid stations. While the 200k might attract just as many of the top riders, the 360k is the true heart of The Traka.
Swick! The rider in front of me brakes suddenly, and I just manage to avoid his wheel. The pace is steady from the start as we climb the asphalt road out of Girona. It’s still dark, and even though the headlights illuminate the riders ahead, you have to stay focused. Easier said than done at this hour. But I’m sure I’ll wake up soon enough.
The first sunbeams hit me, and it’s an instant surge of energy. As the light slowly grows, I glance down at my brand-new Felt Breed Advanced, which I’m riding for the first time after a quick test ride yesterday. The bike feels fast, and I immediately click with it. I’m running DT Swiss GR1400 wheels paired with Challenge Getaway 45 tires, and they feel just right on the road.
My new Bryton S810 head unit tells me we are about to make a sharp right turn, and next we are led into a narrow singletrack where the peloton stretches out ahead. Suddenly, gaps open, and I’m forced to bridge across to the first 30 riders. I make it, but I know—this is where it gets serious. We’re barely 40 kilometers into the race, with more than 320 to go. Early mistakes like these can ruin your whole race, and these early bursts of effort are going to come back to bite later on.
A few riders have already opened a gap on the front group. As I move up, a rider from PAS and one from Tudor attack. My gut tells me to follow—they’re strong, part of a team, and it could be the right move. A couple more riders jump from the bunch, and before long, we form an eight-man breakaway, pulling away with a solid gap from the peloton.
Racing aggressively was never part of my plan, but now, I realize this could be my ticket to the finish. The first big hurdle is the big climb ahead, but if I can make it through that, the road to the finish might be a little easier.
We’re flying, and just a few kilometers later, we catch up to four riders who had been in the lead. Now, we’ve formed the front group. I spot fellow Norwegian Ole Bjørn Simingseth up ahead, and things are starting to look better.
Traka is never easy. The profile promises massive climbs that you know are going to hurt, but in between, it’s a constant rollercoaster of twisting trails. Keeping your momentum is key, but it’s also exhausting. Every micro-effort chips away at your energy storage. And then there’s the ever-present risk of punctures—or worse, a crash.
In the breakaway, the PAS rider is Nils Correvon. On the descent, he hits a sharp rock and…
– BAAM!
Nils gets a puncture and has to stop. Another rider gives up—he’s completely empty. Our 12-man group is now down to 8. I’m relieved to see Ole Bjørn is still with us. He’s a beast, and having someone in the group you know can hold the pace is comforting.
But then, on a tricky downhill, I hear the awful sound of a crash, followed by the unmistakable scream of pain. I don’t see the crash itself, but only five riders pass me after it. We roll through cautiously, hoping for good news, but we quickly realize we’ve lost three more riders.
With fewer of us now, it means more time in the wind and more energy spent. We keep pedaling, pushing forward. Only 20 kilometers to the aid station where I can finally resupply.
It’s getting hotter, but I enjoy it. After the chilly and dark morning, it’s nice to experience weather more familiar to Catalonia.
We come flying into the aid station at high speed, and I nearly miss my wife, Hanna, in the chaos. She’s out serving me bottles and nutrition. I quickly switch out my hydration vest, grab three bottles filled with electrolytes, and stuff my pockets with another three rice cakes and a gel from Nordic Nutrition. I’m stocking up, but something’s off—we’ve already covered 135 km, yet this aid station was supposed to be at 130 km.
The first two riders are faster than me, so I have to catch up. I make it up to the front just as we start the biggest climbs of the day.
My cadence drops as low as 40 as I grind my way up the climb of Mas Patiras – A 6k climb with 200 meters of elevation gain but with sections over 10%. The trail winds steeply through beautiful terrain, but there’s little room to enjoy it. All my focus is on maintaining momentum—one pedal stroke at a time.
I look over my shoulder and spot a fast-moving group gaining on me—the remnants of the peloton. I expected them to fly up this climb; only the strongest would be able to stay in contact.
The Tudor rider, Jan Stöckli, and another guy have managed to get a gap on me, leaving me in third position. I know that if I can reach the summit before the peloton swallows me up, I might earn a kind of free pass on the long, flat stretch heading south toward Girona.
As the gradient eases off at the top, they catch me. I latch onto the back of the group—about 15 riders strong. I recognize all the big names except Lachlan Morton, who must have run into some mechanical trouble.
We drop down the backside of the mountain for a few kilometers before a surprise hits me: a brutal 100-meter wall that forces everyone off their bikes. It’s steep, and the ground is so loose I can barely push my bike forward. No one’s moving fast, but halfway up, my legs stiffen to the point I can barely move. I am crawling uphill like a snail. I takes me 9 minutes, but finally I reach the top of the hike and can get back on the bike. I try to accelerate and catch up with the guys, but it is impossible. Chad Haga, who’s also on Felt, passes me and tell me to hang on. But sorry, hombre, no can do.
I want to stop. I want to call Hanna and have her come pick me up. But I don’t. I keep going, riding as if I’m out on a recovery spin. Eventually, a group of five riders catches up, and I just manage to hang on. And now it starts raining too.
It’s a hard reset—going from the front of the race to completely blowing up. The hike crushed me. I bonked, lost contact with the leaders, and any shot at staying up front slipped away. But I still have to make it back to Girona, and at least now, tucked into this group, I can hold a steady pace again.
We rotate smoothly, pushing through a chilly rainfall, fumbling with navigation. Slowly, we edge closer to the second aid station—my next checkpoint, my next small goal.
There’s Hanna and the Felt team. This time, I’m quicker off the mark and quickly catch up with three riders from our group. I’m starting to feel better now, able to push some decent watts again. But after just a few kilometers, we hit another tough climb—probably the biggest of the day.
Els Metges is 9 kilometers long with 360 meters of elevation gain. Once again, my 48T front chain turns this climb into a real grind. I struggle to keep the momentum, barely staying with the two fastest riders in our group. This climb is brutal, especially after 300 kilometers of racing. I try to find my rhythm, keeping the two guys within sight. At least the rain has stopped.
After a quick descent, we catch my American friend Griffin Easter. But soon enough, the two of us are forced to let the others go. Another low point in the race, and I’m barely moving forward.
The end is near. Many riders would probably feel like they’re about to collapse as we near the finish, but honestly, I’m in a new zone and feel strong.
At the same time, Lars van Coppenolle comes flying past me. I try to hang on, but with just 10 kilometers to go, I know we’re not finished yet.
– Left turn, my Bryton announces, and an unwelcome gravel climb looms ahead. It feels like a cruel joke after riding 350 kilometers, but there’s no turning back now. A final suffer fest with 2 kilometers of pain and 150 meters of elevation, the climb called Pujada de Can Gall. The Belgian disappears into the distance, and I focus on one pedal stroke at a time, just trying to get home. Almost there.
– ¡Felicidades, Jonas Orset! the announcer shouts as I cross the finish line. I made it. What a feeling!
I’m welcomed by the Felt team with smiles and pats on the back. I’m happy—really happy—but after riding for so many hours, it also feels strange to finally stop. 12 hours and 27 minutes. 27th place. I lost around 10 spots in the last 60 kilometers and had been part of the breakaway for the first 160. So the result doesn’t quite reflect the ride I had. A top 20 would’ve sounded better, sure—but finishing a race like this, being part of its story, feels incredible.
It’s going to take weeks, maybe even months, to fully absorb everything that happened out there. But the smile? That’s staying.
Thank you, Klassmark and the Gravel Earth Series, for an unforgettable Traka. I’ll be back next year.
