— 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.
The World’s premier gravel race.
Unbound Gravel was founded in 2006 at a time when gravel grinding was just beginning to pique the interest of the endurance cycling community. Residing in the Flint Hills of Kansas, cyclists come from around the globe to transcend upon these roads and tackle the hilly, tire-shredding, sun-baked gravel we’re infamous for. Inspired by some of the early gravel events, our founders knew that the beauty of this region is best explored on two wheels, and with that, the 200-mile “race” took shape.
Now, Unbound Gravel is considered the biggest and most important gravel race in the World.