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!
From the organizer:
Embark on a thrilling journey through the historic Valley of Tears in Texas, a legendary land steeped in tales of endurance and survival. This rugged terrain, once the backdrop of dramatic historical events, now sets the stage for the ultimate test of grit.
In the mid-1800s, this valley echoed with the poignant cries of families torn apart, earning its name from the heart-wrenching separations that occurred here. It was known for its challenging landscape that provided both refuge and trials.
You will traverse these same paths, where every pedal stroke carries the legacy of survival and resilience. The Valley of Tears, with its undulating hills and unpredictable terrain, promises not just a race, but a historical adventure. Riders will battle against the elements, much like the valley’s past inhabitants, and emerge stronger, echoing the indomitable spirit of the land.
As you race through the scenic canyons and alongside the historic Quitaque Peaks, remember the stories etched into this land. The Valley of Tears is not just a route; it’s a testament to endurance, a symbol of overcoming adversity, and now, a spectacular arena for the most adventurous of gravel riders. Gear up for an epic ride through history!
LINK: Strava