A week after Kanza. Better storytellers than I have written great pieces about Dirty Kanza this week. I don’t have a compelling narrative. Those 103 miles only seem epic to me. I do have a pile of thoughts and anecdotes I want to capture, as much for me as for you. Here they are.
Riding through the prairie, where the decades-old grass has roots that run 8-10 feet, was beautiful. It was also intimidating, pedaling fields of green reaching to the horizon. Often only a few lonely trees teased with a bit of shade looking far, far away. The first few miles were pretty special. Still bunched up from the neutral rollout and standing water, the early ride turned into hundreds of riders rolling standing water while orange sunrise light crawled over the horizon and glowed through the mist burning off the fields. Other people were hating the mud and crowd, but I loved it. That image will stick with me a long time.
Officially I finished 102.7 miles of gravel, mud, and one hell of a headwindin 9:58:46. I’d like to say I could have been a lot faster without stopping to help people or ride with a couple of people who were struggling, but the truth is if I hadn’t slowed for them I might have blown up. Strava shows the headwind on the back half really cut into my pace. That puts me 274th out of 559 who started the 100-mile course, including those who DNF’d. For someone who couldn’t have imagined doing this a few years a ago, I’ll take a mid-pack finish with pride.
At North Texas gravel rides you can’t sling a handful of mud without hitting a Surly. It often seems 1/3 of the riders are on one. When I bought my steel Niner RLT 9 I had never seen one in person. At Kanza it was reversed. Sure, I saw one Long Haul Trucker, a Cross Check, a Karate Monkey, and some Stragglers… but I saw more far RLTs and BSBs. Different culture? More people with money to burn? I don’t know. The ratio of cross vs MTB vs fat, etc. was what I expected. Of course, there were Salsas everywhere.
I had Kanza in mind when I built the RLT. From big decisions (1x11 drivetrain, lowering BB height with an EBB to tweak the handling) to minor ones (bag selection and layering Lizard Skins bar tape), all the fiddling an experimentation went right. Outside of a bottle cage, everything was my choice and labor, and it just worked. It was a good feeling.
I’ve made it a habit to watch for riders who need help, probably because I’ve been that person often enough. It’s nice to my own shit together enough to help others. I was surprised how many chances there were on those dirt roads.
The first few miles were breaking derailleurs at a rate akin to this year’s Land Run. Thankfully that section was short, but I’m sure it ruined many people’s day. I’m thankful Land Run taught me how to mange the mud. It was comforting knowing I could switch to single-speed and keep rolling if I had to.
Near mile 24 I rolled past someone alone with his bike upside-down. His response to my normal “You OK?” was an angry negative grunt, so I stopped. He was fighting with his rear wheel after a flat, not knowing how to get the wheel back in the dropouts and derailleur or how to reengage his brake. I was happy to take a few minutes to teach him, but was worried to see his 200-mile tag. He was talking about dropping down to a shorter route… I said I thought it was a smart idea. I hope he made it home alright.
I rolled past the aftermath of a crash at the infamous downhill at mile 26.5. The rider was in the classic broken-collarbone arm clutch, being aided by the volunteers stationed there. A little after mile 50 I stopped to help arrange pickup for another broken collarbone. Protip: pick a line and commit. Trying to cross the thick gravel between tracks on a downhill will steal flesh and break bones. Still, I hope I can maintain as positive an attitude as he had if I’m every stuck roadside like that.
Its taken two years of trial and error to figure out how to spend ten hours on the bike without my blood sugar going crazy. The downside: I carry too much food (I finished with ±14 Honey Stinger packs still in my bag), have a regimented schedule for eating, and have to pay attention to detail when my mind wants to wander. The upside was great: 11 hours of perfect blood sugar and a day without my disease getting in my way. Recovering at Team Schnak’s tent and chatting with other diabetics & their relatives about the ride post-race was an added bonus.
Fatty has said Leadville is an eating contest disguised as a bike race. If so, DK was a drinking contest. The last 50 miles was littered with dehydrated people collapsing under the rare shade tree. Even those who left with enough water were losing theirs, when rocky sections kicked bottles out of cages. I lost my third bottle, and had to pick up someone else’s from the pile next to a washout a little farther down the road. Time to upgrade my third cage to a mandible. For the record, my total was:
6 bottles of water with 2 Nuun/bottle
half a jar of pickle juice (thanks to the Never Forget team)
4-5 Roctane pills after the Nuun ran out
There really is a sense of community in this scene. The brief post-event internet drama pales in comparison to the actual experience. Residents of Emporia were great, and clearly appreciate the business and attention that comes from all the crazy people descending on their town. Just like Land Run, the landowners I spoke to seemed proud to share their piece of the world with us. People I spoke with only briefly at other events met me like old friends.
I have to admit I was nervous about Robin (my wonderful wife) hitting the course. After some health issues and the rigors of keeping up with 4-year-old twins she lined up at the start with little training and zero gravel experience. Still, she had set a personal goal of riding the 22-mile short course, and she wanted to see it through. In many ways her day may have been more intimidating than mine, but she crossed the mud field twice and completed her longest ride in at least a decade. She’s started training and asked me to ride the 50 with her next year. I said yes, but knowing her determination I think we might line up for the 100 together.
