The Long Voyage at Gravel Worlds

I was basically vibrating at the start line. It was time to shove off, let's go! My tracker was on & working. My rig was loaded & functioning. My gear was dialed. Sure, I could be more physically ready, but what are you going to do? Look COVID in the face and tell it to do... what?

I am here. I will start steady. I will finish strong.

As I expected, the pack blew up as soon as it hit gravel. I knew that if I wanted to have some physical and mental capability at mile 200, I needed to dial it back... so I floated back, and back, and back. My power meter wasn't connected, so I had no idea of my exertion on the early rollers. Back to perceived effort, I thought, smirking. All of this talk about watts and FTP over the past year, and I still was going into my A-race with no power data. Pretty ironic. 

I leap frogged with various riders, got to know some others, but either way, felt like I was putting out my steadiest effort. Eventually, I was all alone. I kept one eye on the sky for the first thirty miles. There was a wicked wind that picked up and started pushing me up the rollers. The clouds organized into a wall. Lightening struck the ground approximately twenty seconds away to the southeast... right where we were headed. 

When the rain hit, I pulled on Laura's packable raincoat. The rain was heavy and the dusty roads absorbed the water, quickly turning the roads sandy. My drive chain started getting suspiciously gunky, so I made a decision to re-lube and clean it off earlier than I had wanted to stop. It's one of those risks: stop early and watch your time in hand slip away, or keep going and then have a disastrous mechanical later. The quick work seemed to do the trick, and I was careful of what lines I was taking to avoid sandy puddles. 

The sun was a hazy, orange ball, suspended between the corn and the low-hanging clouds. Darkness soon settled as a foggy darkness. 

Rolling into checkpoint one at mile 54, I was surprised to see riders. To some extent, I assumed I was so far off the back I would never see people again. It was reassuring that I was not on my own. I was drinking cold tomato soup straight from the can when I saw that my taillight was out. "Shit," I said, and plugged it into a portable battery. I was just going to have to keep going, but without a rear light was not exactly the way I wanted to proceed. I packed up the raincoat - it was a silent, still, humid night.

I looked up to see Christie Tracey across the parking lot as her rig rolled in. "What...? I figured I wouldn't see you again until the finish...?" I said. She was putting on a brave face, I think, as she was smiling and telling me about her frustrating gear issues for the last fifty miles, and why she opted to DNF. It made complete sense, and I tried to tell her that she didn't owe anyone anything, but maybe it's different from pro riders? Then I sucked it up and asked her if I could have her tail light. Thankfully, she is a generous and supportive racer, so I strapped that bad boy on and got on my way.

(Molly's Pro-Tip: Always ask. They could say no. But what if they say yes?)

The next thirty miles flew by. I was jamming up and down the rollers at a tempo that was sustainable for wee old Molly. I bet this area was gorgeous in the daylight. But it was otherwordly at night - slatted bridges over deep gullies, shining eyes of night creatures, quiet farmsteads and the hanging black curtains of a midwestern night. At one point, I was approaching another descent where I couldn't even pretend to see the bottom. I flicked on my helmet light to get better visualization when a raucous voice broke the silence.

"Yeeeeeeeah! Wooooooooo! Go! Go! Go!" As I blasted past a driveway, a man stood from his lawn chair and raised his arms, screaming into the night for this anonymous racer from three states east. I bet the lead pack was insane on this descent. 

I gave a proper TMBA Whoop Whoop! as a rocketed past.... and I kept going down, down, down.

I chuckled... this was going to be a climb out of this valley! I hit my first Minimally Maintained Road (MMR), and it wasn't terribly soggy despite the rain. Would that they all would be like this...

I could see taillights in front of me as the miles ticked down. I would lose sight of them, then catch them again, and on and on. A Love's Truck Stop Sign appeared out of nowhere. It was like a shining Mecca, full of water and a sandwich. I did a quick tally - doing good on water, fuel, and time. I consulted my cheat sheet and was pleased that I was ahead of schedule. 

Popping off the bike, I shot a quick text to Nathan, "So many fat fucking toads in the road. A fancy skunk. A storm. All is well."

Then it was bathroom, water, baloney & cheese sandwich, bugle chips. There were several riders drooped against the wall, and I assumed they were DNFing as well. Others were coming or going while I went through my rituals. 

I just kept reminding myself: race your own race. I was not going to be the fastest. I was not going to be the slowest. I was not going to DNF. I just was. 

Off I went. I kept my eyes trained on the bike light in front of me and eventually caught him - a single speeder named Matt. We chatted amicably - his single speed set up had him bopping easily over the crest of the hills. We hit the next MMR, and I started shifting more gingerly, as the mud was thick clay sticking to all parts of my bike. Up ahead, we saw a cyclist sitting in the mud fussing with his bike. 

"Oh, Ben, no!" I said.

He looked up and laughed sadly. "This is the last time I use an oval chainring."

I wished him luck, but opted to hike-a-bike at that point, based on the level of muck I was standing in. I told Matt I might catch back up with him. His tail light disappeared, but I would eventually see it, and others, as they rose up on rollers and appeared on dark ridges. 

Looking back, I wished I would have braved the possibility of a fucked up hanger instead of letting him go ahead. Maybe things would have been different, had I done that.

Once my mileage ticked over 100, I sipped from the Pepsi I had stashed in one of my water bottles. It was warming up and flattening off, but it still tasted like a victory. Oh, I'm a third of the way there...! I sang silently. My average mph was going down, as expected in the dark. But I was feeling strong and smart. I had plenty of time in hand to keep up with my goal, but I needed to keep my time off of my bike to an absolute minimum!

The clouds were dissolving around a big, orange moon. I said a silent prayer for my colleagues in veterinary medicine.

A truck came up behind me. It was surprising, as I was looking at approximately 3 am on my watch. It was a big, gray four-door truck and it slowed next to me. I kept pedaling.

"Hey, what are you doing?" a voice yelled from the cab. I looked over, but didn't turn off my helmet light. It illuminated four teenage boy faces. Was there a fifth in there? They were leering at me, their faces so similar to that of the farm kids. One had braces that shined back at me. Probably against my better judgement, I  said I was in a bike race. "From where? How long?"  

Red flag.

"Up north. Three hundred miles." I kept pedaling. They kept matching my pace. I wanted them to go away.

"Holy shit!" one shouted.

"Do you want a beer?" another offered. Red flag! Red flag!

"How about a lift? You want a ride?" another said. Alarm bells. 

"You need to move on," I said firmly.

"Wha-?" they started protesting.

"I'm not shitting you. Move on!" I gestured, like I was shooing away a stray dog. "Go!"

They peeled out. I got pelted with rocks. I gulped for air, watching their tail lights turn onto a driveway or a road. It was all so dark, I couldn't tell. I kept my helmet light on as I passed a driveway, but didn't see them. I had pulled my little knife out of my pocket and was holding it between my left hand and handlebar, while I fumbled with my phone, turning it off of airplane mode. I was considering calling Laura just to leave her a message with details of everything just in case I went missing - because #murderino. But as I did, truck headlights shone in front of me. I felt so exposed, so I pulled off the side of the road. 

The teens stopped in front of me. One shouted, "We just want to know what the hell is going on! Tell us what the hell is going on!" There was a blonde girl in there, too. I wished on her a thousand masturbating old ass men in NYC's Subways. My grace was gone. 

I don't remember what I said, but it was to the effect of go away. I started to ride away when I heard the engine rev and the headlights jump at me. I steered my bike into the ditch. 

I yelled, "Siri, call 911!" 

Don't get it twisted, friends. I have an Android. 

The little brats threw the truck in reverse like they were going to back into me, and then peeled out again. By now, I was dialing 911. The dispatcher was trying to get my statement when I saw the headlights change direction in the distance. I told her to wait, and turned off all three of my lights, grabbed my bike and ran through a deer path into a field. I set my bike down and crouched down under a pear tree, just as the truck roared back along the road. 

My hands were shaking. I tried to answer the dispatcher's questions as calmly as I could. She was trying to locate me. I was trying to locate me. Then I had to call a different dispatcher. Then I had to wait for the deputy. I called Cam, knowing she was might be awake? The signal was terrible, but then dispatch called back - she wanted to be on the phone with me while I waited for the deputy. I cried a little - there was no where to go. There were just old silos and a pear tree. I couldn't tell if I was scared or cold, but everything was trembling.

The truck came back a fourth time.

When the deputy finally arrived, he just stared at me. I got really angry at that point. I didn't know what to say to fill the stupid silence between us, and I was annoyed he didn't understand why I was so upset. I kept the bike between us. He stared at my little knife. "Ma'am, could it just be that kids are just being kids?"

I blew up. "No! It's 3 am. I'm from a small town. I know how this shit goes. There's a fine line between kids being kids and someone getting hurt. And all I want to do is finish my race, and I can't do that safely when I'm being harassed by a bunch of bored kids who act like they have bad intentions!"

He assured me that he wasn't going to be following me, explicitly, but that I should know that he was out there. And that he and the next county were going to be looking for the truck. If they found the the truck, he'd question the kids and tell them to go home. He took my phone number, so he could contact me if he did just that. 

He looked like he was barely old enough to shave. 

The next checkpoint was only five miles away. It felt like fifty. I kept looking over my left shoulder, like a bad tick. I could not get my legs to co-operate. 

I rolled into the sleepy town and sent an email to one of the race directors, CC'ing Laura & Britt. I tried to be brave. 

This is what happened. I am not DNFing. Maybe I can finish, but I might be coming in after the finishing time.

But, I started crying again when I saw the closed up bar that was our checkpoint. The lights gave little power against the darkness. I didn't want to go back out there alone. To my knowledge, I was the only one here. Matt would have been long gone. The men that I passed, I assumed, I would have seen from my hiding spot. My resolve was absolutely shattered. I tended to hygiene issues, considered drinking water or eating, and decided that I was too sick to my stomach to bother trying. Just as I started refilling my water from the hose, Sean rolled into the checkpoint. Steve shortly followed him. 

I stared at them like they were ghosts, but I was happy to see them. I told them what happened, and told them I'd like to ride with them, if that was okay. They agreed, and also told me that they saw the kids out there, too. But, they hadn't been bothered by them like I had. 

Of course not, I silently raged. It's always the women that bear the brunt of the society's failures, isn't it?

Sean's drive chain took an unfortunate hit about 30 miles back, so helped him a little with what little I knew, anyway, while Steve got cleaned up. Then, we got to rolling. The boys, as I started calling them in my head, were being really conscious of my feelings, I suspect. I was just relieved for human companionship. 

Based on my little cheat sheet, I was now an hour behind the estimated time to make the finish. Which meant that I needed to either push into a 15 or 16 mph average pace... which would likely be impossible for me at this point. Or I needed to ride the next 200 miles without stopping, which was absolutely impossible. I was itchy to pick up the pace, but absolutely unwilling to ride into the night by myself. So, I started readjusting my expectations. Where I could have come in at sunset, I was now lucky to finish at midnight or 1 am. I let the feelings of disappointment wash over me, and then moved on. 

By then the sun was rising. It was a silent blue ribbon on the eastern horizon, melting into yellow and orange. There was joy in that sunrise. 

And then there was a resigned sigh ahead of us: the storm from last night had dumped so much water on the MMRs that we had to shoulder our bikes and start hiking. Mile after mile... at some point, we lost Steve and it was just Sean and I. Despite the physical slog of it all, I just absorbed it and moved through it. I started just talking out loud, telling Sean about my COVID diagnosis, and then about this or that. Normally, I let other people be the podcast for the rides... but for some reason, I got to be the talkative one.

Maybe I just needed to hear something that I knew the ending to, to control the narrative, to keep the desperation and disappointment from killing what spirit I had left for this race. 

This was how it went until we reached Beatrice, around mile 145: flowing gravel rollers, hike-a-bike slogs through thick mud, 20-minutes of bike cleaning. Repeat. 

By then, I had a horrible heat rash in a place that should neither be heated nor rashed. After getting my undercarriage cleaned up, I made a phone call to Nathan. I quietly cried while telling him everything that happened, and he tried to be supportive. I think we both knew that no matter how much sunshine and positivity that we injected into this story that I was done, toasted. He encouraged me to keep going. I told him to tell my family what was going on. I kept my phone on silent so I wouldn't see my friends' texts of encouragement. I tried to not cry in front of Sean & Steve. That didn't work, either.

The mental fortitude that is required in these rides gets chipped away over time. But that incident with the truck full of teenagers - what we started calling #TeenGate - had knocked out a significant chunk of that fortification so quickly. The absolute terror that I felt had sapped all of my energy, even though it was such a small sliver of time compared to the rest of the race. The fortifications were rickety, the mental stores were empty, there was nothing to draw on. I needed those things to ignore the ass pain, the saddle sores, the foot pain, the hand numbness, the wooziness that comes from being awake for over 24-hours. 

Steve said he was dropping out. Sean wanted to make it to mile 200, and I agreed to ride with him. I let Britt know the plan. Jason the Race Promoter had emailed me back, "Don't worry about the finish time. Just get back safely."

Leaving Beatrice and Steve, I felt a little better and started doing mental math. If I could keep this up, would I be able to finish at 1 or 2 am? After about five miles, I was right back in the dark place, though. At the rate I was going, it would be 5 am. And even if that sounded fun - and let's be honest, it didn't - I really could not muster up the courage to ride through the night again, not with the gross grins of the children of the corn seared into my brain. 

From Beatrice, we wound along dry roads, both gravel and dirt, to Wilbur. Would that our MMRs fifty miles back would have been this dry! Sean asked about how I broke my back... that was a touchy subject, but only because that event was starting to mirror this one so eerily. I told him what I wanted to, leaving out the part of the PTSD diagnosis. I felt dumb, but he just told me how strong I was. 

I didn't feel like it, at all. 

Just five miles outside of Wilbur, I had an undoing. Sean kept going, and I took off my shoes and emptied out what felt like pounds of gravel but only ended up being several stones. I think I found a rock between my ass cheeks? I tried not to scream when I applied chamois butter to my bits. I walked for a while, then finally got back on my bike and caught up with Sean at the Casey's. 

I apologized. So did he.

He looked at me, sadly, and said, "I don't see a reason in biking 200 miles when our stop is at 211. I'm going to call my friend and have him pick me up in Crete."

Crete was 13 miles away. I agreed and texted Britt and Nathan. I bought us Slushies. I also got a slice of Casey's pizza - so fucking good! - and a little bottle of Jack Daniels to share with Britt when she picked up my sorry ass. Sean bought a bar of soap.

We got moving again, and I started doing what all ultra-endurance athletes do when they have to get to a checkpoint to DNF - haggling, bartering, trying to negotiate a way to keep going. But no matter what I offered the universe in exchange for being able to keep going, nothing was working.

I resigned my fate as we rolled into Crete on the busiest road I had been on since leaving Indiana. Most of the drivers gave up well over six-feet of space. One didn't, passing within one foot of me. I startled so ridiculously bad that I about swerved off the road, and I yelled, "Jesus fucking Christ!" That startled Sean, and I was horrified. 

I hadn't had that kind of reaction to a negligent driver in months, or a year. That was my nail in the coffin. When the demons of PTSD-past started crawling out of their prison. I needed to be done now. 

At the gas station, Sean was loading his bike up in his friend's truck. I sat down and just stared at nothing, waiting on my escape vehicle. I had enough brain cells to turn off my tracker. I think I said good-bye to Sean, and at one point, I identified the floating pieces of flooft to be husks of soybeans when it settled on my arm, although it looked like ash. 

Britt pulled up and said, "I will hug you, if you want a hug." I said, "I need a hug. But I'm going to cry." 

Gravel Worlds Long Voyage 

188 miles/300
11 mph & 9,734 ft of climbing
17:02:57 moving time
22 hours total time