Back to Spain for the unofficial season opener in Girona for Santa Vall. The multi-day stage race is a great way to shake the dust and get into gravel mode. We had a lovely trip over the four day weekend and for once, capitalized on the holiday weekend schedule at Kyle’s work!

Moving the blog…again. From blogspot to wordpress to squarespace. Unifying the RAW.creative_ brand under one website.

I came back for redemption. For revenge. For solace and solitude. To embrace whatever those Flint Hills wanted to give. I came back to Unbound XL in search of me. To find my smile, buried deep in the mud of years past. I came back because I love it here, and I needed a patch for the mile 275 DNF scar on my heart. My Kansas riding has been a metaphor for life. Riding the ups and downs. The highs and lows. The successes and failures. The boredom in the mundane and the excitement in that too. As I have said before, Kansas has my heart, and once you give yourself fully, it becomes effortless.

Every year when I make the trek to Unbound Gravel, it feels like I’m coming home. I know it may sound weird, but I love Emporia, KS. I’m mildly passionate about the Flint Hills. I’ve raced ~1475 miles all over this state, plus the countless training and bikepacking miles, and still see something new every time. 

I always find an unfamiliar part of myself out there, which keeps me coming back to learn more. 

Some of my proudest moments earned. Deepest efforts dug. Riding the highs and lows of life, and the lumpy roads ahead. Kansas gravel, this is my love letter. 

Nervous anticipation, cinching up the bags at the shared Airbnb before the start on day one. By day eight, it’s old hat. Everything is a bit more worn and weathered. My skin included. The Andalusian mountains and desert feel the same. Old and worn-down from centuries of oppressive heat, ripping winds, and the storms that pop up out of nowhere. These lands feel tired and barren. But somehow riding here feels like a favorite pair of broken-in jeans. From the first day I can already tell I’m gonna love this place. This is Badlands.  

This is a story of one of the 4,000 attempts to reach the finish line. A story yes, about failure, but also every success. This is my story about a shorter journey around the flint hills than originally planned. But one that wasn’t short on miles pedaled with a smile. Kansas is a special place. I'd go as far as saying my gravel Mecca. It's a place I feel at home on the open roads. After facing defeat, it's only made made my pull to return even greater. This isn't the end of my journey.

When planning my 2023 US tour, I came to a roadblock. How would I get from Bentonville after Rule of Three to Emporia by Wednesday before the XL? After a quick mapping, and realizing they aren’t actually that far - I threw it out there. What if I ride? My teammate could bring my bike bag and suitcase on Thursday. Our gracious hosts in Emporia could take me in a week early. My friend Dylan had offered up a route that he’d already done?! What’s stopping me? 

Getting to experience more? At my own pace? Yes, please. 

I stopped riding. I stopped writing. The Depression brought me to a halt. 

2021 Unbound XL. What a high. This is about the fall and the next 18 months of spiraling. Spinning out. Burning the clutch, lurching forward, and killing the car. This is the story of The Depression, the one that wouldn’t leave. 

My Leadville journey is one of highs and lows just like everyone else who toes that line. The pre-race rider meeting had me in tears, three times. Race founder Ken was in the hospital and wouldn’t be there for his infamous shotgun start. Nor would Merilee be there to put that medal around my neck. But their words of pedal once for me and once for each of them really struck a chord and I used that mantra once things got tough. One for Ken. One for Merilee. One for me. 

Dig deep. 

Travel, race, rest, reflect, repeat. Finding a semblance of balance in a year of BIG is challenging. Eventually I’ll have to retire from the traveling spandex wearing circus, so I’m trying to soak it up while I can. And still carve out enough lounge time on the couch with my cats.

We are dead people. 

We FaceTime Cynthia’s husband to ground ourselves. I mean, we are already on the ground, surrounded by a heaping trash pile of snacks. But we giggle cry our way through the conversation. He had to have thought we had just spent the night out drinking, drunk dialing his ass as we stumble home. Brian! 

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to give each of those 357 miles traversed a proper write up, nor would anyone want to read the blow by blow of each of those memories that I get to hold forever. There were the highest highs, and more lows than I had hoped for, but I’m not quite sure what I expected. An easier course? A happier stomach? Less “No Maintenance Road” signs? A magic kit fairy to drop off a clean one around mile 220? I don’t think anyone has the perfect day out there, but what I experienced was pretty darn close to perfection for one reason:

I had the best ride partner. 

Beyond the {overly?} hyped world tour and gravel privateer pros, are so many more interesting stories. Having the guts to throw your name in the lottery is a win. Putting in the training = winning. Just getting to the start line is a win. From the local kids race to the last finisher in the wee hours of Sunday morning, every distance and participant should be celebrated because that’s what gravel is. A community where everyone matters.

I registered for Cascadia Super Gravel mostly as an afterthought. Just before they capped it, I added this to my calendar after realizing Kyle would be home and we'd be vaccinated. Deciding to double up, and #ridetothestart, getting the logistics finalized was a maneuver in "make it work." Race director Cam and the crew at Cascadia Super Gravel put on quite the little event Saturday, that made it's mark on my life, and in our PNW community. This weekend was definitely much more than an afterthought.

Being in between is uncomfortable. In 2020 I was in between jobs. In the middle of a move across the country. In the middle of a lockdown/shelter in place/socially distanced world. I hadn't yet made any friends in our new town and my husband was {and currently is} IN the Middle East. With all races postponed, then cancelled, we were all in between. Experiencing this collective feeling of "what now?" and "why even bother?" - motivation waned.

I love the Olympics. I remember binge watching the 1996 summer Olympics (before 'binge watching' was a thing). I'd search out every NBC affiliate channel in the TV Guide and map out what to watch, when. The 2020 cancellation was the nail in the coffin for the hope of any sort of event happening this year. The NHL bubble was a nice surprise and a small gift for this hockey fan. I won't comment on the NFL. Anyway... The next best thing to watching "The Olympics" is visiting The Olympic Peninsula in western Washington. The Peninsula has a certain aura around it. Every trip I've taken there I've had quite the magical experience. This past adventure did not disappoint.

This. The Gravel Circumnavigation of the Olympic Range. A 445 mile ride, masterminded by Tom, a Seattleite who has been exploring the Olympic Peninsula gravel forest service roads, working on this loop for many years. I'd never met Tom, or any of the five others who were attempting the route, but did it matter? This was a solo trip and after we all rolled out together, the big climb gave way to the natural separation. Some of them I never saw again.

Tomorrow I set off for the Gravel Circumnavigation of the Olympic Range. GCOR is a 470 mile route around the Olympic Peninsula with over 40,000' elevation on mostly gravel forest service roads. I'll be raising funds for the BIPOC Bike Adventure Grant through Bikepacking Roots.

So yesterday, I set out to climb my bike almost 16,000 ft, half the elevation of Everest, up and down one hill, for COVID relief through the Be Good Foundation. Relief comes in many forms, and for me this was a little bit of physical suffering (okay, alot) for some personal mental health relief. Turning one form of suffering into another.

Kyle is deploying for the next few months to a far away land. Once he arrives to this land, he has to quarantine for 14 days in his barracks room, only leaving to use the restroom or shower. His meals will be brought to him. We've all had our own versions of quarantine or #stayhome, but the thought of doing this alone in a small room feels a little like prison. He's boxed up his bike and the smart trainer {unsure of the internet situation}, he got himself a fancy new gaming laptop, and brought a pile of books.