Sahara Gravel
Sahara Gravel was everything I’d hoped it be and so much more. This is right up there with the best. An experience like no other. Truly. A gorgeously designed course, unique accommodations, authentic cuisine, and the perfect balance of adventure, competition, and fun. As I headed back to the airport less than a week after returning from Girona, I couldn’t help but feel so lucky to be on my way into a journey unknown. And to have that destination be a quick flight away seems even more unbelievable.
Africa. A new continent for me and a place that seems so foreign and so far away. Being an American, when I think of Africa I imagine a far flung place. Where one starts a travel timer and arrives after some insane 27 hour journey. One including planes, trains, taxis, a safari truck, and eventually a camel’s back.
Yet, as a European resident, I got to do coffee spin that morning with Kyle. Hopped on a €137 EasyJet flight including my bike and landed three hours later. A quick taxi and I arrived at my accommodation for the evening. Sunday we traveled three hours to the race start location. And then it was four days traversing the Atlas Mountains, the Anti-Atlas, and finally the Sahara Desert all aboard my bike.
I’ve always been a fan of inaugural events. Did the first Ironman in St George and Lake Tahoe and half in Panama (swam in the canal!). Raced the first 805 criterium weekend in central California. Helped get off the ground and race direct the San Diego Triathlon Classic and Ride Gravista. Who could forget the inaugural Cascadia Super Gravel? The hype surrounding and unknown challenges ahead make inaugural events exciting!
Getting to traverse our way through Morocco aboard a bike. A multi-day stage race where the bags are transferred and accommodations taken care of. How cool is that? As always, I’m so thankful for Kyle and the kitties, holding down the fort at home. Bert was not happy to see mom’s bike case again so soon.
On a random note, apparently in Europe when you have something prohibited (ahem, a CO2 cartridge) in your checked luggage, they don’t just take it. They have to ask your permission. I may have accidentally left one quite a few times without any issues until this time. At the gate I was being summoned. Proceeded to get escorted outside for a long walk to the airport innards, with all the luggage and fancy belts and trucks, to a locked cage where my bike bag sat. Joked around about being locked up myself. I was asked to open the bag and find the “gas.” After some discussion between themselves, to their surprise, I willingly handed it over with no issue. Was escorted back to the gate and boarded the plane. Va bene?
Sunday morning we loaded the shuttles and lifted our bikes hoping we’d all make the trip up and over the mountains to Ouarzazate. Got all checked in, met my roommates Maddy (a fellow Velocio athlete!) and her sister Tabby, had lunch and headed out for a shakeout spin to the African Hollywood and one of the sets of Gladiator 2 with a few folks. Dinner and the rider briefing and we were off to bed.
Stage One
After stage one I could confidently say Morocco is already my favorite. How lucky that we get three more unique days ahead! The traveling circus style and relatively small racing field size makes this race more intimate. Yeah there’s hard racing at the front. But everyone is smiling. Community vibes are rolling as we traverse the Atlas Mountains and Sahara Desert.
Started with the pomp and circumstance of the Gladiator soundtrack, next to the giant trebuchet, spirits were high. We weaved our way through the rough and chunky bits while climbing for the entire first half of the day. We crossed a flowing riverbed, where the local women were washing their clothes, and laying them out on the hot rocks to dry. I couldn’t help but giggle as I splashed my way through this vital resource. Water in the desert, who knew? Finished the gravel climb to be met with a road descent, into a headwind, with no friend. That was a long road to town, and one I struggled with. Turning back onto gravel for the last bit ended up as my highlight of day one, with the high fives and cheers from the school kids as we rolled into their little town just before the finish.
Every finish we are greeted with snacks and smiles. We check the board for our room/hotel assignments, grab our bag, and head to our accommodation for the night. Got lucky on the first day, staying in the same location as the bag drop. Showered and then immediately took an “ice bath” in the freezing pool. Dinner was an amazing family style feast where we shared delicious food and swapped stories and shared our highlight from the day with the GRL PCK.
Stage Two
I felt like I lived three whole days out there. I’m a shell of a person from the one who started this morning. It’s unique when a ride can bring clarity and introspection and pain and beauty. Epic climbs, sketchy fun descents, and a valley of dreams and tears.
What a remote and beautiful route that we had the pleasure of traversing today. I rode hard, but also stopped every so often to take it in. And yeah, to feed Nerds Gummy Clusters to every child I saw.
The girl in the picture changed my life. She was so beautiful and so gracious for the gift I gave her. She didn’t eat it, but held it close, almost cherishing it. I held her hand and we exchanged blown kisses as I rode away. I turned the corner and started bawling. Big crocodile tears, salty streams down my cheeks.
I can only hope I inspired her as half as much as she inspired me. I hope I showed her that girls are strong and we can do hard things. The life these kids are brought into is one that is relatively simple on the surface. But I can’t imagine life is easy in these rural villages with this harsh climate and landscapes. The land is so vast, yet I’d imagine their world is quite small. What a shock it must be to see us spandex clad riders using our bikes as a form of exercise and pleasure in contrast to one mode of transportation for them.
I continued on, trying to pedal happiness and gratefulness into my struggle. Seeing the last aid station in the valley with a looming ridgeline to climb, it’s always a push and pull of emotion. I filled my bottles and noticed a mother and her two children sitting just behind the tent and cars. She had a few handmade trinkets and I picked out one. I gave the kids gummies and the mother some Dirhams and hung her creation off the side of my bike. Pedaled onward, with the power of those smiles lending a hand up the climb. A chunky, loose descent followed, with a couple more risers before the final river canyon shot us out and onto the pavement. Into the headwind without a friend, again.
When I finished there was a gaggle of kids to greet me. I gave away my remaining gummies, and every kid wanted to ride my bike. It was hilarious, and slightly terrifying, and fully amazing.
Two more days to go!
Stage Three
On paper, this stage looked relatively tame to what we’d just traversed. More elevation lost than gained. We were warned of a dried river bed, but I didn’t catch how long this section was supposed to be. It is what it is, another hot day in the desert, this time actually reaching the edge of the Sahara.
The race started out fun on a trail before reaching the road and a giant climb laid out before us. I’m immediately dropped and then scooped up by the pairs who leave 2 min after the women’s field. Descending down, we reach a small town and more kids cheering and high fiving as we race through their dirt streets. Another climb, this one a loose, rutted gravel road, and we were up and over and into another city, where the main street has been totally dug up. Felt like a cyclocross race on tiny pathways next to the buildings. Weaving our way through this village, it was pandemonium.
I had a blast, actually riding with different folks throughout the day. Got a massive pull from one of the Taiwanese guys on the flats before the first aid station. Legend. Today’s big challenge was the 10 mile dried river bed, weaving along, filled with watt sucking sand and sharp rocks. I felt proud of how I navigated this stage. Rode with my new Spanish friend during most of the dried river bed section, cheering each other on as we successfully mashed watts in the deep stuff. We passed a few folks who were walking, and they cheered us on as we rode by. Executed my sand riding skills and mentally thanked the Chicago Cross Cup and Montrose Beach for teaching me a thing or two. “At what cost?” kept flashing through my mind, but I just kept putting down the watts to try and stay on my bike, at any cost. We reached the final aid station, and for once I had a friend on the headwind pavement sector.
With 8 miles to go we turned back on gravel. My bike was making some not so good sounds, but I chalked it up to sand in my very dry drivetrain. Ting, ting, ting. Shit. Immediately hopped off my bike to assess. I broke a rear spoke. I had just worked so hard and saw my race slipping through my hands. I wedged the broken spoke between two others and continued onward. The creaking worsened and I knew I had to be careful. My rival* and her pavement partner Dave had just caught us and attacked. But the sand Gods provided. This flat section had so many sandy dips, and as soon as I saw her get off and walk, I laid down the hammer. But a gentle-ish hammer as I didn’t want to explode my wheel. The final 6 miles was a solo time trial to maintain position. I haven’t dug that deep in a long time.
The girl from yesterday reminded me that I can do hard things. Got to the finish totally depleted with Maddy and Tabby cheering me in as I jumped off my bike and collapsed into a heap in a pile of sand. My rival* finished maybe 30 seconds later and was a gracious opponent. What a way to experience the Sahara for the first time.
*my rival was an unknowing, very strong woman who has crushed me in the days prior. My flatlander and sand riding skills prevailed on the third day. I haven’t pushed so hard or have dug so deep in such a long time, and I have her and the sand to thank for that. I really only race myself these days, and so to have an external push felt extra special. I wasn’t proud of beating her. I was proud of beating myself, and finding a gear that hasn’t been used in quite a while. I dug deep, and wasn’t scared to do so.
Back to the desert. We stayed in a Berber tent camp after this stage (and will at a different one tomorrow.) Ate an omelet (tagine) as one does when in Morocco (I’m not even sure of my total tagine count - though not enough, and I will be back for more.) Climbed a sand dune to watch the sunset with everyone. Feasted on a delicious Moroccan (and Italian for us pasta loving cyclists) dinner. And the kind folks working behind the scenes took my wheel to the town and replaced the spoke, so I get to experience stage four tomorrow. My silver Moroccan spoke, shining in all it’s glory.
Stage Four
I woke up unwell. I had been ignoring the signs (and trying to manage the symptoms all week) but the desert had caught up with me. A combination of allergies, asthma, and fatigue, and I was a mess. My overnight body temp was up (thanks Oura), my resting heart rate was far too high, and my hrv had plummeted. But it was the last day. I had to at least get to the start line and by this time I’d gone through the motions enough to be ready. Wake up, breakfast, fill the bottles, lube the chain and pack the dang bag.
It was going to be a long day. Again, nothing crazy on paper, but the winds were going to prove otherwise. The race director said he’s done this section 3 times, with a tailwind. If we were only so lucky. Rolling out and had a 10km backtrack on the road we came in on yesterday. I smiled my way through the fatigue thinking back to the effort. At what cost? Oh yes, this cost.
We turned south and into the wind. Descending downward we were now really feeling like this is the Sahara. I saw a pack of wild camels on the left, hanging out under some low bush trees. You could tell everyone was suffering, so luckily there were folks willing to stick together. I had a few friends throughout the day, and once we hit the pavement section, the Sahara said game on. The (head)winds never faltered. The sun shone high. We rode past a school, lined with bikes on the outer wall and embankments. I kept thinking of the kids. These kids have to ride who knows how long every day. Battle these winds every day. Give me the strength for just one more.
I rolled out the first aid station with a friend and since I weigh significantly more, I ended up at the bottom of the hill with a gap. Soft pedaled until she caught back on and we worked together for a bit. Not much was said, with knowing how much was ahead. And then, dropped in from the heavens, my Italian Stallion, Rocky Balboa. Aka Paolo. I literally said, “have you arrived to escort us through this headwind?” He replied with an enthusiastic “Sure!”
Holy hell. Maybe it was karma coming around for enduring those first two days solo into a headwind on the pavement. We had a friend. And a strong one at that. A triathlete, with a beautiful even pedal stroke. A tall man, excellent at blocking the wind and allowing us to eschelon when the road meandered to a cross wind section. We stuck together on pavement until the last aid station. I asked him if he’d heard of Rocky, and if it was okay if I called him my Italian Stallion. He laughed and said yes. I fed him some candy. The pavement finally ended.
The final 11km were a slog, meandering through the beautiful Sahara desert, and her sandy “roads.” It was a fend for yourself, find whatever line looks okay and just go. Delusional laughing, because who else would be enjoying this right now?
I finish in a heap and high five my fellow sufferfest survivors. Basic needs are craved. Water and Coke consumed. Find your bag. Search for your tent. Snag a towel and hit the showers. Order your $30 Dirhum tagine. Relax in the shade and swap stories with your fellow racers. This is the simple life of Sahara Gravel.
We again hiked the dunes for the views of the ever expansive desert. For the sunset and for the conversation. And yes for the podium. To celebrate our trek across this magical land. We celebrated around dinner and after with a fire and some dancing with whatever energy we could muster in our wind swept legs.
Epilogue / Stage Five
One more earl(ier) morning. Breakfast. Pack the dang bag. (Side note, my Oura ring logs the bag packing efforts as an increased heart rate inline with housework, and damn right I confirm that. Filling that Topo Designs duffle to the max.) You thought the race was over, but boom. Get back on that saddle. Ride 8km back though the desert to the road, where the shuttles and bike trucks were waiting for us. And our long journey back to Marrakesh.
Last October, I put myself on the waitlist for this race as it was already sold out the first time I had heard of it. I didn’t expect to race in Africa this year, and it felt like a “maybe eventually I’ll head there” type of dream. So when the email came in early January saying there was a last minute spot open, and do I want it, and I have a day to decide and pay, I didn’t hesitate. A quick look into the flights to see if it could logistically happen, and I found myself dreaming of African far sooner than expected.
And I feel so fortunate to have had that dream come true. This experience was like none other. Not only the location, but the logistics, the accomodations, the food, and most importantly, the people. The Moroccan folks that we had the pleasure of interacting with every day were so incredibly kind and giving. The people lead a “simple life” that is anything but. A society rich in culture and history, with a community filled with generosity like I’ve never experienced before. A place where the worries of a modern world seem so trivial.
It makes you realize, water is life. And even in the harshest place in the world, water appears because of the hard work of those who endure.
We got back to the hotel very late after a treterous drive through the rain and snow in the mountains! It was raining in the city! In a place with no rain. I packed up my very dirty bike and snagged a taxi to the old town to my Riad for my final night. I ate kebabs in the town center as it was the birthday celebration for the Medina and a ton of food vendors were out. My final morning I had a delicious breakfast on the roof of my Riad, and then “endured” a Moroccan Hammam (scrub) and massage from the strongest most tiny woman in all the lands and I couldn’t think of a better way to say farewell to this beautiful country. I had a cart guy help me with my bike back to the area with the cars and taxis and then endured the most chaotic airport I’ve ever been to before a quick flight home.
Thankful to the Sahara Gravel crew for bringing all of us together, to my team Velocio // Exploro for the ongoing support, and to Kyle and the kitties for holding down the fort while I was away. I met so many cute and well loved cats in this country!
Morocco, I will be back!
Sand. Everywhere.
Photos by Chiara Redaschi, Patas @pataspts, David @dvrjphoto, Denisa @denixxa, Epicos @epicos.cc, and me