The Unbound Gravel 200 has a longstanding reputation as an iconic event in the world of gravel racing. Its demanding terrain, unpredictable weather conditions, and remote location make it a true test of grit and determination for its massive field of participants. I have a long list of reasons and excuses why I haven’t attempted a return since I last rode it in 2015. For 2023 I decided to give it another go, knowing I’d likely regret everything.

If you ask any long-time fan of Unbound Gravel about its most challenging year, they’ll likely say 2015. It was a year of unprecedented precipitation, and the course conditions were absurd. Flooded sections stretched on for miles, and they were barely walkable, let alone rideable.

I still remember that year vividly: I can see myself sitting on the edge of my bed in cheap motel room watching the local news the day before. The weather report showed large fish stuck in the tops of chain link fences due to extraordinary flooding. The rain was expected to continue, and I knew I was in for a hard day.

I was younger then, and so was the event. It was a 200-mile errand of fools, and I was truly a fool. I had spent my winter doing 100-mile days in the snow and riding the rollers in a dark basement without any music or television because I thought it’d help me build mental strength. Unbound had a different name, and Ted King had yet to show up in 2016, winning the event and putting it on the radar for many professionals and sponsors.

For obvious reasons, I had a rough day in 2015. The course conditions introduced me to a type of mud I’d never seen before. Thicker than peanut butter, it clung to my tires until they couldn’t turn. My shoes were the size of Moon Shoes after taking a few steps. I suffered a lot that day, but I learned quite a bit about myself.

I lacked fitness then, and I still do now. But throughout that entire miserable slog, I never once thought about quitting. I finished the day with a large group that I had been pulling along with one other rider for the final forty miles. At the finishing straight I dug deep for my final handful of watts to beat that rider across the line in a pathetic sprint for 100th place and a finishing time of 15:59. That rider had won the event in 2010, and I’m 100% positive he let me take that “sprint” in 2015.

Unbound has changed a lot since then, and so have I. I have far less time to train, but I’d like to think I understand more about riding and racing. Unbound has a new name, a long list of new sponsors, a much larger (and deeper) field of participants, and is now a part of the high-profile Lifetime Grand Prix.

After 2015 my relationship with riding changed entirely. I went to grad school and worked a full-time job and drove Lyft at night to put myself through it. There wasn’t any time for riding, and when I returned to the sport I was promptly hit by a car and fractured my spine. I put riding on the shelf for a while and was unsure if I’d ever come back.

In 2019 I slowly started riding again, but still had good days and bad days. It wasn’t until 2021 when I started to see the rewards from my physical therapy. In 2022 I started showing up at gravel races again.

I started finding a rhythm, and the bug returned. After racing Big Sugar at the end of 2022, I set my sights again on Unbound. I wanted to leave the 2015 mud-fest in my rearview mirror. I wanted a dry day and a fast time. I had unfinished business.

In January I entered the lottery and caught a lucky roll of the dice. I was heading to Emporia, Kansas in 2023.

I’m still not a man of great fitness, but I wanted my chance at a drier year than 2015 and a faster finishing time. My hope was to finish the 200-mile course before sunset this year, and I did some back-of-napkin math to determine my reasonable goal of 13.5 hours. A lot would have to go right for that to happen, including a successful training program, no mechanicals, good weather, and so much more.

And I can’t lie: The prep was challenging. I increased my training volume to a level that my body hadn’t experienced for years. I conditioned my stomach to graciously accept 100 grams of carbohydrates per hour on long days. And, I was on a team full of very capable riders who ripped my legs off on a regular basis.

Luckily that very team of folks was also following my exploits and offering wisdom and encouragement when I needed it. Training is much more productive with friends, even if one of them is Matt Lloyd-Thomas and he happily turns the screws on you for 8 hours in the rain, on your birthday, the day before one of the more spirited gravel “rides” in the NYC area.

But come May 31st I was arriving in Emporia for Unbound feeling somewhat prepared. I got settled into my accommodations in the Emporia State University dorms and set out to pre-ride some sections of the course. On my first recon ride, I pulled up the course and my heart sank: I’d be walking again.

The course organizers had decided to include the infamous “D Hill” section at mile 11. This section doesn’t just drain poorly, it doesn’t drain at all. It hadn’t been included in the course since the infamous 2015 edition, and for good reason: It was completely unrideable for miles that year.

With rain in the forecast, I knew enough to fear this section in 2023. When I rode out to it on June 1st, it was just as awful as I remembered it. It might be possible to ride the grass alongside the muddy road for the pro field that would be ahead of the amateurs like me. But, by the time I made it to this section, I knew I’d be marching for miles. I stashed a wooden paint stirrer in my hydration pack for mud scraping on race day.

But even though signs were pointing to a rough day, my spirits were high. Conditions would be tough and my fitness wouldn’t match that of my fellow competitors, but I knew how badly I wanted this. My plan was dialed, and I knew that somewhere inside me was the same tenacity I found in 2015. It felt like my only advantage, so I did my best to stay calm and get a full night of sleep before race day.

a frustrating start

I was anticipated a nerve-wracking start to the day, but it didn’t go the way I’d expected.

In recent years I’ve understood the start at Unbound to be complete mayhem: Hundreds of riders end up scrambling to get to the front of a massive field and the result is chaos. There are crashes, and for some folks the day ends before the racing even begins. I was biting my nails about this, but my experience was quite different.

Just after the start there’s a train crossing. It’s still in the town of Emporia, and is less than a quarter mile in. Just after we got moving, the gates on that train crossing went down and a train passed through. A sizable group of riders made it through before the gates dropped, and a handful of others foolishly scurried under the lowered gates to try and catch the couple hundred riders that made it away. For the record, I think that running across a railroad crossing when the gates are down and you know a train is coming is incredibly dangerous. I waited.

After the train passed through, racing resumed for the hundreds of us that were caught at the crossing. I slowly worked my way toward the front of this group and got comfortable. I had found some good wheels to ride with and was enjoying myself, but I knew what was coming.

11 miles in, as predicted, we hit a 3-mile stretch of completely unridable, deep mud and clay. It might’ve been ridable for the pro field in front of us, and maybe for the couple hundred folks that had beaten the train crossing, but there was no line to ride and traffic of walking riders filled the grass on either side of the unridable road.

This is exactly what happened the last time Unbound included this section in the course. I can say this with authority because I was there. This time, I was prepared to clomp my way through the miles of thick slop, and I’d stashed that wooden paint stirrer in my pack for scraping mud from my tires.

I fell into a rhythm: I shouldered my bike on the right side and occasionally used my free left hand to claw mud away from my bike with a gloved hand or the paint stirrer. Occasionally a rider would try to ride the mud or grass for about 100 feet, which either led to their wheels completely locking up or their derailleur being torn off. We all saw a lot of ripped off derailleurs that day.

My spirits remained high. Though I wasn’t going to get the fast time I’d hoped for, I was prepared. I had factored this extra time into my nutrition plan, had chosen my tires and shoes accordingly, and I knew that the upcoming “Cattle Pens” section had been resurfaced with new chunky gravel that would prevent it from being in the same state.

Once we reached rideable terrain (about mile 14), I had very little mud left to scrape off my bike so I hopped on and got back to racing bikes.

And racing bikes felt great. My course recon paid off and I was feeling good about my knowledge of the terrain. I chose clean lines through the technical, rocky sections in the Cattle Pens, and found myself passing other riders. I identified a few good wheels to work with, and together we made jokes about how absurd the start was while we felt the heat settling in.

The day felt like it’d hardly begun, but I was already seeing riders stranded on the side of the road with mechanicals. Broken derailleur hangers, deformed derailleurs, twisted chains that refused to be converted to singlespeeds, and a rider who had a flat and brought 0 tubes. At mile 41.5 I passed a rider who tried to give me his gels because he was abandoning, but my pockets were full and I feared his gels would bring me bad luck. I wished him the best and turned right for the first water crossing of the day.

It was around this time that I started to become aware of the heat and decided to stop at a neutral water oasis for water. A volunteer handed me a cold, wet towel and I stuffed it into the back of my jersey while I quickly filled bottles. I wasn’t sure how long the cloud cover would last and knew things would get harder when it went away, so I remounted quickly and pedaled away from the oasis.

Checkpoint 1: eureka

At mile 77 I rolled into the first checkpoint at Eureka, and this probably my golden opportunity to talk about how incredible the Crew for Hire service is at Unbound.

For context, all participants are required to have a support crew at Unbound. For an out-of-towner like me, that means flying a friend or loved one to Kansas so they can drive long distances to the two checkpoints, where they’d hand me my pre-packed bag of supplies. They’d then watch me frantically attempt to transfer supplies from said bags to my person while I’m at or near rock bottom. Then, in the event that I actually find rock bottom somewhere along the course, that friend or loved one would have to find me on roads that are often barely drivable (see above photo of stuck moto) and rescue me.

That’s a pretty big favor to ask of a friend or loved one, and I don’t want them to see me at or near rock bottom. For people like me, there’s the Crew for Hire service.

Crew for Hire transports your bags for you to the checkpoints, has skilled volunteers at those checkpoints to get your bags to you quickly, and even offers nutrition and supplies to all those who purchase the service. At just $85, this service is a tremendous value.

My checkpoint at Eureka was fairly uneventful except that I was in dire need of chain lube. I had barely finished uttering the words “chain lube” to the volunteer who brought me my bag before she replied, “Of course! Wet or dry?”

After making my selection from the suite of bicycle maintenance products that was offered to me (I’m really not exaggerating), I hopped on my bike and left Eureka.

As predicted, the sun began to show itself. At first this got me stoked. I was in a great group of riders and my day had miraculously not gone to shit. We were actually racing bikes and it felt great.

But then the sun stayed out and the temps rose accordingly. It was very quickly in the high 80’s with no tree cover, and we were still racing bikes. I was less stoked. I could feel myself succumbing to the heat, but I was in a really strong group and I wanted to stay with them. I looked around and could see that others were suffering, but I could tell we all wanted to keep the pace high.

I entered kind of a heat-exhausted, lizard brain state. My stomach became less receptive to food and drink, and my skin felt cold instead of hot. At one point I forced a gel down and realized how badly I needed it, because after eating it I could once again feel how hot I was. My stomach was winning the battle and my nutrition plan had gone to shit.

Things started to go south around mile 90 and I was not particularly excited about it. I knew I’d find The Dark Place during Unbound, but I was finding it ahead of schedule. I continued to try and keep the pace high with the group and hoped that, with disciplined feeding, I could revive myself and leave The Dark Place behind.

Then, someone made a move and the group started to split. I felt no emotion about the situation, but my lizard brain knew the move must be covered. I bridged my way up and was followed by a few other riders who still had legs, but during this effort some of the nutrition I’d forced down into my stomach returned to my mouth. I did not enjoy having the opportunity to taste it a second time, but I was successful in covering the move and was able to recover for a few minutes as we pressed on together.

Again: Someone made a move and Lizard Greg covered. My stomach made its displeasure known once again in similar fashion.

A third time: Someone made a move and I shook my head and let them go. The group splintered into smaller squads of three, and I focused less on chasing and more on leaving The Dark Place behind.

A gentle rain began to fall, and the break from the heat helped me restore my relationship with my mind, legs, and stomach. I fell into a rhythm with ~8 riders, and we flew through a creek crossing at mile 105 together. 100 miles to go, and it’d be easy because I’d already paid my dues in The Dark Place.

At mile 121 I wasn’t feeling particularly excited about my physical state. Though I seemed to have bested The Dark Place, I was low on water and feeling like I was running on empty. I suspected that a water oasis was close, but I didn’t know for sure. I considered feeling bad for myself until I saw an incredibly-tall rider walking along the side of the road ahead. I got closer and realized it was GCN presenter Conor Dunne, who was cracking spectacularly on camera. I overheard his producers telling him that there was water just a mile away, and they were right.

I loved that water, but my stomach still seemed to be closed for business. I choked down a pickle and some chips, but hastily jumped on my bike when I saw the black storm clouds rolling in. I’d left the water stop without the group I was riding with, and I didn’t see most of them again for the rest of the day for a variety of unfortunate reasons.

It was at this point that the storms began. I could barely see a thing, but I could feel the mud beneath my tires getting deeper and deeper. I didn’t want to walk, so I kept turning over the pedals and crawling forward slowly. Things got worse. Thunder and lightning filled the sky, which turned a deep purple. I tried not to think about the weather, but it was impossible to ignore considering I could see nothing else.

Suddenly the rider immediately in front of me picked a bad line in the mud and fell. I helped him up and asked if he was OK. He shouted over the sounds of the storm that he was ready to cry uncle, so I led him off the muddy road so he could call his support crew. I was alone in the storm.

The rain pelted my skin so hard it stung. The winds were strong enough to blow me all over the roads, despite the deep mud. I couldn’t see a thing, except when I had to move over at one point to let a bunch of emergency trucks pass me on the narrow road.

I didn’t know it was even possible for such an intense storm to last this long. Everything was awful. The mud was becoming more difficult to pedal through, I was freezing, I could barely see where I was riding, and I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to decide if I should be hiding from the wind and lightning. I had stopped thinking about fueling my body long ago, so when I kept pressing on the pedals they only brought me to a place I’d forgotten about: The Darker Place.

I haven’t been to The Darker Place all that often, and I can’t say I remember much about my prior visits. I felt nothing and everything at the same time. My body was the opposite of a wonderland, and I hated John Mayer for ever suggesting that anyone could ever feel otherwise.

My mental state took an awful turn, and I was suddenly ashamed for letting myself do this. I questioned every decision I could remember making, and for the first time I saw the phone number for my support crew on my wrist band and started to give myself permission to quit. That only made things worse.

My tenacity was the only thing I was proud of and it was gone. I was too empty to even mourn its departure. I was embarrassed for even caring. I had nothing to be proud of, and I should’ve grown up to be a well-adjusted person who enjoys brunch.

I lacked the conviction to make the decision to stop pedaling, and I felt the river of thoughts in my brain start to run dry. This was defeat.

At some point I realized the thunder and lightning was slowing, because it was quiet enough for me to hear the mud in my eyelids when I blinked. I took this as a sign and scrambled in my mind for some sort of rip cord that I could pull to escape this place. I convinced myself that the rip cord could have a Maurten logo on it and it could be a gel. I pulled to the side of the road, ate that gel, and dug frantically in my hydration pack for the cheap earbuds I had stashed in case of emergency.

I found them, but my fingers were so muddy I couldn’t read the “L” and “R” on each. I shoved them in and out of my ears until they felt right and plugged them into my phone. The touchscreen on my phone panicked when it felt the touch of my muddy fingers, and all I could find in my music app was a playlist from 2016. I didn’t want to linger, so I accepted the oddly-nostalgic backdrop I’d selected for the rest of my day and got back on the bike.

I knew exactly what to do again. This was suddenly a mental game and I didn’t care what my body had to say. The next checkpoint was 20 miles away and I was going to give that 20 miles everything I had. I began passing riders, some of which were suffering similar fates as my prior self. I paid no mind and felt like I was playing a game where I just had to keep smashing a button to stay in the top of my zone 2. I picked up one other rider who sat on my wheel for a few miles. I flicked my elbow for them to take a turn a few times, but eventually gave up on asking them to pull through. This was my mission now.

Checkpoint 2: madison

At 166 miles I rolled across a timing mat and into the second checkpoint in Madison, Kansas. A support crew member washed my bike while I rifled through my bag for supplies. We started making conversation while I clumsily swapped the contents of my pockets, and he informed me that a tornado had touched down near me and pulled down a bunch of power lines. I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him, so I shook it off and started doing some math to see if I could beat the sunset. It was going to be close, so I grabbed the lights I hadn’t planned on using. They were too small: A just-in-case provision I’d packed and not planned to use. Nothing about this day had gone as I’d planned, so I mounted them and thanked the volunteer for his generous help before getting back on my bike.

I started to pedal slowly out of town while I got settled on the bike and finished chewing. Someone came out from under a tent to run alongside me for a conversation that should’ve troubled me more than it did.

Him: Only one more hike-a-bike section to go!

Me: Don’t mess with me.

Him: I’m being serious, but it’s the last one.

I set off at a pace that I knew would just barely get me to the finish line before sunset, but that kind and informative man was correct. At mile 173 I made a left turn and saw the same type of deep mud and clay from mile 11 that was completely unridable. I was determined to continue making up places, so I shouldered my bike and began to trot through the grass. I once again used my technique of shouldering the bike with my right hand and diligently scraping mud from my tires with my left while I jogged, and mounted my bike for the final time once the road beneath me felt dry enough to ride.

I knew I’d spent too long in this section and that my dreams of beating the sunset were dashed. I still had some gas in the tank, so I decided to make the most of my situation knowing that I’d likely never return to Unbound again.

I tried to enjoy the sunset, and told myself that this could be my last ever night in Kansas. The clouds had cleared, so I tried to stay positive and appreciate just how vast the landscape around me was. Occasionally I’d pass a shattered rider or a rogue rabbit, neither of which had anything to say to me. For the most part I was alone.

And then it was dark. Sometimes I’d pass a cheering crowd or another group of battered riders, but it was too dark to see them. My lights were inadequate, and at one point the road in front of me appeared to turn to smooth glass. I could see the lights of a railroad crossing reflecting in it, and realized I was staring at water and the road ahead of me was flooded. I decided to roll the dice and ride through it, and it made me no wetter than I already was. Eventually I made it to the college campus at the edge of town and knew the day was done.

I rolled across the finish line and found a curb to sit on in the dark. I could hear the crowd still cheering for more riders as they rolled in, and was grateful that they were still there. I later learned that hundreds of other riders had finished after me as the night pressed on. I regretted not returning to the finish line after a shower, but it didn’t feel good to finish this one and I wanted to head back to the dorms.

I’d put a lot into this in hopes of having a fast day and finishing in ~13.5 hours, but the world had other plans. I was gutted when I realized that I’d only beaten my time from the infamous year of 2015 by 7 minutes.

Back at my room I had a helluva time prying my muddy kit from my body, and ate two Impossible Whoppers. I missed my dog, decided I’d probably feel better about my day in the morning, and went to bed.

The Good

The volunteers - I can’t say enough good things about the Crew For Hire service. They were truly the stars of the show for me. If you’re one of these volunteers and are ever in New York City, I’m buying you a drink.

No mechanicals - I don’t want to linger on this one, as much of it was luck.

Castelli’s San Remo RC Speedsuit - There is no better cycling garment to spend nearly 16 hours in.

My fellow riders - I met some incredible and inspiring folks throughout my whole day. I hope to cross paths with many of you again soon.

The bad

The start - This was my second year riding Unbound, and the second time that a train crossing has disrupted the start. I also understand that the same train crossing disrupted the start to the 100-mile event this year.

• If there’s a train schedule available, I think we’d all appreciate if the organizers could adjust the start times so that an already-hectic start isn’t complicated by a moving train.

• If a schedule isn’t available, I’d hope it’s possible for event staff to be allocated to observing when a train is coming down the tracks so that the start can be delayed until the train passes through town.

• At the very least, I think the riders that risked their lives by sneaking across the closed crossing should be penalized or disqualified to discourage other riders from taking this approach in the future.

The storm - I’ve never ridden through a storm this bad, and I’ve even seen footage on social media (see second slide) of riders who made the right choice to take shelter during it.

• In hindsight, I probably should have found shelter as well, especially if this storm really blew down power lines along the course.

• This may have been a case where organizers should have stepped in and asked riders to take shelter for safety’s sake.

The bill - We talk a lot about gravel being a more accessible version of cycling, but there’s no denying that Unbound is an expensive event. I paid $422.17 for my event entry and support crew. This doesn’t include travel, accommodations, and the alarming number of bicycles that were broken beyond repair in just the first 14 miles of the day.

The ugly

The weather - I’m mentioning this again, but I suspect I’ve already complained enough about it.

have i retired from unbound?

I dunno. My whole “unfinished business” situation is still pretty unfinished so I’ll probably go back.

Apologies in advance to my therapist, teammates, and loved ones.