FOLLOWING
A NEW SCRIPT

After five months of prep work, the Dirty Kanza 200 had arrived, and the Flint Hills of Emporia, Kansas, would be the final testing ground of all our educated guesses. The rolling hills would offer no room to hide. I fully expected to be writing about the intricate details and blow-by-blow of how the race unfolded, how my equipment and nutrition choices helped give me an edge until the critical point in the race, and how, at that point, I would make my mark on the race. The reality of the situation ended up being a stark contrast to my preconceived notions.

So there I was at 5: 30 a.m., well before the sun was up, sitting on the start line with the other 1,249 entries. Bikes of every style were there—custom gravel bikes, adventure bikes, mountain bikes, a road bike or two, a couple fat bikes, and the majority being cyclocross bikes. I felt a slight case of the pre-race jitters, but more so built-up angst of just wanting to get the show on the road. I had a time goal of 12 hours, but really it was just a guesstimate based on Dan Hughes’ 2013 winning time on the same course. My goal was simple— win. Whether it took me 11 hours or 13 hours, it didn’t matter as long as I was the first across the line. Little did I know that once I rolled off the start I wouldn’t be crossing the finish line until well after the sun had gone down and hours after the race had been won.

It was finally time to
put into action what
had been months in the
making, and as our police
escort kept the group
calm on the neutral roll-
out through downtown
Emporia, I couldn’t have
been more confident.
Once in the dirt and
headed for the Flint Hills,
the pace was sporadic,
with some riders giving a
go off the front, knowing
that soon enough they
wouldn’t be close to the
front again, while others
(myself included) wanted
to be conservative with
any efforts made early
on. A few short climbs
helped trim the group
down. The flint rocks
lining the road kept riders
limited to two lines, mak-
ing it perilous to attempt
moving up in the group.
At one point I found
myself drifting further
back in the group than
I was comfortable with
and realized the danger
of being 40 riders back
on gravel roads—rocks
being shot out from
under tires like gunfire!
The velocity some of the
marble-sized chunks
of gravel fired into the
group was unreal.
A clean shot to the
head with one of
those could have
been a race-ender
in itself.

JUST ME
AND A
CHAIN TOOL

About 25 miles in, we encountered a stretch of muddy road that caused havoc in the group, with riders changing lines trying to keep momentum as their gears and tires filled with peanut butter-like mud. And then it happened. The front wheel from the rider alongside me went into my rear derailleur, causing the hanger to snap in half.

Not even halfway to the first checkpoint and feed zone, my race ended.

There I was, along the
side of a double-track
road in a cow pasture
with my rear derail-
leur only attached
by the Di2 wire and
the twisted, mangled
chain. I went from trying
to win the Dirty Kanza
to not even knowing if I
was going to finish. I gave
myself less than a minute
for self-pity, and then
tackled the task
at hand—making my Crux
Evo rideable again.
Even though I thought
I was prepared for a chain
fix, I was hardly ready for
what this job required.