This is why we can’t have nice things.

Hours ago, BOO Bikes owner Nick Frey posted This article about his disqualification from the 2016 Dirty Kanza, where he would have placed 6th.

Nick Frey, for those of you who don’t know him, is a strong bike rider, a really strong one. He won two national championships, one for the U23 time trial in 2007, and one for the Collegiate Road Race in 2009. After this he raced professionally for the Jamis-Sutter Home road team. This guy knows a whole lot of things about road racing, and being strong on a bike.

What Nick does not know a thing or two about, is reading directions, or carrying more than 2 water bottles so a team car does not have to follow him around a course and save his unprepared ass.


Riding some sweet doubletrack, while being glad there isn’t a boo bus ruining the ambiance.


Gravel events attract a wider range of participants than any single other type of cycling event. Nothing else has the ability to attract seasoned roadies scared of technical  singletrack, and mountain bikers that are bored of pavement. You will see it all at the Dirty Kanza starting line.

One thing you will not see at the Dirty Kanza are team vehicles roaming the course, supplying their riders like a Tour de France road team. This is because the event is a self supported event where it’s not just the fastest rider that wins, but the fastest rider that is capable of supporting himself between checkpoints. This rule is clear and easy to read, unless you are Nick Frey of Boo Bikes.


Enjoying the golden hour, while being really glad there was not a Boo Bus ruining the ambiance.

It is quite simple. A rider needs to carry enough supplies to make it 50 miles between checkpoints. Did you run out of water 20 miles outside the next checkpoint? You failed.
You did not succeed in self supporting yourself along the route. Sure, leaving with two water bottles and nothing on your back, as we can clearly see in your photos, made you faster, but it made you incapable of completing the course under the given conditions.

You failed.

Get off the course, see you next year.

That said, was there a farmer with a hose on the course you filled your bottles with? Ok, that is fine, that is part of the natural course terroir. All riders have the ability to enjoy the same  benefits, and this “natural” benefit is both unpredictable, and poses no safety danger to the thousand plus field of riders participating in the event.

If someone was DQ’d from the Dirty Kanza based on an action such as this, there should be a plea to reason that the action should be rethought.


Riding through the cows, while being glad there isn’t a Boo Bus ruining the ambiance.

However, was assistance from a known source, such as a non-participating friend or team vehicle  received outside of the confines of the checkpoint? You have not only received a tactical benefit that others did not, but you have created an unsafe environment for the thousands of other racers on the course. Imagine if all the racers had a car patrolling the course? Congratulations, you have just ruined gravel riding for everyone.

“At one point, my partner Drew was taking photos of the race, of the countryside, the epic nature of the event, of me racing my Boo gravel bike…and I screamed at him for water.  He gave me gummy worms as well.  My two compatriots passed the water around, shared the worms, survived for some more miles.  We stopped again at the top of a hill to get more support from race volunteers from a local town.  I literally told one of the men that without his bottle of water, I would not just have made it to the next aid station…” ~Nick Frey

In your own words Nick, you were incapable of finishing the event on your own without outside help. That right there is when you have failed to finish the race, and deservedly should have been disqualified.
 The race rules clearly state this, it is no gray area that you have fallen into. What you have fallen into is projecting your past road experiences onto a scene that functions entirely differently, and expecting others to bend their will to your ways.


A rider fixing his own flat, while we both are glad there isn’t a fucking Boo Bus ruining our ambiance.

After attempting to create a grey area in the rules where none exists, Nick essentially goes on to write in his blog post how Gravel Racing should become more like the road racing he is good at. Road racing is what Nick understands, it is what he is good at, and I can understand why something different bothers him, especially the little things like a 3rd , or 5th, water bottle.

Nick fails to see what makes Gravel racing unique and special, and how all of his suggestions would strip it of those very things that make it so.
Those 50 miles between the checkpoints are the special part, those parts where you feel alone and isolated, knowing you only have yourself to rely on, and knowing there are no  cars or outsiders to worry about. Just being immersed  in the terroir of a special place. 50 miles is not a far distance, and if you can not support yourself for 50 miles, you need to reevaluate what you are capable of.

“I fear mainstream gravel racing could be maligned as yet another failed experiment to bring together competitors in a positive way.”~Nick

Nick’s closing comment just reinforces that he fails to understand what makes almost two thousand individuals attend the Dirty Kanza. Nick, of those 1,800 or so riders attending, probably 1,700 don’t give a fuck about the “race” aspect of the event, despite what those at the front think about hero worship.  We are there to challenge ourselves, best our own prior times, do something we may believe is above our capabilities, become immersed into the countryside, and let effort and achievement be the spice of life that nothing else can compete with.

I hope you found something fulfilling outside of competition while in Kansas, the Flint Hills are a wonderful place, and the camaraderie second to few. Maybe we will see you back next year, better prepared and with an open mind to cultures outside your own.


Fish and Chips

Did I really need to stop for that order of fish and chips 4 miles into my 9 mile commute home? They were undeniably fantastic, but really, did I?

I was being warned by drops of water tapping me on the shoulder, telling me to look behind me, at what I could so easily have avoided.

The winds picked up and with them brought moisture to the desert. Standing stationary at a busy stop light, I assessed surrounding buildings for shelter, and the distance I remained from home. The light turned green and I pushed the pace, though the faster I went the harder the rain fell.

I reached the point of complete dampness where I accepted my fate, and was reconciled with my commute home. I thought about how silly and unfortunate I must have looked to all of the cars passing by, and that I should keep my eyes wide and wear a huge smile, so to look as joyful as a child playing in a puddle.

The idea itself made me start laughing out loud, and fiction became reality.

Plus, those were some really great fish and chips.


“Things that gain from disorder.”

There is a book titled “Antifragile”, in which the author makes the case that in order to refine and improve a thing, it is essential for the thing to experience disruptions, chaos, and volatility. In some cases this can shake the thing that has become too comfortable out of complacency, and in others it forces the thing to adapt to new circumstances, but in almost every circumstance, disorder is a catalyst for improvement.

During an unpredictable and unsettling 2015, where I abruptly left a long stable work place, amid heaps of uncertainty about what was next in life, I had been scooped up to travel with the Raleigh-Clement cycling team.

Those four months with Raleigh-Clement gave me an incredible opportunity to travel to, and ride in, some really fantastic places. It also gave the  opportunity to learn differing aspects of being a mechanic, the chance to see how professionals live their every day life and their race day procedures, and form relationships with some really great people. Coming from my prior situation, the apt word for the experience would be cathartic.

The most valuable thing the entire experience offered me, was perspective.
I had the opportunity to grab a couple backpacks of clothes, and step outside of everything in my life for four months and contemplate what I missed, what I desired, what do I want to experience in life, and what was I going to do about it. I felt like a nomad, driving a caravan 24,000 miles around the country, spending my days stoically pondering how I got there, and where I was going.

One night I found myself sitting alone in a bar in Flagstaff, reading a book called “The Man Who Walked Though Time”, which is the penned journal and collected thoughts of a man as he walks without human connection the length of the Grand Canyon. Coincidentally, Flagstaff is quite near the grand Canyon, so I decided that night, around midnight, that I should wake up at 4am and go read the last chapter at the canyon, in the first light of the morning.

I parked in darkness in the small town of Tusayan, and rode the last handful of miles up to Mather Point in complete peaceful silence, passing herds of wildlife so silent they could have been ghosts.

Arriving at the rim, I was awe struck. What an incredible sight. My face may have moistened.

Once I got around to reading what I came to read, in the place it was originally written, a paragraph grabbed me. It read: “You cannot escape the age you live in, you are a product of it. You have to stand back from time to time and get your perspectives right. But then you have to come back and resume the task of contributing in your own way to your own age.”


It was hard to leave the canyon that early morning. Through reading the book, and then having the experience that day, the canyon had left a significant impression on me, and I was one step closer to figuring out what I wanted, and how disorder would further refine me and my future.

I was able to put my finger on one of those itches I wasn’t able to scratch while living on the road that day. I missed the creative and creation process, and I missed the ability to intimately know a place and landscape, and develop a comprehensive understanding of it.

I am so excited to tell everyone that Liz and I will be moving to Denver, where I will be joining the amazing people at Elevation Cycles. We can’t wait to explore endless new and captivating environments, spend weekends hiking in National Parks, challenge ourselves in new situations, build off of the work we have behind us, and create new adventures going forwards.

“Is this even a good idea?” I debated with myself, unsure of how worth while my second attempt of the morning to see the Great Smokey Mountains would be.

I had spent the prior night horizontal in the back of a Dodge van in the National Parks welcome center parking lot, and made my first attempt at experiencing the mountains a trail run, which less then a mile into, I bailed on. I just wasn’t feeling motivated or inspired, and the twenty-two degree temperatures didn’t help.

I had come to the Smokies with a goal. Despite having driven highway 441 through the center of the Smokies numerous times in past years, I had never once left the vehicle to explore, have an adventure, and immerse myself in the Park.

I couldn’t with clear conscience say I had really experienced the park.

Standing in the cold next to the van my thoughts gravitated toward how tired I was, how I had not eaten food in 14 hours, that I still had 11 hours of driving to get home, and that maybe the 7 mile long dead end mountain road to the tallest peak in Tennessee was barricaded off for a good reason.

Before concluding my thoughts I grabbed my bike and hopped around the “road closed” gate.
The moment I committed to the adventure, and bypassed both the physical gate and my mental barriers, I was free.

Once on the other side of the barriers I realized what a rare opportunity I was being treated with. Mountain biking on trails is illegal in National Parks, for valid reasons, and riding the narrow crowded roads filled with understandably distracted drivers gazing upon majestic vistas makes the pavement a non-option for cycling.

But here I was, with the unique opportunity of riding a National Park road closed off behind me so none could follow.
I was all alone, with a delectable treat, and I didn’t have to share.

The road was clear, perfectly smooth, winding upwards with just enough pitch for my body to get warm from the effort. The road was cut into the mountain with a wall to my right, and exposed to the best views of North Carolina to my left. I imagined what the area was like long ago, remembering that many scientists believe the Appalachians to be the oldest mountains on Earth. Existing long before our continent, and dating back to the formation of Pangea, the Appalachians were once taller then the mighty Himalayas, before time and erosion rounded them down to their present size.
Two months earlier I had watched the sun rise over the south rim of the Grand Canyon, perhaps the nations most iconic symbol of how small we are as individuals, where I sat and contemplated time on the massive scale of 20-50 million years. Now I was trying to comprehend both the formation and slow unyielding erosion of a natural wonder on the scale of nearly half a billion trips around the sun.

A few miles farther up the climb, the wall to my right started to become lined with a curtain of icicles, and the road surface was a mixture of slick ice and sure footed snow. Behind the wall of ice a creek was flowing that created a low drone, which was contrasted by song birds, and punctuated by the chime like ring of crashing icicles. I felt so isolated, and spoiled. The sun was bright, the air was still, and the sound track was phenomenal. A live performance never to be repeated.

The top of Clingman’s Dome, at 6,643 feet above sea level, is the third highest point east of the Mississippi river, and only 41 feet lower than the tallest, Mt Mitchell. The rounded off dome is surrounded by a fir and spruce forest, and the only way to take full advantage of your superior elevation is to climb a 40 foot tower constructed at the top.
From the top I had clear skies and wide reaching visibility. I could see Mt Mitchell and Mt Craig in the distance, and wondered if anyone was standing atop them looking back. We would be the tallest people on the eastern half of a continent, and perhaps we had climbed the tallest mountains in the history of the Earth.

Janurary 14th, 2016.

The ride formally known as Ten Thousand

First off, everything that follows is a continuation of >THIS POST HERE<. So read that first, and then continue on to learn all about the best route I have ever created, for the event formally known as Ten Thousand.

Last year when designing a route for Ten Thousand my goal was primarily maximizing elevation gain, in order to hit 10,000ft.
I love every road on that route, but knew there were some unique and fantastic gems hidden further west that were simply too far out to hit while starting from Freeport, thus the change to Stockton as the starting location for 2016.


Stockton has the distinction of being the highest town in the state of Illinois, and also teeters just on the edge of the Driftless zone. This opened up opportunities to go deeper, reach bigger climbs, and showcase a wider assortment of roads then was previously possible. My goal this year was to make the personality of the roads constantly evolve and have something different and unique around every corner, and I couldn’t be happier.

While pedaling the course with Bailey I stopped numerous times to lament how envious I was of everyone that would get to see those views while the trees are ablaze in the fall colors. If my recon rides last fall were any indication, October 17th is going to be ideal to witness that change.

So enough chit chat, lets get to specifics.

First off, IF I was going to be there for a grand depart on October 17th, I would start riders at 7am. I would advise riders start at 7am. Riders should start at 7am. WHY? Sunrise is at 7:14am, and sunset is at 6:17pm. This means you also want to take lights. Unlike Dekalb, you will not be holding a 20 MPH average. You will also not be holding a 16mph average. Last years event winner won the race with a 15.75mph average, and everyone else was much slower. This years course has 1,000 feet more elevation gain compared to last year, and it is wonderful.

TEN THOUSAND 2016  (Image link)

TEN THOUSAND 2016 SHORT (Image link)

First things first, someone is going to say “Ridewithgps says the route only has 9,000 feet of climbing!” Correct, and Strava says it has 6,000 and Mapmyride says it has 1,300. Tell me what your GPS says after you finish.

The first 52 miles of the routes are identical, at which point the short course splits off and takes a direct, though beautiful, route back to Stockton.

The first thing Bailey said to me about 5 miles in was “This course jumps right into it!”, and it does. The first 30 miles are tough.

Taking a bit of a jaunt just outside the Driftless, the early roads tend to still follow a grid pattern, which routes you up and over endless rollers. Later on in the route you will enter the true Driftless, and the entire personality of the roads will change.

The events only B-roads hit early at mile 19.8. I’ll comment on this part of the course as a rider or two were confused while navigating this section last year.

When you see this presumably dead end, you take the most left of the three options, and follow it down and up. It is rough, but much smoother then prior years, and all able to be ridden. After that you turn right, and follow another B-road down a long hill. Stay alert, as there is some heavy erosion near the bottom of the potentially fast downhill.



The town of Elizabeth (Mile 46) is going to be your first chance to resupply. There is a cafe and a gas station, and I usually grab a sandwich and iced coffee at E-town Cafe as I roll through town. This would be a good place to assess how you feel about going deeper into the Driftless. This is the only food and water stop on the short route, and the best one on the full route.

The next place to grab food and water on the full route is in Hanover (Mile 66). The gas station there has a $10 minimum on credit cards, so bring cash, or buy for friends also.

After those towns, there is no guaranteed food or water. There are two campgrounds with water pumps at miles 75 and 114, but I can not guarantee they will be turned on that late in the fall. Leave Hanover with all supplies needed for another 60 miles of difficult riding.

There are some really cool sections on this latter part of the course, taking you right along the Mississippi river, and up what I consider to be the coolest climb in the entire state. Enjoy.

The rest of the adventure and it’s discoveries are up to you.

After your ride is done, there is a restaurant across the street from the starting park called JJ’s and Freddie’s, which seems like an ideal place for riders to satiate a ravenous appetite and share battle stories. If you see riders come in, even if you don’t know them, make your table bigger and find out how their day went.

Enjoy the day, look around and smile often, take lots of pictures, tag them so I can see them, and tell me all about your adventure. I sincerely want to hear all about it.


Everyday, something new.

After my friends at NCC and I all announced we had put in our two weeks notice we constantly were being asked what we were doing next.

I didn’t have an answer, up until now, sort of.

From late September through mid Janurary I will be on the road doing support for the Raleigh Clement professional cyclocross team.


Illinois locals know the Raleigh Clement team by their kind presence and humble dominance of Axletree’s Gravel Metric the last handful of years, and by Clement generously being one of the title sponsors helping us put on an event that is free to the riders. They are a great group of people, and I am beyond excited to go on such a 4 month journey, and travel to so many places I have not yet been, and places I know and love. Asheville, Tacoma, Providence, Waterloo, Gloucester, Boulder, Iowa City, and many more stops, and places in between.

I’ll be driving vans and trailers of gear coast to coast repeatedly, wrenching on bikes, playing gear tetris in the storage trailer, and other background tasks to help enable some of the top racers in the country to focus on going faster on bikes then us mortals thought possible.

After the National Champsionships in Asheville, I have no work lined up yet, but I am sure it will be another exciting new adventure.

I am really stoked for this short life experience. I have always been internally wired with a nuanced version of the “Grass is always greener” saying, but for me “The grass is always greener when you don’t know what is on the other side”.

Everyday, something new.

Willingly taking the path of more resistance, for fun.

My car rolled into Palos with two bikes on the back of my car, though I was the only one inside.

I was planning on riding my Single Speed mountain bike, but after taking the studded tires off and checking the brakes I discovered that no amount of sanding, alcohol, or even replacing the brake pads, could get the terrible oil soaked squeel of a winters commuting to silence.

I know, your first thought is “It is half way through August, and you just took your studded tires off your mountain bicycle?” Well, I live in BFE Dekalb, and very rarely have the option to use an automobile to get to the closest tiny little trail system 45 miles away. Trust me, this hurts me more then you know.

That day and the one prior, I was in one of those dark mental funks that normally only get to the core of my being during the harsh winter months. I really needed an escape, I needed to go ride a bike somewhere, and honestly the roads around my house do not suppress the dark aura, but actually feed it.

Quite frustrated, I threw the mountain bike on my car, thinking that maybe if I went and rode a few hours, I could bed the pads in, even though fifteen minutes in the parking lot did nothing at all.
I locked the shop, set the alarm, jumped in my car, and then ran back into the shop to grab another bike.

After the hour plus drive to Palos, I clipped in and rolled away from my car, with the feeling that I was entering the unknown.
I have ridden Palos plenty of times before, but only once in the prior 5 years, and there was plenty of new trail to discover. Also, this time I was on my cyclocross race bike, 33c tubulars and all.

There is that feeling I get sometimes, where I feel like I am getting away with something I shouldn’t do, but I am doing it anyway.
It is a complex melding of refreshment, caution, curiosity, accomplishment and unknown. I love it.

I hadn’t been on my CX bike to really push it for quite a while, and I needed to remember the limits of the tires grip and traction, as well as how it responds to my body language. I started off quite cautious, but with a big smile ear to ear. I was going to ride a loop of the Palos Meltdown course, since it was so well worn in and included the new trails.

As the double track gave way to tighter root strewn single track with some loose downhills I had to be very focused to pick good lines, bunny hop obstacles, and delicately bounce rims off of anything else in the way. The small tires set to 30-35psi didn’t have much room to compress before the rim hit rocks and roots, but by shifting body weight around multiple times a second the way a cars traction control works, I could navigate up and down everything pretty quickly, and I was having a wonderful time. Coming up the second ravine of the infamous trail called Three Ravines was the only spot I had to dab a foot, but I surveyed the line I took, and what other options there were, and kept on rolling down the trail.

I ended up following a group of mountain bikers around the new trail, completing the race loop, and then wandering around some of the other trails by Cemetery Hill.
After I had found water, I left for a second loop of the race course. I was having too much fun to stop.
I was feeling very in control of the bike, and was passing mountain bike after mountain bike on rooted single track. Granted, a few were wearing full face helmets and had full on enduro bikes. They must have been visiting from another state out west.

Back at Three Ravines I was clipping along much more comfortably and swifter then the first loop. I cleaned all three ravines comfortably, and kept smiling as I bounced over rocks and roots.

I finished the second race course loop on my 29 minus wheel size, for 25 miles of mountain biking on my CX bike.
Sitting in the drops of the bars, with a huge smile on my face, I couldn’t help but think about the next time I would get to make it out to Palos, and how I hope to have two bikes on my car that day.