Beautiful conditions greeted the racers for what was set to be one of the great Midwestern dirt races of the year. Dubbed “the Killer Gravel Road Race’, it is an 80% gravel road race. These roads are littered with short steep climbs to numerous to count, and seemingly no flat ground. It is a killer and it was a flippin’ awesome day on the bike. With around 300 riders last year, this year it more than doubled with well almost 700. I hyped this race up all year long, to anyone who would listen. xXx toed the line with 10 riders in the various categories, both male and female. Most of the crew lodged at the Parker House about 20 minutes from the course, my parents were so excited to host the team that they posted an article from the Grand Rapids Press about the race on the front door. They also brought their camping trailer along so we had the PRO setup that day. A place to get warm, dressed, and fed is a huge help in the race prep. The day was gorgeous, mostly sunny and high of almost 60.

The start was lead out by the local Sheriff’s Posse. It was well over 600 riders, most of which seemed unaccustomed to riding in a large group, rolling out in one gigantic peleton that stretched for what must have been half a mile. When we hit the first stretch of dirt road the dust became a smoke screen thick as a west coast fog. It carnage, the pace was immediately lifted to something that can only be described as self-immolation. The high pace was due to the Elite riders on the front, and the need to cull the field for the approach to Sager Road. Sager Road is a much dreaded two track littered with rocks and unimproved by the county. It is the ‘Forest of Arenberg’ for this race. The race is not won there, but a bad line through the sand or a rider going down in front of you can effectively end your shot a getting to the front and being factor in the race. The race was detonated in spectacular fashion when we made the treacherous transition to the sand, rocks and an immediate steep pitch that had riders scrambling for a line through the madness. The terrain and hills took their toll immediately. The field strung out and the elite riders drifted away while the experts were left to fight and claw their way past each other. After Sager, the course and the racers relaxed for a short spell, enough to just catch your breath for a brief spell. Then small groups of 10 and 20, 6 and 3 began to form and work together trying to advance themselves back to the front. With the race starting with so many different categories at once it was impossible to know who you were riding with, Expert, or Elite. It was cloudy as to where the front of the race was, were we it, or was it two minutes in front of us. So we all raced like the winners were in front of us. Working desperately for almost two hours to reel in the leaders. The whole team was boosted by my family as they traveled the course and rang the Bonebell as we raced by, in multiple locations atop some of the toughest hills. Seegs and I grouped together and worked with a group of about 10 that swelled to 20. The second hardest hill of the day reeked havoc on our group, and we fell off the pace. This left us working desperately to get back onto the group for about five miles. My fellow dirtbags are great bike riders, but in they in general do not know how to work together in a dedicated group. For Seegs and I, it was like herding cats, constant unwarranted accelerations, gaps growing to separations, rotations not rotating. The group in front, which contained a couple of local Chicago friends of ours, including Nevada Dave, dangled in front of us for what felt like hours at just 20 seconds. We knew we had the horsepower to catch, but the group would not, could not cooperate to make the bridge. Finally the bridge was crossed with a final monster pull that I made, only for me to be dropped by the first acceleration the group made. I was crushed, I gave up for a second and was able to open the suitcase and pull out just enough courage to continue. Fortunately, my bridge got Seegs back onto the group and that gave me minor consolation. The group drifted away from me and I began to loose hope, they put what must have been minutes on me in only a few minutes. As I traveled on another group caught my solo attempts to maintain a respectable pace. This lifted my spirits as I now had another cause to pedal for, and our guy Michael Young was in the group too. It was on and I was able to race again. Rejuvenated by a teammate who was obviously strong and almost bullying the group of 15 the two of us put serious wheel to road and worked together trying to shred the riders we were with. The group that I had lost earlier had fallen apart and we began to pickup other riders as we went along and our group grew and grew. We caught a solo Seegs as we neared the longest climb of the day, a 1.5 mile slog up a thankfully paved road. Michael Young went to the front and lifted the pace to all the way not fun. He was heartbroken at the top when very few of the riders had dropped off the pace, as was I.

Seegs, Young, and I now had numbers in the group, we were the largest team in the group and we put the draught horses in the yokes on front and drove the pace all the way to cookoo town. It got to be so much work that I was worried for the three of us and our chance in the finale, about 2 miles away. With about a mile away, Michael Young jumped as we reentered the State Park where the race finished. His jump, which can only be described as Marty and the Delorean traveling through time, was followed almost instantly by me a fraction of a second later. The two of us lit the fuse and the field was shattered for the sprint. The result was a group of seven, including three xXx’ers. Great odds. As we neared the finish line Seegs initiated a jump just to my right and I immediately heard the awful skidding sound of a front tire washing out on pavement. As I looked over to him, time slowed down and it seemed to take ten seconds for him to go down, even though it was over in an instant. He took down another rider in our group. As soon as I saw what had happened I jumped with everything that I had, the finish line was about just under a ¼ mile away and I came through the final chicane as two other riders passed me to win the sprint in our small group. I felt awful, my main thought as I charged to the line was honoring my fallen teammate, and I had come up short. He rolled across the line under his own power very shortly afterwards, and I felt a much better, knowing that he was not seriously hurt. The results were up immediately and my third place sprint was a victory in my age group, followed closely by Michael Young for second place. That put me on the top step and a teammate on second, a great feeling in a race that I have targeted since this time last year. There was some fantastic work done by the three of us in the final 5 miles. I could not have made it to the front without them, thanks guys. We rocked.