I'm a 'back of the pack' rider — this is what a gravel race is like, for me

At SBT GRVL earlier this month, I set a goal of finishing in seven hours, hoping to be back at the finish line by 2 p.m. Is this an ambitious goal for me? Not by a long shot. Is it realistic? Yes.

That 2pm finish would put me at a comfortable pace of 8 mph for my planned completion of the Red Course, which consisted of 56 miles (90km) of gravel and pavement with nearly 4,800 feet (1463m) of climbing. My typical pace on gravel is 11 mph, so my goal was readily achievable as long as I stuck to the plan of minimal stops, walking when necessary to maintain forward progress, and keeping the rubber side down.

With that goal in mind, I set off as a solid, back-of-the-pack rider. Knowing that I have zero desire to be competitive, I lined up toward the back of the chute, allowing the faster folks to lead the way and without having to pass me. Despite this, I was still passed far too closely and on both sides (seriously - who passes on the right?!) as we made our way out of Steamboat and into the first climb.

Knowing that I’m a slow climber, I positioned myself to the far right of the road and was surprised when I found myself passing a few folks who were struggling more than me. As I passed, I offered words of encouragement and soon found myself hitting nearly 28 mph on a downhill smooth gravel descent.

At mile 7, I offered mechanical help to a rider with a flat tyre, who declined and then, within five minutes, passed me as he worked hard to recover his lost time. As a non-competitive rider with a modicum of mechanical skills, I offer help whenever I see someone on the side of the road. Amazingly, out of the ten or so times I offered during SBT GRVL, I did not need to stop and render aid. Kudos to everyone for being so prepared out there — as that is not always the case and I often spend a good deal of time helping other riders with dropped chains and flat tyres.

As the miles passed, I played leapfrog with a few other riders. They were faster climbers; I was faster on the downhill. On it went until the first extended climb of the day, when they surged ahead, and my struggles began. Struggle might actually be too strong of a word, as I never doubted my ability to make it up the climb, just my ability to ride the full thing. This hill was a challenge at 1.7 miles with an average incline of nearly 6%.

My Wahoo chirped at me, indicating that the climb was starting. As I slowly turned each pedal stroke, it felt as if my bike computer was mocking me, telling me I had 15 minutes of climbing left to go, just on this one hill. I climbed alone, playing mental games, counting my breaths, and taking in the scenery until, eventually, I was at the top! My celebration was short-lived as I looked at the upcoming climbs and realised this was only the first of four similar climbs. Oof.

At the aid station, I chatted with the volunteers and posed for a portrait while cold water was showered on my head. My spirits were high, as I had less than twenty miles to go and was making excellent time. Soon, I found myself on the day's final climb, and wow, it was hard. I continued to spin slowly, walking when necessary, making it one foot at a time up the hill.

Midway up the hill, I passed one of the official race motorcycles, which told me the men’s race leader would be coming up quickly behind me. Excited to see the pros, I got my phone camera ready, and within seconds, the sound of more motorcycles alerted me that they were there. I pulled as far to the right as possible and cheered as Keegan Swenson passed, working hard on a solo attempt. He looked like he was in as much pain as I was, which made me think jokingly, “The pros, they’re just like us!”

As I continued my climb, the pros and elite riders flew past me until, eventually, they’d all gone, and I found myself at the summit. I celebrated with some well-deserved pickle juice at the final aid station and set off for the final stretch into town.

As I neared the finish line, a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration washed over me. The final stretch through town was a blur of spectators' encouragement and the rhythmic hum of my tyres on the pavement. My legs were heavy, but my spirit was light, knowing that I had conquered the challenges of the day.

Crossing the finish line, I glanced at the clock: 1pm. I had done it—achieved my goal with ample time to spare. For me, it’s never about being the fastest or the strongest out there; it is about setting a realistic goal, sticking to my plan, and enjoying every moment of the ride, sufferfest and all. As I leaned back and celebrated with a cold Coke, I realised that my efforts at the back of the pack were just as worthy of celebration as the winners at the front of the race.