Meet the 92-year-old taking on Unbound 200—again: ‘Even if it takes me 24 hours, I’m going to try'

For most cyclists, Unbound Gravel’s 200-mile race is a towering feat of gruelling terrain, unpredictable weather and relentless mileage. It’s a test that humbles elite pros and recreational riders alike. But to Fred Schmid, 92, the Flint Hills of Kansas are something else entirely: a beautiful place to ride a bike.

“I think it’s a wonderful, enjoyable place to ride,” he says from Emporia, where he’s done some pre-riding and is now taking it easy just days before race day. “Lovely roads for doing what we’re doing.”

That attitude may sound casual, even blasé, until you know his backstory. Schmid has attempted the Unbound 200 several times before. In 2021, he made it to mile 115 but began vomiting, from what he now believes was heat exhaustion. This left him to reluctantly call for his wife, Suzanne, to pick him up. In another attempt, he reached mile 120 and realised he was behind the time cut. Though he felt physically capable, he chose to stop—something he now regrets. “I should’ve just gone on my own hook,” he says. Last year, he signed up for the shorter 100-mile event and finished. This year, he’s back for the full 200.

He’s not in perfect health. “I’ve had a rhythm of some sort,” he says, referring to a recent bout of arrhythmia-like symptoms that tend to flare when he’s extremely fatigued. “My heart rate was somewhat higher than normal.” Doctors couldn’t find anything structurally wrong, and Schmid is trying to stay calm. He’s resting, doing light rides, and hoping that by Saturday, he’ll feel good enough to go for it.

And if he doesn’t? “We’ll see,” he says. “But if it takes me 24 hours, I’m going to try.”

It’s a mantra that defines Schmid’s entire relationship with cycling, which began in earnest when Suzanne bought him a mountain bike for Christmas in 1994. He was 61 and newly enchanted by the trails near their home in Waco, Texas. Soon, he was racing, then winning, across multiple disciplines. Over the next three decades, Schmid racked up more than 30 national titles in mountain biking, road racing and cyclocross, along with two Masters World Championship jerseys in mountain biking. By his latest count, he owns 49 national championship jerseys. “I wear them all the time,” he says with a laugh. “You don’t get that many chances to wear them.”

On Saturday, he’ll line up in one of those jerseys: bright, bold and easy to spot, just the way Suzanne likes it. “It helps me find him at the feed zones,” she says. “And the locals recognise him now. Some even pull over to wave.”

Schmid’s toughness wasn’t born on a bike. He spent five decades as a land surveyor in the Texas heat, swinging a bush axe through poison ivy and mosquitoes. The work was brutal, but quitting wasn’t an option. “You just kept going,” he says. “Everyone else was out there doing the same.” That work ethic still drives him today.

Despite the stack of titles, jerseys and medals, Schmid doesn’t see himself as competitive. “I’m just trying to do the Fred thing,” he says. “Ride my bike, enjoy life.”

When it comes to gear and preparation, Schmid approaches Unbound like any other serious rider. He’s meticulous about tyre pressure, rolling resistance and fueling strategy. He rides a Cannondale Flash from the early 2010s with a Lefty fork and 60mm tyres, chosen for comfort and reliability. He’s got a Garmin with hourly fueling alerts, a radar unit to detect cars, and a carefully dialled nutrition plan: 70–80 grams of carbs per hour using SIS Beta Fuel, with backup gels and occasional Fig Newtons for morale.

Part of that preparation includes keeping up with the latest advice. “He likes to know what Dylan Johnson says,” Suzanne adds, referring to the popular cycling YouTuber, coach and Life Time Grand Prix racer. “Fred emails him sometimes, and he always writes back.”

Suzanne, 76, is a retired neuropsychologist, fellow cyclist, and Schmid’s logistical mastermind. She got her own bike not long after surprising her husband with his first one, and the two have been riding together ever since. These days, she focuses more on support than speed, managing hydration, feed zone handoffs and real-time data checks from Fred’s Garmin. “He has reminders to drink every seven and a half minutes,” she says. “And yes, I check if his pack and bottles are empty. If they’re not, I chastise him.”

Schmid doesn’t do it alone. For over 25 years, he’s been coached by Tracey Drews at CTS Coaching, a longtime expert in guiding masters and senior athletes. “I sometimes think she asks too little of me,” Fred says. But Drews, who’s coached riders up and down the age spectrum, understands the balance between pushing and preserving. She helps him plan his training around fatigue, recovery, and the unique challenges that come with racing at 92.

Schmid doesn’t train alone. Most of his riding buddies, like Whitney Fanning, are decades younger. “I ride with Whitney most weekends,” he says. “We’ll do 50 to 100 miles, gravel, road, whatever.” He laughs when asked if younger riders treat him differently. “They’re just friends. Good friends.”

That camaraderie is what keeps him going and what makes the cycling and gravel scenes feel like home. “We see people we haven’t seen for months,” says Suzanne. “You make new friends. It keeps you up about people and relationships.”

Asked about misconceptions around ageing, Schmid is blunt. “People think old folks are different from young people. But the enjoyment of life doesn’t change.” He’s candid about the aches that come with age, like arthritis in his left ankle that keeps him from walking very far, but says it never bothers him on the bike. “I guess I have pain,” he shrugs. “But I ignore it.”

He likes to quote fitness pioneer Jack LaLanne: “Show me someone over 40 with no pain and I’ll show you a liar.” Now, 52 years past 40, Schmid says that pain is real, but it’s not a reason to stop doing the things you love. “Mentally, you just resist the idea that you’re getting old,” he says. “In your head, you’re still 18.”

Suzanne puts it even more plainly: “The biggest mistake people make is letting age dominate their lives,” she says. “They start focusing on what’s wrong and what’s wrong with their friends. If something hurts a little, they think they should quit. But no, don’t quit. Do it some more until it doesn’t hurt. You will get better at it.”

To be clear, neither of them is suggesting you ignore serious injury. There’s a difference between discomfort—the kind that comes with effort—and real pain. “Use your judgment,” Suzanne adds. “But don’t let fear of discomfort keep you from living.”

Schmid has lived a full life, and riding bikes keeps adding to it. He once flew sailplanes and raced gliders, logging thousands of hours in the air. He’s sailed the Gulf Coast with Suzanne and climbed Mount Evans in cold rain, lightning cracking overhead. But of all his adventures, cycling remains the most enduring joy of his later years.

And no, he doesn’t feel pressure to be inspirational. “People say I am,” he says, “but that’s not the goal. I’m just enjoying being Fred.”

If he finishes Unbound this year, it’ll be a story of redemption and quiet triumph. If he doesn’t, it won’t change the fact that he’s already won—at life, at cycling and at making peace with the brutal math of age without ever letting it define him.

When asked if there are any bucket-list rides left, he pauses and shrugs. Nothing comes to mind. It’s as if, after decades of riding trails, mountains and centuries across the country, he’s already done everything he ever needed to do.

“I’ve done several things in my life that I’ve enjoyed tremendously,” he says, “but cycling is the one that’s stayed with me.” After all these years, it’s the simple act that still brings him joy: “Being able to put my leg over the bike, that’s what gives me the most satisfaction.”