Everyone has their demons.
Unbound XL, 2024
Written by Brendan Tree
Everyone has their demons.
Unbound XL, 2024
Written by Brendan Tree
Everyone has their demons. It doesn't matter how fast you go, we’re all fighting them. Something to remember at 4am when I’m starting to see things. I guess this is what Ultra racing is all about. Pushing past your demons, even when you’re a little beyond cooked.
It’s taken me three years to get here. 2022 I was stuck overseas and was a DNS. Last year I managed to make it to the start, but had to DNF after 230 kms due to the infamous mud and some stomach issues. This would be my year - if I could piece it all together. I have a plan. I know my strengths. Don’t spike your power. Keep eating. Save it for the last 100 miles when everyone has cracked. Race your own race.
And so I find myself at the start line of Unbound XL. The harder version of an already hard race. 350 miles / 570 kms in the Flint Hills of Kansas, with 5,800m / 19,000 ft of climbing for good measure. There’s about 200 of us who are crazy enough to take this on.
Under a police escort and a helicopter above, we roll out of town on our journey. “This is the 350, right?” I say to another rider… the pace is a little high. Everyone is chasing wheels like it’s a crit. 15 minutes in and there is a crash. We need to calm down. I start a battle between competing objectives - I want to place high, but this pace is unsustainable. After about 75 minutes of rolling in the front group I made the executive decision to turn it down a notch.
Everyone has their demons. It doesn't matter how fast you go, we’re all fighting them. Something to remember at 4am when I’m starting to see things. I guess this is what Ultra racing is all about. Pushing past your demons, even when you’re a little beyond cooked.
It’s taken me three years to get here. 2022 I was stuck overseas and was a DNS. Last year I managed to make it to the start, but had to DNF after 230 kms due to the infamous mud and some stomach issues. This would be my year - if I could piece it all together. I have a plan. I know my strengths. Don’t spike your power. Keep eating. Save it for the last 100 miles when everyone has cracked. Race your own race.
And so I find myself at the start line of Unbound XL. The harder version of an already hard race. 350 miles / 570 kms in the Flint Hills of Kansas, with 5,800m / 19,000 ft of climbing for good measure. There’s about 200 of us who are crazy enough to take this on.
Under a police escort and a helicopter above, we roll out of town on our journey. “This is the 350, right?” I say to another rider… the pace is a little high. Everyone is chasing wheels like it’s a crit. 15 minutes in and there is a crash. We need to calm down. I start a battle between competing objectives - I want to place high, but this pace is unsustainable. After about 75 minutes of rolling in the front group I made the executive decision to turn it down a notch.
“They’re all crazy” seems to be a common phrase between those who are left behind the front group. We manage to get a group that rolls through to the first major rest stop, 136 km and 5 hours in. The best thing about the XL is the rest stops: rural Kansas gas stations invaded by faded cyclists in need of any sustenance they can find.
Having never ridden through the night I was a little nervous about this part. How would my mind hold up? What happens when you can only see 10 metres in front of you? A huge impact to my front rim was a quick lesson in the risks we were all taking. Blessed to have inserts, I decided to back off from my group and take my own pace. Better safe than sorry.
I started to wonder what all the fuss was about - riding in the night wasn’t that bad. Then the signs started: loopy conversations with myself, not taking the best lines and the shadows playing tricks with me. Who was that standing in the field? Oh damn, it’s just a tree stump. I guess I am cooked. The small hours of the night went fast but were taking their toll.
Rolling into a town at 3am and 300 kms in was surreal. An oasis from the dark. Another competitor was already there; shovelling down Doritos and looking worse for wear. “I’m sure I’ll see you again”. We wish each other the best. The XL doesn’t create competitors, it creates friends. We’re all bonded by mutual respect for taking this on.
At dawn I was banking on a refresh. Many speak of your circadian rhythms providing a reset. With a misty morning and no sunrise, I didn’t really get the boost I was looking for. A few Red Bulls might do the trick so I kept rolling. 350 kms done, 220 kms to go.
It was about 10 am when I hit the mud. I learned my lesson from last year - don’t bother riding. You’re going to spend more time cleaning the bike and fixing mechanicals than you will save from riding. I was ready for this and wouldn’t let it get to me. Lugging the bike on my back, I started trekking through the grass for three long and hot kilometres.
This proved to be the spark I needed. Maybe it was the walking or maybe it was passing so many people that got stuck with mud issues. My reset came and I began to fly. We all know the feeling - you are one with the bike and it comes easy, even if you have already been riding for 16 hours.
I had faith in the plan. My pacing would win out and this is where the comeback started. As I rounded a corner or crested a climb I would see another rider ahead. After passing what seemed like a dozen riders I reached the last aid station. I’m not sure the warm Twinkie was ideal, but it did the job. I began the final 100 kms caked in salt, dust and a desire to finish.
I’m glad I didn’t know about what was left. It looked innocuous on paper - not much climbing really, but how wrong I was. Endless rollers with double digit pitches would sap my legs of everything that was left. Moreso it would push my mind to the limit and make sure I earned this result.
Riding into the finish wasn’t just redemption, it was validation. Proof that my plan worked and having legs on the second day would matter most. I learned that riding your own race is what matters. There is no room to ride like someone else over this distance. You’re forced to come to terms with your strengths and your weaknesses. Everyone who finished overcame their demons.
“They’re all crazy” seems to be a common phrase between those who are left behind the front group. We manage to get a group that rolls through to the first major rest stop, 136 km and 5 hours in. The best thing about the XL is the rest stops: rural Kansas gas stations invaded by faded cyclists in need of any sustenance they can find.
Having never ridden through the night I was a little nervous about this part. How would my mind hold up? What happens when you can only see 10 metres in front of you? A huge impact to my front rim was a quick lesson in the risks we were all taking. Blessed to have inserts, I decided to back off from my group and take my own pace. Better safe than sorry.
I started to wonder what all the fuss was about - riding in the night wasn’t that bad. Then the signs started: loopy conversations with myself, not taking the best lines and the shadows playing tricks with me. Who was that standing in the field? Oh damn, it’s just a tree stump. I guess I am cooked. The small hours of the night went fast but were taking their toll.
Rolling into a town at 3am and 300 kms in was surreal. An oasis from the dark. Another competitor was already there; shovelling down Doritos and looking worse for wear. “I’m sure I’ll see you again”. We wish each other the best. The XL doesn’t create competitors, it creates friends. We’re all bonded by mutual respect for taking this on.
At dawn I was banking on a refresh. Many speak of your circadian rhythms providing a reset. With a misty morning and no sunrise, I didn’t really get the boost I was looking for. A few Red Bulls might do the trick so I kept rolling. 350 kms done, 220 kms to go.
It was about 10 am when I hit the mud. I learned my lesson from last year - don’t bother riding. You’re going to spend more time cleaning the bike and fixing mechanicals than you will save from riding. I was ready for this and wouldn’t let it get to me. Lugging the bike on my back, I started trekking through the grass for three long and hot kilometres.
This proved to be the spark I needed. Maybe it was the walking or maybe it was passing so many people that got stuck with mud issues. My reset came and I began to fly. We all know the feeling - you are one with the bike and it comes easy, even if you have already been riding for 16 hours.
I had faith in the plan. My pacing would win out and this is where the comeback started. As I rounded a corner or crested a climb I would see another rider ahead. After passing what seemed like a dozen riders I reached the last aid station. I’m not sure the warm Twinkie was ideal, but it did the job. I began the final 100 kms caked in salt, dust and a desire to finish.
I’m glad I didn’t know about what was left. It looked innocuous on paper - not much climbing really, but how wrong I was. Endless rollers with double digit pitches would sap my legs of everything that was left. Moreso it would push my mind to the limit and make sure I earned this result.
Riding into the finish wasn’t just redemption, it was validation. Proof that my plan worked and having legs on the second day would matter most. I learned that riding your own race is what matters. There is no room to ride like someone else over this distance. You’re forced to come to terms with your strengths and your weaknesses. Everyone who finished overcame their demons.