The 2025 Vuelta a España begins in Italy on Saturday and includes a mountain finish on stage two to Limone Piemonte, but I expect we'll need seven days of racing to find out if Jonas Vingegaard can live up to his billing as the number one favourite.

The new, more explosive Jonas will be well suited to the steep ramps that the final Grand Tour of the season always serves up, but the mountain stages in the Pyrenees will reveal any cracks in his and everyone else's GC armoury. The battle for overall victory will then play out in week two and week three, hopefully lasting all the way until stage 20 atop Bola del Mundo near Madrid.

As far as individual capabilities are concerned, the Dane has an edge on his direct Vuelta rivals when it comes to climbing and time trialling. He might even outsprint the other leaders if it comes down to a tough finish. His two Tour de France victories and his fights with Tadej Pogačar put Vingegaard a level above everyone, but the absence of Pogačar will not make victory and the next three weeks of racing a formality. It won’t be for a number of reasons.

Something unexpected always happens at the Vuelta, trust me, I know from first-hand experience.

The fuss about GC Kuss isn’t that long ago, and it could happen again, perhaps this time at UAE. A surprise challenger usually emerges at the Vuelta, as best illustrated by the performances of Ben O’Connor in 2024. The Australian has the knack of sneaking into an escape that shakes up the overall standings. He could do it again this year.

There’s also bound to be some new, or even renewed, GC talents who came into the race with few mentions. The Vuelta is the third Grand Tour of the season, when riders are tired, about to change teams or looking to save their careers. Its unpredictability is its beauty.

The main prediction topic, at least pre-race, is a familiar one: Visma-Lease a Bike will again be pitted against UAE Team Emirates-XRG in a battle for overall victory and Grand Tour bragging rights.

Without the presence of Pogačar, Visma find themselves in the reverse of the situation they had at the Tour de France. Now it’s their turn to have one leader and one simple strategy.

Vingegaard is the only designated leader, while UAE have João Almeida and Juan Ayuso as joint leaders. Theoretically, either Matteo Jorgensen or Sepp Kuss could be bumped up to joint leader status, but I think both know their role here is that of teammate and not the Plan B if it all goes wrong.

In a similar twist of circumstances, team strengths have changed sides, too. At the Tour, Visma had the best squad, but they faced the strongest rider in Pogačar. Here it’s the other way round. Vingegaard is the favourite, has a decent team, but UAE have an armada that can ride all day, every day. It will be fascinating to see how their battle plays out.

The big thing in favour of the Dutch squad is their unity, despite the GC Kuss polemic in 2023. Wout van Aert burying himself so that Simon Yates would win the Giro d’Italia on the penultimate day being the latest reminder of their collective spirit.

Almeida and Ayuso - Teammates or rivals?

Over at UAE, when Tadej Pogačar is not present then individual ambitions can quickly become apparent and cause tension.

There’s been lots of press concerning the relationship between Ayuso and Almeida ever since the arm waving and heated words on the slopes of the Galibier in the 2024 Tour. UAE try to spin a united line, with no rivalry, but the differences in temperament and riding style suggest their co-existence is a difficult situation to manage.

This will be the first time this season Almeida and Ayuso have raced together, and I don’t think that is entirely a coincidence. Keeping them apart seems to have been deliberate. In person and on paper.

The Spaniard lines up wearing number one and Almeida is at the other end of the list with number eight. Maybe that’s a random occurrence, and sure it’s Ayuso’s home Tour but João is ahead of him not only alphabetically and in the UCI rankings.

Egos and ambitions need careful massaging at this level and this is the kind of detail that some riders notice.

It will also have come to Almeida’s attention that back in May, at the Giro, his co-leader wasn’t exactly the stellar teammate to Issac del Toro when he needed assistance. For someone like the Portuguese rider, who always fulfils his support duties, any hint of selfishness is going to have him gnashing his teeth. I can’t see them getting through the Vuelta without incident.

Ayuso is the thoroughbred that requires pampering, constant reassurance and repositioning in the peloton to be at his best. Almeida, though not always in the right place at the right time during races, is more reliable and never stops fighting until he is truly broken. It’s the classic thoroughbred vs the prize fighter, so I won’t be that surprised if the internal politics at UAE become public at some point. Get the popcorn ready.

Chances for Bernal, Pidcock, Landa and Ciccone

Outside of the Visma versus UAE battle, or perhaps because of it, there could be lots of opportunities for the likes of Egan Bernal, Tom Pidcock and Mikel Landa.

Although all are former Sky riders, only the Colombian remains with the British squad. He’s arguably under the most pressure as Ineos really need a GC presence in Grand Tours again. It'll be fascinating to see if Bernal can fight for a place on the final podium.

Pidcock has greater freedom at Q36.5, even if he says it’s a test of his Grand Tour capabilities. As long as he wins a stage, then it's job done.

With Remco Evenepoel leaving Soudal-Quickstep next year, Mikel Landa is again free to deliver a dismal time trial and then make a spectacular comeback in the mountains in the final week.

Not many people are talking about Giulio Ciccone, which is understandable when Mads Pedersen is part of the Lidl-Trek line-up. However, the Italian is in good form and the Vuelta is a race which often rewards the aggressive if he opts to ride the GC. The start in Italy and the flat stage to Novara on Saturday suits Pedersen, but the first mountain finish and the early team time trial in Spain could then see Ciccone in the red jersey of leader for a spell.

At least for a week or so, until the high Pyrenees, when Vingegaard will surely ascend to dominance and the Visma-UAE battle really begins.

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Ignoring my own advice never to read the comments section on Cyclingnews; whilst sinking into a recent piece about the USA team not supporting its gravel athletes this year, I was yet again surprised by the sentiment many have towards the UCI Gravel Worlds Championships, calling it 'bike path world champs' and a 'disgrace to USA gravel'. This last comment triggered me briefly, because as for how I see gravel, courses can be whatever they like, there is no definition of what makes it a true gravel course vs one that isn't.

If you haven't seen the course, you can see the UCI Gravel World Championships route here - it's about a 50/50 split between rough surface and road. The race kicks off in Halle, loops around the south side of Brussels, and finishes in Leuven. It's actually one of the only gravel races on the calendar that has a distinctly different and far-apart start and finish, making it different in its own right, but possibly logistically harder for those riders without a support team. 

Along that course, we go from gravel to road, through parks, bike paths, forests and cities. So what makes a race a gravel race?

Let's look at Unbound: Sure it's 90% gravel but it's essentially a boring road race on unfinished roads - 20 kilometres straight without a single turn. But that's all Kansas has to offer. Belgian Waffle Ride California is less than 40% gravel but is seen as hardcore, technical, and crazy. People rave about how fun this race is, but never complain about the 60% road, because they know that's what the area has to offer.

For the first Gravel Worlds - I covered this point in my blog back then - they did an excellent job even finding a gravel course in that area. Again, theme building here (It's based on what they have). Sure, a lot was bike path, but it was an epic race. Not because it had a gnarly section, nor because it was pure gravel, but because of who was racing and what we were racing for - our sport's first recognition on the big stage.

So now three years into gravel being a "sport", there are those who are firing shots yet again at the UCI for the course that we've seen, but before getting on the anti-UCI bandwagon, let's consider a few things.

Belgium is inarguably the hub of cycling, no other nation loves cycling like Belgium, and the vibe at the Flanders Road World Championships in 2021 was wild. Gravel needs that buzz, that's the whole reason to race/ride/live for in gravel. So Belgium hits the sweet spot right there.

We're set on Belgium then, but one downside for gravel riding is that Belgium is either highways, farm roads, farm land, suburbs and/or industrial areas. The forests near major cities are small and rarely connect without crossing highways, so planning a 187km race is pretty hard to do. So a 50/50 split of road/off-road is pretty good. Paul Voss, German national gravel champion has said that despite the road sections, the gravel really requires good bike skills, it's hard, and is a 'real gravel course'. He also expresses the caveat that it's great, given that the area has challenges to be an endless gravel course, but is a real race nonetheless.

Would he use a road bike? No. Would he use an MTB? No. So it's a gravel race. But why are we so set on defining what a gravel race should or need to be? For example, for Sea Otter in Girona, it would have perhaps been better to use a light MTB. Steamboat could be won on a road bike with tough tyres, and BWR California is less than 50% dirt, but one of the iconic races in Gravel. So why do we have higher standards for World Championships?

I think the bigger issue/ consideration is the fact that the course needs to fit so many people.

Elite men have 300-plus starters. That is wild. Unbound, Traka have 200-4000 starters, but at most, 100 elite riders at the front. 300 riders all realistically fighting for the win? This is insane. Then launched directly after, the age groups. I had a terrible start at Worlds last year and was caught by waves of age-group riders. If the course was more 'single track' or smaller roads, the conditions of the course wouldn't allow huge numbers. The bottlenecks would end people's chances, and the fights for entering sectors would cause huge crashes.

The course it seems has been designed to be fun, challenging, but open enough to have space to ride through the group without being stuck in the back of a long, long line. But it begs the most pressing question; has enough been done to ensure gravel riders get to start near the front of the race?

The bigger issue I see coming, through anecdotal evidence and casual conversations, is sadly, the true Gravel pros, the riders who race elite gravel races as their main race calendar, and who are financially sponsored as Gravel Specialists are losing interest in the UCI gravel world championships. 

It isn't because of the course though, or a lack of federation support, it's because of a lack of voice we have to be on a level playing field. The start box arrangement is based on a combination of points: from UCI gravel races, 50% road race points, 50% MTB disciplines, 50% CX points and any points from the previous year's world championships. It's literally impossible for a dedicated gravel rider to match even 50% of the UCI points from a road season.

At the UCI Gravel World Series Sea Otter race in Girona a few weeks ago, we had a seriously impressive start list. Great. I love a competitive, fast race. But at the start, the race organisers decided to do a call-up box, to start in front of the Elite riders. It seemed like a completely arbitrary decision of names, all the WorldTour riders, but also Alejandro Valverde and Petr Vakoc, both ex-WorldTour, but no longer competing on the road. Notably omitted from the advanced start box were the USA and German national gravel champions.

Personally, I'm not in fantasy land here. In my peak form in my road career, it would have been a fluke or stroke of luck to win against Wout van Aert, Mathieu van der Poel, and the likes. Stretching into my "golden years" that fluke chance has diminished to a vanishing point. But that doesn't mean I don't want to have fair representation and a fair shot, and I think my fellow gravel pros feel the same. 

We've got some work to do with the UCI, not a fight, but just more discussions to make sure those of us in our ranks who truly can compete are given a fair chance to do so. And trust me - these gravel specialists can take on any surface, bike path, road, or Belgian roundabout.

I competed in the first-ever 2022 UCI Gravel World Championships in Veneto, Italy. Back then, I wasn’t racing as a privateer, I was part of a team, which helped ease the logistical burden of racing in Europe.

They handled the essentials – travel planning, bike shipping, and in-race support – so I could focus on what I do best, racing my bike. 

Looking back, I wish we could receive similar assistance from the National Federation. It’s tough when you're expected to compete on the world stage, but you don’t have the backing to make it feasible. Albeit lacking funds in an Olympic year, I wish USA Cycling could do more to support athletes, especially those who don’t have teams to handle the logistics. 

The racing itself at Worlds was also a different experience. It’s not like the gravel racing I love here in the US, where wide open roads let you ride solo for miles. Instead, the course was tight, with narrow bike paths and constant turns. I’ve seen footage from this year’s course in Belgium, and it’s more of the same, which doesn’t suit my strengths or the style of racing I thrive in.

Why I turned down UCI Gravel Worlds

After taking my third win over the weekend at The Rad Dirt Fest in Trinidad, CO, the fifth and penultimate stop of the Life Time Grand Prix (LTGP), I find myself reflecting on a decision I didn’t make lightly - turning down my selection for the UCI Gravel World Championships. Originally, I thought I could fly to Belgium the day after The Rad, Sunday at noon, to arrive at the Brussels airport the next morning. But when I sat down to map out the logistics, the trip quickly became a nightmare, and ultimately, it didn’t make sense, financially or otherwise.

The hurdles grew overwhelming without support from USA Cycling and limited coordination among the other women selected. I would be forced to navigate this trip essentially solo. No mechanic. Nobody on the ground. Nothing that would allow me to perform at my best. And that’s just the start.

Being an independent athlete means that races need to make financial sense. When I looked at the numbers, UCI Worlds became less appealing. The cost of travel, accommodations, bike shipping, and the additional expenses of managing my logistics in a point-to-point race quickly grew. Without team support, an actual shot at the rainbow jersey seems slim. 

Alternatively, the Life Time Grand Prix series offers substantial financial incentives that can sustain my racing career. By achieving max series points at The Rad Dirt Fest, I’ve climbed to 11th in the standings. With one race left, Big Sugar in Bentonville, Arkansas, the top 10 is still within reach, which means a share in a $300,000 prize purse. Last year, I finished second overall at Big Sugar behind this year's Tour de France Femmes winner Kasia Niewiadoma, again snagging maximum series points. A good result at Big Sugar could lead to a big payday. And of course, the 'Gravel Rave' afterward is epic! 

Racing as a privateer has taught me a lot about self-reliance as well as the limits of self-reliance. As much as I’ve learned about taking care of my own equipment – between setting up tubeless tyres, waxing chains, using a derailleur alignment tool, booking hotels well in advance, the list goes on. It’s still not my strong suit. Several of my experiences as a privateer – Leadville MTB 100, SBT GRVL – all made me reconsider my readiness to go to Belgium without a dedicated mechanic or support staff. Small issues a team handles with ease can quickly become race-ending without that help. Racing without support feels like playing with fire.

Gravel World Championships, Gravel Worlds and US Gravel

Let's talk about the discrepancy in race length between men and women at UCI Gravel World Championships, which is about 134km (81 miles) for women versus 181km (112.5 miles) for men. I understand the argument that different distances can make the competition more equitable, allowing women to race just as hard and maintain the same intensity as the men over a shorter distance. 

However, I believe in the spirit of gravel, where inclusivity and equality are at the core. Gravel is about everyone, regardless of gender, racing the same course under the same conditions. True equality means men and women should race the same distance because that’s the essence of gravel, with everyone competing on equal terms, pushing themselves and each other. 

At US Gravel Nationals, both women and men raced 211.4km (131.4 miles). And at the original Gravel Worlds, which remains in Lincoln, Nebraska, the men and women both raced 244.6km (152 miles). That race had over 3,048 metres (10,000 feet) of climbing, and both races had live streaming for equal race coverage. 

US Gravel Nationals offered a $40,000 prize purse, a huge incentive for racers. There was a total prize purse of $30,000, shared equally between elite women and men, at the Worlds event in Nebraska.

Rethinking the Gravel Nationals Prize Purse

As much as I love gravel racing in the US, I believe there’s a better way to allocate resources to support American riders internationally. I can’t help but think that the $40,000 that was split evenly among the elite divisions at Nationals could have been spent more strategically. The first-place prize of $10,000 for the top woman, and the same for the top man, is substantial, but in the broader picture, it feels excessive when our National Federation struggles to fund riders at UCI Gravel World Championships.

With these financial struggles in mind, what if, instead of offering such a high payout, the prize for first place was scaled back to $2,000, with the descending prize money adjusted accordingly? That would still offer a great reward for domestic competition while freeing up funds that could be used to support Team USA when we compete in Europe. With that money, USA Cycling could provide riders with a basic level of support - a mechanic, a soigneur, help with transportation, and maybe even a place to stay. It wouldn’t need to be extravagant, just enough to ensure we can perform at our best without bearing the full financial burden.

The Bigger Picture

This decision wasn’t just about one race; it was about the bigger picture. Racing in the US, especially with the Life Time Grand Prix, allows me to continue building my career. Financially, logistically, and competitively, it makes more sense to stay focused on the opportunities here. Gravel is growing rapidly in the US, and I want to be part of that growth, to push myself in events that challenge me while making it sustainable.

I love representing my country and looking forward, I hope it makes more sense logistically and financially to compete at a UCI World Championships. But for now, I will focus on where the support and the competition align with my career goals. Right here, in the good ol’ USA. 

I never imagined sprinting to the line of a 200-mile bike race with nine other women, but on Saturday, history was made in Emporia, Kansas at Unbound Gravel.

The calibre of the women’s gravel peloton has risen tenfold in just a few short years. When I won Unbound 200 in 2021, I averaged 17 mph in what felt like an extended time trial. Although not directly comparable, we averaged 19.4 mph in the female-powered lead group on Saturday. 

The effort was anything but a time trial. It was a proper women’s bike race. 

Except, of course, for the 2.5-hour long “flyer” I embarked on from miles 80-125. That was a time trial. Unbound has never ended in a sprint for the women of the 200, and that’s why I thought it could work. While being caught was disheartening, it highlights the strength of the women’s peloton.

Still, there was some impact from outside the category while out on that solo move.

During my solo breakaway, I encountered an elite male rider who had fallen off the lead group. When he made a wrong turn, I briefly followed, losing 10-15 crucial seconds. Alone, I might have avoided this mistake. 

A bit later on the gravel, I encountered another elite male. After nearly two hours solo, I took a few moments on his wheel and rotated with him briefly, knowing the “anti-drafting” rules were not yet in effect. In hindsight, I regret this decision. My irrational fear was that a group of amateur men on aerobars had caught the women’s field and could be towing them back to me. Seven hours into a race, desperation sets in and your mind goes to interesting places.

Another reason I regret riding with this elite male was the leak in my rear tyre. I paused briefly and hit it with CO2, but my valve was clogged with sealant. This guy mentioned his already five flats, suggesting poor line choice. I can’t blame my flats on someone else’s line, but isn’t it ironic? Perhaps this was the universe talking to me. I quickly lost my lead and rode the final 80 miles at 14 psi.

The sidewall tear I experienced in 2021 would’ve ended my race in 2024. In 2021, I lost 20 minutes repairing this flat at mile 80. I would later spend four minutes at the second aid station, swapping rotors and wheels. This year, I barely paused for 20 seconds at each aid station, knowing I needed to move quickly as attacks flew through.

Refining rules for fairness

At the beginning of the year, I was part of an athlete advisory group collaborating with Life Time. We focused on refining start protocols and drafting rules within the series. Despite discussing “anti-drafting rules,” Life Time hesitated to implement them at a marquee event like Unbound Gravel, or “the race everyone loves to hate.”

On these advisory calls, we advocated for increased intervals between start times. Life Time responded by expanding the time gaps between pro men and pro women by 15 minutes, and then after the pro women’s start at 6:05 a.m. CDT, the amateurs in the 200-mile event departed on the same route 25 minutes later.

Gravel races necessitate separate starts and “anti-drafting” rules to ensure fairness. Mass starts often feel arbitrary, relying too heavily on external factors. Given the increased time buffer at this year’s event, I know Life Time is open to implementing further changes. 

An idea we discussed on the Life Time calls is a penalty for any rider caught drafting off an elite or amateur man. To make it even more enforceable, racers would be told that race officials could be anywhere on the 200-mile course, maybe hiding behind a tree. And if you’re caught drafting, you would be given a 1-hour “stand-down” penalty at the aid station. 

We didn’t move forward with this idea because it would need to be proven beyond a doubt and would offer no opportunity for a female racer to appeal the penalty. They would be forced to sit for an hour. We decided the official would need to provide video evidence, and we would also need to refine the definition of drafting further. Things got complicated very quickly, and it makes sense shy Life Time did not implement these “anti-drafting rules” at the biggest gravel race on the calendar.

We had a separate start at last year’s Unbound, 2 minutes after the elite men and 8 minutes before the amateur men. We started fast, almost catching the elite men before the notorious hike-a-bike sector. And when it turned to hike-a-bike, the staggered starts didn’t matter. I wonder how long it would have taken for our race to disintegrate if we had similar conditions this year.  

Some pro women still affected by men’s groups

I spoke with fellow racer Hannah Shell, who finished 34th, about how a lack of “anti-drafting” rules impacted her race. She said amateur men would disrupt any group of females she would find herself in, causing it to disintegrate. She also mentioned an amateur male with aerobars catching her group and noted he significantly increased their speed bringing her group back to the first group.

It’s questionable if they would’ve been able to close the gap to the first group if not for his assistance. But it wasn’t against the rules, so it’s fair game. To me, this seems to be a case against aerobars. Amateur men with aerobars can increase the speed of chasers, ultimately impacting the outcome of our race.

Another colleague and friend, Kate Cross, finishing 36th, dealt with mechanical issues early on and between checkpoints 1 and 2 found herself in a chasing group with men and women. She said riding with men after a mechanical was helpful, and it was nice not being alone for 180 miles. She notes her experience “didn’t impact the front of the race, and that's key.”

There is no perfect answer. Anything we come up with will have its flaws. While this adjustment is a step in the right direction, it’s not foolproof. 

In adverse conditions like the 2023 Unbound mud pit, the gaps can quickly vanish within the first 20 miles. It could prove too challenging for promoters. Everything could fall apart with bad weather. I think the best solution we have now, which isn’t logistically impossible for race promoters, is to further extend time gaps and eventually implement anti-drafting rules when they are ready to be fully enforced.

The future of women's racing

It’s still imperfect, but it’s the best we can do for now. That’s until we’re able to get our own race day – like the UCI Gravel World Championships where we raced Saturday, and the men Sunday. A lot of things had to go right for Saturday to work out the way it did, and it still wasn’t immune to interference from the elite men or amateur men with aerobars.

Separate days for women's races could be the solution. As we continue to push for equality in cycling, ensuring that women’s races are free from male interference is essential. We can create a fairer, more competitive environment for female cyclists by advocating for these changes.

All we want is a women's race, where we can compete on equal footing without the complications introduced by male competitors. With continued support and adjustments, the future of women’s racing can be bright and unencumbered by these challenges.

And the Golden Ticket? Our own day at Unbound to shine. 

Lauren De Crescenzo here, otherwise known as “LDC” for the rather challenging pronunciation of my Italian last name. I’m the newest contributor to Cyclingnews, writing from the behind-the-scenes perspective about the inner workings of professional gravel cycling and beyond. 

I began my professional cycling career on the road and like to say, “I have a roadie heart, full of gravel”. So, when the opportunity arose to race in The Growler at Levi's GranFondo, I couldn't resist. The timing aligned perfectly with the Sea Otter  Classic mountain bike race, Fuego XL, the first stop of the Life Time Grand Prix, a few hours away in Monterey, California. The 100% road Growler seemed the perfect opportunity for a mini-confidence boost before presenting myself to the mountain bike gods.

The Growler’s hefty 138-mile course, with 14,000 feet of climbing, meandered through Sonoma County’s wine country’s world-class, breathtaking (no pun intended) roads. As race organizer, former Tour de France pro Levi Leipheimer will attest: “The Growler rivals some of the toughest stages of the world’s most difficult road races”. 

I was a combination of exhausted, relieved, and thrilled when I rolled across the finish line in downtown Windsor to win the women’s division. 

Four of the top five women will be part of the LTGP this year (more on that below). On the men’s side, Keegan Swenson, two-time champ of the LTGP, out-sprinted Lawrence Naesen for the victory. 

It encapsulated my favorite aspects of road riding: relentless climbs coupled with high-speed somewhat technical descents. The course promised to push my limits, and bike-handling skills all while putting my roadie heart to the test. A substantial $55,000 prize purse split equally among the top 5 men and women for The Growler racers added to the stakes and motivation.

Ian Boswell, who finished fourth in the men's division at The Growler, put it well when he said, “Levi’s GranFondo found the spirit of gravel.” Who knows, maybe the Growler has started to revive the “spirit of the road” in the US.

Grand Prix and future of gravel

Reflecting on Levi’s, I can't help but contrast this experience with my recent foray into mountain biking, particularly with the upcoming Fuego XL at Sea Otter Classic. 

Transitioning from the road to the trails presents a stark contrast in terrain and technique. I'm excited to continue improving on the mountain bike and my ability on the gravel bike as I prepare to reenter the Life Time Grand Prix series.

In addition to my racing, I am actively engaged in shaping the future of gravel through my involvement in an athlete advisory group collaborating with Life Time. 

Our focus is refining the start protocols and drafting rules for the Life Time series. These discussions are ongoing and detail-oriented, touching on crucial aspects such as penalties, enforcement, and clear communication of rules - especially ensuring that men understand and adhere to the same guidelines prohibiting drafting off female racers.

I have advocated for increased intervals between start times to optimize race dynamics. For instance, proposing that pro-men begin at 7 a.m., followed by pro-women at 8 a.m., and then other racers at 9 a.m. 

Ideally, I envision a future where women's races start on separate days, mirroring the successful approach used at the UCI World Championships in Italy in 2022, where I represented the US team. The separation of race days eliminated any potential interference, providing a fair and focused platform for showcasing our ability. 

Mass starts

In true gran fondo fashion, all riders commenced at 8 a.m. in downtown Windsor creating a feel-good palpable energy. As feel-good as the energy was, combined mass starts often alter the dynamics of women's racing, particularly in long events. 

Men's explosive power is advantageous in the early stages of racing, while women typically have better endurance, and we prefer to pass our male counterparts later in the race. 

On the mass starts, especially in gravel, I think a change is crucial if we want to establish true women's races, rather than relying on chance factors such as which male group you're caught up with, pro or amateur. Whether a pro male is recovering from a mechanical issue and aiding your progress, or the sometimes unpredictable tactics seen when substantial prize money is at stake, come into play. 

Gravel races and events with significant purses necessitate separate starts to ensure fairness. The current setup often feels arbitrary, relying too heavily on external factors like male assistance or motives.

For women to compete on a level playing field, we require our own starting line. This is essential to guarantee that the strongest racer wins. 

Back to road roots at The Growler

Contrary to the saying, “It never rains in California,” it rained nearly all day, making the event more epic than originally planned. After careful consideration, I opted for a Castelli Gabba—striking the right balance of rain protection without overheating.

During the first flat and fast 30 miles, with the front group averaging 23 mph on the wet roads, Sarah Sturm and I found ourselves at or near the front. As we rode amidst the peloton, we exchanged concerns about the inherent dangers behind us, commenting on how relieved we are about Life Time committing to separate starts for men and women in every race of the 2024 Life Time Grand Prix series. 

The first big climb of the race, King Ridge, came at mile 30 with nearly 2,000 feet of elevation gain over seven miles. After a steep 11% gradient, 1.24-mile pitch, I found myself in a group with Flavia Oliviera, LTGP riders Sturm and Lauren Stephens, as well as Lauren's husband Mat Stephens.

The subsequent climb “Skaggs” came in two parts- a climb, quick descent, followed by a second and steeper climb. After downing a much-needed caffeine gel, I attacked a steep section in the second part of the climb. At this point, the field had blown up and drafting was less beneficial. I created a gap and went solo for the next 80 miles.

The third and final ascent, “Geysers,” was a true test of endurance, stretching over 15 miles and featuring more than 2,000 feet of climbing. As the route ventured onto less-maintained roads, my gravel skills came into play, navigating tricky terrain that included a memorable “puddle crossing.” The decision to go with 28mm Maxxis High Road tubeless tires proved instrumental, particularly on the wet and technical descents where the tread pattern provided reliable grip and control.

The pavement was in fact notably rough and narrow in many sections. This was far from your standard road race; it demanded adaptability, and some technical prowess. The blend of rugged terrain, and even some rough ascents where there was really only one good line, coupled with technical descents, made this race an unforgettable and distinctly gravel-like experience.

And just when I thought the race was over, it was not over. Following the Geyser's technical descent, I still had 20 miles of rolling terrain through beautiful vineyards, which at least helped numb the pain in my legs. I focused on staying aero and keeping my effort controlled. 

A huge thank you to Levi's GranFondo team for an exceptional course, generous prize purse, and well-executed event. I could tell it was put on by a team that had been racers themselves. Lauren Stephens joined me on the podium in second, Sturm in third, Oliveira in fourth and another LTGP rider Emily Newsom in fifth.

Ultimately, what drives me is a love for riding bikes—whether on gravel, road, or mountain trails. Each discipline offers its own set of challenges, pushing me to continually evolve by .1% every day. 

As I prepare to embark on the Life Time Grand Prix series once again, I carry with me this excitement.

Deep into my off-season in November, a time when the word 'guilt' belongs not in a cyclist's diction, I ran into Tiffany Cromwell. "Great news, we've started a gravel race in Australia," she proclaimed. "In fact, it's around the corner [from] your family house in Adelaide."

When is the race, I responded. "Oh, you know, mid-January," came the reply. Then down goes my cake and my last swallow of perfectly milky coffee - my last moment of innocence. My season is now about to start two months earlier than expected, and I'm now panicking. Thanks, Tiff. And thanks Valtteri [Bottas].

But off-season emotions aside, it is time for Australia to have more, high-profile gravel events, because quite simply put, the entire country is gravel. It's such untapped gold! 

RADL GRVL is under the umbrella of the established GRVL organisation, which will hold the second edition of the FNLD GRVL race in Finland on June 15 and will put on a fifth SBT GRVL in Colorado on August 18. RADL GRVL has further partnered with the Tour Down Under, with a new format to add to the WorldTour fortnight of cycling events. There is a strong, established record of gravel race production and organisation behind it and I love a good collaboration. Right on. 

Here I am six weeks later, in Adelaide, and I’ve just ridden the RADL GRVL course in training with a whole new perspective. 

A suspiciously hot morning in the McLaren Vale region, standing in front of Oliver's Taranga Vineyards, the start and finish location for the event. I joined local gravel legends James Raison and Matt Bird, and event founder/partner Valtteri Bottas, for a lap of the course. Bottas is also a professional F1 driver and avid cyclist.

With the course uploaded to our navigation systems, bidons full, we set off. Within an instant, we turned left off the groomed vineyard lands into a deep, green Eucalyptus forest. As strongly as the smell hit our noses, my Garmin immediately started beeping aggressively at me to warn me of the climb we had just started.

I must say, I'm a big fan of having a climb at the start of gravel races to make the groups on the road more spread out. But there are climbs, and then there is Thomas Hill Road.

I ran a less than 1-1 gear ratio (48 front-52 rear) and I was at my threshold and above just to get up this thing! There's no pacing strategy, or attacking, it's just what you've got. It is unashamedly, and dare I say, purposely, one of the hardest starts to a gravel race I've ever seen.

But the good news, once this climb is done, there's only 108km to go! A race to start the season at only 110km is a very welcomed distance, we all agreed.

Thomas Hill Road connects to the second climb of the day, Brookman Connor Road, which is a lesser-known crossing point of the well-known Willunga ranges. At this point in the race, after 10km, the race has completed 500 metres of climbing, progressing on top of this hilly range with short kickers and rollers that felt like riding a magic gravel carpet.

The roller coaster of wide fire roads, more similar to the larger, open gravel roads in the USA, are largely covered by overhanging, ancient Gum trees. The intertwined sections of Australian wilderness bushland, classic rural properties and grape vines stretching the lengths of hills, felt somewhat like Tuscany, but with different trees, and gravel with a reddish hue. Please don't scorn me for thinking this, I wasn't the only one to make this connection.

The first 40 kilometres of the route took on the majority of the climbing for the day, 1200 of the total 2000 metres. After looping south-west, circling Mt Magnificent, it dropped into a quintessentially Australian one-pub town (maybe two) called Meadows on one of the rare sections of tarmac. A serious shout out to 'PIK A PIE' bakery, a very worthy stop if you're looking for a refuel.

After a tasty Australian bakery feed (I'm too embarrassed to share what we ate, but find the victuals on @rideadelaide Instagram), we were instantly back into gravel. I was really amazed at this point in the ride how much of it had been off-road. Your body really notices the extra fatigue of being on gravel all day here, and it's just brilliant.

Tyre choices and hydration

By now we were educated enough to debate tyre choice. The surface is extremely hard but has this constant sprinkling of fine, stony pebbles which in the corners can send you from hero mode to full out-of-control, drift king vibes. We entertained the idea of using a slick, or a very skinny CX tyre, but when we went to accelerate on the steep climbs it was challenging to keep traction.

We rode an average of 30 kph in training, so in the race, this is going to be crazy fast, and we all felt that having a wider tyre for the safety of grip whilst climbing and descending would be your best bet. But go on, prove us wrong - just know there isn't anything too rocky, it's 99% fire road.

Rolling onward to the pristine Rocky Creek forest, eventually, we came to the feed station, fitted out with a quintessentially Australian long drop toilet. If you know you know. The feed station sat moments after this landmark, which is going to be important in the heat that is expected for next week's race.

It is an unsupported race, with no outside assistance, so the big debate will be whether or not to bring a hydration pack and take advantage of not stopping, or to stay as light on the first climb as possible. Akin to its bigger brother, SBT GRVL, feed zone tactics will invariably dominate the pre-race related gossip.

Either way, we know these hills, I've suffered here before and all I'll say is that even the best-laid plans of mice and men will most likely see everybody stopping here regardless of tactics. There are few places where bikes are raced that are as arid and hot as the Adelaide hills. But thankfully, whatever the outcome, we finished at a winery in a race with a beer sponsor to revive us.

The last portion of the route said goodbye to the steeper climbs and threw us headfirst into some technical sections. There was a long, and extremely steep downhill (I hit 85 kph in training), which will test what's left of anybody's brake pads. If you haven't pre-ridden, do take care here, it's not one you can brake late for, so be warned!

The last few kilometres went into MTB-style single track - nowhere to pass, a few steep drops, some tight turns, but nothing to fear. It opened back up onto Hamilton Road, where the race will finish on a long, slightly uphill straight. We could see some very exciting sprint action of riders coming to the finish line as a group, but that is a big 'if', having seen how physically demanding this race is going to be.

As an Australian, all I can say is that this course will make the reputation of Australia gravel proud. It's exciting, it's stunning, it's raw, it's fast, it's hard. Most of all, it's being run by very, very capable hands, so we know it's going to be an excellently run day. 

The second UCI Gravel World Championships are just a few short weeks away. Will it play out like the first? Will we see more dedicated gravel riders coming into podium contention? And how do we all feel about it?

Last year, the inaugural UCI Gravel World Championships in Veneto were, for the most part, a huge success given the extremely late planning. The course received much criticism for being too much road and not enough gravel, which was perhaps a fair appraisal as most athletes rode on road bikes with slightly wider tyres. 

However, the backstory few have mentioned is that the organisers had to throw the event together with very limited resources. Likely, we might see a similar scenario with the events that have unfolded in the last weeks.

PP Sport Events, the organisers of last year's event (on a multi-year contract), had their management rights revoked for the event by the UCI just a month ago, leaving riders wondering if, and where, the event would take place. Thankfully, three weeks later but just three weeks before the race, a course was announced. 

An impressive turnaround yet again, but one that’s left riders from around the world scrambling for last-minute flights, hotels and ground transport. Perhaps it won’t have a huge effect on the elite fields, but in the age group categories, I can’t imagine too many coming from outside of Europe this year. 

So we have a new course, and new organisers, but perhaps some similarities to last year. 

The course starts at Lago Le Bandie in Treviso, completing a 46km stretch towards Pieve di Soligo to pass the finish line for the first time. The race then completes multiple finishing circuits which feature some extremely steep climbs and a number of gravel sectors. The men’s elite race is 169km with almost 1,900 metres of elevation, whilst the women’s is 140km with 1,660 metres of elevation gain. 

Both races have a particularly gruelling finish with a big climb 5k before the finish. The weeds will definitely be pulled out on that one, and we can only imagine a small select group coming together for the final moments.

Again, the course takes on a lot of paved sections, quite different to the full gravel courses those dedicated professionals are used to. Germany's Paul Voss, winner of 2023's The Traka, thinks that it is again going to be more like a road-suited course. 

“There are gravel parts, and whilst we have really steep climbs, they are mainly on asphalt. So it's still not the course we wish for regarding what we call a gravel course, or gravel racing,” said Voss, who finished in the top 30 of the inaugural championship.

He considers it a big step forward compared to what we raced last year. He also notes it is hard to tell as the only information about the route so far is on the cycling app, Komoot.

“It will be a more open race and will have more chances for pure gravel riders to compete with the road riders. The course elevation will be selective enough without being stupid. It looks online as though it should be a balanced course that could even see a small group sprint."

Piotr Havok, the highest-placed non-WorldTour rider at last year’s World Championships in 12th position, feels that the course is an improvement on last year, so that’s a good thing. 

“It looks as though there are more technical sections than last year and that the first 50km is hard enough to form a selection before a race decisive final with steep hills.”

On the first circuit outside Pieve di Soligo, we will ride further to the north around the Lago di Lago and take on the ascent of the Ca’ del Poggio climb (1.2 km at 12.2%) around kilometre 85. With a decisive climb mid-way in the race, we might see some of the strong men fade, offering more chances to nimble, smaller riders. 

This is where it could get interesting. When you look at the top 10 (or 20, since I so want to include myself here) from last year, it was a lot of 'sprinter-type' riders - the guys who race 'cross, the mountain bike trained, and the heavy hitters of the Classics. 

When we add in the elevation, will our typical climber WorldTour and ProTour pros hold up against the gravel specialists? No doubt the climbers can drop riders on the steep climbs, but can they hold them off on technical, unpaved downhills and flat sections?

Unbound Gravel 200 winner, Caroline Schiff thinks that the steep climbs will make the race interesting, especially the final climb before the downhill finish. 

“After 140km everybody will be tired, so It’s just down to who is the freshest and how big the group is at the finish,” the German rider said.

Decisions tactics not just tyres

As a favourite for the women’s race, Schiff thinks, from the course available online, it looks like there is a lot of tarmac, so is already considering a smaller, faster tyre and perhaps a fast bike (road bike), but feels it’s hard to decide before doing a recon. She is mainly curious about which women will be on the start line, as it will change her tactics based on who is there.

This is really the only race on the calendar that features a shorter course for women. So realistically it’s actually significantly shorter than most of the races the dedicated gravel professionals race each year. I imagine this could lend itself to a hybrid road and gravel pro, one of the many who have honed their skills on punchy races such as this, as opposed to the slow, long-distance ultra slogs that many of the biggest gravel races are. 

Tiffany Cromwell (Australia) could easily have her eye on that jersey, or a punchy rider like Heidi Franz (USA), winner of this year’s Ranxo Gravel race and Egmont Cycling Race, might be well suited to the split of terrain.

One welcome addition to this year’s race will be the much larger and more official team fielded by USA Cycling for both women's and men's fields. Undoubtedly the home of all things gravel, the US talent coming out of North America is unparalleled. This year it seems that the USA is sending a very competitive team to race for the rainbows, including Keegan Swenson, Payson McElveen, Lauren Stephens and Sarah Sturm. 

This adds a huge amount of horsepower to the side of the gravel-specific riders to race against the heavily tactical WorldTour riders. I for one, am beyond excited to see these riders who have been sweeping the scene in the American races against the WorldTour pros. Their team could be the one to beat, with a huge amount of experience, a common goal (perhaps) and just incredibly strong riders. 

We have yet to see confirmation, but it is likely that Mathieu van der Poel (Netherlands) and Wout van Aert (Belgium) will be racing so it will be an enormous challenge for the gravel riders, especially given the amount of tarmac in the course, and these riders' technical abilities off road. Will we see more of the WorldTour climbers? Can we convince any to come test their legs the day after Lombardia? It’s certainly doable, and maybe the right time for Tajej Pogačar to gain some rainbow stripes?

Although I’d like to, I cannot speak as the voice of gravel, but a general feeling between the riders, myself included, is that we have all learned to see this event in a different light to what we did last year. We understand that there will be team tactics, we understand that the style of racing, the speed, the accelerations, the course, and the bikes are all different to what we are used to. It is an event we all hold great respect for, and all want to win, but understand that it just simply isn’t what we’d call ‘gravel’.

Maybe this is a good thing. Perhaps it’s just a stand-alone style of event in our calendar. And most definitely it’s still possible to win if any of us are good enough. Yet it begs the question; is it a shame for a WorldTour rider to win again? 

I saw only the rainbow jersey twice in gravel races this year, but I guess that's the privilege of winning, you don’t have to show it off to still be the world champ! I think our best bet for a gravel rider to win the rainbow will be in Australia in 2026 when clearly no WorldTour contingent will turn up, but hey, it won’t stop any of us from trying before then. 

The sun has now set over the hills on Kansas, bikes now clean and packed away, and all riders accounted for. Unbound for 2023 is over. Yet, there remains a question - a debate perhaps - over one short section of the course, which ultimately led to the concerning rate of non-finishers.

This question is not focused on the front of the race. They (we) have our feelings and opinions on the day, but the pro riders are expected to be there, and will be back regardless.

Rather, I encourage this debate for those who’ve paid their way to the event, perhaps even waiting years to win their lottery ticket to be allowed to race. For these riders who’ve dreamt of taking on this incredible feat, devoting time, energy and money, was this really fair? 

We’re always reading articles on the pros, but, for me, mass participation events are exactly that, for the masses, regardless of speed or ability. So this is why I ask this question: was it wrong to not reroute the course? 

The section of course in question is known as ‘D hill’. It sits 10 miles into the race and was last used in 2015, the infamous year of peanut butter mud and spectacular attrition rates. It was a very welcome re-addition to the course as it is a hard series of punchy climbs and fast descents which, in dry conditions, would set the tone for the race, and split the fast from the slow. The only fear, is if it was wet again. 

I rode this section the day before the race in the dry, where I met the owner of the land whose house sits neatly tucked in beside the top of the climb, marked by a beautiful red painted wooden barn and a very big USA flag proudly mounted onto a tall white flagpole. It’s Kansas after all. Quite a character. 

He showed me his truck, one with wheels as high as my chest, and tires that looked like they’ve been taken from an army tank. He told me that if it’s muddy, this is the minimum requirement for him to be able to drive to work and back, and that he’d had other 4x4 cars stuck in the pit for days at a time in the past. This section of road is infamous in the area. All the locals know it’s a mud pit. So it’s safe to say that it’s a known quantity that this part of the course would be outrageously bad on bikes if it were to be wet again. 

Murphy’s law, which states ‘If it can go wrong, it will’, was truly in force. The storm of all storms rolled into Emporia the Friday afternoon, right in time for the 350-mile race to begin at 5pm. Clearly, this was just bad luck for these brave warriors looking to ride through the night. The conditions they faced were horrid, and I was informed by a film maker at 5:30am the next day that almost 80% of the riders in this category had DNF’d. 

The rider in the lead, on a mountain bike, had been three hours behind the leaders at the second feeding opportunity, had crawled back all this time as the fastest riders were unable to ride the sections he could. Blessed by the weather gods perhaps. At this point, this event was just facing bad luck, and that happens - you can’t change a race once its started. 

But what about the 200-mile race?

The marquee race at UNBOUND is the 200-mile, which sounds easy compared to the 350, right? But let’s use kilometres now, and 331km of gravel... there’s no easy way to put it, it’s one of the hardest days on a bike that any person will ever endure. 

This is perhaps the point. This race is already epic. How hard does something need to be these days to be considered hardcore? Is there a point that if we can make something a little easier on the riders we should? 

When you think that for the average person, with full time work, a family perhaps, 8-10 hours of training per week, Unbound will take them between 14-18 hours in good weather. From a physiological standpoint, the race is basically double their average training week, and that’s just in one ride. That in itself is an incredible delta, and should be both admired and respected. 

There was a viable option to reroute the course, which would have been mud free. Yes, it would have been wet, but not mud. It would have been easy to marshal as it was so early in the event that there would have needed to be marshals with flags for at most a few hours before we re-joined the part of the course that was ridable at kilometre 35. 

So why didn’t they do it? In the name of being more epic? In the name of gravel? Whatever the reason was, at 4am the organisation decided not to reroute the race and I feel that this needs to be spoken about. 

Mud and tears

I only saw first-hand the emotions for the riders in the front. Having spoken to riders who survived these sections with the front, they didn’t mind it so much. Again, my bias here is obvious, but in any race, making a front group through a difficult moment you will likely see it through rose-tinted glasses. There were other riders however, who’ve won the race in recent years stuck where I was, in the pit, cleaning their bikes in muddy river streams, running, walking, carrying their bike, trying to use quick chain links in a chain they couldn’t even see the links to. I saw frantic behaviour, frustration and even tears. And this was just the front group. 

I’m no purist that likes perfect conditions. I like it as wet and slippery as the next guy, but I feel these conditions were a bridge too far for the simple fact that we all love to see - and participate in - a hard race, but nobody likes to see or feel injustice in a sporting event. The fact that there was an option to avoid this with a simple rerouting? I’m sure hindsight after the event is clearer than any decision made at 4am for the organisers, but I feel it's a shame a change wasn't made.

I don’t feel as sorry for the front of the race as I do the rest of the participating field. Unbound is the Superbowl of gravel, but what’s even cooler about that statement is that it’s not just the winner, but everybody who finishes this incredible feat is a champion. 

It’s really no joke, nor is that an understatement. People fly from across the globe, spending thousands of dollars chasing the dream of completing the amazing event. For the many that didn’t make it past mile 25, that is a hard reality. It’s like rolling your ankle running on the field before the game starts. 

I drove back from mile 30 in a truck, wrapped in newspaper so to not dirty a helpful stranger's car, and I saw a miles-long, continuous line of people carrying bikes through what felt like an endless pit of mud. People sat down from exhaustion, curled over their bike with sticks trying to clear the mud so they could try to ride, to little avail. 

It would have added to the accomplishment, no doubt for those who could finish, but for the huge number of people that simply couldn’t, I feel that’s a shame. Now, if the mud had been unavoidable, and perhaps everywhere on the course, you could say that is just force majeure, but in my eyes, this first section that ended so many athletes’ day, it’s a hard pill to swallow. 

Then add the fact that we all likely need to replace every bearing and moving part on the bike? I’ve even heard of many who’ve burned holes in their carbon frames as the stone filled mud ground through the layers of paint and into the bike itself. 

Now does this mean I don’t love Unbound? Absolutely not. We will all be back next year and I think the event promoters need to still, unequivocally, be applauded for the most incredible race on the calendar. But I do hope that in the future if such a scene can be avoided, perhaps they will. 

I’m totally prepared to have mud thrown at me, again, for this opinion. But it’s worth discussing. I have strong conviction in my opinions, but they are loosely held. That is to say, I would love to hear more opinions on this, and if any argument adequately changes my view, my opinions will change on this also. 

In the truest spirit of the sport, I just want people to enjoy riding their bikes to the maximum. Cycling is of course a huge part of my essence, as I’m sure it is for anybody who’s made it this far in this piece. Call me soft, call me frustrated at my own result here, I’ll agree. 

But it’s really not me I write this for. It’s for the simple sake of opening a discussion that might have an impact on future events so that we can all just ride our bikes and have some fun. 

The news is out! 

Finally, at the beginning of March, I was able to tell everyone about the big secret I had been keeping... I am pregnant!

From the moment we knew, Benjamin and I were so excited about it. We basically wanted to tell everyone we know. But of course, we didn’t. We had some time to keep it our little secret. Well, our secret, plus my coach, doctor and DS’s secret. 

That’s the strange reality of being a cyclist. When other people call their parents first, I had to share our delicate news with the team. However, I am lucky enough to be in the best team possible to be in this kind of situation.

The positive pregnancy test was during training camp in January, which made it easier to tell the team straight away. But to be fair, I was still nervous. I realized it would have a big impact on our team. It was already January; it wouldn’t be easy to sign a replacement for me, and only a few months earlier, I had signed a new contract with the team for two more years.

But there was no need for my nerves. Everyone I told reacted super-enthusiastically, and everyone was excited for us. It felt like a big weight had come off my shoulders. Of course, I already knew how the team had handled the pregnancies of Lizzie Deignan and Abi van Twisk. 

Trek-Segafredo is leading by example.

The Cyclist’s Alliance has also been key to implementing UCI rules which are necessary for the growth of women’s cycling. It is because of their work that there are now UCI rules for maternity leave and minimum salary. Our sport is making huge steps forward, and I feel privileged to witness the growth of my beloved sport.

Five years ago, I never would have thought to combine pregnancy with an active career. The few existing mums in the peloton took a sabbatical or were out of the sport when they were pregnant. 

Lizzie Deignan is a role model in the revolution of our sport. She ended the contract with her former team during her first pregnancy. Back then, Trek- Segafredo was just starting the women’s team, and they signed her as the first rider on the team. From that point on, the ball started rolling. Something which should have been normal, but wasn’t, slowly became common practice.

At the moment, more women have chosen to extend their career and combine it with pregnancy; Chantal van den Broek-Blaak, Joss Lowden and Omer Shapira. 

Women see and have different opportunities because of the new pregnancy rules. Lizzie showed that a mother can win big races, she showed what a mother is capable of. With the support of my team, I also have the chance to show the world how normal it should be to perform at a top level as a mother.

Our generation is lucky enough to experience this necessary change. I hope by the time our little boy or girl is older, we can tell him or her about this change and that he or she will react with disbelief: so, it wasn’t normal in the past?!

Ellen van Dijk has been competing for 18 seasons in professional cycling, having started her career in 2006. She is one of the most experienced and reliable domestiques in professional cycling and an all-around versatile athlete with numerous victories to her palmares, including the Tour of Flanders.

Van Dijk enjoyed one of her most successful seasons in 2022, having smashed the UCI Hour Record in 49.154km and then secured her third career world title in the individual time trial at the UCI Road World Championships.

Van Dijk is currently on maternity leave for the duration of 2023 and aims to return to competition in 2024, under contract with Trek-Segafredo, and with a target placed on the Olympic Games in Paris.

Rukhsar Habibzai is the founder of Cheetah Cycling Club and captain of her nation’s first women’s cycling team, a group of ground-breaking women cyclists who were nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2016 for their bravery and courage in defying gender taboos in Afghanistan. 

Born in the province of Ghazni, Habibzai was completing the dentistry programme at Cheragh Medical University located in Kabul when she was forced to leave her country as part of the mass evacuation of vulnerable citizens who faced targeted gender violence by the Taliban. Now living in Virginia, Habibzai is a dental assistant and joined the Virginia’s Blue Ridge TWENTY24 Cycling Team in 2022.

The days that had arrived at my doorstep sounded and felt so familiar. Almost as if I have lived them before. Taliban had been gaining control of Afghanistan again. Every day, a province fell to its power. Hundreds of thousands of girls and women lose their fundamental human rights daily. Like my mother, people knew what was coming; many were reminiscing those miserable years when the Taliban first took power in 1994. There was a constant fear of bomb blasts more than ever before. Everyone contemplated escaping from the cold and merciless days and years approaching Afghanistan. No one wanted to flee their country, but the monsters that were to devour it soon.

I was on my way to university, I felt that maybe today would be the last day to go to my college, so I pulled out my mobile phone and took a video of my way to the university. It was 7:00 in the morning. I still have those videos and sometimes watching when I miss my homeland when I reach the university. My friend called me and said, "Where are you?" I told him I was in college, and he was shocked. He said, "But you know, the situation in Kabul is not good. We don't know when the Taliban will take the country." I was speechless and answered that no one could take our rights; seeking education is our right, and we will fight for our freedom. He said to take care of ourselves; the government's condition is not good - stay home for some days. I went to my class, and everything was normal. My professor received a phone call and was silent for a few minutes. She then told us that her husband said some Taliban were seen in the city. Everyone was shocked, and everyone left the class. Three hours later, the Taliban took over the country.

I lived in a rental apartment in Kabul with my family. My father is a retired military man, and one of my brothers was in the Afghan police force. Growing tired of constant fear and anxiety about what the future held for us, my family decided that we would flee to the neighbouring country and take shelter there. I had been studying dentistry at the Cheragh University of Kabul. My family awaited me to finish my final semester before leaving Afghanistan. With daily news of the Taliban taking more Afghan territory, I started to feel unsure or stuck, should I say, between finishing my hard work of four years or just fleeing and leaving it unfinished. Sometimes I would find myself arguing with my peers about how Afghanistan will never fall into the hands of the Taliban ever again. But deep down, I was afraid that it would.

After I arrived home, I tried to keep myself together. Our house was in complete silence, in shock and disbelief. I stood over the balcony and watched as the Taliban celebrated their victory, driving through the streets of Kabul in Afghanistan's army vehicles, waving their white flag. I would get calls from my dear friends, and all I heard were sobs and shrieks, "Why us? Why us? Why our beloved country? Everything that we worked for 20 years is all gone now, Rukhsar! All gone!".

Every desperate human being looking to escape the tyranny of the Taliban saw Hamid Karzai airport as the only way out of Afghanistan as many countries were busy evacuating their associates. The rumour that the United States of America was evacuating everyone that made it to the airport had widespread, making hundreds of thousands of desperate souls crowd up in front of the Hamid Karzai airport, which made it impossible to get into the airport even for those who had American citizenship and legal documents. Many people, primarily children and women, got shot by the guards protecting the airport, and many were killed by the Taliban or simply trampled by the crowd. People pushed into the crowd more when the Taliban beat them from the back and pushed back when hit by rubber bullets and tear gas from the soldiers protecting the airport. I, too, went there hoping to leave my beloved country that now had become a living nightmare. But, after seeing innocent people get shot, tear gassed, fall from airplanes, and pass out or die from thirst, I gave up on the hope of ever getting out and returning home.

When I arrived home, I noticed I had received several messages from Miss Lien Johnson, whom I had gotten in touch with through a friend. Miss Lien Johnson had volunteered to help evacuate Afghans whose lives were in danger from the Taliban. She asked for my passport and said there was a chance to get me on one of the evacuation lists. It sparked hope in my heart but, simultaneously, fear for my family being left behind.

Just before the Taliban took over Afghanistan, I participated in a documentary that focused on the challenges and progress of Afghan sportswomen. The documentary sheds light on the bravery and strength of Afghan women to attract global attention and support. But unfortunately, it also gave away my identity, which made me fear for my own life and the lives of my loved ones. I waited for a call or a message from my team, blowing hot and cold. In the morning, I received a call from the evacuation team saying that we needed to stay prepared for a vehicle that would pick us up and take us to the airport.

After hours of waiting in the car, we were unsuccessful in our first attempt and returned home. The next day, I received the same call with similar instructions. This time, they left us (40 girls) in a small tent outside the airport in the middle of nowhere (away from the public entrances). We were told to wait there for further instructions. We ended up spending the night in the tent. We were scared since we had no protection from the Taliban, and they could come and capture us at any moment. We heard the constant gunfire all night and could not sleep due to the fear of getting caught and killed by the Taliban at any moment. In the morning, the evacuation team told us to wait until they figured out a safe way to get us into the airport. Another night we dissolved in fear, sleeplessness, and hunger. And another one after that. We ended up waiting for four days in that tent outside the airport. Still, I remember when the Taliban were shooting in the air, they hit on the electricity wire, and one man burned. These were the most challenging days of our lives. At the end of the fourth day, the evacuation team told us it was unsafe, and we had to return home. We were all tired of waiting amidst the constant gunfire and fear. Throughout the waiting, none of us ate or slept adequately. How could we?

I returned home feeling extraordinarily frail but still holding on to that spark of hope. I took a shower. While showering, the shampoo bottle fell; I thought someone had attacked me. I said to myself, "No, Rukhsar, you are not strong. Are you scared of a bottle?" At that moment, I felt very hopeless. I cried in the shower while I told my team to stay strong through the firing, but I feared the sound. Those firing sounds were hacked into our minds.

The next day, I had breakfast, packed my backpack again, and prepared to try again to leave the house. It was hard to say goodbye to my family, especially my mom. We ate our breakfast. I was with my sister and my nieces. We went to the airport. Luckily, the Taliban opened the checkpoints for people, and we immediately ran toward the checkpoint. When I reached it, they blocked us with a wire, and I fell on the floor because hundreds of people were trying to enter the checkpoint. They pushed, and I fell. The Taliban was shooting at the people to stay away from them, but I kept myself in that location very close to the knees of a Taliban member. I couldn't stand up because hundreds of people were pushed into the checkpoint. When they shot, the gun handle hit my head. I was trying to stand up, but I couldn't. I was yelling loud and crying. I thought my ears were only hearing my voice. One of the Taliban let me enter the checkpoint, but when I entered, I felt hopeless and terrified, and my whole body shook. There were three checkpoints. I passed one of them, but two others were left, and we waited for five hours to open the next checkpoint.

I had my 18-year-old nephew with me, and the Taliban beat the boys, and they wanted to separate them from the women. I stood in front of my nephew, and they hit me with a pipe on my back. My whole body was numb at the time. I could not feel anything; I didn't feel any hunger or thirst. We waited under the sun with a dozen of people. I was praying I could go to the next checkpoint, but there were too many people. Some of them waited for days and nights, and after 2:00 pm, they opened it. Luckily, I could pass through, and we started running toward the next checkpoint, and luckily, again, I made it. I imagined myself as a hero in a movie when they won the war. I felt fortunate, but who knows, we struggled every second to get there.

When I saw the American military, I felt safe. I felt like a kid who needed her mom to save her from people who harmed her, and I started crying. The place was filthy. It was a trash area with a horrible smell. We waited and held hope that we had to wait for the military in order to continue.

They called people with whom they had documents, and the Taliban started checking our backpacks. They told us two boys had a black bag packed with full bombs that might blast. I felt my heartbeat in my mouth and heard that everyone in the area was hopeless and counting when the bomb would explode. I thought about where they sat, maybe next to me; if it blew up, my body parts might not be found. It was terrifying for everyone, but we had no option but to leave that checkpoint.

Finally, we entered the last gate controlled by the UK military. I slept all night and waited for the soldiers to evacuate me. I waited for one night in the dust, a bad smell, and no water, but I still held hope. We stayed the whole night, and I had my backpack used as a pillow and slept. I dreamed my mom was calling me to wake up and that breakfast was ready. When I woke up, it was 5:00 am, and I saw a filthy place with many people sleeping in every corner and many soldiers from every country. I checked my phone, and the evacuation team told me to find the Polish military and wait for its soldiers, that they would come and pick me up.

I waited for an hour, but they never came, and it was tragic for me to see how my people were begging soldiers to help them and how they behaved toward people. Kids were crying, and everyone was calling for help - I will never forget these sounds.

I was crying, but I was also on Italy's evacuation list, so I texted them, and they told me to find the Italian military. I was trying so hard to get inside the airport. By this time, it was 11:00 in the morning, and all soldiers came, but the Polish weren't among them. A friend helped me find the Polish military; she texted me the information, and I showed the message to a soldier, but he was rude and not helpful— finally, someone helped, who then asked if I had a visa. I showed the email from State Government, and he said, "Follow me." After sleeplessness, hunger, shooting, and countless suffering days, we entered the Kabul airport.

It is a story shared by thousands of Afghans. The day we left home and became homeless, we left our souls and left Afghanistan.

The unofficial world championships, the all-encompassing Tour de France, the Paris-Roubaix of gravel - I’ve heard it all about Unbound Gravel. I wouldn’t call it the romanticism like we attach to the age-old road races we hold so dear, it’s more of a "hell yeah", boot-stomping, American gladiator vibe we feel when people talk of Unbound. It’s raw, it’s hardcore, and yes, the dreaded word 'epic' - how overused that word is in cycling. 

But the question is, why is Unbound so highly regarded? How did it come to be? Is it even hard as everybody suggests? Or is it just marketing? Let’s dig in…

Gravel City

When I first drove into Emporia, the unassuming mid-west town, I was taken aback by just how ‘country’ the town was. It has a main street as wide as the day is long, diners, guitar stores, colourful doughnut shops, and the town divided in two by an open railway that can have you waiting for an age as the coal trains pass through. It was like stepping back in time, back to the good old days of Western movies.

Central to the identity of the town is the first bike shop I’ve ever seen that is devoted only to gravel. Gravel City, the beating heart of the Unbound week, houses the first-ever winning bike of Unbound. I began to feel that Emporia is not as it seems, a town whose recent history had bucked the trend from the traditional road bike era, and just gone 110% all in on gravel. It’s like a religion in that town, and that shop, the church.

It was only here did I begin to understand why Unbound is perhaps in a league of its own in the calendar. It’s totally in the middle of nowhere, the closest airport is over two hours away. Kansas is not known for much more than corn, so maybe it was just a vacuum? Maybe it was just something to do? I guess that’s well within the spirit of gravel. 

If I’m honest, I don’t like ultra events, anything over 6 to 7 hours is pushing the friendship for how long I like to ride on a bike. Some love it, but for me, yuk. But why do I dream of winning this race? 

Does it have epic single track? No. Does it have epic climbs? No. Does it have a nice surface? Absolutely not. The flint stone is just about the worst surface you could imagine for rubber tires. It’s sharper than a knife and looser than an Australian tourist in London. It has absolutely no landmarks of note. You can look down at your Garmin and see the next turn is - Left in 27km. It’s totally mind-melting, soul-destroying and at times, totally boring. 

But that’s kind of it, that’s the draw card. There isn’t a cyclist on earth that this doesn’t challenge. From expert to beginner, it’s all rideable, anybody can take on this beast, but everybody will find their limit. From the stress in the bunch to the deadening of your legs throughout the endless hours, the mind-numbingly long, arduous straight roads. It bites you. You just don’t know when.

I’m not selling it here, and to be honest, my first year doing it I was so excited, but now I’m nervous. Only because I know now what these vast open plains can throw at you. But strangely, I want it. I need it. Unbound, you’ve turned me into a sadist, I want the pain, I want to see how far I can go, how hard I can push myself. 

So race-wise, it’s nothing special, but at the same time, it is. It’s somewhat of a pilgrimage. If you do gravel, at some point you want to do this. It’s a mecca to a certain extent. Some people will only do it once, because they’re smart. But for the rest of us, it’s the yearly out-of-office email, and the companies that sell all things gravel, they’re in on it. 

The race village is something to behold, outside of Eurobike, there’s no event I’ve seen as represented by every company that’s in the game. And it’s not just product stands, it’s DJ’s, events, games, beer drinking, it feels like a party where you just accidentally spend all your money on bike parts. There are countless ‘shake out rides’ planned by every brand, you can join a fun group ride on the hour, any hour for the week before the race. The media stands, the podcasts, and the film crews around make it feel like it’s a big deal. 

In every sense of the word, it is a BIG deal. There is nothing like Unbound in this regard.

The everything race

Onto the racing, last year I arrived bike bag in hand and a dream of trying to win. A few turns of the allen keys, tying on my saddles bags, hydration packs filled, I felt with my equipment, nothing but form or bad luck could stop me. So I’m at the start line, and all felt was equal between riders. 

Sitting in the front rows of thousands of riders is quite a buzz. So off we went, the flags are down and right away I noticed the race was like no other. The speed, the dust, the noise, it was intimidating, to say the least. If you had an issue in the first 20km of the race it’s game over. You’d never make your way through the traffic again, the weight of it all started to hit me. We pushed hard until the men's group was whittled down to 40 or so riders and then it calmed down and the race seemed much more manageable mentally, but you look down and notice you still have 270km to go. It’s a wild feeling. Daunting to say the least.

The start line sends riders over the town’s railway line and then dives directly into the four-car wide open gravel roads. The centre strips are smooth as butter, and every rider fights for position to be in this part of the road. This causes a huge washing machine effect where every rider fights through the sides of the road to move up. This is where the danger lies, the bigger stones which have been churned around from trucks lie in the side paths, and what might look like sealed road is like a sand pit with hidden, and very sharp rocks, littered throughout like a minefield. So staying on that centre strip if you can, essential. 

Once the race thins out, about 20km in, it then moves into a single-car width, and surprising rocky section with really steep but short roll downs through creek beds (last year they were full of water). I was surprised at how the course changed so dramatically from huge, wide, flat open roads to a course that would challenge most 4WD vehicles. This only lasted for about two dozen kilometres but it splits the peloton favouring those who really know how to pilot their bikes through rock gardens without damaging their tires. 

It turns out that the feed zones are the most essential part of the race to get right. I had a friend from Campagnolo there with me, Steve, a buck-wild cowboy dressed in denim head to toe, cowboy boots obviously, and the essential cowboy hat. I knew I’d see him easily in my designated feed zone labelled red (I’m colour blind, so that was a stress). I found Steve, he swapped out my bottles as I put on a new hydration pack, gave me new clean glasses and lubed my chain. I felt like we dialled it. 

But looking around, the experienced riders of this race had pit crews of 8-10 people all with specific roles. I watched a rider step off his bike, while somebody swapped his hydration pack, another whipped his face clean, new glasses on, mechanics removed his wheels with F1 sounding drills, new wheels in just in case the tyres had small damage, then another cleaned his bike with a pressure washer and whilst remounting the bike, a final touch of chain lube. This was done in the same time as my ‘totally pro feed zone plan’. I realised not all is equal for those turning up just with a bike bag and a positive attitude. 

It doesn’t mean you can’t win without this set-up, by no means, but mentally you feel the difference. I realised here just how important this race is to win, riders plan this meticulously to get the edge, and fair game to them, I have respect for the game.

Once this section is over, the race really settles into exactly what you’d expect in Kansas. Mind-bogglingly long, straight roads with no discernible features. The only constant challenge is the surface, the flint stone is different to almost anywhere I’ve ridden. The stones lie flat, which if ridden over can be spat up or turned vertically in the soft dusty soil to become a perfect rubber cutting, and race-ending obstacle.

Looking in front of your wheel requires total focus for the entire 321km. This in my opinion is the hardest part of the race, as you just get no time mentally to relax into the race. 

Later into the race, after the last feed zone, the course gets a little bit more interesting, with far more corners and short punchy hills than you can attack on. The downhills cross over some pretty scary ‘pick a plank’ wooden bridges. On a road bike these would be very scary, but on the gravel, very manageable, but they create a fun feature to break up the monotony.

The final stretch

The final 10km are super tactical for those in front, but watching the video afterwards, it’s like racing in slow motion. Moves are strained, gaps are agonisingly closed and the sprint is won by the only person who can still somehow, magically it seems, throw down a killer punch. 

I had a poorly-timed flat tire a bit later into the race and I made it back, but it turns out, if you use your silver bullet early, you eventually just drift from the pack. Nobody really attacks, the speed just stays high and those who can’t handle the distance just fall back and that’s the race.

The last 7km are on paved road, through a university campus, with lots of turns. It was tactically a nightmare to set up for a sprint, but for those with the guts to try to attack, it was the perfect place to get out of sight in no time. The final straight is very straightforward, 1.5km dead ahead, finishing into the late afternoon sun, it’s bright, hot and fast. 

It takes a very complete rider to win this race, you can’t hide, you can’t just get lucky, and preparation is everything.

In short, t’s epic. 

It’s undoubtedly the hardest race I’ve ever done, and the reason why? It matters. To everybody racing. Every rider leaves everything on the road, and the winner, well, it’s a beautiful thing to see somebody endure something so incredibly hard, and once you’ve ridden it, you can only be in awe of those who battle out for the podium.

So what makes Unbound the beast that it is? It’s part history - for a very young sport, this is as vintage as it gets. It’s the USA - they do everything big. The marketing over the years has been excellent, and they don’t let you forget it. It’s the course, it’s the challenge, it’s the intrigue. It’s the vested interest of the bike industry, and it’s the race to win for riders. Did I mention the after-parties? 

It's everything. It’s why it’s become the EVERYTHING RACE. I’m excited, but also so nervous because I know what lies ahead for my race. Unbound is a monster, but a friendly one, as are all things in this beautiful sport. If you’re on the fence, join the lottery of over 10,000 each year and hope, just hope you get one of the 4,000 spots and you’ll truly be in for an experience you’ll never forget.

While the 2022 season of gravel is done and dusted, pun intended, it’s time to look forward. With so many new gravel races in 2023, and an ever-growing calendar globally with so many new contenders, it can be hard to know where to watch, which results to check for, or perhaps, which race you might even want to enter.  

Well, I’ve put together this handy 2023 season guide to get us all started…

Three hardest races in 2023

Unbound Gravel

Emporia, Kansas, June 3, 2023.

It would be remiss of me to list Unbound anywhere outside of number 1. The gravel in Kansas is horrendously sharp, the weather often shockingly hot, yet last year wet and freezing, and 321km, if we talk in scientific units (200 miles in freedom units), is just a long time to be racing at the speeds this race is won with. 

Part of the Life Time Grand Prix series, this race has all the pressure, all the hardness and it lives up to the hype as being extremely, extremely hard. This is without mentioning those who take on the 350 mile XL race (are they insane?). Not for the faint hearted, but an absolute icon of the sport.

UCI Gravel World Championships

Italy, October 1, 2023

Whilst arguably not really the ‘gravel’ we’re all used too in North America and might not be the hardest of courses, or distance, but for anybody who raced the UCI Gravel World Championships, it was inarguably the hardest effort of their season. It had the depth of talent - think Mathieu van der Poel and Greg Van Avermaet - who raised the bar on what a hard gravel race means. 

It’s holding on for dear life, accelerating out of 100,000 corners and holding your breath in between attacks. While not long in terms of kilometres, the intensity more than makes up for it. 

Crusher in the Tushar

Beaver, Utah, July 8, 2023 

It’s only 69 miles (111km) in distance, but set in Utah’s Tushar mountain range, it is just beyond brutal. It starts by going up a 10,000-foot climb (3000m), down, and then back up for a mountain-top finish on another 10,000-footer. Of all the photos and videos I’ve seen from any gravel race this past year, there is no finish where riders are as broken as at the Crusher. Winners barely lift a hand in celebration, and there are staff to help push riders past the finish as even unclipping seems impossible after the mammoth effort. 

If you’re a cardio bro, a V02max freak or just a sucker for punishment, this might just be the one for you. 

Bucket list and far-flung races

Easily one of the coolest things about racing gravel is that the races are all over the globe, in some pretty far-out places, and you don’t need to be in a team to qualify for entry. You just need to win a lottery for your entry in some of them, or simply to register early. In my opinion, the three best-in-class are listed here.

Migration Gravel Race

Maasai Mara, Kenya, June 20-23, 2023

OK, this is absolutely on my bucket list. Watching the FIZIK video on the race last year has me frothing at the bit to get there. You’re literally riding in the African wilderness, with giraffes, gnus, you name it. 

It’s a four-day stage race and the racing looks intense, but even more hardcore is the way in which you travel around. You sleep in tents (provided and set up by the organization every night). You’re treated by cultural experiences around campfires in the night. And did I mention how cool the vibe looks? The only challenge is the travel, but hey, I did say far flung. 

The Rift Gravel Race

Hvolsvöllur, Iceland, July 22, 2023

This is without a doubt the most stunning scenery of the entire gravel calendar. Riding around an active volcano, on black volcanic soil and rocks, riding through snow drifts, ploughing through glacial blue river crossings, it’s beyond words and I’d highly recommend everybody putting this on their bucket list. It’s also part of the Gravel Earth Series in 2023, which is a cool thing in itself. 

Don’t expect this to be a low budget trip, but relish in the fact that you can get the world’s best hot dogs and can cook eggs in thermal pools. It’s not your everyday experience. 

SEVEN Gravel Race

Nannup, Australia, May 13, 2023

For most of the world, you don’t get as far-flung as Australia. And more than that, the town of Nannup, three hours south of the world's most isolated major city of Perth, you’re way out there, deep in Australia’s outback. If you can handle the travel, the race is beyond words. 

It’s some of the most fun gravel I’ve ever ridden. The organization is impeccable, and you will be racing through mobs of kangaroos and alongside emus. There is something special about this place where the traditional owners, the Noongar people, named it Nannup, which means the ‘meeting place’. It’s truly an amazing place to meet gravellers from all around the world to ride what is, honestly, some of the best trails on earth. 

New to the calendar

In 2023 there are many new races to speak of but none more so than have sprung on the scene in Finland, Scotland and western Canada.

FNLD GRVL

Lahti, Finland, June 10, 2023

Organised by the legend of F1 racing, Valtteri Botas, FNLD GRVL (yes, gravel hates a vowel) is a new race in Finland that looks to be huge and fantastic. As it’s partnered with Amy Charity’s SBT event in Colorado, you know it will be run superbly and all about inclusivity for all. If you can get there, this is bound to be an incredible inaugural year for FNLD GRVL.

The Gralloch

Galloway, Scotland, May 20, 2023 

Part of the UCI Gravel World Series, the Gralloch in Scotland is said to be the first UCI-run gravel race in the UK. I can’t think of a part of the world more suited to provide an epic, stunning and, most likely, a very hardcore race. I’m certainly not missing this one, and I’m sure the gravel scene in the UK is all going to be there. GET IN, as the Brits would say. 

Belgium Waffle Ride, Vancouver

Vancouver Island, British Columbia, May 28, 2023

I’m already a huge fan of the Belgian Waffle Ride (BWR) brand, their races all across the USA are what I call gravel plus. It’s no boring, wide and open fire road. There’s single track, drum bands and you finish the race with a beer in hand. This year they’re pushing into British Columbia for the birth of the BWR Canada. 

I’ve heard only amazing things about riding in Canada, and I’m sure with the BWR crew at the helm it won’t be one to miss. Did I mention you all get waffles for breakfast? Mmmm and in the land of maple syrup, it only makes sense to go.  

Adventure races

Last, but not least, is the 'adventure format' for the brave of heart, or for those who simple love a challenge beyond the norm. This isn’t so much for me, but I’ve a huge respect for the discipline, so here’s my top three for adventure format events.

Silk Road Mountain Race

Karakol to Chol Karakol, Kyrgyzstan, August 12 - until/if you finish

From what I’ve heard, the Silk Road mountain race is a class above all else for hardness. In the province of Osh, Kyrgyzstan, this is a 1,900km event with over 37,000 metres climbing, reaching elevation peaks of over 4,000 metres, and totally unsupported. Need I say more? You’d have to be mad to try this, but then again, that’s kind of the point. Easily the number one for adventure format in my eyes. 

Badlands

Granada, Spain, September 3, 2023

Second to that, is the Badlands race in Granada, Spain. It's only 800km, I say 'only' when comparing to the Silk Road (it’s all relative). This race is a monster with 16,000 metres of climbing. What makes it insane is that the winners don’t sleep for the entire race. Sebastian Breuer won in 43 hours and 40 minutes. I’ve never even stayed awake that long let alone pushed my bike in anger. 

It looks stunning, and the climbs over 3,000m keep it honest for riders of every level. At least if you stop in a town for food here you can get some delicious Spanish food, so there is an obvious plus side. 

Octopus Gravel

Andermatt, Switzerland, July 1, 2023

While not as epic as the others, a new race called the Octopus it is also part of the Gravel Earth Series that has created a totally new format, which excites me endlessly. 

From a small town in Switzerland, on the menu for the riders is a total of six climbs, a set route for each climb, but riders can do them in any order they wish. Given a race card, which gets stamped at the peak of each of the climbs, the first rider to arrive in the race village with a completed card can say 'BINGO, I’ve won'. Or something along those lines. 

What’s cool is that riders won’t know the progress of their competitors, nor if they’re winning, or even hours behind. It’s got elements of a randonee, but without looking at a compass. 

Corey Coogan-Cisek is racing her 15th cyclocross season as an elite rider. A native of Minnesota, she spends a sixth winter based in Europe. In her blog at Cyclingnews, she shares the discoveries she has made, in words and photos, of being a Belgium-based North American cyclocrosser.

Kerstperiode is a big party for the fans and an exercise in fatigue-resistance for the riders. 

Belgians do holidays in a way we cannot fathom in North America. The country is nearly shut down, as the average Belgian is on holiday from before Christmas through the first of the year. Kerstperiode for cyclocross is an excuse to make the best of the dour weather and party. 

For athletes, mechanics and staff, it is the "stage racing of cyclocross." It has all the physical demands of a stage race, plus horrible weather and massive wear and tear on bikes and clothing. I recall Kerstperiodes of past in a haze of fatigue, mud, and broken bike parts. Pro tip: good luck sourcing broken bike parts in a closed-down country. Bring spares!

In some ways, Kerstperiode has been on hiatus for two years. Per COVID pandemic, 2021 Kerstperiode was extremely limited. Diegem and Loenhout races were cancelled and all remaining races occurred without fans. Last year was nearly as blighted. Diegem was cancelled, Loenhout took place without fans, and GP Sven Nys had fans limited to designated course-side zones. It’s been a long time since we had a true Kerstperiode!

The following is your “viewer’s guide” to the biggest races of Kerstperiode from a rider perspective. I hope you sit back, relax, and enjoy your holiday with cyclocross on television or in person. From the rider side of things, we will race, (try to) recover, and race again in an endless cycle. Come January, we will emerge (mud-covered) and try to catch some holiday celebrations ourselves. 

Gavere

Gavere is new to the World Cup circuit and new to Kerstperiode. Historically, it’s been held in mid-to-late fall, although it made a brief foray into February last year. The course is on a military base and is known for its greasy mud and climbing. 

Look for a start/finish area that seems it was last paved circa 1980. The surface is more potholes and cracks than road. It takes guts to sprint down it.

World Cup Gavere - Monday, December 26

Elite Women - 1:40 p.m. local time

Elite Men - 3:10 p.m. local time

Zolder

In Belgium, we consider Zolder "a fast course", so it is fitting it is on and around a Formula 1 racetrack. The ground at Zolder remains rather firm even under massive amounts of rain. Because of the sandy soil, it never gets muddy. Even if it's sheeting down rain, expect riders to be on a “mid tire” (think Grifo) per all the racetrack pavement and ample sand traction. Given the speed, it's usually group racing. 

Zolder has fans aplenty and is a cacophony of noise. However, parking is such that riders can access the course with minimal “fan interference.” That’s a little thing unless you are rushing from warm-up to the start line in a frenzy!

Superprestige Heusden-Zolder - Tuesday, December  27

Elite Women - 1:40 p.m. local time

Elite Men - 3:10 p.m. local time

Diegem

Diegem is an evening race in a small city just outside Brussels near the airport. As an evening race, the fans are many, many hours drunk before the race even starts. The course is one of two moods: wet and slow (the lower half) or fast and non-technical (the upper half). 

There's a fairly significant elevation change from the bottom half to the top, even though you would not know it from the pace of the leaders! The top also hosts the disco tent. Those in the tent have long since forgotten that there is a race occuring outside. 

Fun fact: several years ago at Diegem, there was a security threat against North Americans. They parked us all in a far corner with a plethora of police. Disconcerting? Maybe.

Superprestige Diegem - Wednesday, December 28

Elite Women - 7 p.m. local time

Elite Men - 8:45 p.m. local time

Loenhout

Diegem was a party, but Loenhout is for day drinking! They start well before noon there. If you go out for pre-ride and don't come back, it's likely you were swallowed by the crowds. Riders are parked on tiny neighborhood streets and the path to the start is a maze of drunken fans. 

The course is traditional Belgian veldrijden (cyclocross, but literally translated as ‘field riding’). It has ditches, hummocks, various types of wheel-sucking mud, and beer cups. Though we've had some cold, dry, firm races of late, Loenhout’s true persona is "tractor-pull mud" surrounded by a party.

Exact Cross Loenhout - Friday, December 30

Elite Women - 1:45 p.m. local time

Elite Men - 3:00 p.m. local time

Baal

Though officially called GP Sven Nys, the Belgians call the race "Baal" for Nys’ hometown, where the race takes place. The venue is also home to the Sven Nys Cycling Center, and the addition of a permanent course meant installation of wood fencing surrounding the course. It’s a bit odd (disconcerting) to slip-slide between hard fencing! 

As the first day of the new year, it's also “new contract day.” It can be a bit of a fashion show to see riders on new teams and thus in new kits. However, the first-of-the-year team transitions are less common with many multi-year contracts. Fun fact: the fans all expect new rider cards as of the first.

X2O Trofee Baal (GP Sven Nys) - Sunday, January 1

Junior Women - 9:50 a.m. local time

Junior Men - 11:00 a.m. (not part of series)

U23 Men - 12:15 p.m. local time

Elite Women - 1:45 p.m. local time

Elite Men - 3:00 p.m. local time

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Rukhsar Habibzai is the founder of Cheetah Cycling Club and captain of her nation’s first women’s cycling team, a group of ground-breaking women cyclists who were nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2016 for their bravery and courage in defying gender taboos in Afghanistan. 

Born in the province of Ghazni, Habibzai was completing the dentistry programme at Cheragh Medical University located in Kabul when she was forced to leave her country as part of the mass evacuation of vulnerable citizens who faced targeted gender violence by the Taliban. Now living in Virginia, Habibzai is a dental assistant and racing for Virginia’s Blue Ridge TWENTY24 Cycling Team in 2022.

On warm afternoons and sometimes late nights, my mom would tell me of her grim memories of when the Taliban took control of Afghanistan for the first time in the 1990s. She would talk about the fear and panic spreading like wildfire across the country, about how most people fled, leaving full houses behind.

She spoke about how the Taliban closed the doors of education for girls and women and, how women were not allowed to go out without a male escort, how a woman had to cover every inch of her body so as not to distract or scar the holy faith of men who looked at them. Seeing a woman getting lashed or beaten with a stick in public had become - and still is - commonplace.

She spoke of the 'warriors,' female teachers, who risked their lives to continue reading, writing and teaching in secret.

In Afghanistan, women were - and in many ways still are - viewed as objects to satisfy men. They were, and still are, the caretakers for the kids, the cooks, and the cleaners. They often receive the blame for much of the wrongdoing in the world. Society expected, and still expects, silence from Afghan women.

At that time, the Islam religion, which allowed women to be educated and work, lost to the culture that catered to the vices of a male-dominated society won.

When my mother used to tell me stories from the Taliban rule over Afghanistan between 1994 and 2001, I often wondered how a society could progress without women and how a city like Kabul could remain beautiful without the influence of women. In many ways, our women educate the next generation of society.

Women and girls contribute to the building of any society, and if a woman remains uneducated and unable to work, this society should fear what it has lost.

I asked my mother to tell me her worst memory of the previous Taliban rule, and she told me of a day she ventured into the city alone, and the Taliban stopped her and questioned why she was without a male-relative escort. They degraded my mother and called her many bad words.

My mother tried to explain that she had come into the city to buy medicine for my brother, who was sick. At that time, he had heart disease, so my mother had to buy him the necessary treatment. She worriedly walked to the city because her son's health waned from the pain in his chest.

My mother said that she asked the Taliban why they chose to humiliate her when she needed to provide medication for her son. The Taliban checked her pockets and saw that she had already picked up the medication. They warned her that if she left the house again without male-relative supervision, they would deal with her lawfully, which meant physical punishment.

My mother returned home crying under the burning sun. When she got home, she saw that her son's health had worsened. My brother always told my mother that he would die if he stayed in Afghanistan. He wanted to go to Pakistan, but because we did not have a good economy, we couldn't afford to take my brother to Pakistan for the necessary treatment.

Upon the arrival of the Taliban regime, she lost her son, my 14-year-old brother. Many migrated to neighbouring countries and the economy went downhill.

People became miserable, especially Afghan women, who were left far behind and suffered a lot. There are still some videos from the first period of the Taliban regime physically harming women in the streets. It's heartbreaking that women have missed the means of an entire generation.

The Taliban fell in 2001 when parts of our nation were bombed by American forces. However, a new government arose from the destruction. Women became part of society and were free to go places independently without questions.

Kabul had been destroyed, but schools opened for girls over time, and even without facilities, they continued their studies under a tent without chairs. Women began to be present in ministries, government and personal offices and worked in the parliament. They were involved in sports and the music industries. Some Afghans even sent their daughters to foreign countries for education.

Some people fought against such change and attacked Kabul University and girls' schools killing thousands of young people who aspired to have careers. There were dangerous security situations, but despite these obstacles, Afghan women pushed forward, worked hard, gained their place in society and showed the strength of our women to the world.

Private schools and some educational centres were built for girls, and eventually, universities and educational literacy classes were implemented to educate older women.

Ministries included women, and women worked in almost every sector. We worked to forge a path for women even to own their businesses.

It was not easy to fight against a society that had been at war for decades, an often dark-minded society, but we fought nonetheless.

Since last August, our efforts across these generations have now been lost with the newest arrival of the Taliban government. And with it, my mother's stories and memories are repeated - schools are closed to girls, and women can't work.

Some events that happen in life are irreparable, and no great achievement can compensate for the progress that is lost. The fall of Kabul meant the fall of women in Afghanistan and the fall of millions of dreams.

For years, we fought against bigotry, terrorism, and the rise of physical and mental torture to attain our most basic rights.

It was an arduous fight to gain the rights for women to make their own personal decisions about education, career, marriage, and hijab - to make their own choices - and it's all been taken away.

Saturday - X2O Trofee Kortrijk - Urban Cross

It would be a miss if I failed to give "Urban Cross" huge props for being one of the most fun, most memorable races on the calendar. Kortrijk is a small city in West Flanders, quite close to France. The course is, as promised, truly urban. We race within the city on the banks of the Leie river, including crossing it twice via car and pedestrian bridges. The course has a mix of everything: long, fast pavement stretches, sand, twisty bits with greasy mud, and lots of curbs.

Despite my love of Kortrijk, Saturday might have been better had I never left the safety of my bed. Bad luck was my bestie all day.

There are times when the challenges of my life racing here extend well beyond racing a bike.

On Saturday morning, due to a last-minute scheduling challenge, I suddenly found myself piloting my mechanic's van to Kortrijk to meet the other mechanics on site. Yeah, it's just driving a car, right? Sure, all except its massive girth, width, 6 speeds, and the tank of water in the back that affects acceleration, braking, and turning!

I made it to sign-in safely, which wasn't a given with the very large vehicle, small European city streets, and me at the helm!

However, it turns out that getting into Kortrijk wasn't the hardest part.

At inscription, I passed the "sleutel" (key) to one of my mechanics and became a passenger for the next leg of our challenge. With the pass marked "Elite" on our dashboard, we pulled into elite parking. The entry guard clarified "profs" (meaning "professioneel/professional") and we consented and pulled into parking, which was approximately half empty.

We knew our luck was about to turn when we saw my "favorite," parking guard making haste towards us. Despite the obvious vacancies, he declared that there were no more spaces. From what I gathered via my preschool-level Dutch fluency, "vrouwen" (women, aka, elite but not "profs") were now to proceed to an overflow lot. The directions were simple: "rechts, rechts, rechts" (right, right, right).

We followed the directions and landed at the television parking lot, which was blocked by a pay-for-entry gate. Confusion and negotiations with further parking guards ensued. During this time, two other female, foreign riders and support staff arrived and joined in the fun. After being firmly denied free parking, our parade of vehicles drove northwest around the course. After many more rechts, we eventually found a volunteer who bent the rules and let us park.

We lost 35 minutes to this "avontuur" (adventure), but we did get the last laugh. Our unofficial parking was near the start and nearer to the pit than the "real prof" parking. The best bonus was our closeness to porta potties set up for television staff. That's right. We had our "own" clean bathrooms that didn't require bumping elbows with drunken fans!

Does it make sense now? How sometimes it's hard for foreigners, especially women, just to get to the start line.

But back to the race itself. Did I mention how I should not have gotten out of bed?

I had two mechanicals in the first 1.5 laps, including a very long, very slow trip to the pit. In these races, the competition is so fierce that there is zero room for error. There's no coming back from a lengthy pit visit.

Sometimes the takeaway from a day is, "At least I can drive a big truck!"

For the record, I also piloted the truck home without incident.

Sunday - Cyclocross de La Grandville

Sometimes you just have to get out of Dodge...or Belgium.

Belgium can sometimes make you feel like Sisyphus, endlessly trying to shove the boulder uphill. See Saturday (above) as exhibit A.

There are smaller C1 and C2 UCI races all over the continent for most of the winter. France, Spain, and Switzerland all have a solid calendar, and you can go even further afield to the Czech Republic and Slovenia. The Belgians and Dutch who are trying to "make it" pack up their campers and travel to these races.

Think about it. Imagine you are trying to come up through the ranks here in the cyclocross motherland. North Americans, Brits, Swiss, Czechs: we can all develop at home before venturing to Belgium. For Belgian and Dutch riders, the pathway is "B-races" at home and then travel abroad to gain experience and the valuable UCI points to move up the grid.

With the young trio of Pieterse, Van Empel, and Van Anrooij riding rip-roaring fast laps at the front, it's getting harder and harder to "stay in" the Belgian races. For me, going "abroad" gives me challenging races where I am likely to finish on the lead lap, but where the competition remains intense.

Accordingly, I went to France on Sunday to race a C2 and truly enjoyed myself!

Racing in Belgium lacks novelty for me at this point. I know the courses. I know where we (are supposed to be able to) park. Belgium for me is about racing the bike and performance. I'm not over the racing. I love the intensity of seeking my own level of mastery. However, I have long since lost the excitement of seeing a cute little Flanderian street. I don't draw energy from that anymore.

France was the opposite. Everything about that scene was novel and engaging.

A little corner of La Grandville was closed down for the cross. The course had significant vertical, as it was a grassy, wet cow pasture on the side of a hill overlooking the village. They had a little concession stand. (Can we say French crepes?) Essentially, the race was tiny and communal and charming. Yes, I have raced in the "greatest crosses in the world" and this was the opposite in every way.

I chatted with Maghalie Rochette at the start. She is naturally very at home in France, but has also found the pleasures of doing some of the races "further abroad." We agreed it's a different scene and place and sometimes that's oh-so-refreshing. It's fun also to see how a different country does cross.

As far as the race, it was a good one for me. I took the joy of the day and extended it in my riding.

But let's not talk racing, let's instead leave you with a visual. In the morning, I arrived at the venue just as the bread delivery was being made. A woman drove out and unloaded four huge sacks of the most delightful-looking baguettes for the concessions.

Yes, I am all about bike racing, but sometimes some racing goes best in a place that's new and different and where one can end the day with a hot crepe and coffee. Merci France!

Corey Coogan-Cisek is racing her 15th cyclocross season as an elite rider. A native of Minnesota, she spends a sixth winter based in Europe. Headed to Superprestige Jaarmarktcross in Niel, she shares the discoveries she has made, both the pros and cons, of being a Belgium-based North American cyclocrosser.

To succeed in Belgium, you need superior fitness, exceptional handling skills, and stubborn determination, right?!  Absolutely. 

You need all those things. And those things alone will carry you through a short trip here. But living here for a duration? Well, that’s when off-the-bike factors come into play. 

There are periods of time here when it’s just me, the dog, and occasionally my mechanic in the house. That was most of January last year: the silence of rural Flanders.

I used to get more invites. I used to spend a fair bit of time with Belgian friends and their families, but COVID put a big damper on that! However, even during non-COVID times, my friends do have typical Monday-to-Friday jobs. (I own a coaching business, so I am remote and work non-conventional hours.) Sure, if you live in a cycling house, there are busy times (Kerstperiode), but if you are here for the duration…there are going to be SLOW weeks. 

Kerstperiode is my least favourite time - so many people! Did I mention that I am an introvert?

Outside of Kerstperiode, this place isn’t conducive to extraversion. There are hours and days when it’s just me and my own brain.

Welcome to Belgium

I travel here with two bike bags, one bag of wheels, a backpack, and a commuter carry-on. At the Brussels airport, the journey from baggage pickup to the parking lot where my mechanic retrieves me is fraught with obstacles. 

This year, I took “the off-camber” walkway a bit too hot, and all my bags went flying off the cart. Later, some “road furniture” made the walkway too narrow for my bike bag-laden cart. My only option was to portage my bags through one at a time. 

Welcome to Belgium! I was, literally, a hot mess. 

That’s the sort of thing I used to be very sensitive to: drawing attention to myself. 

Yet, here, days are fraught with potential embarrassments. Pay with Visa at the grocery store? Prepare to have three cashiers puzzle over the register instructing them to solicit my signature. No matter how many times I throw out “handtekening” (signative) and pantomime signing, I cannot break through their paralysis. While the line extends behind me…

Yet, this has been good for me! I’ve learned to take myself less seriously. I roll my eyes internally and forgo the sting of embarrassment. 

Welcome the feeling of unwelcome

At races, get used to feeling a bit unwelcome and unaccommodated. 

By now, you have probably heard the legendary stories about parking. There are unwritten parking classes. Essentially, you are a Belgian or Dutch professional UCI team or you are likely to be classified as “individueel”. Think of it as a scarlet letter “I”. Practically, it means we get the far corner of the lot, where it's prone to flooding. 

My Cyclocross Custom mechanics have mostly networked their way to reasonable parking accommodations (parking guard gifts?). Yet, we still get a dud occasionally. At Lille last year, our spot was so flooded that we had to warm up in our truck. (Feedback Trainers are great, but they are not pontoons.) Oh, and it took a tractor to extricate the truck at day’s end.

And the athlete bathrooms?  There are none. (Well, there is a UCI-mandated one at the start, but that’s typically a LONG way from “individueel”.)

Why no bathrooms? It’s assumed that we have them in our campers or buses. But I forgot my camper or my bus.

It sounds trivial, but I assure you it’s not! Being well-hydrated, well-fueled and anxious leads to frequent pit stops. Over a season, it can add up, that feeling of being “lesser” citizens of the peloton. When late-season fatigue sets in, all of it can get under your skin.

Love for the Boerderij (Farm)

Many North Americans grovel that there is nothing to “do” here. Really, one needs to be happy living in the countryside or in a small town. 

Growing up in a rather remote part of Northern New England, this place speaks to me. There are a lot of fields and crops and cows. Many roads are covered in a slimy mix of mud and manure. I love it, but maybe you wouldn’t?!

Granted, one could live in Brussels or Antwerpen or Ghent, but that’s an atypical choice. It’s more expensive and harder to access good roads.

Our little town has a bakery, church, butcher, bike shop, a nachtwinkel (small store open extended hours), pharmacy, car dealership, church and a frituur (classic Belgian fries and burger restaurant). Groceries are the next town over. 

I personally prefer a cozy evening with a book, but if you prefer a nightlife…..

Waste not, want not

Rural Belgium is frugal.

Take, for instance, our backyard hose. It’s in one of those handy self-retracting hose holders. However, its wheels broke off long ago, so last season, it would topple over whenever we used it. Also, the hose must have also sprung a leak at some point, as there’s a wad of duct tape applied to fix it.

My mechanic always says: “There are no problems, only solutions." or "Er zijn geen problemen, alleen oplossingen.”

Accordingly, the problem has been solved. The holder is bolted to the wall and thus remains upright! Of course, the hose leaks where it joins the spigot, but the bucket underneath solves that problem.

My great-grandmother, who used to espouse, “Waste not, want not,” would love this place.

However, if you do want to get a new hose, don’t plan to shop for it on Sunday, Monday, or at lunchtime any day. 

As my mechanic says, “If you want a haircut on a Monday, you better do it yourself.”

That’s right. There shall be no grocery shopping or coffee dates on a Monday morning. (Most larger groceries are now open Sunday morning and Monday afternoon.) Restaurants are typically closed all day on Mondays. Many businesses close down for over lunchtime to allow their employees an actual break and perhaps a chance to get home. 

Again, a closed shop is but an inconvenience, and the tradeoff is that family life and leisure have been preserved! No worries, after a few foolhardy trips to a closed store, you will catch on! 

I present all of the above with tongue-in-cheek humour, but Belgian winter does have a reputation for cracking foreigners. 

Some of it is as simple as whether life here suits you. We celebrate “sacrifice in the pursuit of glory,” but, in reality, “happy racers do go faster.”

This is my sixth winter living in Belgium.

It definitely was not the plan to spend so many seasons here! Even I’m not certain how I got here. One season at a time?

Of one thing, I am certain, I’ve had ample opportunity to discover the pros and cons of being a Belgium-based American cyclo-crosser.

• It’s the Motherland (Pro)

In the U.S., explaining my esoteric sport to a non-cyclist is painful: “I race off-road and yes, the tires are knobby, but no, it’s not a mountain bike. It’s a bike more suited for the road, but I race it in the mud, and there are these barriers…..”

In Belgium, on a training ride, I once had an elderly woman scream, “Veldrijden, veldrijden!” at me. (Dutch lesson one: “veldrijden” is cyclo-cross in Dutch.) This captures the difference in “cyclo-cross fluency” between America and Belgium!

Of course, the courses are, to overuse a term, iconic. Nothing compares to dropping into de kuil at Zonhoven, selecting lines at slippery, technical Namur with its Citadel backdrop, or finishing the Koppenberg as fans bang the boards.

• It’s Convenient and Affordable (Pro)

I know, I’ve totally lost you here.

Consider: for a single very long plane ride, I can base myself within a two hours drive of the most demanding, prestigious, cyclo-cross courses in the world. Several years ago, my mechanics and I stayed in a family home the night before Koksijde, in part because of the “long” 90-minute drive.

I build my bikes once and leave them built for three months…convenience.

The cost of living in Belgium is reasonable. Luxury items: bikes, bike parts, computers, packaged foods, razors, and dental floss are expensive. However, essentials: basic healthy food, soap, tampons, and health care are cheap, or “goedkoop” in Dutch.

And did I mention that there are no entry fees? In fact, sometimes I even get a start contract, although those have been less common since COVID.

Fellow American riders are often surprised to learn that race entries are free, but it’s a very different revenue structure. General admission gate fees run €12 to 20 (depending on the event’s prestige) with VIP tickets in the hundreds. Fans also spend on concessions! The quantity of beer, frites, burgers, AND MORE BEER is astonishing, as demonstrated by the empty cups and inebriated fans. Even in the COVID years without a live audience, television revenues helped keep races afloat.

We don’t pay to race because we are the entertainment.

• We are the Entertainment (Neutral)

Honestly, in the last two COVID years, I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to have fans at races.

Did I miss them? Some of them.

Part of what makes cycling unique among professional sports is fan access to riders. The athlete parking areas with our vans, campers, and tents are open to fans. The famous riders’ “camps” are surrounded by custom team safety tape. The riders stay cloistered in their campers when not on the bike.

Fans’ access makes for some really fun and some less fun exchanges. There are kids or “uber fans” seeking rider cards and sometimes you meet a cyclocross devotee who is fun to chat with. Other times, cigarette smoke wafts through your warmup, as men stare at you and run their hands over your bikes in the rack.

• I Forgot my Mom (Con)

Family is a part of a Belgian 'cross in a way we simply cannot imagine in the United States. Think about it: Have you seen Ceylin del Carmen Alvarado’s mom on GCN? What about Annemarie Worst’s mom? Do you remember Lucinda Brand’s dad botching her bike handoff at 2019 Worlds? These are not cute anomalies, but the rule. Belgian/Dutch cross is totally dependent on families.

It starts young. Youth racing is a family affair. At children’s races, dads work the pits and moms act as soigneers. This parental involvement extends to the highest level. Even pros’ dads drive camper vans and work the pits. Don’t be misled by the team jackets, the majority of staff is family.

To a large extent, I find the parental involvement charming. In fact, there are definitely moments when I want a Belgian mum! Most Saturday and Sunday evenings, I stand out in the dark cold, hosing off my kit before bringing it in to wash. A modest problem, I know, but this familial support is actually part of the Dutch and Belgian success. They have campers, seemingly infinite bikes and wheelsets, family support, and most of all: they are at home!

• Homesickness (Con)

Spending winters living and racing in Belgium is the most wonderful thing in my world 363 days a year. However, on day 364 and 365, I pack my things, leave my husband and dog, and it feels like my heart is being pulled from my chest.

There are other moments along the way. Sometimes I watch a teammate hug her partner and I get all teary. And lesser moments, too: When the Americans come over for Kerstperiode, they bring SO MUCH STUFF. I am jealous to discover they have TWO sets of jeans AND they brought maple syrup!

We all make life choices (and I have made great ones!), but homesickness is part of the equation. We talk about jet lag, the weather, and culture shock, but the unavoidable truth is that the Belgians and Dutch are home, and we are not. At the end of the day, sleeping in one's own bed is performance enhancing!

• My Network is Here (Pro)

It’s a bit different for me. I’m American, but my cyclo-cross support network is European.

My first season in Belgium, I left behind a U.S. team and coach that wasn’t working for me. Unintentionally, my trip here became a severing of ties. Meanwhile, my Belgian mechanics became true friends and supporters.

Elle Anderson once said to me, something like: “I don’t feel like I am an American racing here anymore. This is where I live.” Elle lived here year-round and married a Belgian, so I can’t begin to claim her experience.

However, as with Elle, there came a point when the balance shifted. I have done more Belgian seasons than US Cyclo-cross Nationals. This place, for all its pros and cons, is my cyclo-cross home.

I’m sitting in a small town less than an hour from where we finished the race in Cittadella, Italy, nestled into the back corner of an old stone-built homestead restaurant. Sipping the last of my after-dinner grappa, this traditional digestivo seems the perfect pairing to digest the event I’d just ridden; the first moment to reflect, to zoom out, and to try and make sense of the first ever UCI Gravel World Championships. 

Perhaps it's the overzealous pours of wine, perhaps it's the warm hug you feel from the incredible bigoli - a favourite pasta of mine - or perhaps it's the buzz from the grappa. Who’s to say? But I find myself sitting here with a smile. 

It's a smile that transcends the moment, one that belongs to a mood that began to take shape from the early hours of that morning, one that could only have been inspired by the experiences of that day. 

Had all my biases and preconceived notions of the UCI Gravel Worlds been wrong? Was this smile my way of acknowledging that I was perhaps a bit hasty in pre-judging the event? 

It had been a big day on the bike. 

I started out with a crash inside the first 30k, which I later learned broke my pinkie finger, but I wasn’t giving up that early and fought back up. As the kilometres rolled by, two escapees went clear of the main pack gained an advantage of over five minutes - a significant lead on-off road parcours. 

We raced, we yo-yoed, we fought, and eventually the winner came from that group of two off the front. I placed 16th, a result I can say I’m proud of. I left nothing in the tank, finishing my first full gravel season at a new, different event.

Re-wind 24 hours and, in all honesty, things did not start on a good note.

At the technical meeting we learned that the WorldTour riders, most of whom had never even ridden a gravel bike, were given, based on their fame and road rankings, the front row at the start. Yes, the start of the GRAVEL World Championship. Priority was also given to mountain bike and cyclo-cross riders as, it was argued, they too have UCI points.

And what about the gravel riders? As it turned out, the UCI's Gravel World Series, which myself and many others had built our seasons around, and which even formed the basis of a qualification system for Worlds, carried no ranking and no points. We were told we would be starting at the back of the field. 

Nico Roche broke the internet that evening with a tweet explaining this, and the overwhelming sentiment from the gravel community was that our sport had been highjacked. We'd been thrown to the side for the big names who only qualified by national selection and then took the limelight in the big moment - the moment built by those actually invested in the sport. 

Alas, this was rectified, and a few of the gravel riders took to rows two and three of the grid. But still, I don’t know how to feel about that. I mean, Tom Pidcock is the MTB Olympic champion, and he was started in position 70 at this year's MTB Worlds due to his lack of UCI MTB points. I know that big names might get start money, special perks, and VIP treatment around the race, but it should all be equal between the start and finish lines, if you ask me. 

10 against ones

So let's talk about those wildcard riders. To be honest, I’m totally on board with some star names coming. A rising tide, like I’ve said before. I’m always happy to test my legs against the fastest guys in the world, and just as happy to lose. But maybe, just maybe, there was just a bit too much weight on these wildcards, on nations selecting whoever they wanted.

Let’s look at the Italian team. In the mens race there were ten - TEN! - riders. The maximum at Road Worlds is eight (nine if you have the reigning champ). So why are we having even bigger teams here? 

What's more, the Italians were all road riders. The best dedicated gravel rider from Italy is undoubtedly Mattia De Marchi. He’s won multiple major races over the last few years - including the Traka, Badlands, Ranxo and more - but he wasn’t given a spot for the elite race, as they opted to take a full road 'pro’ team. 

Mattia still raced his age-group category because, well, he’s a hero and wasn’t going to miss it, even if he wasn’t competing against us. Hats off to that class move. But it was a real shame for him that he didn’t get to compete in the category where he belongs, and really did earn a place in. 

The 10-man Italian team turned out to be one big unit, racing against individuals.

The Australian team, for instance, had five guys, but the first time we saw each other was on the start line and we had no infrastructure or support as a group. We even had to buy our own National KIT! No complaints, it is what it is, but it makes it really hard to be competitive.

Although missed on the TV coverage, myself, Carlos Verona and Nico Roche spent endless energy in the first 120k attacking and trying to bridge up to the two leaders. Every time we tried, we were blocked by the remaining nine riders of the Italian team, protecting the position of Daniel Oss up the road. 

I might have had PTSD flashbacks to many, many, years of Road National Championships in Australia, where it was every individual against GreenEdge.  

A solution

The thing is, there’s a pretty simple solution to this. 

I would suggest to the UCI that they reduce these wildcard spots down to five per race per country. At the same time, add in qualifying points for the UCI gravel races. Not only would this encourage more of the dedicated gravel riders to come, it would result in a more balanced and authentic race. 

All told, the UCI really put on a stellar event. It’s big, it’s flashy and it’s incredibly hard. 

Despite all my above reckonings, I bloody loved racing it. I would have loved a top-10, or even that elusive podium, and I’ll try again next year. It will still be an incredible challenge, but what better platform to go all out for? 

Let’s just give it a few tweaks, and really acknowledge that if gravel is a separate discipline, then we should treat it as such and give it the respect it deserves. Yes, the marquee names could still come, but hopefully no specialists would be left behind.

But should we leave this up to someone else? I’m thinking over here on my Cyclingnews blog that I’ll start to include some stats on gravel rankings, based on the MTB model. I mean, it might not mean anything, but if nothing else maybe the federations would take note. 

What does everyone think? Completely unofficial of course. Let us know in the comments…

The UCI Gravel World Championships are upon us in a number of days. It’s the first one – hopefully one of many to come – and it should throw up some seriously good racing. 

My editors (who are sometimes my friends) over here at Cyclingnews asked me to diverge from my standard blogging to write up a bit of a race preview. I'm no journalist, trust me – these lads and ladies behind the keyboard are incredibly talented, accomplished and of course far more experienced than me [this was legitimately written by Nathan - Ed.] – so all I can do is give you my best insider's take on what to expect on the weekend. 

Based in the gravel-rich region of Veneto in northern Italy, we should have a fitting setting for the inaugural World Champs. The elite courses – 140km for the women and 196km for the men – start in Vicenza, riding toward and around Padova before riding into the city of Cittadella to take on several laps of finishing a circuit. 

Similar to last year's Serenissima Gravel race, I'm told the gravel is not very technical and the parcours is almost completely flat, so we can expect a big bunch for most of the race, with very few major obstacles other than positioning and your standard challenges of racing on gravel without a support vehicle. 

Unlike road, though, the lack of major teams makes it less likely – albeit not totally unheard of – for a race to end in a bunch sprint. More likely, imagine a reduced field of key contenders in those final km's, playing a strong game of cat and mouse. 

But let's back up and talk about how we got here.

To qualify for the World Championships, one simply had to finish in the top 25% of their age group at any of the UCI World Series gravel events this year. From the Philippines to Iowa, Poland to Perth, the global series offered ample opportunities to make it to this final start line. To note, this qualification was only for age group categories. Coinciding with the age group categories – think Ironman or Gran Fondo champs – there is an elite level. 

The UCI held spots for elite athletes, male and female, mainly from the WorldTour ranks, via wildcard invitations. Every nation has 20 spots to give, which seems a lot for the Vatican, or not enough for the USA, but this is to allow for household names to be able to come and race, without having had to have done any gravel racing this season, or perhaps ever. 

In many ways, this is great for the sport of gravel, as big names will get big attention, and a rising tide lifts all boats, right? 

One simply had to get in touch with their national federation to request a spot. I actually ended up having to do this, too, otherwise I would be racing only for my age group. Luckily, Cycling Australia has been keeping an eye on things, and there was no problem for myself or Adam Blazevic – another non-WorldTour pro – to enter into the elite category. 

The major players

So, who are the major players? And who are the major nations? 

Mathieu van der Poel and Peter Sagan are confirmed, as is Niki Terpstra, but I won't blow the lid yet on the other names coming. Watch this space. 

Safe to say, the level will be higher than anything else experienced in gravel to date. Sadly, the main-stage male riders from the USA don't seem to be making the trip over for the event, which is a huge loss as I was very interested to see how they would perform outside of their bubble and camper-vans. But it's a long way for them to come for a one-day race this late in the season, so I get it. 

For the women, Pauline Ferrand-Prévot is confirmed for France, which adds a very serious contender with her off-road skills and her enormous engine. Australia's Tiffany Cromwell, who rides on the road for Canyon-Sram, joins the race with her epic off-road palmarès putting her into favourite territory. 

I'd be surprised if the USA didn't produce a serious charge at victory, with a squad that includes Lauren De Crescenzo, Holly Mathews and Sarah Sturm. From what I've seen, they are a very experienced group of gravel racers and know how to work as a team. 

But it's hard to know whether any nation will really end up working together or whether the riders, as those championing the 'spirit of gravel' would suggest, prefer to race for themselves.

The women's race will be separate to the men's, so this adds an extra layer of intrigue, as the tactics of racing against each other are completely different to normal gravel races where the winner is often the one who can last the longest with the men's front group. It's a very cool move by the UCI to make this a separate format and I think this could even be the most exciting race of the weekend.  

And everyone else? What about all those who qualified in the top 25% of their age groups this year via the World Series. Well, alongside the elite race, the mass start will occur at the same time. There will be a few thousand on the start line, and they will all be racing to win their category. It's awesome to know so many winners will be crowned on a single day. 

The key points

Following the race? Here are some key points to watch out for. 

The first 20km will see a front group form, almost from the gun.  Unlike a breakaway in a standard road race, it's unlikely a strong move will ever be reeled back in, even if a few different groups can ebb and flow back together and apart.

Then watch out as the circuits start. It's an attack point, for sure, as we test our legs over the repeated parcours. The yo-yo will likely continue into the last kilometres, and expect an exciting finale as the strongest battle all the way to the line. 

With all these wildcards and strong riders coming, there is a chance we get a winner from outside our world of gravel. Might be a little odd, but let's just see how it plays out. 

The UCI has recently awarded the host countries and towns for the Gravel World Championships until 2027, so the UCI's involvement in gravel, while the details seem to come to us as they're being decided/written, is here to stay. 

Veneto is an incredible region for gravel, and I've no doubt it will make for an epic stage for the first World Championships. Personally, I can't wait. I just hope it's everything I'd like it to be. 

But let's wait for my post-race debrief.

Elisa Balsamo is the reigning women's road world champion and wears the rainbow jersey in her inaugural season with Women's WorldTeam Trek-Segafredo in 2022.

She completed an impressive hat-trick this spring by sprinting to victory at three one-day races – Trofeo Alfredo Binda, Classic Brugge-De Panne and Gent-Wevelgem.

Also the Italian road champion, Balsamo will line up to defend the rainbow jersey at the UCI Road World Championships in Wollongong, Australia. She shares insights from the peloton in a blog series for Cyclingnews.

Here we are, at the moments of farewells. 

Not to the season, since there are a few days of racing left in October, but to this white jersey with the colors of the rainbow that I have worn for a year. 

In a few days it will be up for grabs again, in the road race in Wollongong. When I think about it, a little 'healthy' melancholy accompanies me. 

I admit that I have become attached to see myself racing with it. The idea to arrive early in September to take it off, to take the pressure or weight off my shoulders, never crossed my mind. 

However, on Saturday the 24th, it may pass on someone else's shoulders, and it is right that I should be aware of it. 

There was one fact that says a lot on how special this year has been for me. A couple of weeks ago, in Madrid, in my last race before leaving for Australia, I won. The same had happened in the first race with Trek-Segafredo in February. 

It was the closing of a circle, a very significant fact on how much this jersey was capable of spurring me to give more and more, to never give up, to honor every race. 

It carried my 2022 beyond all best expectations.

It has been like a second skin, a suit made exactly to measure that, at first, I had to get used to wearing it but then, it allowed me to shine everywhere. It made me realize that dreams don't have to stay in the drawer.

Being the world champion was an experience that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. It gave me so much awareness of my potential that, for someone who tends to be as insecure as I am, it was an impressive gear shift. 

I learned the sense of responsibility, because when a team has confidence in you and works hard to put you in the position to win, you can't back down. And in that, it fuelled me so much. 

I've been able to be consistent in my performances from February to now - a fact that makes me so, so happy. All that, thanks to the white jersey with the rainbow stripes.

On Saturday, I will do more than my best trying to wear it one more year. I know that repeating is very difficult. I know I will have a lot of eyes on me. But I also know that I can be calm and serene, because I have already won it one time.

All athletes, at least for one day in their life, should feel the excitement I felt in being the world champion. It was something unique that, with all my heart, I hope to experience again, sooner or later.

Shortly I'll be undertaking the second mountain bike race of my life… just a little thing called the Leadville 100. You may have heard of it! Little did I realize when I accepted a spot on the Lifetime Grand Prix (LGP) tour that I would be jumping into the deep end of endurance mountain bike racing with one of the biggest in the world. Despite my rookie status, I'm actually feeling pretty prepared for this one.

Stop #2 for me on the Lifetime Grand Prix was the brutal Crusher in the Tushar, a 69.9-mile gravel race out of Beaver, Utah. A mere 112km seemed like a walk in the park compared to the 320km of Unbound 200. 

Inspired by how hard my fellow competitors had to ride to finish at the top in Emporia, Kansas, I approached this race a bit differently: attack the first climb and try and stay with the front of the race for as long as I could. The risk: blow up on the second climb and limp through the relentless last few miles up to the mountain-top finish. The reward: see what kind of fitness this tiger really had…and maybe just surprise myself.

My strategy paid off. My heart rate skyrocketed for the first hour as I tried to keep the leaders in sight. After that, I settled into the grind to reach the top at the two-hour mark and start the sketchy descent. Unfortunately, I slid out on one of the hairpins as what seemed to be my ongoing "dirt nap" saga and went down. Thankfully I had just a bit of a painful, bloody elbow and knee to contend with; my bones and bike came out unscathed. I was in awe of the racers with clearly better bike handling skills who were careening down the mountain like it was no big deal. Like seriously, how the heck do they do that?!

Once on the HOT pavement leading into the next 30 miles of ascending, I gratefully got into a paceline with fellow LGP racer Melissa Rollins who warned me that the next section "sucks." And suck it did. Temps were grazing into the high 90s, and as the pitch went up, it got bumpy, sandy, and slippery. This is where the mental toughness really needed to kick in. I tried to keep up with the racers in front of me and used the upcoming aid station as a carrot to just keep me ploughing forward at what felt like a snail's pace. 

With my hydration bladder refilled and a pitcher of cold water dumped on my head (THANK YOU, amazing volunteers!), I powered back up the sketchy hairpins that had claimed some of my skin on the way down, happily surprised that I was indeed still able to push the heart rate up and "maintain the pain" without my quads giving out or cramping up.

Don't be deceived once you reach the top of this two-hour climb. The last six miles of Crusher will break you if you have not prepared or saved a little for the final steep pitches up to the ski resort. Grinding out of the saddle at 40 rpm on what felt like a 20% grade, staring at the ground ahead of me, sweat dripping into my eyes, I gave all the gas left in my tank to get to that finish line in just under 5 hours and 20min. It was enough to get me 8th in the LGP rankings and some much-needed points toward the overall. I did also get my own non-binary podium, as I was the only NB competitor this year. I would love to see more nonbinary athletes tackle this beast of a race in 2023!

Post-Crusher, I have been BUSY racing, including a stellar swim-bike-run at the PTO Canadian Open triathlon. I also just won IRONMAN 70.3 Boulder this past weekend, potentially making me the oldest (ahem) 70.3 Champion in history. Between those triathlons, I hit up the Leadville MTB Stage Race to see what I would be getting myself into. This was the absolute perfect course recon for Leadville 100 as it is precisely the 100 course broken up over three days.

On day 1 my coach instructed me to take it easy and stay safe. Unfortunately, this MTB newbie had no idea what tire pressure to run and ended up once again taking another dirt nap with a whopping 35 psi in my tires. Let's just say I learned my lesson. After slipping and sliding around on the first day, giving myself yet more painful road rash on the other elbow, knocking my knee pretty hard, and spending the evening crying in my hotel room, I showed up the next day with a more reasonable bike set-up and with the go-ahead to light it up.

Day 2 and 3 ended up being an absolute blast and gave me a good sense of just WTAF I will have to suffer through in just ONE DAY. I learned what everyone was talking about re: the steep pitches of Columbine and Powerline climbs that will come many hours into this race. I got to know that I could race in the mix with two seasoned mountain bikers and fellow LGP racers Kristen Legan and Crystal Anthony. Once again, I came away with the nonbinary overall win, because well…I was the only one! Serious kudos to the Leadville Trail Series organizers who still provided equal recognition, awards, and prizes to the leaders in all three categories.

This race also showed me just how special Leadville and its community are. The warm welcomes, appreciation for all the participants, and generous support the race gives to the youth and folks of Leadville are truly inspiring. It is easy to see how this race has become a legend in so many ways. I am very proud to have the opportunity to step up to the start line of the Leadville 100 for what may likely be one of the most epic races of my life.

My alarm went off at 5.am, an hour usually reserved for darkness, but with the all-night sun in Iceland this time of year, the distant Volcano of Hekla - my challenge for the day - could already be seen through the windows of my cabin. 

Dressed, and bike packed in the car, we set off for the 20-minute drive to the start of The Rift gravel race, to be ready for a bleary-eyed 6:30.am start.

When I arrived, I put my best mechanic skills to hand, double checking my pressure, my bolts and managing those last-minute tune-ups between sips of coffee. A quick roll to the start line and I was ready.

A few familiar faces greeted me, but at this point, with the open nature of gravel, you don’t really know who will be there, who you are racing against and what the tactics could be before the gun. The colours of Enough Cycling Team, The Cafe du Cyclist team and the Mazda Lauf team peppered the startline creating a pattern, one I couldn’t quite fit into. Right, there were some teams here. I took a pause, and made a plan, knowing it would be me, and other individuals racing against groups that were focused on a single outcome.

I’ve always felt the term ‘gravel Pioneers’ was truly apt for the first wave of gravel surfers. When you think of a pioneer you think of a dreamer, equipped with just their tools, navigation, dreams, optimism, bound to the wild, to find gold or reward in places others overlooked. Sure, gravel has been going for a while, but riders making a living full-time in gravel is a more recent thing. These pioneers have forged the paths and tracks towards which many of us have followed since. The gold rush is upon us, and it is a race to find the winning streaks.

Yet the change is afoot. There is absolutely room to call the top-tier riders in gravel professionals now. The trucks, campers, and support crews (in the USA), they’re seriously impressive.

This is all fine to me. In fact, it was always inevitable once the cycling industry cottoned onto the fact that a whole new genre of bike was becoming the latest must-have craze. It doesn’t change the experience of anybody racing gravel at their own speed, but it certainly has made the speed at the front get a lot faster. But what’s next? Is the next evolution in a more professional and more invested sport a turn to teams? I’d argue yes, in fact it’s already happening.

At kilometre 15 of the Rift, I noticed the teamwork. The Rift is sponsored by Lauf cycles, and their team Mazda Lauf with five riders at the event had moved their team up in force to the front to be first into the opening technical section. Coming from the road, when a team moved up in force it always signalled ‘shit, what don't I know that they do?’.

Turns out they knew there was a key river crossing and going in first was a big deal, as even 10 wheels back, once you’d run through the rocky river crossing, remounted your bike and looked forward, the gaps between you and the first rider were big. One rider used this as their chance to attack and get a big gap alone in front. The chase was on from behind, but once the gap was made, because of the rocky terrain, it was a challenge. A few of us bonded in force to bring it back, but tactically, the Lauf riders didn’t contribute. And nor should you expect them to. Once we caught the rider, the race settled in, we had our front group of about 20 riders, and we were in the grind-it-out part of the race.

Later on, about 50km into the race, which felt like we’d done 100km with the heavy sandy surface and virtually having climbed this whole time, there was a feed zone approaching. Often in this discipline, when the front group is made, and there is no reason to send long-range attacks early in a race, so the group normally talks and agrees to all waiting at a feed-zone for everybody to restock. One of the team riders had to stop to tighten his cleat, and his team were going to get his food so he could just focus on his shoe so they could all leave together. I liked this. It was a cool collective moment. Gravel is nice like that. 

But unbeknownst to all of us who agreed to stop, Mattia De Marchi, one of Europe’s men to beat, pushed on hard out of the feed zone. I bailed on filling bidons, grabbed a handful of gels and spent the next 10 minutes with one of the Lauf riders chasing him back.

When we finally caught him, the Lauf rider asked him what he was doing, and his attitude was like; it’s a race, I don’t have to stop. But I could read his deeper feeling which was more to say, let’s make this an even field and not let a team having numbers be an advantage. Ironic perhaps as he rides for a team himself, but I understood his sentiment.

I, on the other hand, didn’t mind either way, aside from missing a chance to refill my bidon. The difficulty of racing gravel is like no other discipline. The overall average power from a race might look lower than you’d expect, but the normalized power is ridiculous, and the torque is high as the sky. You never get to pedal easy, because if you do, you stop.

The concept of ‘sitting on’ in gravel rarely saves you much energy, and therefore protecting a rider just doesn’t have the same meaning as on the road. The reality is, if a rider gets dropped on a climb at any stage in the race, you can consider them out of contention. They might come back if the front group eases up, but at the next acceleration or climb, you can be confident they will be dropped again.

No guarantees

Once our groups came back together after this feed zone incident, as soon as we hit the next steep climbs, Mattia and I attacked and whoever could follow did, and those that couldn’t, simply couldn’t. I’ve been victim to this myself and it’s a hard pill to swallow. Once you’re done, you’re done, and it’s then just a long grind out for minor placings. You can’t fake it. You can’t get lucky. 

Perhaps one day the depth of level in gravel will be huge, and some teams will have five of the best riders in the world, but for now, I doubt this. The cycling industry players who are all competing for the same market share will naturally divide the best riders across all of the different brands. Even if the depth increases, it only means that the best become faster, too. Gravel is too hard to race completely for somebody else. But it doesn’t change the wave: the teams are coming.

But it begs the question; What is a team? Is it a group of athletes with a collective goal? Is it a team of support? (ie: a six-person pit crew with pressure washers and F1 wheel changes) And what about when men and women are together on a team? Or essentially any different collection of riders that are entered into different categories or competitions in the race?

I can see how some may argue this will be a bad thing for the sport. I’d argue that firstly, it seems inevitable, and secondly, it all depends on how the teams are run and regulated.

The race organisers and rule makers need to start to see this change and adapt their rulebooks accordingly. A team can’t bring 20 riders to the Tour de France, and if this is the way it’s going, for the benefit of all riders, individuals and teams, it would be great to see the 'gravel commissaires' ensure a fair battleground.

As we rolled into the last 50km of the race, it was each rider for themselves and it was race on. The final was filled with endless attacks, close calls on loose gravel, deep water crossings and… the numbers kept going down. A group of eight turned into six, and then it was five, four, three and then we were two, facing the final sprint finish. 

I dug deep, and found those last extra watts, crossing the line just a wheel length ahead. It was my first major win of the season after lots of second places. I won as a solo rider at a race with teams. So maybe there’s the lesson. Does a team help? For sure it can, but it doesn’t guarantee you the top step on the podium.

Peter Stetina moved from the pro road peloton to gravel privateer a couple of years ago and has never looked back. One of the top off-road riders in the US, Stetina has had his 2022 path strewn with challenges – he broke his wrist in the Sea Otter Classic Fuego XC 80K in April but still rode to 21st place, organised Stetina's Carson City Paydirt in May, and welcomed twins with his wife, Dyanna, just two weeks ago.

His career as a father is well underway as he prepares to race the fourth stop in the Life Time Grand Prix series on August 13, Leadville Trail 100 MTB, where he finished fifth last year, and then drive 122 miles across the Rocky Mountains to tackle SBT GRVL the next day, where he was previously third. The doubleheader is called LeadBoat and Stetina won the title in 2021. He is tied with Rob Britton for fifth overall in the national Life Time series, 21 points behind series leader Keegan Swenson, and with a victory at the Belgian Waffle Ride North Carolina, he leads the Quadrupel Crown of Gravel series with two stops remaining. 

I type this sitting in the hospital, next to my newborn twins, as they recover from their premature birth status. These last weeks have been tough but exciting. Being ‘preemie’, we’ve had a soft drop into parenting physically, but an excessive toll emotionally. 

Physically, we aren’t as sleep deprived as traditional parents of newborns, for while they recover in the NICU (Neonatal ICU) under the care of nurses we get to go home to our temporary housing every night for a “better” night’s rest. 

Emotionally, that has been another story however. Our daughter Layla is progressing quickly and should be home in our arms this week. Our son Emery, however, had quite a few complications upon birth, necessitating some immediate surgeries. It’s been a nerve-wracking two-steps-forward one-step-back process and while I can already see the boy’s got real grit, he’s got a battle in front of him. It’s been hard to digest; what should be a magical time of bonding with one’s newborn, nursing and cuddling has been, in reality, a process in confronting a new set of problems to solve and watching oxygen monitors.

I’m not bailing on my gravel season, however, there are still some big objectives this fall, but my routine has become very different. We’ve relocated to San Francisco, California [from Santa Rosa - Ed.] for the summer and found temporary housing to be near their hospital beds. I spend most of my time in their room but carve out a short window every day to ride, mostly for my mental health. 

In fact I can’t remember the last time I hit the lap button on my Wahoo, rather I just go as hard or easy as I feel. There’s no time for stretching, massage, or any personal body care. It’s been fun but challenging to adjust to this urban landscape of traffic lights, trying to find the quickest ways through the city to some good rides while knowing I’m in a time crunch.

The biggest weekend of the season is around the corner – the LeadBoat Challenge, highlighted by the Leadville Trail 100 MTB on Saturday and the SBT GRVL race on Sunday. To prepare for this ultimate high-alpine challenge perfectly, one needs to spend weeks at high elevation to acclimate as well as string together consecutive long days. Normally this would be my bread and butter and I’m the defending champ having won this challenge in 2021.

I’m still using a scientific background and a bit of blind faith to prepare though. I have quite the base fitness built up from this spring. So once per week I am trying to escape for a longer 4-6 hour ride just to maintain the endurance. The rest of the week is built by short rides where I just sprint around the urban jungle that is SF. 

The extreme elevation is another problem however: If one cannot acclimate fully, it’s best to show up literally the day before, as it takes a day for one’s body to think “oh crap I can’t breathe!” and becomes sluggish. One can still perform somewhat one day into altitude exposure. Day 2 in SBT may be really rough, however.

More gravel to grind

I don’t expect to be in any contention for the win over the weekend, but rather to participate and hopefully still salvage some points in the all important season-long Life Time GP; every point will count. Attending these events is where the real fun lies and a race result is secondary to the experience. 

I love attending bike races more than ever before and a full 8 hours of sleep will be an added bonus! I’ve got grandma coming in to pinch hit for me while I go play bike racer at LeadBoat, and then Gravel Worlds in Nebraska (August 20), and Chequamegon MTB in Wisconsin (September 17). These will all be jet-in and jet-out in 48 hour type of adventures; no recons and minimal after-partying.

Once the whole family is home things should adjust in a more professional way for me to target the end of the season. With Dyanna on pregnancy leave, we will likely hang out in Colorado with family for more support and this will allow me to make weekend trips for Gravel Locos Pueblo, BWR Utah and Kansas, and Big Sugar Gravel. 

The Lifetime GP title may be out of reach for me due to a rough spring full of hiccups and the imperfect Leadville build, but I’m not ruling out an overall podium just yet. Plus I am currently leading the BWR quadruple crown classification and that’s something I’d love to wrap up. Now I just need to hope those fabled Dad Watts can make up for my lack of training!

The fastest Tour de France ever was intensely competitive but was it as entertaining as the previous edition? 

That’s the question I ask myself as I think back on what happened in between the damp Copenhagen start over three weeks ago and finishing on the Champs Elysees on a beautiful summer evening.

Tactically, UAE Team Emirates where outthought during the crucial stages and physically outgunned in the mountains, allowing Jonas Vingegaard and Jumbo-Visma to execute their winning strategy.   

At first, it looked like it was going to be a formality for Tadej Pogačar as he picked up bonus seconds here, there and everywhere in the first week of the Tour de France, with only the show put on by Wout Van Aert distracting from the Slovenian. 

When Pogačar took over the race lead on stage 6, I wondered when the Jumbo-Visma armada would seriously challenge UAE Team Emirates, who had fewer star riders and just one mission: guide their number one rider to another success. 

When the Dutch squad had announced the goal of winning both yellow and green jerseys it looked very ambitious. After the cobbles ruined the hopes of Primož Roglič, the option of GC seemed to be gone.

As we all now know, it was the day to the Col du Granon that exposed the weakness of UAE Team Emirates and where Jumbo-Visma's detailed planning and team tactics paid off. 

Pogačar was left exposed by the attacks from Roglič and Vingegaard on the Col du Galibier and had no proper support from his team. He then made his own mistakes and suddenly, from a position of strength, he was over two minutes behind. 

That left facing a huge challenge and hoping for cracks to somehow appear Jonas Vingegaard’s armour. Ultimately there weren’t any and if anything, the Slovenian seemed never to have recovered properly from the mauling he got on stage 11 to the Col du Granon.

The finishes on L'Alpe d'Huez, Saint-Etienne and Mende gave the impression that UAE Team Emirates might still play the GC game. At Peyragudes Pogačar looked to be ready to pounce again but Jumbo deployed Van Aert on stage 18 to Hautacam and everything was settled. Vingegaard wasn’t going to be beaten and the probing of Pogačar was more about pride than anything else.

The moment Pogačar lost time again on the road to Hautacam was when the preparation for the 2023 Tour de France really began for both Jumbo-Visma and UAE Team Emirates.

UAE Team Emirates' hopes really fell apart when their key domestiques were unable to help Pogačar when he needed it, the Slovenian missing protection, pacing and reassurance. The team was hit by COVID-19, injuries and illness but lacked the  adaptability to cover for those eventualities.

Jumbo-Visma on the other hand had Wout Van Aert, who did the work of three support riders and still had the reserves to blow out Pogačar. 

He was the icing on the cake that the Dutch team have been baking for several years, a project that may have had Primož Roglič as the cherry but now sees Jonas Vingegaard in his place as the rider able to challenge and defeat  Pogačar.

The strengths of Jumbo-Visma haven’t developed by accident, they’ve recruited carefully, nurtured new talent and reinvigorated riders like Tiesj Benoot and Christophe Laporte.

UAE TEam Emirates recognised last year that they were relying too much on the individual brilliance of Tadej Pogačar and signed riders they thought would be able to control things until the Slovenian took over in the final parts of the crucial stages. 

For various reasons, that hasn’t happened with the regularity of performances that the Tour de France demands. Now they have to go away and look at the reasons for their mistakes, the weaknesses that were exposed and how to rectify them. 

They can be sure that Pogačar’s preparation and commitment to 2023 have already begun but they seem to be missing the influence of Allan Peiper in terms of strategy and planning.

What about Ineos Grenadiers?

It’s quite clear that Jumbo-Visma and UAE Team Emirates are the new benchmarks in terms of performance. They have the strongest riders, and in the case of the Dutch team, the best core group.

That leaves Ineos Grenadiers in a tricky situation of having had third places at the last two Tour de France but both with riders who are in their mid-thirties. Their young riders who are coming through don't appear ready for the Grand Tour battles just yet. Tom Pidcock was of course remarkable but they can’t keep relying on his brilliance for immediate GC results in 2023.

The British-registered squad finds itself chasing instead of leading in terms of their squad composition and how those riders have performed. That’s how sport works at the very top, with excellence built over years, not months. I expect Ineos Grenadiers to accelerate their rebuilding strategy and carry out a proper examination of what they have and haven’t been doing right in recent years.

So was it an entertaining Tour?

Yes, for the performances of the Jumbo-Visma collective and Wout Van Aert’s astonishing regularity. That Jonas Vingegaard resembles a rider for a bygone era - solid, hard, gritty - is a relief for the diehard fan who wants to see the suffering etched on the faces of the riders.

Tadej Pogačar gave the impression he was playing rather than racing but those times have ended and he has found a real rival in Vingegaard and Jumbo-Visma.

The 2023 Tour de France game has already begun.

"To allow my injuries to heal properly, we have decided that I won't start today."

The innocuous tweet from Jumbo-Visma before the start of stage 15 in Mende didn't seem to say much about the abandon of Primož Roglič, but like all PR statements it's more what it didn't say that will be discussed in the coming days.

The elephant in the room is Roglič's intended participation in the Vuelta a España, which starts in just under four weeks. He returns as defending champion. Somehow it feels like that has taken precedence over whatever role he could have played in defending Jonas Vingegaard's lead. I'm left wondering who the "we" are and why they think losing a rider of Roglič's class is a good decision.

It's not like he was utterly terrible on the day preceding the announcement - on stage 14 he had been part of the GC group that led into the third category climb before the blast up the Montée Jalabert. Though he has been struggling on stages which had a climb near the start, if he was in a really bad way after his crash on stage 5, he would never have come back at all. So his retirement strikes me as a bizarre choice. And that's exactly what it is.

When you see riders like Caleb Ewan struggling to make the time cut each day you can see what it means to participate in the Tour de France. It's the most important bike race, period. You don't just decide to stop unless you can't physically continue.

In the past, sprinters like Mario Cipollini would abandon before the mountains and rightly receive criticism for doing so - but Primož Roglič can climb despite his current injury. We saw that on the ascent of the Galibier when he was instrumental in the attacks that resulted in the dismantling of Tadej Pogačar later that day.

People talk of respecting the Tour and expect that it's a rider's duty to finish. That's why you see the gruppetto in survival mode - you don't stop unless you really can't continue. If you are eliminated - as Michael Mørkøv was after riding 202 kilometres in the heat alone - then so be it, but you go down fighting. If aren't capable of making the time limit and there are others with you then you tell them to go on so that they can continue. It hurts to not reach Paris - that's proven by the riders in tears handing over their race numbers when they stop on the roadside.

When you're part of the yellow jersey team, the duty to continue is amplified. It doesn't matter if you can only pull on the front of the peloton for ten kilometres or for a hundred, any contribution is welcome. If you're dropped as a result and have to survive in the last group or worse, then you do it with no complaints or criticism from the team. And you do it again the next day and the next. There's respect for the Tour and an obligation to defend the jersey, it's not a matter for discussion.

Who made that decision?

With Steven Kruijswijk crashing out the same day, Jumbo-Visma now find themselves with two really important riders missing just when the race comes in the crucial last week. Both of them could have been vital to Vingegaard in the circumstances where Pogačar mounts a long range attack. Something which he certainly will be considering more likely to succeed now that there are two fewer bodies to control or limit any time gaps. Even the act of fetching water, food or someone friendly temporarily by your side makes a difference. Kruijswijk was certainly capable of being near enough to the yellow jersey to lend a hand if needed.

Going back to the crucial meeting that had to have taken place, I do hope we learn more of who, what, where and when. That kind of decision is made at the highest level in a team. Directors Sportifs, General Manager, team doctor and, of course, the riders directly affected. Normally that would mean the yellow jersey would be consulted and maybe the main sponsors, too.    

Vingegaard has no previous experience of leading a Grand Tour, never mind at the Tour de France, but Roglič does. Wouldn't it have made sense to use that knowledge, even if limited to only the briefings? He could have reassured everyone on what to do and how to cope with the pressures that are bound to come from Tadej Pogačar. 

Pogačar's UAE team look strong again after the COVID-19 scares and to face up to them, the Dutch squad need everyone who could help. It doesn't matter if it is for five minutes or five hours.

The choice to withdraw Primož Roglič could really come back and bite Jumbo if Vingegaard has any kind of incident or weakness in the Pyrenees. We may be asking if a potential fourth title for Roglič at the Vuelta was worth Jonas Vingegaard losing out on his first Tour de France victory.

Elisa Balsamo is the reigning women's road world champion and wears the rainbow jersey in her inaugural season with Women's WorldTeam Trek-Segafredo. She completed an impressive hat-trick this spring by sprinting to victory at three one-day races - Trofeo Alfredo Binda, Classic Brugge-De Panne and Gent-Wevelgem. Recently crowned the new Italian road champion, Balsamo will next compete in her first-ever Giro d'Italia Donne. She shares insights from the peloton in a blog series for Cyclingnews.

Spring is over and, for me, June was like a new beginning. When I think back to the first months, it is hard to add more to what has already been said in so many interviews, but I still want to reaffirm my happiness with how things have gone. I am super satisfied and partly surprised because everything, including the races, went beyond my best expectations. 

I say this because after the victory in the World Championship in Leuven so many things changed. As a person, in general, I feel I am a little insecure and the rainbow jersey was scaring me a bit. I was hearing about the pressures, the attention, the expectations and all the stress that goes with it. 

Starting with a bang in my first race with Trek-Segafredo and continuing with a series of victories gave me an awareness of my own means. I realized that I could play with the strongest in the world. Not that this is easy; it always takes work and commitment. But I knew I could do it. And then I was so happy to have experienced and motivating teammates by my side who, in the race, reminded me that I could make it.

I have found a perfect balance and that has been the key to success. I have surrounded myself with people I trust who have created a kind of buffer for me to handle everything that the jersey entails. This is awareness is a huge accomplishment.

When it comes to racing, however, some question marks remain, especially after a rest period and a training camp, as happened to me between May and June. While giving the body rest was necessary and essential, the idea of an altitude camp was not exciting. I never like training camp too much, but it definitely helped. I worked without stress, taking care of every aspect of my preparation: training, stretching, nutrition. And then I was able to study to give my last exam at the university [University of Turin -ed.]. Mission accomplished, and now I can think, without too much stress, about graduation in the fall. 

In the comeback races, RideLondon Classique and Tour de Suisse, some pressure was felt. It was a bit like going back to the beginning of the season. I did not know how the body might react to the first intense efforts and what my performance level was. However, everything went well and I received the confirmations I wanted. The victory in the Italian Championship was the icing on the cake. 

Preparing for big events, to me, means training not only legs but also head. For me, keeping my feet firmly planted on the ground is the mantra. I think an athlete should rightly enjoy her successes. In the end, we are people not robots, and victories make us aware of our strengths. What should be avoided, however, is the sense of exaltation that successes can bring. I think it is normal and human that this can happen. And I believe that to avoid this, an athlete must work hard on herself or himself. That's what I'm doing: reminding myself every day who I am, where I come from, that I’m changed just because I have a world champion's jersey and I'm an athlete capable of winning. 

The first big event to come is the Giro, my first Giro! It will be the beginning of a historic and memorable double, along with the Tour de France Femmes (but about that, for now, I'm not thinking). 

Step by step. I have studied the route of the Giro well and I am confident that I can have my say, especially in the first part. With only a few hours to go before the start, I am going through a healthy tension. 

Winning the Italian Championship title has done nothing but shine more headlights on me. So, many will expect to see me win but, personally, I am living it well. I know I am in good shape and I know I have a very strong team by my side with which to share the burdens and honors of this race. 

I am calm, as I wanted and hoped. The time will come, then, to think about the Tour. For now, I want to fully enjoy my first Giro d'Italia.

In my younger years, living in Sydney, I remember turning a corner, one of my regular corners in my regular inner west neighbourhood and seeing one of the many street performers that scatter themselves on the busy main street during rush hours. 

So often I never noticed, walked on by and didn’t think back. But this man. He could sing. A clear and concerted voice, a passion and artistry and a song I had never heard… possibly an original. I stopped, I listened, I found some change to donate to his guitar case, and I continued to do so for the next year whenever I came across him. I never knew his name, but wow I was a fan.

About a year later, I flipped the radio station in the car, lackadaisically browsing the FM channels, when I heard a voice, and I thought, wait I know this song… I know this voice. This is my street performer. He had a breakthrough video on YouTube performing an original, and next thing, he was recorded and it blew up worldwide. I was torn. 

In one way I was so stoked for this amazing artist, as he’d made it, his sweet song was now for everybody. Yet there was a part of me that hurt, this was my band, mine! And when I told people how I was one of his original followers, it was met by a whole series of blank looks which shouted, who cares man, this song is a banger. In case you all are dying to know, the song is Let Her Go, and that street artist is now globally known as Passenger.

And there I was, a passenger of the more traditional sense at my first Unbound. This event/race has grown into something of a monster. It's beyond big in every sense. Not only for the fact you basically have to get lucky on a lottery to get a start, but for riders, this is the Superbowl, the Wimbledon, the Tour de France of Gravel. And not only for the riders, but commercially, every company that is trying to etch its name in the sport are all fighting for space, to be noticed, to be the star in the tidal wave of content and advertising that comes from and out of this race.

So what does this mean? Well. I can’t speak for the commercial interests directly, but as a rider, and a fan of the whole (I HATE TO SAY THIS) the spirit of gravel - Oooh yes I used the most overused expression in the sport right now, the spirit at Unbound was not what I expected. Did I miss the years when Unbound was my busker?

Naïve perhaps, I too have followed the Instagram stories of Ted King, Laurens ten Dam, Ian Boswell and the feeling was that Gravel in the USA is super-chilled, super-relaxed and the racing is just riders all on the same even playing field, going head to head and high fiving whoever won. This is like, the antithesis of the WorldTour, so you can see how it's attractive right?

How wrong was I! I turned up with a bike bag, a few essential tools and spare parts, shoes, kit and a helmet. Go time. A friend of mine, Cowboy Steve from Campagnolo USA flew in the night before the race to help me out in the feed zones, which at this point I already thought, man, how pro am I! Little did I know…

At Unbound, many of the USA-based pro riders had a whole team of helpers at the feed zones. Somebody to swap bottles, somebody to change hydration packs, somebody with a pressure washer to spray the bike down, another on lube duty and for those worried about tire damage, F1-type drills and well-oiled wheel changes were actually a thing… I was woefully unprepared.

By the time I’d swapped my bidons and grabbed a new bag these guys had clean bikes, new wheels, full bottle swaps and were already 10 seconds in front attacking out of the feed zone. It was game on!

I think it’s actually totally badass that Unbound is this serious, that the racing has become so professional, so to speak. Because winning this race, can actually change a rider’s life. It’s not a big deal, it’s a HUGE deal to win it. So obviously, this professionalism and racecraft will follow. But it begged the question, has Unbound created a type of gravel racing separate to any other?

I think so. Personally, I was a bit unsure of what to think about USA gravel after Unbound. I was contemplating my approach to the racing thinking: OK, If I’m to focus on this next year, do I need to up my investment to compete with these guys? As a European-based rider, what will it take for me to be on this level investment-wise? Well, Ivar Slik won as a non-American, so that says a lot, and also says that you don’t need all these accoutrements to win, but for sure, they help.

The week after Unbound, I headed to the Belgium Waffle Ride in North Carolina only to be met with the exact opposite style of event. No team feed zones. No spare wheels. No pressure washes and also, much less pressure. The course was actually way more interesting, the race vibe was chilled, the venue was like a big party and the racing? The racing was lit! 

So was it the same? Not at all. The heads of state in terms of pros were all just smashing each other, every climb, every downhill, every moment. The winner Pete Stetina showed a masterclass of timing when he attacked our front group. After the race, chill vibes only and everybody was just enjoying the tales of the day’s effort. It was serious racing, 100%, but I turned up with a bike bag and kit and managed to get second. It felt like the playing field was equal. It felt like (I’m about to say it again, sorry) the spirit of the sport was exactly what you see and hear about online.

So no, gravel is not becoming too professional. I don’t think at all. However, Unbound is a beast of its own, a standalone event with so much build-up, so many commercial and personal interests that it has in fact become much of what we all thought gravel was counter-culture to. But does that change my dream to go back? No. Does it change how awesome the event is? No. Would I ever say Unbound is still the most important race to win? Absolutely. It’s just a class of its own, a tidal wave that now can’t be stopped.

But are the riders that first turned ground on the 200-mile epic 16 years ago on janky bikes with cantilever brakes feeling the same as me about their old favourite band? Well, they’re likely not even on social media so who knows. But maybe, just maybe, they miss the old vibe. But hey, to steal a line from Passenger, perhaps overthinking this whole thing might be best met with the simple yet poignant sentiment to just ‘let her go’.

Landing on the top step of the first Unbound 200 nonbinary podium will likely go down as one of the proudest moments of my life. Not because of winning or bragging rights or looking good for sponsors, but because I was up there with a full podium of athletes like me. Last year, in all the Unbound race distances there was one single nonbinary athlete, Abi Robins. This year, we were 17 strong! I have come away from this race weekend with what feels like a whole new family standing up on that podium with me.

Now you may be asking: “how the heck does one train for a 12+ hour off-road bike race?” This tiger does so by first hitting a solid 10 hour “training day” racing the IRONMAN World Championships in St George, Utah four weeks before and spending a few days in Moab playing mountain bikes, before finally landing in Emporia, KS for a couple weeks of trying to become a local. 

In my new Kansas home, I was able to get in a solid week of big rides targeting the Unbound course, amongst some short swims in the hot tub-warm Emporia Rec Center pool and little jogs to keep the legs pounding the pavement. The course recon was priceless: got to know almost every mile, experienced big variation in wind speeds and directions, rode all the big-for-Kansas climbs, and ran the most technical spots a couple times through. There is so much to go through mentally and physically in such a long race. Having an upper hand on the route and conditions left my brain to focus on eating, drinking, and crushing on race day.

And then 2 weeks out I realized I had done something really dumb. 

While in Moab, I’d changed my shoe cleat position rather dramatically for a more mountain bike-friendly placement. Then I’d just kept it that way, putting in a couple 6-7 hour ride days on the gravel rig, thinking nothing of it. Two hours into a training ride, still 30 miles out of town, I was struck with 9/10 knee pain and had to limp the rest of the way back. Yup, my IT band was very angry with me. *I* was very angry with me! 

I super know better than this. I could just see my medical and coaching team facepalming already. After an emergency call with my PT at MoveMed Physio (and moving my cleats back!), I spent the 2 weeks leading into the race riding 60 min a day and loading up on anti-inflammatories to calm the IT band as much as possible. I was incredibly frustrated, losing confidence in my fitness, and embarrassed to be showing up at yet another start line very undertrained. I was convinced I was going to be gritting my teeth in pain for 10 of the 12 race hours, especially after just over an hour spin on the bike the day before race day had led to a flair-up. 

I have to credit my coach Mateo Mercur for having the confidence to really keep my training ridiculously easy, knowing in the best case scenario that maybe I could get to this race with the irritation gone but undertrained versus training through it, showing up with a fraction more fitness, and then potentially having to deal with a chronic ITB syndrome the rest of the season. Incredibly (and with the help of about 2400mg of Ibuprofen LOL) it barely gave me any issues during the 200 miles. Let’s hope we dodged a bullet with this one!

It is incredible how quickly 12 hours in the saddle goes by. The first hour I spent trying to hold onto the front of the race. I remember looking down at my bike computer 27 min in, noticed my heart rate in the yellow, sometimes red, zone, and thinking “you need to cool it down, Rach!” Based on winds coming from the south, I knew being in a pack was way better than pushing through the headwind solo. However, the yo-yo at the back of the group was just too much over my comfort zone and after an hour of hammer, I dropped back to let my heart rate come down, hoping I hadn’t screwed myself. 

Most of the day I spent bouncing from group to group. I was grateful to hop into some solid pain trains heading into both aid stations. The Flint Hills gave us all the weathers. The cool morning brought in some expected thundershowers. I remember slowly coming through a slippery, muddy, wooded area with some scattered riders. Like dominoes, 4 guys went down in front of me, but I nimbly threaded the needle through the multiple pile-ups. I was very proud to come out the other end of the section without having to walk. That mountain biking is paying off! I didn’t keep the rubber side down for the entire race though. As the sun came out and started to turn the mud into the sticky mess that Kansas is known for, one section in particular was unrideable. Thinking I was somehow more skilled than the dozens of riders walking their bikes, I barrelled into the muddy ruts, only to get flipped over shortly thereafter. I am still getting that mud out of my bike, shoes and cleats days later!

Not only had I never ridden more than 160 miles, I had never needed to organize a support crew. I was grateful that the amazing HED Cycling crew stepped up at the last minute for the job (high five to Maddy, Andy, and Catherine!). I would come into each aid station, toss my bike to Andy for an imperative chain clean, lube, and tire pressure check, switch my hydration pack, and hand my glasses off to be cleaned. By the time I chugged a delicious coke and tossed a sandwich down my jersey, my team had me off and running again. Magic.

At some point on a long straightaway I remember thinking of 26-year-old Mo Wilson, the winning Lifetime Grand Prix athlete. Her senseless murder just a couple weeks before had sent shockwaves through the community like I have never experienced. I did not know Mo very well, but she had been one of us. At sunrise the Friday before the race, Lifetime had graciously organized a memorial ride. Tears had streamed down my face when we stopped and said some words. Again, that moment on course, I caught my breath, choking back my emotions. So many of us that day were riding for Mo. Pushing ourselves to that finish line because we could, and she could not. 

Near the last quarter of the race, my body finally started to complain. With over 2 hours left in the saddle, my lower back started to feel super tight and sore. I started cursing the fact that this race didn’t entail a sport change like triathlon. I was ready to get OFF that bike! Where was my marathon run to move my body in a different way?!

The pain in my back was becoming all I could think about. I knew I had to just keep the pressure on; it hurt the same no matter what the effort. I didn’t know who was ahead or behind me. I could catch or be caught by a competitor at any moment. I was flying by 100 and XL racers, shouting “good job!” and “keep it up!” as we all closed in on the finish line. 

And what a finish line it was. I was laughing and crying at the same time, giving high fives to the kiddos, rolling down the iconic downtown Emporia that I had known so well from pictures. I will cherish the finish line hugs from the truly incredible Kristi Mohn and my HED crew, despite being caked head-to-toe in mud. 

I had crossed the line as the first nonbinary racer to finish the 200 mile race. I’d hit my goal to finish under 12 hours (11:56), a time that any other year would have been a winning time in the female category, but landed me 23rd in just the Lifetime Grand Prix female race results alone. 

I was able to cheer in 2nd place nonbinary athlete Apollo at the finish before heading off to feed and clean myself. Outside of the race, the whole weekend was an incredible experience of connecting with a whole crew of nonbinary racers for the first time in my life. The significance of this cannot be understated. I have spent my entire racing career feeling like an odd duck. Words do not do justice the feeling pride and comfort, joining an entire 5-person nonbinary podium up on stage the next day at the Granada Theater awards ceremony. And we are just getting started!

My Unbound 200 setup and nutrition:

• Bike: Diamondback Haanjo 8C
• Rims: HED Emporia RC3
• Tires: Panaracer Gravel King SK (front), SK+ (rear), 38mm w/ Cushcor inserts
• Tire pressure: 35 front/38 rear
• Stem: Redshift Sports Shockstop
• Drive train: SRAM 1x  - 42 chainring, 10-47 cogset
• Saddle: ISM PS 1.0
• Hydration pack: Camelback Chase vest

Nutrition stats:

• 5 L Maurten 320 + extra sea salt
• 3.5 L water with electrolytes
• 1 L coke
• 6 packages Gu Chews
• 6 Gu liquid gels
• 4 Maurten caffeinated gels
• 3 vegan ham and cheese sandwiches
• Total fluid: 9.5 L
• Total calories: approx. 5810

Without any doubt, for every professional road cyclist the year begins in a moment, one that contains equal measures of excitement, nervousness, anxiety and fear. This moment is not the first weigh-in after the exuberant and, dare I say it, decadent off-season, nor is it finding out who your teammates, directors or last-minute sponsors are. It’s far more important.

It’s the moment when the team battens down the hatches, a moment when all phones are banned and a verbal agreement kicks in: never to speak about what happens in this room until the embargo is over. 

It’s the moment that the team kit is unveiled each season.

You could hear a pin drop, the tension in the air is palpable… and then it is revealed.

Sometimes there are yells of joy, cheer and whoops from your American teammates. Other times there are sighs of relief, or of ambivalence. But sometimes, there is an exhalation of deep disappointment, dislike and disdain.

This year, I was adamant for this anxiety to be a thing of the past, and as I was working with Castelli and Colnago on design, I knew I was in good hands. However, these are also heritage brands, so to speak. So I had to ask myself, what does heritage mean in cycling? And does that heritage hold you back from doing something truly innovative?

Well, here’s the story of my recent kit and bike for Unbound in 2022 and I’ll let you answer those questions when I’m done.

“So we looked to the flag of Kansas for inspiration.” Those were the words from Colnago that perhaps made me feel both nervous and excited. “Because there really isn’t much else Kansas seems to be known for besides  corn,” I chimed in.

What could it be? What would the brilliant designers at Colnago and Castelli dream up for me for my Unbound bike and kit. We asked ourselves what was the era of cycling we all loved the most, and we all agreed that aesthetically it was the crazy early 1990s. So we started there.

Then we realised that not only was this our favourite era, there was also a design from the annals of Colnago’s past that we all thought of right away. The Art Décor Master Olympic! The chrome fork and stays, the fluorescent colours, the iconic ace of spades jersey rider hand-painted on the top tube. I mean. Come on. What’s not to love? So there we had it. The bike. An injection of life into a story of old, to combine modern performance and nostalgia whilst also giving tribute to the state of Kansas. We even found the state motto: Ad astra per aspera, which translates as ‘to the stars through difficulties’, which we also found quite fitting for a 200-mile race. We felt the story wrote itself for this bike, a story that can only truly come from its own heritage.

The kit from Castelli was no different. Initially  we felt that the ace of clubs jersey rider to the master Olympic jersey painted on the top tube was a no brainer. So we started there. But we wanted to take it further. We looked back at the retro jerseys of the era and we thought: game on. If it’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing and that’s just what we did.

We also took the colours inspiration from the state flag of Kansas, which we felt worked perfectly with the fluorescent yellows and orange, which sparked a feeling of 'Oooooh the 90s are coming back, and we love that'. But more than colour, we wanted to dig a little deeper. I've said Kansas was known mostly for corn (and flat open spaces), and we remembered Dorothy, from The Wizard of Oz and thought, well, why not turn that into the ‘Wizard of Aus’? So, there we had it. With personal touches like our gold embossed NH89 logo and the Wizard of Aus theme, I think we made something truly shocking, truly cool and truly 90s.

This all sounds super easy though, and in the end, sure, it comes together effortlessly thanks to the master painters and kit production. But what I’ve found a new respect for is the actual process.

Sitting down and discussing artistic inspiration is something new to me. I’ve always been the rider that just gets his kit, wears it, and rides his bike. But this process is the culmination of a big learning curve. When many people sit in on a call, to speak about their ideas, their feelings, their memories, at the end of the call designers have to make sense of it all. And when you give them blurry concepts, or moods, or themes, their job is to digest it all and create a first version. I didn’t realise that the first version is often actually 3 or 4 versions, or even more.

And then you break down the elements of each design we like and they get morphed into something new. Another series of 3 or 4 designs. And the process goes on. Then finally, the idea is shown to a painter, or for the kit, to the creator who understands what is and isn’t possible with printing and cutting, so there we go back again to the design board to make something that can actually be made.

It looks simple, it sounds simple, but to get to an end product there are countless stages, conversations, compromises and then again, more changes. I had no idea. Design has been a language I’ve had to learn, but in the end, following this collaboration with Castelli and Colnago, I’ve never been more proud to ride in a kit or on any bike before.

So where does this leave us on the question of heritage? I think in this case heritage is what gave us the framework to create something new. To bring an iconic design to a new age bike. To rehash memories and a fondness for an era in cycling that was truly unique. Does this mean it’s truly innovative? Perhaps not, I don’t think that’s the point nor the goal all the time. Sometimes it’s just about making something beautiful for the sake of making something beautiful. Or to give life back to an old icon. Or to simply honour an era of colour and design. I’ll not try change your concept of what heritage means in cycling, I’ll let you decide that. But for me, it means freedom to lean into the old to make something new.

Joe Dombrowski is one of just three American riders who rode this year's Giro d'Italia, and in an exclusive diary for Cyclingnews, he shared his thoughts on the racing, revealed what goes on inside the peloton, and shared his own emotions of riding the Corsa Rosa.

He won a tough stage to Sestola in the 2021 Corsa Rosa and rode the Italian Grand Tour as part of the Astana Qazaqstan team led by Vincenzo Nibali, who fought to finish fourth overall in his last Giro d’Italia.

In this final diary update, Dombrowski talks about the final week of the race, his plans post-race and hopes of riding the Tour de France.

This Giro has finally come to a close and I’m heading home to Nice with my wife and parents, with a sense of fatigue, pride buta lso mixed emotions.  

In my first blog for Cyclingnews before the Grande Partenza in Budapest, I said my wife and I would treat ourselves to a special dry aged wagyu beef if I repeated my 2021 stage win. For lots of different reasons I didn’t manage to win again and that’s the main source of my disappointment, but I think we’ll have the steak one night this week to celebrate reaching Verona and completing my tenth Grand Tour. I think I deserve it.      

Racing almost daily for three weeks means the fatigue somehow dumbs your emotions and a sudden change routine leaves you feeling a little lost and melancholic. Fortunately, I have my wife and parents to lift me out of the Giro d’Italia and back into the real world in the next few days as my body also begins to recover.  

To be honest, I finished this Giro with neither a feeling of disappointment, nor of great satisfaction. The initial plan was always to be a mountain helper for Miguel Ángel López and Vincenzo Nibali. With the loss of Lopez early in the race, it opened up some opportunities for me to target stages from the breakaway before I switched back to a support role to help Vincenzo end his final Giro in fourth overall.

I made the breakaway two or three times, but for one reason or another, it never panned out to be a day in which the break would make it to the finish. That’s the biggest source of my disappointment.

Then there were also occasions I had the freedom to jump in the break, and didn't make it. On the days that I was asked to stay in the peloton with Vincenzo, I could be there until there were just seven to ten riders left in the GC group. That’s certainly a strong show of form, vital help for the team and so satisfying too. But a stage win, or a real chance to play for one, never materialised. In cycling you always need a combination of a strong head, strong legs, and a little bit of luck too. I lacked the luck this year.

Was the Giro a snooze fest?

There's not a lot of time in the day-to-day shuffle of Grand Tour racing but I noticed commentary on social media that this Giro was a snooze fest. That’s interesting if also debatable.

From our side, it's impossible to have a good perception on how the race looks from the television. As I wrote in my previous diaries, Grand Tours are a total bubble, and there isn't much time or energy to dedicate to anything outside of being where you need to be on time, and doing your job in the race.

I do think this particular Giro did have some design elements which perhaps led to what some people have described as boring, at least from a GC perspective. Until the last week, the only real decisive days were on stage 4 to Mount Etna and stage 9 to the Blockhaus. Etna almost always sees the GC group remain intact, and Blockhaus finished with fairly minimal gaps. I read that after two weeks, the GC gaps were among the smallest in Giro history.

The other stages in the race often included long climbs, but too far from the finish to make a large impact. The last week crammed in a lot of hard stages, particularly the stage 16 to Aprica.

In my opinion, the placement of so many difficult stages at the tail end, may have blunted more aggressive racing from the GC contenders especially with Jai Hindley, Richard Carapaz and Mikel Landa pretty much on equal form. Of course, it is not us riders who design the course, but rather we paint the picture on the canvas laid out in front of us.

The most dramatic brush strokes came at the end and Saturday’s stage from Belluno to Marmolada finally ended the GC gridlock which had persisted throughout the race. Hindley put on an incredible show and deserved to become the first Australian to win the Giro d’Italia.

I was particularly impressed by the strength of the Bora-Hansgrohe team. Wilco Kelderman, Emanuel Buchmann, Lennard Kämna and Hindley all rode very well in the mountains, and managed to not only take part in the GC race, but also to contend for stage wins from the breakaway with Kämna.

We were discussing at dinner one night how you can sense how some riders are going, by their movement and breathing in the climbs. Hindley in particular, always looked incredibly "easy" to me, though I must be honest that his name was not top of my mind as the winner of this Giro, when we started in Budapest one month ago.

Vincenzo finished fourth overall and that’s a big result for him and for the Astana Qazaqstan team. It would have been great to see him on the podium in his last Giro but we have to be honest: the trio of Hindley, Carapaz, and Landa were a cut above the rest in this Giro.

My Giro alongside Vincenzo and Astana Qazaqstan has been like being at a language school as well as a Grand Tour.  

The language predominantly spoken in the team is Italian, followed by Russian. While my comprehension of Italian is decent due to my French skills, and time in teams like UAE Team Emirates, I was never really able to speak in a way to contribute to a dinner table conversation, so I would mostly just sit there quietly while trying to understand and improve my Italian.

By the end of this Giro, some of the staff were joking that I was speaking Italian after just a month of total immersion. I’m certainly not fluent in Italian but it was interesting that I had built some confidence to jump in the dinner table conversation sometimes. In truth it’s probably a combination of fatigue-driven dinner conversation becoming more and more simplistic and also further integration into the team ma ‘va bene cosi’.

My race program going forward is yet to be confirmed, but it will either be a couple small races after the Giro, and a rest period. Or I will do the Tour de France. I'd love to take part in the Tour, as I have never done it in my career.  

Regardless of what I do, I won't be doing much this week! There is constant stimulus and stress in a Grand Tour, with almost no time in the day to just do nothing.

The week after always feels a bit like when the lights go out and the music turns off at the party; a sense of withdrawal of sorts. It's a strange feeling to wake up to on Monday morning and during the first week but I am sure I will enjoy a bit of peace and quiet.

Thanks for reading my Cyclingnews diary during the Giro d’Italia. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.

I'm used to starting my season in Australia. With Nationals, Tour Down Under and the Bay Crits, every year of my pro career (minus the COVID-19 blip) was launched with a month of racing under the blazing southern sun, with my family and old friends there in person, with the food I grew up on and the accents that sound like mine surrounding me.

So when I saw that the second round of the UCI Gravel World Series was in Australia, really, why break with tradition? This seemed like the perfect excuse to start my real season just like I always had…

Well. Perth in May is no Adelaide in January, I'll tell you that. I landed for my 6 days in Australia to a wet and windy weather front more reminiscent of Belgium than anything I could remember about Australia. After a decade I guess I convinced myself it was always summer there… but hey ho, this was GRAVEL and new adventures, and a new style so I wasn't about to let a change in the skies bog me down.

I was so curious to see what the UCI's Gravel World Series would be like. Of course, the Seven Gravel Race isn't a new event, it is just a new 'category' which the race exists in, and it's already a hugely respected race on the continent. But gravel is fairly new to Australia.

Except for perhaps high socks, arm sleeves and flat whites at cafes, Australian cycling has never really been on the pulse in terms of new fashions in cycling. One finds the continent is not only far geographically from cycling's cultural hubs in Europe and North America, but also when it comes to new disciplines in the sport, Australia tends to be half a decade (at least) behind the rest of the world.

Take fixed gear and cyclo-cross for example. The skinny black jeans of NYC and London hipsters had all but moved on from Fixies and turned to whatever else became cool by the time the scene emerged in Australia. Cyclo-cross is no different. Even though the discipline is as old as Ernesto Colnago himself, Australia has only recently formed their own series in the last few years. Let's say to be kind, the Aussie uptake can be a bit slow.

So I was curious, a new UCI designation in a fairly new discipline, what would it look like? So off I was to the country town of Nannup, a few hours drive from Perth. The name Nannup in the traditional language of the area I soon learned meant place of rest, so to be fair, for name sake the town already had somewhat of the gravel vibe right? But rested I would not be with the full-on race.

I would say, for sure the UCI designation, the points on offer, and the qualification for the World Championships brought a higher level of sporting and a higher level of organisation to the race. But in no way that I saw did it affect the 'vibe' or dare I say… the 'spirit of gravel'. We laughed, we ate dinner from food trucks, we serviced out bikes ourselves, and there wasn't a soigneur in sight.

And the race – I've seen a lot of gravel races recently getting a bit low on gravel. Yeah. How is it a gravel race is half of it is on road? That's more like a road race to me with some bumpy bits. I'm a purist. Make Gravel Gravel Again! I know not everywhere can connect endless gravel, but this one ticked the boxes with over 95% of loose road surface.

'It was almost a spiritual experience'

I've been anxiously waiting for the World Cups to start this year. I've been training for months, doing smaller races to prepare, but I soon found that nothing was to prepare me for the mammoth course laid out for us. Whilst it was only 125km, there was 3200 metres of total climbing, with the final climbs having huge stretches at over 25% gradient.

The gravel was exceptional. Whilst not technical, the high speed steep downhill fire roads were enough to force gaps and send the race into warp speed.

After a very intense start, shuffling for the first corners, countless attacks, fighting for position into climbs, almost losing sight of how the race was unfolding I thought to myself, 'OK – game on!' The race found its rhythm and I found myself in the second half of the race in a battle for the win with Adam Blazevic, who won the U19 Australian Cyclo-cross Championships back in 2016.

I'd not met Adam before but you could see in his physique and his skills that he was a very, very classy bike rider. I'd bridged a two- or three-minute gap to catch him, so when I did I also knew, perhaps, that was my last solid bullet, so I just hoped we were both hurting before the last three climbs, all over 25%.

Alas, the young buck dropped me, and then it was what it was. I rode in for second to a huge buzz at the event village.

It was disappointing to not win, because I really thought I could, but it's just given me more respect for the racing discipline and in many ways helped me realise what else I need to do or change in my training to make sure I can level up for future events.

Racing gravel in Australia exceeded all expectations, and believe me, my proud Australian bias meant that my expectations were very high. Racing through the rusty red clay roads, weaving through the beautiful eucalyptus bushland, when the early morning mist rolled over the sunburned hills, whilst the golden morning light diffused throughout the clouds... It was almost a spiritual experience.

Not to mention the adrenaline of dodging mobs of kangaroos which jumped their way onto the course more than a few times. Australia has certainly understood the culture of gravel, yet in its own way created a thing of beauty unique to itself.

I think this is the beauty of the UCI Gravel World Series, as it will grow gravel in places that you'd never expect to go and race, and likely every continent will have its own unique feeling.

I can't wait to get straight into the next race, but until then, there's some work to do!

Joe Dombrowski is one of just three American riders at this year's Giro d'Italia, and in an exclusive diary for Cyclingnews, he will share his thoughts on the racing, reveal what goes on inside the peloton, and share his own emotions of riding the Corsa Rosa.

He won a tough stage to Sestola in the 2021 Corsa Rosa and returns to the Italian Grand Tour as part of the Astana Qazaqstan led by Miguel Angel López and Vincenzo Nibali. However, Dombrowski hopes to also have a chance for another stage victory during the three weeks of intense racing.

With the first week, and the first rest day now behind us, I finally have that feeling of the rhythm of the race that a Grand Tour brings. I've always felt that getting to the first rest day in a Grand Tour, is probably like getting to Wednesday in a normal workweek. You have to get over the hump, and from there, the weekend, or in our case, the finish, seems to come more quickly. 

By now, things have settled slightly in terms of nerves in the bunch, and people have found their place both where they sit in the peloton, and where they will sit on the results sheet. I always find it interesting how over the course of a Grand Tour, you get to really know the riders around you. Sometimes even when a rider is somewhat out of my field of vision, I can sense who it is behind me or to the side, by how they move on the bike, and how they fill gaps, or not, in the bunch. 

Inevitably this leads to some guys you find rather annoying; but at least it provides funny material for our dinner table conversations. It always seems that the same guys are chopping corners, or throwing water bottles at walls next to the road so they roll back into the bunch like a land mine. Yesterday one rider yelled at me "Joe you're one of the friendliest guys, but one of the most annoying in the bunch!" The peloton can be a hostile environment, and in truth, we are probably all sometimes at fault.

With a few hard stages out of the way, there are already some riders whose race, at least for the general classification, is over. In my last diary, I tipped Simon Yates as looking very strong, coming off his storming ride in the time trial in Budapest. In the stage to Blockhaus, he lost big time. It seems he is dealing with a knee injury following his crash, and how that changes their strategy remains to be seen. Anyone can have a bad day, and he's a rider with class ... it could open up an opportunity for him to win a stage later in this Giro. Wilco Kelderman is another strong rider who saw his GC aspirations disappear on the stage to Blockhaus, but who could also knock out a stage later in the race.

The situation within our team is not so different either. We came into the Giro with Miguel Angel López as our GC leader, but early in the first stage in Sicily, he was out of the race. I had the green light that day to go for the breakaway, and in the scrum of the start, I never heard over the radio that Miguel had stopped. It wasn't until later in the stage when I went to the car to get bottles, that I realized he was missing. Of course, it's disappointing to lose your leader, but adversity can often open the door of opportunity if you have the right mindset. With the loss of Miguel, it has changed our approach to the race. I will look to help Vincenzo [Nibali], but also I will also likely have more freedom to target stages, and that's something I will certainly try to capitalize on.

Personally, I am trying to see this as a nice opportunity, especially considering the evolution of the way Grand Tours are being ridden in the last few years. If we take out the sprint stages, and the time trials, it seems that the rest of the stages are being won more and more by the breakaway. I think that part of the reason for this is that we are racing faster, and more aggressively all day. With that in mind, why should the few big GC teams pull all day and waste energy, when they are actually racing a completely different race?

This aggressive racing creates somewhat of a vicious cycle. When the peloton senses that there will be a lack of control, the attacking for the break will carry on longer, and a strong break can go clear and have a real shot at winning. As the GC teams look to save their bullets, the race for stage wins becomes more open, and more difficult to control, likely reinforcing the big GC teams' hesitation to pull all day.

In reality, we can probably count on two hands the number of riders who are likely able to win from the peloton in either a bunch sprint or a mountain top finish. For the rest, if you want to win, you need to be out in front. I took my opportunity on the stage to Blockhaus and made it into the day's break.

I felt strong all day, but with a maximum gap of only around five minutes, I knew it was going to be difficult. As I mentioned, the big GC teams don't always have the interest to pull all day behind the break. During the stage, I didn't understand why Trek was pulling to keep the gap so close. I wouldn't really classify them as one of the big GC teams though, and while I didn't feel we were ever going to be a threat to the pink jersey of Juanpe López, perhaps they felt differently. In the end, they have likely secured the maglia rosa for at least another few days.

Had things panned out differently, with a bit more of a leash, I felt that I would have had a real crack at a stage win. But as my friend Mikael Cherel had said a few days earlier "Joe, you know in the end it's always the peloton that decides." In this case, the decision was not in our favor, but I hope next time they decide to let us go. 

Joe Dombrowski is one of just three American riders at this year's Giro d'Italia, and in an exclusive diary for Cyclingnews, he will share his thoughts on the racing, reveal what goes on inside the peloton, and share his own emotions of riding the Corsa Rosa.

He won a tough stage to Sestola in the 2021 Corsa Rosa and returns to the Italian Grand Tour as part of the Astana Qazaqstan led by Miguel Angel López and Vincenzo Nibali. However, Dombrowski hopes to also have a chance for another stage victory during the next three weeks of intense racing.

After months of build-up, weeks spent devoutly at altitude and lots of intense training and racing, the Giro d'Italia has finally started.

Yet in truth, it feels like the Giro hasn't really begun, that we've ridden a final pre-Giro race to get ready for the real action in Italy. It's a strange but interesting feeling. It's like enjoying a good espresso coffee somewhere in the world but knowing that an espresso always seems to taste better when you're in Italy. 

I had the same feelings the last time the Giro started abroad, in Israel in 2018. Obviously not being in Italy makes it a unique event and Hungary was special thanks to the huge crowds but the logistics and race rhythm are also different with a Grande Partenza outside of Italy.

In Hungary we started with a road stage followed by essentially a prologue, an inversion for sure of standard programming. And while Mathieu van der Poel in the maglia rosa seems a plausible outcome regardless of the order of the first stages, it certainly created a variation in momentum.

This year's Giro feels different even from a logistics point of view. In Hungary we had our second team bus, second mechanic's truck, and of course different team cars. The bus is our home from home during the Giro but knowing we're on one bus in Hungary for three days meant not getting too comfy.

An entire separate fleet of team vehicles awaits us in Sicily and so symbolically marks the start of the Italian Corsa Rosa.

With the three Grande Partenza stages done, we said 'Ciao' to Hungary and all 175 riders, team staff, and our race bikes took a charter flight from Hungary to Sicily on Monday morning. While technically the first rest day, I'm sceptical of how restful it will turn out to be. We had a 6:30 am wake-up, a two-and-a-half-hour flight, and a training ride after arrival.

Juxtaposed against this slightly altered rhythm of a Grand Tour start is the metronomic, and perhaps increasingly robotic, day to day physiological and health monitoring. It seems we are always finding new things to measure everything in the name of performance.

In the morning we report our resting heart rate, heart rate variability, and submit a urine sample to check hydration levels. We check body weight before the stage, and immediately after the stage.

In addition to a race nutritional plan for each stage, our food portions for breakfast and dinner are calculated for each individual rider and weighed on a gram scale. Our power file is uploaded straight after the stage, and the nutritionist also calculates what is needed based on the kilojoules expended on the bike that day, and post-stage weight for hydration purposes.

While this leaves us with quite a robotic feeling, in a way it's easier to have someone tell you everything you need to do, then to have to think about it yourself.

Impressed by Simon Yates and Budapest

Two flat road stages, and a time trial, have made for a relatively easy start to the racing but I expect stage 4 to Mount Etna could be explosive, with the GC riders showing their cards for the first time.

For me, the most impressive performance so far has been Simon Yates' win in the time trial. It is reminiscent of when he came out guns blazing in the 2018 Giro. He won several stages, but saw his pink jersey and GC hopes crumble after he went very deep in the time trial and then Chris Froome made his assault on Colle de Finestre.

Whether Yates takes a more conservative approach to this Giro is yet to be seen, but clearly he is a man in form, and for me, one of the clear favourites.

It'll be interesting to see what happens on the climb of Mount Etna, it will be a special day for Vincenzo Nibali, who hails from nearby Messina, and for Miguel Angel Lopez as we work to protect him for his shot at the GC. 

As bike racers we never get to see much of where we race, we're always resting, travelling and racing hard. But Budapest seemed like a cool city with some beautiful architecture.

While I'm looking forward to racing to Italy, and getting into the full Giro rhythm, I've earmarked Budapest as a place I would like to come back to visit for perhaps a long weekend.

Of course, I hope to be racing in Italy for the next three weekends and then there's lots of other races to come. But Budapest is on my list to visit when I'm not distracted by a bike race. 

Joe Dombrowski is one of just three American riders at this year's Giro d'Italia, and in an exclusive diary for Cyclingnews, he will share his thoughts on the racing, reveal what goes on inside the peloton, and share his own emotions of riding the Corsa Rosa.

He won a tough stage to Sestola in the 2021 Corsa Rosa and returns to the Italian Grand Tour as part of the Astana Qazaqstan led by Miguel Angel López and Vincenzo Nibali. However, Dombrowski hopes to also have a chance for another stage victory during the next three weeks of intense racing.

While this is my first written diary for Cyclingnews, I'm about to start my seventh Giro d'Italia. As they say, time flies when you’re having fun. 

During the next three weeks I’ll be riding alongside Miguel Angel López and Vincenzo Nibali in the Astana Qazaqstan Giro team, and providing a special diary from inside the Giro d'Italia each week. I hope you enjoy them. I'm writing them myself between stages and so let me know what you think about my diary and let me know what you want to know about from inside the Giro peloton.

With my experience of toeing the start line at the Italian Grand Tour comes the experience of how demanding these special races can be. As I travel to Budapest, all the major prep work has been done for the first big objective of my season and I feel ready to race for three weeks. 

The Grand Tour bubble is a hectic place and coming into it mentally fresh is as important as being physically ready. 

I spent a long block on the road in late March and April, going from the Volta a Catalunya, via an altitude camp in Tenerife, to the Tour of the Alps. It was made even longer by the fact that my wife got Covid while I was away, so it was impossible to go home in between the races. 

I spent 34 days away in total, so I really tried to soak up my ten days at home in Nice between the Tour of the Alps and heading to Budapest. After such a long stretch on the road with the team, I really felt the need to have a calm week at home, to also be mentally prepared in the best way for the Giro. 

This easier period at home also serves as a 'modus operandi' of sorts for how I would approach the Giro, both in and out of the race. I reset my energy conservation mode, to charge my mental and physical batteries and create some good habits for the weeks to come. 

There is a lot of physical and mental stress at a Grand Tour. There will be a lot of crashes in the first week because no one will want to use their brakes. There's a lot at stake, with GC teams and sprint teams clashing over space at the front of the bunch, looking to guard their respective interests.

You'd think every rider that lines up on stage 1 thinks they have a legitimate shot of winning overall when we arrive in Verona. Fortunately, when the fatigue inevitably sets in, the bunch becomes a lot more civilised, and so usually a safer place.

What is perhaps less obvious, is the day-to-day hustle and bustle of Grand Tour racing and the toll it takes over three weeks. Days are often long, from an 8:00am wakeup call, breakfast, transfer on the bus, race meeting, race, shower on the bus, transfer to the next hotel, massage, and dinner sometimes as late into the evening as 10:30 pm. It’s constant, with little time to reflect and enjoy it. So much so that when I finish a Grand Tour, there's a certain feeling of withdrawal, just from the lack of constant stimulus and stress. 

Which brings me back to approaching things each day in a calm manner, finding a Giro inner peace amongst the constant chaos, if it is possible. 

I try to avoid too much time looking at the phone - sometimes messages don't get replies. I tried to avoid getting stressed out about small things and focus on the racing and daily recovery.  

With the crammed days, there's always a push from directors to go in the team car after the race. Yet I almost always opt for the team bus. They say a car is quicker but is probably stuck in traffic five minutes ahead of the bus anyway. To me the bus always feels like a safe place after a hectic stage, where you can kick back, put your feet up, and watch a movie or do some reading. 

A calm mind and aiming for some quality post-Giro beef

A calm and collected approach can make the difference in the race. I think it did for me last year when I won a stage in the first week of the Giro in Sestola.

At some point it was clear that the breakaway I was in that day was going to make it to the finish. A stage win, and potentially the maglia rosa was up for grabs.

I had been in this scenario before in the Giro, but a stage victory had always remained elusive. On some occasions I felt I was the strongest in a winning move but perhaps I was not patient enough or was too willing to share the workload with my fellow escapees. But in this most recent instance, a bit more experience, and a calmer mind paid off and I took one of the best victories of my career.

In the last few days at home in Nice I took it as easy as possible, my enthusiasm and motivation for the weeks ahead growing more and more.

On our evening walks around the neighbourhood, my wife and I often pass my favourite local butcher. They've always got a great, albeit somewhat expensive, selection. I remember last year around this time I joked that if I won a stage in the Giro, we would enjoy a nice dinner with some of the dry aged wagyu beef in the window.

At €320 per kg, it always seemed a bit too much for anything but the most special occasion. Unfortunately, the day after I won last year, I had a nasty crash and was out of Giro with a concussion. In the whirlwind of recovery, our steak dinner never happened.

I think we have a strong Astana Qazaqstan team for the Giro, and my role will be to support our GC leader to the best of my ability. But you never know what opportunities may arise if you keep a calm head and your open eyes.

Wish us a great Giro, and maybe with a bit of luck, in a month's time, I'll be finally dining on the finest steak.

Elisa Balsamo is the reigning women's road world champion and wears the rainbow jersey to begin her inaugural season with Trek-Segafredo. She completed an impressive hat-trick this spring by sprinting to victory at three one-day races - Trofeo Alfredo Binda, Classic Brugge-De Panne and Gent-Wevelgem - and was ranked at the top of the Women's WorldTour rankings. The Italian rider shares her emotions about a dominant start, riding with a new team and insights from the peloton in a blog series for Cyclingnews.

Back in January, if I had been asked to put down on paper my dream debut with Trek-Segafredo, I think the narrative wouldn't have been much different than what was the reality of the past few weeks. Maybe, in some way, the reality has been almost better.

First, the win at the first-ever race with the team, at the Setmana Valenciana. Then the fourth place at Omloop Het Nieuwsblad, second place at Ronde Van Drenthe and the series of three successes in eight days at Trofeo Binda, Brugge-De Panne and the Gent-Wevelgem. Well… not bad, right? 

If I say that these were my expectations, it would perhaps sound arrogant. But anyway these results are not the result of a lucky astral coincidence. My winter training was planned to start strong and get to the Classics, my big goal for the first part of the season, with the best condition. Mission accomplished.

In this dream setting, there's a moment that stands out for me: the Trofeo Binda - Brugge-De Panne - Gent-Wevelgem triple wins. Three of the most important races on the calendar and three very different races, compared to another. But let me explain in order.

I felt a strong emotion when I won in Italy while wearing the rainbow jersey. The warmth of the crowd at the Trofeo Binda and the presence of my family were a determining factor in motivating me. It was a tough race, with a challenging final circuit with two climbs that could have cost me dearly. However, I knew I could have my chance, but only if the right conditions were created.

At the key moment of the race, my Trek-Segafredo teammates took the lead. They were flawless, so strong and I will never stop thanking them for that. They controlled the race and set the final for a small group sprint finish. I started the sprint with 100 metres to go, pulling straight ahead with all my strength. No one could catch me, and so it was, taking the win and the joy of crossing the finish line with raised arms.

From Italy to Belgium, the Brugge-De Panne was the most unexpected victory. On paper, it is a flat race that is normally made harder by the strong winds. This year, however, we had ideal spring weather with beautiful sunshine and ... no wind. The result was a fast race, with several crashes in the last kilometers. The team's plan for me was being the lead-out rider for Chloe Hosking to launch her sprint. With less than 2km to go, she unfortunately got caught in a crash and so, without thinking too much, I had to throw myself into the sprint. When I won, I instinctively laughed out of joy and surprise.

A few days later it was Gent-Wevelgem - my favourite race. The race menu is typically Belgian: walls and cobblestones. My love for this race (and Belgian Classics in general) stems from that. To put it bluntly, it's a little bit of love and hate, because Belgium is a demanding test benchmark for a rider. If you come in with the right form, you face the challenge, as charged as a spring. But if something goes wrong, every kilometre is pure agony. Last year, was a sort of springboard for me with Valcar. At Gent-Wevelgem, in 2021, I finished fourth and, from there, the phone started ringing with insistence …

This year, I started from Gent with the goal of improving on that result and getting on the podium. I was super determined and, like at Binda, my teammates were, too. Thanks to them I fulfilled a dream. They helped me from the first to the last kilometre. Ours was a perfect mechanism, like that of Swiss watches. I finalized it all with the best sprint I could do and, although it wasn't really needed, I had the proof that cycling is a team sport. Without my teammates, these victories would not have happened.

It was a golden week that will remain in my memory forever. I am very satisfied with the start of the season, but far be it from me to spend too much time wallowing in these thoughts! 

The Ronde van Vlaanderen, a week after Gent-Wevelgem, was an important lesson in where I can still grow and improve. As well as the Amstel Gold Race, the Classic that is less suited to my characteristics and where I still managed to finish eighth. 

The victories give you awareness, but perhaps it's from the races where you don't win that you learn the most valuable lessons. My stated goal is to become a Classics hunter. Those in which I'm struggling now, I'd like them to become my hunting ground in the future. Paris-Roubaix included, which I'll be racing on Saturday. 

In all honesty, I don't feel ready to be competitive in the Enfer du Nord yet. In short, we still have to get to know each other better... Last year, was an extreme challenge, made more so by the weather conditions than by the cobblestones. I suffered pain in my hands for days, but this year I will be more prepared. My hope is that we can at least race in dry conditions. The rest, we'll only find out as we race.

Rach McBride is a professional triathlete who will turn to the dirt in 2022 to race the Life Time Grand Prix gravel series, which boasts a $250,000, split equally between men and women. McBride is listed in the women's category but identifies as non-binary and will blog about their experience in the series for Cyclingnews.

I've been a full-time professional triathlete for over a decade racing in the female category. Throughout my career as an athlete (and in so many other aspects of life), I have always felt out of place. When the announcers called up all the "ladies" at the start line, or I had to check off that "F" box on registration forms, that just didn't feel like me. Everything clicked into place when I realized I was actually gender non-binary. It made me see the "why" behind the oddness I had felt in sport.

In triathlon, the inclusion of non-binary categories is almost non-existent, and there is definitely not much of an elite field as of yet. I am grateful that many races are stepping up to create a more inclusive space and had been working with some local race organizers to start offering a third category. Life Time Events first came onto my radar when I learned they were creating a non-binary race category in ALL of their events from 2020 onward.

Then on my Instagram feed last year, I saw Abi Robins on the podium with one of the same trophies that the male and female winners got, having won the non-binary Unbound race. Abi was alone on that podium. I decided then I needed to quit deferring my Unbound entry. I wanted to be up there on that podium with Abi and hopefully more non-binary racers who were bound to start showing up (and they are!).

When Life Time approached me about applying for their inaugural Life Time Grand Prix, it had "ADVENTURE!" and opportunity written all over it. I was excited about a game-changing race series in response to the explosion of gravel and the emergence of professional gravel racers. Although the series currently only runs a female and male category, I am grateful to be able to continue to race each individual race as a non-binary athlete, with my results being included in the series female category. I hope that continuing to show up at these races will help encourage other non-binary athletes to come race with me, just like Abi inspired me.

This triathlete is not actually new to gravel though. Although I'm a multisport athlete at heart and have been full-time since 2011, I've actually been riding gravel in the Pacific Northwest for years. I fell in love with non-pavement riding over a decade ago in beautiful Lillooet, BC where my cyclist friends would go train multiple times a year. This was before gravel bikes were a thing. We would toss 28mm tires on our road bikes to handle the remote gravel roads. Eventually, I stopped tormenting my road bike, graduated to a rim-brake CX bike, and then finally a real gravel rig when Diamondback Bikes came out with their first Haanjo series.

Through the years, I've sprinkled in gravel racing where it would fit within my triathlon season. This was challenging because of just how tough and taxing racing gravel often was. But that's also what I absolutely loved about it. The courses were brutal. I remember crossing the finish line with a win at Walla Walla Grit, after over 7 hours of riding hard on technical terrain and bursting into tears. I was just so rocked by how hard it all was. This type of racing was still in its infancy and very grassroots. The post-race free beer and meal was a welcome treat to celebrate every finisher. There may not have been any prize money, but I felt like I left every race enriched by a feeling of community and good vibes.

Last year when my sponsor HED Wheels mentioned they were supporting Life Time Big Sugar Gravel, I jumped at the chance to switch things up a bit. I was at the tail end of a disappointing triathlon season. Something was going mysteriously, horribly wrong with my body when I hit the 6-7 hour mark of these 9+ hour races – extreme fatigue, slurred speech, wobbling all over the marathon run course. I was frustrated with stumbling over the finish line with sub-par results.

Big Sugar was also a tough performance. I lost the front of the race part way when I dropped my chain and then snagged a couple of flats on the notoriously sharp Arkansas rocks. I still landed a non-binary win (redemption!) and got to stand on that podium with Abi. Competing for the first time in a category that fully aligned with my gender identity was quite a profound experience. I felt seen, validated, and celebrated along with every other rider.

Then when I was accepted into the Life Time Grand Prix, it hit me. I had just signed myself up for a season of mostly bike racing, including some rather high-profile mountain bike events that I had never even dreamed of competing in. How many times had I ridden a mountain bike? Well, once…10 years ago. And who was I going to be competing against in this series? Folks who had literally gone to the Olympics in the sport. Was this triathlete in over their head?! Yikes.

When I finally got my Diamondback mountain bikes in my hands, with all the shocks and dropper bits and so many more things to adjust, it admittedly looked like rocket science to me. Don't get me wrong. I thrive on challenge. I love testing my limits to race against the best of the best. I've got the engine; it's the technical skills where I am way behind. The learning curve has been steep. I hit the redonk technical trails of Vancouver's north shore with the help of my jack-of-all-trades training partner and best buddy. It turns out, I'm not too shabby (for a trigeek!) at pointing a bike downhill and going over things I never dreamed I'd be able to.

Unfortunately, on my second ride out, I learned the value of knee pads after I knocked my knee pretty hard on the frame of my Diamondback Release, bruising my patella. The healing process has been tricky, limited in both cycling and running, taking two steps forward, one step back. I have been crossing my fingers and toes until the last minute in hopes that there was even a possibility to hit the start line of the series opener Sea Otter Fuego 80.

My body is finally getting back up and riding, but it's a bummer to say that I will not in fact be able to join the stellar lineup this weekend in Monterey. The Ironman World Championships (2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike, and 26-mile marathon run) are just around the corner in four weeks. I have had to prioritize keeping my body moving forward in the healing process this early in the season, so I can finally race the world championships I've been waiting for over two years for, not to mention the rest of the incredible Life Time Grand Prix!

You can still catch me in Monterey though. Wouldn't want to miss my first Sea Otter experience even if it means I have to cheer on the action from the sidelines.

Rukhsar Habibzai is the founder of Cheetah Cycling Club and captain of her nation’s first women’s cycling team, a group of ground-breaking women cyclists who were nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2016 for their bravery and courage in defying gender taboos in Afghanistan. Born in the province of Ghazni, Habibzai was completing the dentistry programme at Cheragh Medical University located in Kabul when she was forced to leave her country as part of the mass evacuation of vulnerable citizens who faced targeted gender violence by the Taliban. Now living in Virginia, Habibzai is a dental assistant and racing for Virginia’s Blue Ridge Twenty24 Cycling Team in 2022.

I have cycled on the roads of a country with an endless history of war and corruption and where women and girls have no freedom to choose their careers or pursue their dreams. My passion for becoming a professional cyclist, and having fearless team members on my side, helped us break gender taboos by becoming the first females to cycle professionally in Afghanistan. In doing so, we set an example for young girls with dreams, and we inspired them to believe that they can do it, too. 

With little to no support of any kind from the public, our cycling team transcended the extremely narrow-minded vision of our society and the strict cultural norms that often treat women as nothing more than property to own and use.

I can recall one of the first times I tried riding a bicycle in public. In the ninth grade of my school, I tried riding a bike from one end of the street to the other. I gained confidence and wanted to go further next time, but I heard a random man shout at me, "don't you have any shame riding a bike?" Those words struck me like a flash of lightning, and they took away the freshly gained self-confidence, which would later on make me hesitate to leave the house for a very long time. 

If I could meet that man today, I would thank him instead of curse him because those words also gave birth to a question that echoed in my head day and night: Why can't girls ride a bicycle just like boys do? 

Asking this question became the reason that I am who I am today. I made it my mission to prove our society, which doubted the courage and ability of women, wrong. 

A dear friend of mine heard about a federation for female cyclists on the radio, and I can still remember the surge of uncontrolled happiness I felt after she told me that they were open to accepting new members. That same day, my friend and I went to the general directorate of physical education and sports to find out more. It was my very first time leaving home without my brother, mother or father accompanying me, and without my family's permission. 

By coincidence, I ran into the head of the cycling federation. My friend and I approached him with a mix of hesitation, surprise, happiness and asked him if we could be a part of the team. After hearing about our passion and enthusiasm for riding bicycles, he gave us a kind look and said he was happy to have met us. To our surprise, he told us that he had turned his house into the office of the cycling federation.

My mind latched on to worries and questions; Would my mom let me ride a bicycle in public? What would my dad and brother think and say to me? 

The man gave us the address and his contact information, but before leaving, I asked him, "Excuse me, sir, what does a person need to become a professional cyclist?" He only asked that we show up. In my excitement, I blurted out, "Does that mean that we are on the team?" The man smiled and said, "Yes!"

I cannot express the joy I felt at that moment nor the fear of convincing my family to support me in this decision.

I told my mom, who thought I was joking at first, but she later confronted me about my choice to join the cycling team. Initially, my whole family stood against the idea of me riding a bicycle in public because they were concerned about the lack of security, strict cultural and religious boundaries, and the stigma attached to a female riding a bike. I begged my family to agree, but they said, "how can we allow our girl to ride a bicycle in such an insecure and strict society and send her to practice with a man whom we know nothing about?" 

After days of constant pleading, I convinced my mother to meet with the head of the cycling federation. He visited our home and spoke to her. I remember him saying, "Don't let your child's talent go to waste. I see a lot of potential in Rukhsar." He also asked my mother and my family to support me in becoming a cyclist and be the stepping stones to my success. He promised my mother that he would take all the responsibility and pick me up in his car and drop me off home safely after training. 

Sadiq Sadiqi was the founder of the Afghan National Cycling Team, and was also a coach for the women’s cycling team of Afghanistan. Although he was well aware of the stigma and the danger that came attached to the role of a coach for the women's cycling team, he took pride in coaching us and accepted all the consequences with open arms. His love for cycling and aim of “equal opportunity for all” helped him transcend all the barriers of shame and harassment. 

To provide the Afghan women with the equal opportunity was his mission, and he gave it his best and did whatever he could to help the young girls succeed in turning their dreams into reality even if it meant going to every woman cyclist’s house and talking to their parents for days on end to convince them to allow and encourage their daughters and sisters to pursue their sports and educational dreams. “Our beloved country will never prosper without successful women," Mr. Sadiqi often said. He was our protective shield in the men-dominated society. Any criticism sent our way, landed on him first before it reached us. 

He had an old 4Runner that could be easily spotted in the city by the bicycle attached to its back all the time. He was our only source of constant encouragement and support. Mr Sadiqi’s only wish was to see Afghan sports women compete on the international level and prove to the world the strength, dedication, and resilience of Afghan women.

My mom agreed, and she and I would go out on Fridays and to my coach's house, where I would put on my sports clothes and gear.  On my first day of cycling training, I told my coach that I wanted to ride in the city of Kabul. 

"You will ride in the city one day," he said, "but for now, we're going to go outside of Kabul, where men won't curse and abuse you so that you can train peacefully."

Since becoming a cyclist, I have realized that the phrase "never give up and you shall succeed" has become true for me. I believe that if you stay true to your dreams, they eventually turn into reality.

[It has been reported in several news outlets that the late Abdul Sadiq Sadiqi was removed from his position as the president of the Afghanistan Cycling Federation (ACF) on allegations of mismanagement and corruption in 2016. He later died from COVID-19 complications. Rukhsar Habizai addressed the allegations from her perspective in her blog below - ed.]

Sadiq Sadiqi was the only person who truly encouraged the girls’ cycling team. Mr. Sadiqi even had his own house contribute to the cycling club to provide more room for its office and storage. Since it was extremely hard for girls to ride a bike in public compared to male cyclists, Mr. Sadiqi expressed the need to encourage female cyclists more to help them overcome the fear and hesitation attached to being a sportswoman in Afghan society. 

The male cyclists took this “extra encouragement” for female cyclists as favouritism and started to resent Mr. Sadiqi for it. The general directorate of physical education was well aware of the problem. With time, the issue spiralled out of control and eventually, the UCI got involved and sent Mr. Dato Amarjit Singh Gill, an arbitrator, to resolve the dispute. 

I am unaware of what facts Mr. Gill’s report included nor of the solution to the problem. The opposing team grew desperate and accused Mr. Sadiqi of mismanagement. Now, This is what I know as a female cyclist who had Mr. Sadiqi’s support during the most crucial and toughest time of my life.

Mr. Sadiqi didn’t have enough salary and didn’t have anyone that could help him plan and manage the team properly. He did not have good knowledge about advertising for sponsorships either. He juggled multiple tasks at once, and at one point, one of the male cyclists from the opposing team asked to rejoin Mr. Sadiqi’s team and Mr. Sadiqi accepted. Most of our team members protested against the decision but Mr. Sadiqi let him into the team anyway. 

After some days, I got a call from my friend saying that they have arrested Mr. Sadiqi for selling a sports bike to a student who had recently returned back to our team. By the time I arrived at Mr. Sadiqi’s house, there were around 30 police officers present at the scene including the male cyclist who asked Mr. Sadiqi for rejoining our team. The officers were busy confiscating all sports equipment including my bike that I occasionally parked at his house for my bike had a problem. I tried to convince the police that the bike was mine and begged them not to take it away from me but they continued their duty.

Mr. Sadiqi was imprisoned for multiple years and died from COVID-19 complications after receiving bail. I am not trying to defend or defame anyone. However, female cyclists such as Masoma Ali Zada — who was the first Afghan participant to take part in the Olympic Games in 2021— and also cyclists who still have dreams of greatness to pursue, are good examples of Mr. Sadiqi’s efforts. I am ever grateful for his kindness and support.

Atop Adelaide’s stunning Mt Lofty, hours into my fourth consecutive day training on my new gravel bike (did you see it’s a Colnago?), having torn up the steep, rocky trails, I stop, and look out, trying to enjoy the view into the city and beyond to the sea. 

Everything hurts. The bad kind of hurt. My arms, back and shoulders feel like the morning after your first gym session. I have DOMS, bike DOMS (is that a thing?) 

I’ll admit it, even professional cyclists who’ve become accustomed to receiving new bikes regularly get new bike fever. Especially me. Once I have a new toy, I can’t keep off it. This month was no different, especially as it was a new gravel bike. 

Grimacing in pain unscrewing my bidon lid, it struck me that perhaps I had cooked the goose and that maybe, just maybe, I’d done too much gravel. 

During the last few years of my WorldTour racing career, my coach would subtly say: “Nathan, do you think perhaps you’re riding your gravel bike too much?” I’d get the message and back it off a little. 

I’ve always loved gravel riding because it really complements training for the road in so many ways, but you truly do have to be event focused if you’re doing something at the highest level. If you want to win on the road, your focus has to be on the road.

So does this rule apply also for gravel? If you want to win the world’s biggest gravel races, do you have to do most of your riding on gravel? Well, let’s break it down somewhat. 

Let’s bring it back to my faithful moment atop Mt.Lofty. Maybe I just needed a rest day? Well, I won’t argue that - in fact I agree - but there is a difference here. Compared to road, gravel totally ends you. If you compare how you feel after a four-hour road ride vs four hours on gravel, you’d never know it was the same sport. 

Gravel is a complete body workout. No, I’m not selling it to sound like the eight-minute ab total workout video but when you break down the demands of gravel, you begin to get it. 

When you’re riding the gravel bike all day you're making small compensations with your core, your lower back, you’re riding super steep and loose surfaces which makes your pedal technique more important than pure power. You are constantly doing short, hard accelerations and then often not pedal for long downhill sections. Your upper body, arms, shoulders are all working hard to keep the bike stable and absorbing vibrations and impacts. The list goes on. 

In essence, there is no flow compared to the road. It’s hard. So can you train for gravel just by doing gravel? The answer is tricky, so let’s digress further. 

I’m not going to argue with those out there who are adamant that all they want/need/can do is gravel. I totally respect that, but I think if you want to focus on gravel, as in, really focus on winning gravel races against the best, to go fast on gravel, you need to do less. 

Do I need to do less gravel riding?

What? Did I just admit that I need to do less gravel? I hate that I’ve come to this point. Who am I?

I’ve always been of the opinion that knowledge = Theory+Experience. I’ve always had trouble accepting advice from sports scientists that don’t ride bikes. Simple as that. They’re rich in theory, but don’t tell me what’s up if they’ve never tried eating 120 grams of carbs per hour, for six hours. 

In theory, their science makes sense. But seriously. Have they tried it? Ouchie. Coaches I think need to walk the walk before I trust their talk. But how can I say I’ve walked the walk with gravel when really, I’m just starting.

Well, above all else I’m a racer, I love riding my gravel bike but there is a limit. So what do the other big hitters of the gravel world do? 

Pete Stetina (If I remember correctly) thinks his training is still about 80 per cent road, 20 per cent off-road. But that much road? Really? Ouch. Didn’t I just quit road for gravel? 

Mountain bike riders are similar, maybe closer to 70/30, but that makes sense, because to do the sustained and specific efforts needed for the demands of racing, you need an uninterrupted road. Not only do you need an uninterrupted smooth road for hard efforts, you also need it for easy endurance days. Doing back-to-back six-hour days on gravel tracks is absolutely destroying for your body. So if you’re training to go fast on gravel, you really need to ride the road bike too.

Okay, I admit it’s time for some more road

After my bad romance in Adelaide, riding my new bike too many days in a row and way too hard, I took some rest. I went to the beach to check myself before I continued to wreck myself and heeded to my own advice: I need to do some days on the road bike. 

Since then, I am pleased to say, the hours on the road have brought my legs and body into a much better, and much less painful state. And to be honest, those long days on the road bike are much more enjoyable when it isn’t every day. 

Moreover, the days on the gravel bike have become invariably faster and, for what it’s worth, way more fun. 

You can in fact have too much of a good thing. Gravel it seems. Is no different. 

After a one-year hiatus, the Euro Cross Academy (ECA) returned to Belgium this week, with 10 junior riders from the United States embarking on a near three-week racing stint to get their first experience of European cyclo-cross.

In the final entry to the series on Cyclingnews, long-time programme mechanic Dave Hartman explains how much goes into the trip. For updates from the ECA, follow on Instagram: EuroCrossAcademyIG; Twitter: EuroCxAcademy and EuroCrossAcademy.com.

***

As I attempt to shake off the jet lag from the 2021/2022 EuroCrossAcademy (ECA) December block, now 3 a.m. with coffee in hand, I’m left with a sense of gratitude. To not only my colleagues who pulled off an amazing camp in the midst of plenty of adversity: a pandemic and an unprecedented bike/parts supply shortage, but also to our competitors who are all business between the tape, yet are willing to do whatever it takes to help each other out when the moment arises.

With 20+ bikes, as many spare wheel sets, spare parts, and really adverse conditions, the demand to keep everything in top shape is a laborious undertaking. Add to that the setup each race day of tents, trainers, pressure washers, water tanks, etc. With all of this to repeat every few days, it really takes a lot of care for the equipment and careful planning. If something breaks, is lost, or forgotten, there is always someone ready to help, either as a direct source or helping network to solve it. Or at the very least, someone to sympathize with.

This camaraderie is also evident in these junior racers we are there to support. Most of these young riders have never seen this level of competition, the conditions Europe has to offer, or the amount of work it takes to get them to the start line. It is really rewarding to see the development these riders achieve in such a condensed, intense period. Not only learning to race in a new environment but to cheer each other on, help find the start line, share chores at the house, or just help keep each other company while staying safe in our bubble.

In an ever polarizing world, it is refreshing to check out and focus only on cyclo-cross for an ECA race block. Everyone there with the same goals. Whether it’s good results, bad results, flat tires, broken shifters, different environments, different routines, we all come out of it with positive experiences, important bonds, great lessons and great memories.

Thank you, Geoff Proctor for your addictive passion that is Cross, and to Andi, Roger, Kristof, Sten, Bob, and Karen for running such a well-oiled machine that is EuroCrossAcademy.

After a one-year hiatus, the Euro Cross Academy (ECA) returned to Belgium this week, with 10 junior riders from the United States embarking on a near three-week racing stint to get their first experience of European cyclo-cross.

Cyclingnews is running a blog from the camp, with riders contributing throughout their Belgian adventure and the latest installment is provided by 17-year-old Marcin Shelton. He raced at the Namur World Cup and the GP Sven Nys in Baal. For updates from the ECA, follow on Instagram: EuroCrossAcademyIG; Twitter: EuroCxAcademy and EuroCrossAcademy.com.

***

Dr. Alban once said "it's my life."

I only did two races, one at the very start of the three-week block and one at the very end. Something both of those races had in common was the song "It's my life (Remix)" blasting at the start line. Europeans love themselves some Dr. Alban.

Even though I didn't get to race much due to the flu, I still learned so much. Everyone talks about how different the racing is here but it's not just that. Getting used to the style of life, the roads, and the weather is all part of the challenge. There is no elevation change here whatsoever, so the rides are completely different from the ones at home, which also takes a lot of getting used to.

There's also challenges about racing in Europe I didn't even think about before I went. It takes a long time just to settle in due to the change in sleep schedule. I got here four days before the Namur World Cup and that still wasn't enough time to race at 100%. 

In the future if I'm here for one big race like Worlds, I would come a week before to get on a good sleep schedule. Racing in Europe is important to any rider's development. It's the ultimate goal of any cyclist from America to be eventually competitive in Europe and make a career here. Staying here for weeks was a taste test of what it takes to be a full time cyclist here.

The only difference is that we have an amazing team already here to support us. I realize why it's so hard for people not from Europe to do well here. It takes so many things to happen and immense dedication. It also takes a team of people. Doing this by myself would be impossible. Europe is a whole new world and there's so many untapped opportunities here.

After a one-year hiatus, the Euro Cross Academy (ECA) returned to Belgium this week, with 10 junior riders from the United States embarking on a near three-week racing stint to get their first experience of European cyclo-cross.

Cyclingnews is running a blog from the camp, with riders contributing throughout their Belgian adventure and the ninth installment provided by 17-year-old Samantha Scott. In the women's junior race at the GP Sven Nys in Baal, the Californian finished in 8th place. For updates from the ECA, follow on Instagram: EuroCrossAcademyIG; Twitter: EuroCxAcademy and EuroCrossAcademy.com.

***

As I stood on the side of the Namur World Cup course, I watched as everyone around me successfully made it down the famous off-camber descent. My face burned with jealousy. I had already taken multiple attempts down this section, none of which were successful. Watching my competitors succeed made my mind jump to the idea of not being selected for the Worlds Team. I had never felt this overwhelmed for a race.

Later that night, I consulted with my coach. We went through my accomplishments thus far that helped me get selected for Namur. He told me that everyone is going to make mistakes, but I can surprise myself by racing my own race.

This was a turning point for me. From this moment forward, my confidence improved alongside better results. Throughout the trip I have come across multiple situations where I was overwhelmed, but this motto to race my own race resets me.

I applied this mantra to Zolder’s elite women’s field. This race went really well for me because I didn’t get caught up in who was around me. The start was hectic, filled with 120 of the top racers in the world. After I saw the green light, I navigated through the pack. This was a big moment because I only worried about where I was instead of who was around me. I didn’t come into this race with a goal in mind which took off tons of pressure as I was able to focus on my own ride.

I then brought this positive momentum into Baal the following weekend. This time I lined up with 36 of the best 17-18 junior women in the world. While this was one of the smaller races we did, it was one of the most difficult courses I've ever done. Instead of getting overwhelmed like I did at Namur, I tackled the course one section at a time.

Over the course of this trip I have found my rhythm in racing. I have learned how to overcome mental blocks by focusing on racing my own race. This is something I am looking forward to applying to my racing back home. I'm not only here for possible Worlds selection, but to learn and be the best I can be.

After a one-year hiatus, the Euro Cross Academy (ECA) returned to Belgium this week, with 10 junior riders from the United States embarking on a near three-week racing stint to get their first experience of European cyclo-cross.

Cyclingnews is running a blog from the camp, with riders contributing throughout their Belgian adventure and the ninth installment provided by 16-year-old Elsa Westenfelder. In the women's junior race at Namur, the Montana teen was the top US finisher in 26th place. For updates from the ECA, follow on Instagram: EuroCrossAcademyIG; Twitter: EuroCxAcademy and EuroCrossAcademy.com.

***

I imagine the cheers would’ve been deafening, as when Lucinda Brand’s name was called to the start of the elite women’s Telenet Superprestige Heusden-Zolder. But with COVID regulations meaning no spectators, it was nearly silent as another 65 names were called to the start line before mine in the junior race. As the UCI official announced two minutes to start, women around me slid between other riders, trying to get as far up on the start grid as they could. I tensed, waiting for the lights to go green. 

And then we were off, fighting for position and trying not to crash as we flew towards the first corner. A woman yelled at me in another language as I bumped her, and it struck me again how different it is to race here than in the United States. Two weeks ago I would not have thought it necessary to touch her. But here in Belgium, especially in the elite fields, every position counts, and rubbing is racing.

Getting to race with over 100 of the fastest cyclocross racers in the world was one of the most surreal experiences of my cyclocross career thus far. In the US, I am used to racing in fields of 25 or fewer junior women, so the jump to racing in fields at least twice that in the Namur and Dendermonde World Cups was already a big change. Racing in the elite women’s field was another step up, but having the opportunity to line up with the women I have admired and watched on TV was unforgettable. 

I can tell you that these racers are even faster than they seem on television. The courses are also much more challenging than they look, and I have really enjoyed getting to test my skills on them against the best in the world. Just getting to be in Europe for the first time has been incredible, let alone the racing. 

Although it has been difficult and somewhat stressful to navigate changing COVID regulations while trying to race, train, and adjust to a new routine, I am very grateful to be here and get to have this experience after junior races in Europe were canceled last season. 

In Zolder, I got pulled with two laps to go. Here, I have learned, results are not the most important part of racing, though they are a bonus. For my first trip to Belgium, I am here to learn and grow as a cyclocross racer, and I am very thankful that EuroCross Academy has given me the opportunity to do so, and presents a vision that aligns with my goals and values.

I know that my experiences racing here will change how I race in the US, and my goals heading into the New Year. I have one more race left in Belgium (Baal, Sven Nys’s race) on New Year’s Day. I am ready to give it my all and ride with what I have learned into next season.

After a one-year hiatus, the Euro Cross Academy (ECA) returned to Belgium this week, with 10 junior riders from the United States embarking on a near three-week racing stint to get their first experience of European cyclo-cross.

Cyclingnews is running a blog from the camp, with riders contributing throughout their Belgian adventure. Vaughn Veenendaal, a lanky 17-year-old from Colorado who has now completed three European races, provides the eighth segment of the series, sharing his perspective of endless adjustments to life and racing in Belgium. For updates from the ECA, follow on Instagram: EuroCrossAcademyIG; Twitter: EuroCxAcademy and EuroCrossAcademy.com.

***

Veldrijden, or cyclocross, is the epitome of change. The course is always changing and how you feel is fluctuating. This is exaggerated when you travel to Europe to race. The sheer amount of skilled riders means the course gets thrashed in minutes and there's no hope in racing the same way you pre-ride. And always be ready to run. 

And the change isn't just between the tape. 

Your normal routine isn’t quite the same, yet you still want to perform at the highest level. For starters, when my teammate Magnus White, from Boulder Junior Cycling, and I stepped off the plane and into Brussels International Airport, we had already been through an ordeal. Our original flights had been canceled due to a Colorado wind storm. This sent us into a spiral, scrambling to find new flights and make sure things lined up in time for us to race that weekend. We also had to work around the added protocols for both getting into Belgium and being able to race Namur. 

Thus, our Euro ‘cross experience had just begun. While our bus ride to the team house in Vorselaar was relaxing, we were still squished around our gear in our small Deschacht team van. It was at that point that I came to the realization that nothing was going to be perfect, and I would have few moments to myself for the next 18 days. 

Initially, the jet lag and constant social stimulus was fatiguing. On top of that, there was a creeping sense of unpreparedness. My openers were sub-par and my pre-race meal was different. How was I going to race when I was warming up and it was still so dark I could barely see the team across from us? 

Yet, I suffered my way across the finish line, relieved that it was over. I had made it through Namur, my first-ever European ‘cross race. Soon after, there was speculation that it might be my last, with the Belgian government meeting to decide if the juniors could continue to race despite the spike in Covid-19 cases.

Luckily, this did not happen, but there was a whole new set of obstacles standing between me and my next race. Staying healthy and strong for the races to come became the priority. After coming to the conclusion that it was in our best interest to stay in our bubble, the days between races seemed to crawl, with little to do except train, eat, sleep and hunt for the hidden Nutella and prep our Secret Santa gifts. 

As time passed, I began to adapt to the new circumstances and things began to change. Being so close to not being able to race put this great opportunity to grow and develop into sharp perspective for me. As my new mentor and camp leader, Geoff, wrote to me in his Secret Santa poem, “It’s not everyday a Veenendaal gets to take it to the wall”. 

This trip has been an amazing opportunity to learn and race, and now that I have a few races under my belt and I am more relaxed in the unknown, with the support from the great mechanics, Dave and Andi, and two experienced coaches, Roger and Geoff, who take the time to meet with each rider one-on-one for however long it takes to pinpoint what's next and what we can do to get there. Not to mention our nightly group meetings, where the precise plan for the next day is laid out each night after dinner. 

I am ready for my last races – Loenhout and Baal – of this block. We’ve studied the courses and I am ready to leave it all out there.

After a one-year hiatus, the EuroCross Academy (ECA) returned to Belgium this week, with 10 junior riders from the United States embarking on a near three-week racing stint to get their first experience of European cyclo-cross.

As in previous years, Cyclingnews is running a blog from the camp, with riders contributing throughout their Belgian adventure. Magnus White is the current junior national champion. In the seventh installment from the ECA, he shares a first-person story about an encounter with his favourite cyclo-cross star.

***

Flemish cycling proverb: Soms ben je de hamer, soms de nagel.

Sometimes you are the hammer, sometimes you are the nail. 

Racing in Belgium has taught me to be more aggressive and confident in races. The first race I did over here was the Namur World Cup and being the first race in these conditions, I was the nail. But as I moved through the week and learned from Namur, I became more confident, starting with my second race, the Dendermonde World Cup. And by the time Zolder came around the next day, I felt like I had shifted to the hammer.

The level of racing here and the way the race plays out are very different coming from any race in the States. The first lap is like a whole race in the US: everyone is aggressive and finds areas to pass where you would just sit in and ride in the US. People race for each position like it's for first place which is the mentality you must have if you want to do well. I put that into my mind, as well as trying to be the hammer and riding aggressively and confidently, which led me to much better results in Zolder and Dendermonde.

A major challenge not readily evident in the media is life when you are not between the tape and how challenging it can be to live the life of a pro cyclist. It consists of a lot of resting and staying off your feet as much as possible. As well as navigating in the age of a global pandemic where you can go from Namur where there were hundreds of spectators to Dendermonde and Zolder where there were none in under a week. Avoiding sickness is another component: for example, having to adapt to constant masking and other measures needed to be as safe as possible.

I've only been here a week and a half, training and racing, and I've already improved so much as a rider and racer. This experience will change the way I race going back to the States and having the opportunity to race the same juniors next year who have raced here as well. It will make US races much more competitive and more like a Belgian race, except for the mud of course. 

The mud here is unlike anything we have in the US. With the mud of Namur and Dendermonde done and now with Loenhout and Baal coming, 90 per cent of the races here are muddy. A big change from U.S. racing which, this fall, was predominantly dry and dusty.

I am very excited to have this opportunity to race here in Belgium and have gained a lot of experience already. I am confident that lessons learned so far are necessary in order to take my cycling to the next level.

After a one-year hiatus, the EuroCross Academy (ECA) returned to Belgium this week, with 10 junior riders from the United States embarking on a near three-week racing stint to get their first experience of European cyclo-cross.

As in previous years, Cyclingnews is running a blog from the camp, with riders contributing throughout their Belgian adventure. Ben Stokes, a 16-year-old from Connecticut, was fifth in the 17-18 Junior Men’s Cyclocross National Championship this year and with two podiums in four events took the junior title at the New England Cyclocross Series. In the sixth installment from the ECA, he shares a first-person story about an encounter with his favourite cyclo-cross star.

***

As many of my teammates here with me in Belgium have said, Belgium is an incredibly special place in regards to the influence and impact it has on cyclocross and cycling as an entire sport. The experiences that are possible here are truly unique to Belgium and I am very grateful to be given this opportunity by EuroCross Academy (ECA) and Geoff Proctor. 

Earlier this week, on a short ride in the cyclocross training forest outside of the town of Lichtaart, a few other riders and I were riding along when we saw a tall rider in bright red and yellow kit. As the rider came closer, we recognized the Jumbo-Visma clothing, and the sparkly Red Bull helmet as he came into view. We immediately realized that this was the legendary racer Wout van Aert. 

Wout is a very unique rider because he races and finds success in not one, but two of the most physically and mentally challenging sports in the world. He has ongoing and successful careers in both road and cyclocross. He has won stages in the Tour de France, as well as three elite cyclocross World Championships. He is very possibly one of the greatest riders to ever live. 

As we came face to face, he raised his hand off of his handlebars and offered a wave. We all waved back, but this sent the fanboy in me into overdrive. To explain what this simple action meant to me would be impossible, but I can say that it was very powerful.

After seeing Wout, we rode around the forest for a little bit and stumbled across his Jumbo-Visma vest hanging on a post: name, number, world champ stripes and all. It was very odd to see something that held so much value to us while only being a simple piece of clothing. We all took pictures with the vest. The coach who was riding with us, Roger Aspholm, remarked that we looked like tourists taking a picture in front of a landmark in the US. 

In essence, it truly was a temporary landmark in a small forest, outside of a small town, in the middle of Belgium.

After a one-year hiatus, the EuroCross Academy (ECA) returned to Belgium this week, with 10 junior riders from the United States embarking on a near three-week racing stint to get their first experience of European cyclo-cross.

As in previous years, Cyclingnews is running a blog from the camp, with riders contributing throughout their Belgian adventure. The fifth installment in the series was provided by Kaya Musgrave, a natie of Littleton, Colorado who earned a bronze medal in the 17-18 Junior Women’s Cyclocross National Championship this year.

***

This is my first ‘over the pond’ experience, traveling to Belgium with a group of juniors to race cyclocross at the highest level of competition. While here to race, I notice cultural differences everywhere. The differences between Belgian culture and the USA are fascinating.

Minimalism is a common way of life here, compared to the USA. The houses are much smaller, most of them are long and narrow; built with bricks and cobblestones. Inside the houses, there are few pictures on the walls - mostly plain white walls. The portions of food on a plate are smaller. In the USA we have ‘super sized’ servings, but here it is a small plate and a small serving. The majority of cars in Belgium are compact, similar to a VW bug or a Mini [Cooper].

We are in a small town east of Antwerp, Belgium. As we drive through cities and small towns there are no big box stores and few chain stores, very different from the USA where you would pass a Walmart, Target, Home Depot, McDonald's or five Starbucks during an average 30-minute drive. 

In the USA, litter seems to be everywhere and we produce lots of waste. Here in Belgium, they recycle most of their waste. All the trash bins are smaller in size and recycling is a priority. Recyclables are sorted into specific bins and if not sorted properly, the homeowner can face hefty fines. Trash day is an organized event. For instance, on recycling day only clear blue trash bags line every street. Litter is not seen on the ground here like it is in the USA. On our training rides we cover a lot of ground and never see litter.

Cycling is a common mode of transportation here and bike racing is very popular. While in Belgium for this block, we race five cyclocross races. Namur was my first World Cup race. The crowds were rowdy and the start was more chaotic than any race in the USA, like a group of wild dogs at the start line! In the USA, everyone lines up in an orderly fashion, but at Namur, everyone was aggressive and crossing wheels. The girl next to me crossed halfway into the next row before the green light. The courses are so much more demanding and technical, with lots of hairy ups and downs, sharp corners and some serious mud. I will never look at a USA race the same.

EuroCross Academy (ECA) is a great opportunity to experience a whole different level of racing while experiencing Belgian culture. From the kindness of the people, to seeing a castle for the first time, to riding on cobblestones, to being more disciplined in every aspect of my life, I am here to soak it all up. I am enjoying every step, and pedal stroke, of the way!!! 

After a one-year hiatus, the EuroCross Academy (ECA) returned to Belgium this week, with 10 junior riders from the United States embarking on a near three-week racing stint to get their first experience of European cyclo-cross.

As in previous years, Cyclingnews is running a blog from the camp, with riders contributing throughout their Belgian adventure. Natasha Visnack writes a fourth installment in the series. The 18-year-old from Bend, Oregon placed 11th in the Women's Junior 17-18 Pan-American Championships this year and was a solid 33rd in the Junior division of World Cup Namur earlier this month.

***

As I slid face-first down the 180-degree runup at the Namur World Cup, my mind was blank. My bike tangled with my legs as the crowd around me cheered (or were they heckling?) in a mixture of French, Dutch, and Flemish. The thick smell of cigarette smoke and rich mud met my nose as I tried to scramble back to my feet, slipping again as the girl from Luxembourg, whom I was chasing, rode away at full speed. I felt embarrassment and shame creeping in with the realization that I was losing time.

This instance of failure wasn't an isolated event. Throughout not only my race at Namur but this entire trip, I have failed regularly. Whether it be crashing until my legs turn to a patchwork of green and purple, or receiving my rejection letter from my dream school on the same evening, I learned I wasn't selected for the Dendermonde World Cup. I have faced numerous rejections and setbacks.

However, staying down isn't an option. As soon as I reached the bottom of the hill, I righted myself and remounted. My mind cleared as I attacked the flat, determined to put the recent crash in the past. Next lap, as I stared down the same steep, rutted hill, I paused to formulate a plan. Then, I made my way successfully down with my weight in my heels.

As an American racing in Europe for the first time, the opportunities for defeat are numerous. Here, competitive fields and the intensity of courses provide an unyielding challenge. For most, crashes are numerous in Belgium, a place where a crash could equate to a place or two lower.

As a high school senior in the middle of the college application process, the chances of rejection letters are also numerous. Even those not in the application process face setbacks in Europe, minds torn between school and cycling in an environment that pushes us to obsess over the latter. Even the most dedicated students can struggle under the weight of keeping up with a school thousands of miles away.

For American student-athletes, developing resilience is essential to our success. Each crash, each rejection letter, and each mistake we make on or off the bike provides us with a choice. We can either take our failures lying down, or we can adapt our approach. Instead of ruminating on our failures, we must adapt, finding new ways to get down the slippery descents in our lives.

After a one-year hiatus, the EuroCross Academy (ECA) returned to Belgium this week, with 10 junior riders from the United States embarking on a near three-week racing stint to get their first experience of European cyclo-cross.

As in previous years, Cyclingnews is running a blog from the camp, with riders contributing throughout their Belgian adventure. Third in the series is 16-year-old David Thompson, who won the Men's Junior 15-16 title at the USA Cycling Cyclocross National Championships earlier in DuPage County, Illinois.

***

As soon as I walked out of the Brussels airport, the differences between Belgium and United States instantly hit me. Everywhere I looked there were people riding bikes. Already this was nothing like America. Once we arrived at the house, I immediately wanted to walk into town and experience Belgian culture. 

The first thing I noticed was the architecture. All of the buildings were made of brick and the roads made of cobblestones. On almost every road there is a bike path, and they are always filled with cyclists. On my first ride I stumbled across a permanent cyclocross course. This is one of the many amazing things that you would never see in America.

Every Wednesday, many of the pro Belgian teams go to train in a nearby forest near the town of Lichtaart. This first Wednesday of the camp, we were able to join in on some of the pros training. It was amazing to see where the Belgians train and just how good their technical skills are.

Once we arrived at the forest, the first team we came across was Deschacht - Group Hens - Maes Containers. Seeing Daan Soete and Tom Meeusen in person and not through a TV is something I will never forget. The speed that they were going up and down the technical hills and through the ruts was incredible. After connecting with Deschacht-Hens-Maes, the next team we ran into was the Baloise Trek Lions. After watching them fly through, I decided to leap onto the back of their group. After following them for just one lap around the uniquely "Belgian sand" course, I felt like I was in the middle of a race. In hindsight, they probably weren’t going all out. 

To top off all of the legendary cyclocross racers I had seen, Sven Nys rode past me riding on his flashy Trek Boone. Almost instinctively, I sprinted to get on his wheel. For those who don’t know, Sven Nys is one of the most legendary riders in cyclocross history. Seeing Sven with my own eyes is a dream come true. Riding behind him is something I couldn’t imagine in my wildest dreams. 

Riding here, in the historical country of Belgium, is massively contrasting to riding in America. The opportunity I have to be able to live and ride here makes for an unforgettable memory. I am so grateful to be a part of what EuroCross Academy has become and what it is continuing to do for young riders like me. 

After a one-year hiatus, the Euro Cross Academy (ECA) returned to Belgium this week, with 10 junior riders from the United States embarking on a near three-week racing stint to get their first experience of European cyclo-cross.

As in previous years, Cyclingnews is running a blog from the camp, with riders contributing throughout their Belgian adventure. Here, Frank O'Reilly shares his amazement at Belgium's cycling culture.

***

My first European cycling race experience is definitely, so far, one of the greatest experiences of my lifetime. 

When I first arrived in Brussels, Belgium, I was so amazed by the popularity of cycling here compared to my home country: the United States of America. From all the billboards that feature cycling professionals to the endless bike paths and lanes, it has really opened my eyes to a whole new world that I have been partly missing out on.

On December 19, I raced my first cyclo-cross World Cup in Namur, Belgium. Many people say Namur is the toughest cyclo-cross course in the entire world due to its extremely technical descents and very challenging climbs. 

The competition at this race was a lot different to American competition. The start was way more stressful, and all the competitors were super aggressive and would do anything to pass riders to move up in places. Meaning: a racer must stay aggressive and maintain extreme focus while still pushing their body to its maximum. 

It felt amazing to represent my country and race in the red, white, and blue. The location of the race was unique as well, because it’s located on top of the Citadel of Namur - original fort site built in 937, present design built in the 1600’s - overlooking the cloudy city and the joining of two major rivers.

One thing that I really enjoy is seeing a lot of other cyclists on the roads - a lot of times there are more cyclists than walkers. It is very common to come into contact with well-known professional cyclists who can often be seen on live television, which I think is very cool.

Going out for a bike ride in Belgium is quite a different experience than going for one in the States. First off, the geography is almost completely flat where we are located (just east of Antwerp), with barely any elevation to be gained, while a lot of the USA geography consists of a variety of climbs and descents. 

There are many bike paths that constantly change from cinder, to dirt, to cobblestones, and many flowy, rutty, exciting trails in the forests. I think it’s very cool to notice all the rutted tyre marks left in the woods and bike paths from previous cyclo-cross riders, prior to our group being there. This goes to show how popular the discipline of cyclo-cross is in Belgium.

Belgium is a very good place to be if one wants to succeed in the sport of cycling.

After a one-year hiatus, the Euro Cross Academy (ECA) returned to Belgium this week, with 10 junior riders from the United States embarking on a near three-week racing stint to get their first experience of European cyclo-cross.

As in previous years, Cyclingnews is running a blog from the camp, with riders contributing throughout their Belgian adventure. First up is 17-year-old AJ August, who was in awe of Namur as he placed 24th in the junior World Cup race on Sunday.

***

My time racing bikes in Europe and my first time overseas were something that I knew would be a lot different than anything that I had ever done before. The experience so far has been amazing. Just in one race, it seems like I have learned so much, but I know there is still far more to learn. 

On the first training ride we did, one of the riders had a flat tire. Someone saw us from their house and decided to come out and help us. Although she was not able to give a tube or anything like that, it amazed me the kindness of strangers to cyclists in Belgium. 

We were also able to meet her son who happened to be on the Tormans cyclo-cross development team which is one of the best development teams in Belgium. It’s crazy how these types of things just happen here. In the US, this would be like running into someone who plays basketball or soccer. It goes to show how big of a sport cyclo-cross - and cycling in general - is here. 

The first race we did was the Namur World Cup, arguably the most iconic cyclo-cross race out there. The course was like nothing that you would ever see in the US. Everything was just far more intensified; the run-ups were steeper, the hills were bigger, and the mud was more slippery. Even some of the Dutch riders and coaches said that they have nothing like Namur. 

The race itself was even more of a change from US racing. It is just so much more aggressive and chaotic. No matter if you are fighting for the win or if you are fighting for 60th place, it’s a hard fought battle. 

If you wait to pass somebody, the person behind you will pass you. You have to be aggressive yourself or you will find yourself being passed by a crowd of riders. 

The spectating scene at the race was nothing short of crazy. There was not a part of the course where there were spectators who were not shouting. The smoke from the chainsaws and cigarettes filled your lungs. It was amazing to see people who are so passionate about this sport even if they don’t compete in it themselves. 

With all of this being said, it's now easy to understand how important the opportunities that Geoff Proctor gives us are. It just seems like if you want to experience what cyclo-cross really can be like, this is the place.