It has taken be a bit to process the Traka 360. I don’t know why this one has been tough to sit with given I am incredibly happy with my effort. At the end of the day, I ended past empty, and I’m happy to know that I committed to the decision to chase and risk it, even if I paid in the end. You never will know if you don’t try. Still, I’ve struggled with this one, but with a bit of a nudge from Logan Jones-Wilkins (the guy behind the new Substack, which I highly recommend subscribing to), I decided this would be a good way to put it to bed. Excuse the word dump, but that’s what I felt like doing.
The Traka 360 was one of my major objectives of the season. It was my first European gravel experience (and the first time I’ve flown to a gravel race). The differences between US gravel and European gravel scared me. The starts, narrow roads, faster fields, and everything else that is “new” added up to a lot of conscious fear and subconscious stress but also provided more excitement than most of my previous events. I knew that the experience would be just that: quite an experience. It has taken me a while to process the emotions from what was a strong performance in many ways, and disappointing one in other, and objectively a terrible and frustrating numerical result. This is the reason for the delay in this post.
Leading into the race, we enjoyed days of pouring rain, contrary to most images of Girona, Spain. According to one friend who spent 3 months there in the winter, he experienced one day of rain. We had five days of heavy rain in a week. The course was muddy and a minefield of puddles – some inconsequential and others bottom bracket deep. As my bike became more and more waterlogged, my nerves rose. This was an instinctive reaction after my experience at an Unbound XL in 2023.
All I wanted was a race free of that momentum-stopping, morale-crushing, and frame-killing mud that had characterized the XL. When I hit a section of that type of slop on one ride a few days before the Traka, I instinctively panicked. That mud is not fun: type I or II. There is no way around it. This, combined with the idea of slippery roads and a chaotic start in the dark on a serpentine rollercoaster course filled me with enough fear that I almost got beyond it. “It’s going to be wild and somehow, I’ll get through it.”
This is called “procrastination: the cyclist’s edition.” Put off thinking of how you will navigate the chaos until you are in it. I have to say, this type of procrastination is often actually quite positive.
Race day came, and so did a later start after sunrise, along with an influx of riders from the 560km race, which had been cancelled due to the weather. The start was perfect. It teetered on the edge of becoming carnage for about 45 minutes, yet I had hyped it up so much in my head that it was more manageable than expected (albeit with a lot more yelling than in US gravel races). I made it through in the front, then ended up around mile 40 (after paying puddle roulette and navigating some serious bottlenecks for a long time) in a great chase group behind a small lead pack of some of the best riders in the Europe. We slowly left behind some stragglers, and were down to about eight guys. This was perfect. I was with riders I knew, riding a pace that felt very sustainable. I felt like I was on a flyer. Everything was great…
Then I started feeling the bouncing. I had hit one of my rims hard about 5-10 minutes earlier, but nothing happened (thank you Air Liner inserts). After a hard skid into a corner when we almost missed a turn, I felt the rear going soft, but noticed no sealant. I knew I had to stop, but I was hoping to make it to a hill so I lost less ground and could make it back easier with. Alas, on the next corner, my tire almost rolled. I pulled off as we were rolling at 25 mph. By th time I got rolling again after what felt like an eternity, three groups had blown by me. I was calm at this point (I’ve gotten much better about not panicking in these situations). We had a long way to go. I set about chasing in what is my favorite form of riding: steady and hard, but sustainable. I caught one group, rolled on the front for a bit, asked for pulls, and quickly realized we were not moving fast enough.
The question crossed my mind; do I ride away solo or stick with the group? I looked back and the choice was made. I had a small gap, and just kept up my pace. I felt amazing. My effort felt solid, but sustainable. Of course, I was only a fraction of the way through the race. I caught another small group of stragglers, hit the front for a while, flicked my elbow, and got a shake of the head. This was both frustrating but also motivating. The guy behind said, in a thick accent “you are fucking strong.” That’s great motivation, but also should have been a warning to me. “You are fucking strong [at this moment].”
“I give bottle. You take pull.” This was the sort of unspoken agreement I and one of the duo I was with. He was out of water, I had plenty, and I just needed him to take short pulls to give me brief rests. Bargaining is simple in bike races.
Through Aid 1 at mile 70, I continued to feel great. I hit the first climb and was catching people who had been in the group I was with when I flatted. At the top, Pete Stetina and Rob Britton caught me (spoiler: they went 1-2). They also had had flats. The difference with them is they are actually strong riders and can maintain that chasing pace all. day. long. I decided that these guys were my ticket to the front. I hung with Rob on a rolling section of course for about 20 minutes. As it turns out, he is an absolute monster. Every second he could pedal, he was on the gas: up, down, left, right). We reeled a lot more people back in, but once we hit the next long, steep climb, I said goodbye. That was not sustainable. Pete, who had stopped again at the bottom, caught me about ten minutes later and the next time I heard of him was when I heard he had won. Holy. Shit. (He closed a six minute gap from that point at about mile 90 to the best gravel racers in Europe).
After the 2nd series of climbs and the seven-minute hike-a-bike, we hit a 70-mile section of flat.
The wheels came off. In the moment, it was hard to pinpoint when this happened, but afterward, it became clear clear. Danish Destroyer Tobias, who ended fifth, caught us, and in a group of eight, we were rolling hard, with his pulls being noticeably stronger. I started to labor getting back on the wheel. Force food down. Drink. Repeat.
Tobias and one other rode away, and I ended up in a gap between them and the reminder of our group. Soon, I joined a British rider and another person, both of who seemed equally as gassed. I faded, and faded, but forced myself to hang on until aid two. By then, I was feeling sick. I limped out of the aid and my mission became to get to the finish in one piece. I crawled up the last two major climbs as the guys I had dropped before rocketed by me.
At aid three, I felt sick enough I took a pit stop in the bathroom as more riders passed me. I could barely push 200 watts, and, in what was a cruel reminder of my decisions, some members of the group I had caught after my flat, which I had left behind because I “needed” to go faster, caught me and unceremoniously dropped me. I had clearly made the wrong decision leaving that group. I struggled a bit on the descents since my reaction time was about that of a sloth and my grip strength was waning, so my main goal became not crashing.
I made it to the finish, but along with he elation of completing the task after hours of feeling absolutely empty and lethargic came the disappointment. I was given amazing legs on the day, and used them in the wrong way. I paid dearly for that.
It’s amazing how the way you use your matches, even if the number you have is always the same, can make or break a race. After my flat, what I thought was a smart pace was not, and what I thought was a good move going with Rob ended up being my downfall.
To add insult to this frustration, neither my chip nor tracker had worked. At the moment, I was 793rd place, at KM0.
Looking back on the race, I’m just frustrated. Seeing others I know I can be with and have been with and was with finish so high up makes me regret my tactics after my flat. Of course, I have no way of being sure I could have been up there, but I know that was the best I have felt all season. 2% slower initially would have meant minutes faster at the end, regardless of the result. Being a hero in the initial chase led to zero. I played the game of “try and see what happens” and lost. I don’t regret trying completely, however. I gave it everything my body had and some. When it would have been easy to pull the plug at aid 2 or 3 when I was so empty and felt like I wanted to barf, sleep, and do anything other than pedal, I kept going. I’m proud of that, but there are so many things I wish I had done differently. Why did I waste that good feeling and get carried away? I’m frustrated with myself.
This only can mean one thing; go back and give it another go. 2025 Traka 360 (or 560), here we come.