Unbound XL: Giving Up Is Not An Option

A tale of adversity and resilience written over 357 miles

Unbound XL has become my most hated and loved race. I want to never go back after every edition I do, but the allure of the possibility of it all finally clicking brings me back to Emporia each Spring. Unbound is the undisputed queen of the gravel classics. It’s important for racers, brands, the media, the fans, and the direction of gravel. It sets the course, for better or worse, and others follow. This year, the race was faster than ever and received more media attention than any other edition. The event has hit it big time, and I will have a piece on how this year might be a turning point for it coming out soon! First, I want to recap my experience, so here’s my story.

---

I entered Unbound XL under a lot of pressure: not from anyone else but from myself. I’ve knocked on the door a couple of times with two top-five finishes in very different scenarios. Before this edition, I knew I was capable of winning the race.

Instead of leaving with a trophy for a podium spot, I left with a stronger sense of accomplishment and self-confidence in my mental strength in the face of adversity than ever before. The only race that comes close is the 2023 edition of Unbound, but for very different reasons.

The Leadup: Fear, Excitement, and Rain

In the weeks and months leading up to the event, I left no stone unturned. I built a bike from the ground up just to optimize for this race based on my previous experiences. I looked at every detail from heat training to on-bike fueling, to pacing, to where to pack all of my food, spares, and water. I knew this race would be extra hard this year, but I was more excited than ever. Defending 200-mile champion Lachlan Morton was lining up. Beyond being the champion of the Tour de France of gravel events, Lachlan is one of the few off-road ultra cyclists who has crossed over into the mainstream. With the other person who has done that, Lael Wilcox, also on the start line, the media coverage and hype around the race were like nothing I have ever experienced before.

I went in, forcing myself to think one thing: I was not going to bow down to Lachlan, Rob Britton, Laurens Ten Dam, or any of the other riders in the field. Just because Lachlan was empirically stronger didn’t mean he wasn’t beatable. Anything can happen.

In the days leading up, the time I spent with Joe Laverick, Logan Jones-Wilkins, Nol Van Loon, and Dan Hutchinson helped calm my nerves, yet the changing course conditions led to uncertainty that was scary, yet also exhilarating. It had rained a lot early in the week, and it kept raining. Photos circulated on the internet of the dreaded peanut butter mud encounter on course pre-rides. Logan Kasper, winner in the 2023 mud year, scratched from an ultra race FKT attempt in the Flint Hills because of the conditions. For some reason, despite my experiences in 2023, the sound of rain hitting the roof of our Airbnb made me more excited. I’m one of those people who want it either beautiful or apocalyptic. In between is the worst. It’s bad enough to make the riding tougher, but not bad enough to crack people mentally. Come race day, it was hot and sunny, I placed a bet with Logan: $20 that I would have to walk because of mud. Only time would tell.

As I rolled to the start line with Nol Van Loon, I looked over to him and said, almost in an overwhelmed daze: “I can’t believe I’m here again.” The memories of 2023 flooded back into my head. The months of preparation and dreaming of this day hit me. It was time.

I could feel the weight of my bike, and the thought once again entered my head: had I brought too much food and water? I’d stuck with a plan I’d laid out over the previous few weeks. I had about 6 liters of water and enough food for most of the race. Why? I wanted to minimize stops, and on a relatively flat course, I figured I’d be ok. Still, the decision nagged at me. I forced myself to commit to the plan. Maybe I would end up wrong, but I felt I needed the option to be able to keep going if my group wasn’t stopping. The only way to find out was to race. Take the risk or lose the chance.

The atmosphere on the start line was electric. The entire street past the end of the race start barriers was lined with fans several deep. The helicopter typically reserved for filming the Life Time Grand Prix elite races hovered low overhead. As the national anthem played, I took my last few deep breaths.

The feeling at the start of Unbound XL or any race like this is always incredibly daunting. What lay ahead of me was anywhere from 20-30 hours of continuous movement: never-ending pressure to keep progressing. Any stops at gas stations or for mechanicals would be rushed or even panicked. These were my last moments of calm.

The Race

We rolled off. The start was easy, but the intense sense of overwhelming fear that lay inside me was inescapable. It’s so exciting to start a race like this, yet also so daunting. I’d done this enough. I knew what I was in for. It would suck at times. I would want to cry. I would want to quit so badly, even on the smoothest of days. I knew that was coming. As always, there was some sort of mental haze that blanketed this knowledge and these memories in a warm coating. They seemed scary, yet fun. The dichotomy of emotions was only similar to other ultra races. No other shorter race has come close.

When we hit the gravel, the race strung out fast. Lachlan went to the front and drilled it. It wasn’t hard by “normal” race standards, but every ounce of extra energy you spend early in a race is some you don’t have later.

The group split, and we had maybe 30 up front. Then, we hit the first unmaintained two-track. Most was dry, but sections of mud created a danger at high speeds. Sure enough, while I was in the left line about six wheels back, a rider went down on the right side and landed in my line. I had to unclip and get to the other side, but the split had been made. Rob Britton, Laurens Ten Dam, Robin Gemperle, Ted King, Cory Wallace, and the legend, my friend, Nol Van Loon, were riding away. This was it.

Wait!

Lachlan missed it as well. I was in no man’s land, and he came by me. With the weight of my bike, I dug deep and accelerated onto the wheel. I hung on for dear life. He got us back. That was it. This was the lead group, and I was there with some of the best riders in the world. I knew that, if I could hack this pace, no one was coming back. They were ripping. This was not a sustainable pace for another 18 hours, I knew that much. My bike was so heavy that, at one point, I almost self-dropped when I tried to get back on the wheel of the last rider after peeling off the front, and I miscalculated how much longer it would take to get up to speed than normal. Normally, this pace would not be that hard, but I knew in the back of my mind I was taking a risk. I would either be thankful I made it, or I’d pay dearly later.

At mile 40, we hit Divide Road, another unmaintained section. About halfway through, as I ground up a steep climb, I heard a hiss hiss hiss hiss. I didn’t panic, but I also knew that was the last I’d see of most of those guys. I stopped to find a flint stone embedded in my tire like an arrowhead. Unless I had run solid tires, there was nothing to keep this from going through what is a very thick casing. I plugged it, inflated it, and then worked to get it to fully seal. By the time I got going, I was even calmer. Now was my time. It was my jam. I’m good at riding steady and solo. I settled into the rhythm. When my tire went soft again, I stopped to reinflate and saw a group of three behind me. I waited. There was no point in dangling out ahead. Nick, Nelson, and another gentleman became my partners. I was pushing the pace hard, but at a manageable tempo, taking longer pulls and knowing that we‘d catch stragglers. Sure enough, we caught Nol, who had cramped and then flatted, and then Cory, whose face revealed the astonishment of his experience, seeing that flat-out pace the front-runners were continuing to push.

We rolled on, and I eventually discovered that the creaking noise my headset was making was actually my stem bolts. Somehow, in cycling, despite having tested my setup for many hours, racing is when things happen. My bars were loose, and I couldn’t reach the bolts to tighten them on the fly, so I spent the next 20 miles in the drops to prevent the bars from slipping down.

When we reached the mile 108 gas station, camera crews milled around, filming us silently like we were hamsters in some experimental laboratory world. As it turns out, a new rule had been instituted to prevent the media from interacting at all with the XL riders.

I grabbed water, paid, rushed out, refilled my two hydration bladders, and then set about fixing the stem. I took my light and Hammerhead off, only to realize I could not reach the stem bolts with my multitool because the accessory mount I was using to clamp the Exposure Light mount blocked straight access. Should I have known this? Yes. Is it something I thought of well before the race when installing the bars with a torque wrench and carbon paste and tightening them to spec to prevent slipping? No. Cory’s multitool 4mm wrench was shorter, but I was still tightening the bolt at an angle. Ehh screw it. I forced it in a way that got the bolts tight, but permanently stripped them. That was a problem for future Chris after the race was over.

We continued. As night fell, reality set in. The sections of dried car tire ruts became treacherous minefields for crashing; The air became chilly. I pressed on, feeling strong and confident. This race was not over.

At the 2nd gas station stop at mile 200, I realized my tire was going low again. I inflated it, only to hear the hissing continue. Air was somehow leaking out of the valve stem. I tightened it. No cigar. I shook the wheel up and down to get sealant around the stem. That dreaded milky liquid bubble out around the stem. 2 CO2s down, and back to the same low pressure I had entered the gas station with. Whatever. I kept going with the group.

Nol dropped off with more tire issues - a slow leak. Eventually, it was me, Cory, and Nick. I started to fade at 4 AM. I closed my eyes while moving, deep into a zone of half consciousness. Caffeine had no effect. I knew I just had to wait. Daylight was coming, and with that, my natural body clock would kick in.

As the sun came, my mentality improved, but my legs began to go. After a brief stop at the mile 277 resupply, I was barely hanging on to Cory and Nick. With 65 miles left, I let them go. I was empty.

Soon, my troubles began to mount. Another hiss. Another puncture. This time, small, but big enough that I plugged it. On again.

I was feeling hot, sick, empty, and hopeless. The endless rolling expanse of the open range section I was riding through made the miles creep by slower and slower. This race was asymptotic. I would never reach the finish.

Another hiss, and this time, my tire immediately went flat. Another plug blowout. By this point, I had dropped from the group in 5th-6th all the way to 9th place. This time, I had no choice. I was out of CO2s, the plugs were not holding, and I had one remaining option: a tube.

I began the long process of installing a tube. Normally, this is easy, but when you’re tired, sore, forgetful, and nearing the end of your tether, it’s a slow process. I couldn’t get the valve out, but managed to force the nut loose with the help of my multitool. I ripped the tire insert out, pulled out the four remaining Dynaplug heads I had used out of the inside of the tire, put my tube in, then began to pump. Slowly, air filled the tire, but by the time my strength and the ability of this low-quality pump to increase the pressure any more had hit their limits, I had maybe 10-15 PSI in the tire. I would have flatted the tube instantly, and the bead was not seated, so I also could have rolled the tire off and crashed. I stood there in the baking sun, realizing this might be the moment. I might have to call for a ride. I was out of options, or was I?

I was shocked to have not seen anyone else by this point. I knew I was never catching up with the people ahead, but at this point, I was looking forward to seeing the people behind me more. I needed their help. Maybe they had a CO2.

Bob the Builder (no really, he’s a builder), saved me. He stopped, let me use his electric pump, and then eventually resorted to a CO2 to get the tire seated and up to the very uncomfortable, but hopefully, pinch-flat-proof pressure of 50 PSI. I was going to finish this no matter what. We rolled together for a bit. I was dehydrated and in desperate need of salt. He had a chili LMNT packet. I ate the powder straight, I couldn’t be fussed about putting it in a bottle while riding. My balance and ability to ride in a straight line were already so compromised I could not even pee off the bike safely. Needless to say, 1 entire gram of sodium in a chili-flavored powder form was disgusting, but I needed it. We eventually crossed paths with the 50 and 100-mile courses. We were in the last 30 miles. With 20 left, Bob left me. I crawled on, watching the U23 100-mile riders rip by. It was eye-opening. I’ve raced those guys and been right there with them, banging elbows in shorter races. Was that really how fast those races were? Was this really how slow I was going? Hayden Christian, the eventual 100-mile overall winner, who I raced at Rattlesnake, later told me that seeing me gave him a lot of motivation. If I were able to grit it out after 330 miles, he could finish the last 20 miles of his race.

I was in the home stretch. With 5 miles to go, I was almost smiling again.

Then, another hiss. My tube had flatted on the most innocuous section of gravel. There were no new holes in the tire. The tube just gave in. I will give it credit that it desperately clung onto life, with the remaining sealant in the tire somehow sealing it at 5 PSI before my rim plopped firmly on the ground as the tube let out its last hiss of life. At this point, I was almost laughing.

With 5 miles left, I knew my best shot was riding the rim home, so that’s exactly what I did. All of the 50-mile racers I had passed came rolling back by me, looking at a descheveled soul wrapped in a green pool noodle and wondering why I was suddenly so incredibly slow.

I made it. I freaking made it. I didn’t give up. I gritted out adversity, hours in the depths of physical oblivion, feeling sick, barfing up water I drank, and managed to find a way to solve the problems I faced. Somehow, I even salvaged a top 10. Seeing that the group I was in until 65 miles left was fighting for the 5th spot was bittersweet, but finishing that event was the most important thing. I’m am very happy to admit I’m damn proud of this one.

Reflections

It’s easy to quit. It’s one phone call away. It’s a lot harder to grit it out when things don’t go to plan. It’s easy to say you will, but when push comes to shove, reality is different. What isn’t easy, though, is living with quitting. It feels much better to have finished that event. I feel fulfilled, happy, and like I’ve unlocked a new level of mental fortitude I can take forward. I know I’ve done this, so I know I can do other hard things.

---

Notes

What would I change?

Pretty simple: I’d carry less, and run tires with a bit more tread to help with cornering with a heavy bike, but the same casing. The reality is that the punctures I got were user error combined with the weight of my bike and the incredible sharpness of the rocks. It’s rare to get a puncture in the tread of a tire on an uphill that does not come from a nail, but when the rocks are like nails? Well… you kind of are stuck. I ride these tires (in a 45c) in almost all of my road training over glass, nails, and various other city items I do not want to know the contents of, and they are the ideal setup. Flatting is part of racing, and this year, it was my turn, after 700 miles of Unbound XLs with zero flats previously.

Oh… I’d also pace it differently. I have a plan next year, and it involves friends. Stay tuned.

My Bike

A word on my drop bar LES SL. I already knew this bike was fun in my testing, but as a race bike, it’s next level. The thing is, people might laugh when they see the setup, but it’s fast, smooth, comfy, and capable. Those same people would say the same when they ride it. I got a very jealous-sounding comment from another unnamed pro about my setup. The confidence I had to ride down the rough descents fast was a major advantage. The comfort kept me fresher. The tire clearance gave me confidence that I’d have more of a chance in the mud while still being able to run a wide tire. The 42t chainring was perfect for the rolling course. My frame bags were exactly what I needed to carry my apres, water, and food. You’ll be seeing this bike again. It’s not for all races, but as an adventure rig and ultra-racing rig for rough terrain, it’s as good as it gets. Secretly, I’m hoping to see more people on this build at some point! Some say you can’t run big tires AND have good extra clearance in gravel… this bike changes that. Is it perfect for all races? Of course not! That’s why it’s nice having both the Vault and the LES SL. The Vault covers pretty much everything in terms of capability, speed, and comfort, while the LES SL extends that capability for wild adventures, serious underbiking, ultra racing with unpredictable terrain, or racing in the mud. It bridges the divide between gravel bikes and mountain bikes, and I think more people should shift their mindset from what is “fastest” in a wind tunnel or lab to what is fastest over real-world terrain and its ever-changing nature. Sometimes, that means comfort is king. Sometimes, it means that wide tire clearance and a very slack and stable geometry are needed. Sometimes it means a snappier setup is needed. I truly think I’ve got all of my bases covered now. I can run my Vault with or without 40mm of suspension, my LES SL with or without 100mm of suspension. I can run 32c tires on my Vault or 50c, or 50c on my LES SL or 2.4. There are so many options to make a fast and fun setup! Would I run the LES with my gravel fork? No, because that would mess up the geometry and negate the tire clearance advantage. Would I run my Vault with more than 40mm of suspension? Also no! There’s still ample room to mix and match and build a setup perfect for a given race or adventure! If you’re interested in building this sort of setup, DM me! I have exactly the specs to build an awesome LES SL drop bar bike!

A big shoutout to Pat Ribera-McKay at Pivot, James Bracey at Tailfin, Tom Purcell and Morgan Sparrow at Exposure and USE, and Ken Avery, Caro Poole, and Chris Zigmont at Vittoria for the help with the build!