Unbound XL ‘25

Emporia, I can’t quit you. I’ve raced over 2100 Unbound miles between two 200s and five XL events. Six finishes and one DNF at mile 273. Between my three Inbound to Unbound bikepacking trips, Bleeding Kansas gravelduro, Women’s camp, and shakeout rides, I’ve crunched nearly 3000 Kansas gravel miles. You can see why this place feels like home to me, without ever having residency.

^Gretchen Powers capturing the creamee love. Thanks Ted King + Untapped Crew

Friday at 3pm I make it to the start line and the gun goes off with tears on my cheeks, a helicopter overhead, and a maple creamee in my belly. We’re rolling up Commercial street waving at all the lovely folks who’ve come to wish us farewell for the long journey ahead. Less than a mile up the road someone drops their sunglasses and I giggle at the thought of racing 24 hours without them, and imagine purchasing gas station eyewear for respite in a non sponsor correct desperation move.

We roll north. The pace is fast and the gravel is smooth. I’m with a solid group of folks who are working well together with only a few ‘go hard on the front’ types. I stick with them for as long as I can, but once we reach the climb to the radio towers, I know my time is up. Still smiling, I am appreciative for the miles banked, the smooth wheel of a tandem(!) and the safe departure from Emporia.

(^smiling seeing Dan Hughes’ lens)

Mile 40 and we pass through town and head to Divide Rd and our first minimum maintenance challenge. The ruts are deep but the mud is rideable. (Gotta love when folks (pros) in rental cars preview these roads when it’s wet. Skinny tires = skinny ruts.) We come upon a sprinter van stuck in the ditch, and a wrecker also stuck in the middle of the narrow road. Only a small gap to pass between the two, and I see a rider sitting on the back of the tow truck, and nursing his arm/shoulder. I wish him good luck with his recovery.

I was glad to reach this section alone, as I can safely choose my rut, and navigate it cleanly. I see Rhett and Tilly and give a few hoots and hollers. The first gas station approaches and I’m already looking forward to a RedBull. Sadly, their cooler was broken, so hot drinks only. This resupply took me a bit longer than I’d have liked, but knew it was crucial as it would get me through the first part of the night.

As I’m leaving I see Nico again but with a giant gash in his tire. Gutted for him I ask if he needs supplies and bid him farewell. Climbing out of that part I felt my tire get a bit bouncy and squishy so I pull over to asses. Nothing obvious so I just pump it up and I’m on my way…

Before the MMR Bobcat Road, the friendly folks from last year are out yet again with a fire, cokes, and water. It was fun to see their faces this time as we approached just before sunset. Happy moods heading into another rutted section, but again, rideable. We emerged a muddy mess, and bid farewell to the sun. My smile was big. My heart was full.

The infamous Alma gas station came sooner into the route, and yet was met with the same amount of “shit show” as per usual. Muddy athletes, bikes, gear, and provisions strewn about. I saw photographer and a famous unbound champion Dan Hughes and said enthusiastically, “Hi! I know you can’t talk to me, but I can say hi to you!” (Strict unbound media rules). He snaps this pic:

I left alone, and went my own pace into the night. Certain songs make their way into my brain during moments like these. “I think we’re alone now, the beating of my heart is the only sound.” Over and over again until I passed a man at the I70 underpass. I asked if he was okay and he said he was falling asleep and asked to ride with me. Hell yes!

I sang my song to Bracken out loud to remove it from my head and onwards we went. We picked up Shawn who had a navigation issue, and we were rolling onwards glad to have the company of one another. We got stopped by a train in Volland, navigated past ambulances a few times, and hit the MMR Little Egypt Rd at 3:30am which was a bit disconcerting. I’ve only done this road during daylight. And my headlight had long since died. Rolling with my front light only, I had to be more cautious with descending, and relied on my pals to light the road ahead. We exited, and were pleasantly surprised at how tame it was this year. More mud between the sharp rocks meant it was far less jarring than usual.

We have a good thing going. Every 20 miles or so we stop to pee, and inflate my tire. I feel it getting squishy. I’m checking the valve, core, and tire. Unsure where the leak is coming from, I just resolve to this pumping situation. The boys are seemingly happy to stop for the pee breaks so we keep rolling together.

We got to the mercantile at 4:45am, glad to get a pizza and RedBull on board, as they only just opened at 4am. Chain lube, bathroom break, water refill, rear tire pump, and we were on our way to Council Grove. The morning air brought a pretty fog layer to the ground, and a chill to my arms. I begged myself to enjoy it. The heat of the day would be here soon and we’d be yearning for the chill of the morning again.

Council Grove rail trail and the Conoco gas station were a sight for sore eyes at mile 200. Change bibs. Wash up. Change socks. Wash bike. Eat pizza. Down a RedBull. Fill the water. Should’ve bought more snacks but I was in a rush since the wardrobe change had me behind my two friends. Wish I would’ve known that this was my last chance for liquid caffeine until mile 332.

Pushed off and it was immediately 10 degrees hotter, and we were climbing. And so, we began our death march west, into the headwind. Slow going roads and slow going pace lines. We connected with a few others and worked together to make it those next 77 miles. Lots of random food breaks, shade breaks, pee breaks and yes. Pumping my f’ing rear tire. I think during the last enthusiastic pump fest, the culprit shows itself! A bent rust nail pushes its way out of my tire. Sealant is congealed all around it. I cannot believe what I’m seeing. I ready the Dynaplug, pull the damn nail, and plug it. Pump it. Good to go. Shawn: “Maybe this will be it!” Thankfully, it was it. A water cache saved us and so did the descending tailwind into Matfield Green, the site of the neutral aid.

No coke. No gas station food. Hot goulash, or mayo pasta salad was the menu. I had warm pickles and chips and tried to cool myself with the few remaining ice cubes. Hose water to drink. This wasn’t even close to the oasis of 2024 and it was hard to not be disappointed. Seeing the 82 miles remaining seemed incredibly daunting with no real resupply. I knew we needed to roll asap, but the chairs and blankets had us in a vice.

Leaving an “aid station” and instantly being not okay was a challenge. My feet hurt badly because they hadn’t dried out and had been wet all night. A sock change couldn’t fix the problem ‘cause my shoes were still wet. This new sector had approx 10 stream crossings which were sort of refreshing, but also prevented my feet from drying. Trench foot is incredibly painful to stand on, yet my butt also hurt to sit on, and my wrists were both swollen.

My legs felt great, but I couldn’t put that power to use because these darn contact points were very unhappy.

Our group is beginning to fracture and I’m dangling off the back. Bracken and Shawn wait for me and just as I’m about to say just leave me to die, they say “we’re in this together.” I nearly start crying.

We enjoy the descents, embrace the chunk, and fight those hills. We stop at three separate trail angels, handing out water. Making it to the lake, we nearly bow at the feet of the pickle crew. Coke. The nectar of the gravel gods. It’s been 132 miles since I drank liquid caffeine. We fly up that hill, and I of course stop for the party people at the top, and tap the Rockies, aka drink a Coors Light. Bracken (a Colorado resident) joins me.

Tailwinds and carbonation fuel those last 26 miles to Emporia. I quote Tom Hanks from Apollo 13, “Gentleman, it’s been a privilege flying with you.” We all cannot stop saying how there’s no way we would’ve finished without each other. Genuinely. Lifesaving, or at least race saving comrades.

Lights off, we coast down commercial street and bask in the glory of the finish line chute, crossing the line together.

I’m immediately greeted by my teammates and I’m having a hard time processing all that’s happened the last 31 hours. It feels like I haven’t seen them for days. I feel like I’ve been suffering for many many hours. (I have). I’m overcome with love, in a time when my body feels so empty, but so full of discomfort. I feel jumbled. Jarred. Scarred. I eat the mac and cheese Meg prepared. I sent her a voice note hours before. Kraft spirals. I hug Shannon and Chris over the barriers. So thankful for their love and support. I relive the race with my Coach Kristen (who crushed the xl) and her partner Nick. Kristi, Danny, Bobby, Kathryn. Just so many folks there whom I feel so lucky to call my friends.

I hold tightly to race director Kristi, half saying how mean they are to us, and how hard that was, and now I have to come back.

You see, they made a new chalice of sorts (5x 200 finishers receive a goblet). Five XL finishes now gets you a cast iron pan. Four down. One to go.

If (when?) I finish next year; I’d be the first woman. At 42 years old. On the 20th anniversary of the race.

I can do hard things. The road to Unbound XL 2026 starts now. On the beaches of Naples, Italy, evening out my tan lines.

I’ve had a busy 2025. I’m ready to rest and recover, and adventure. Stoke the fire, burn within. Keep those ashes warm. Logs will go back on this fall.

Emporia, I just can’t quit you.

Shannon and her mom, who brought me a cross stitch cyclist (in a purple jersey!) from the craft fair, after watching me cross the finish line on the live stream. It’s more than just the race for me.

*I’d be remiss not to mention my disappointment in how Lifetime unveiled (or rather snuck in) their trans exclusion policy, after registration, for the event. I would’ve loved to compete along side those who are women. Trans women are women. I can’t imagine the stress Chloe had to endure before the event, much less along side actually training for an event like this. This is gravel. We are and should be an inclusive, welcoming, for everyone sport. I will always hold space for trans women on our start lines.