The following is for all intents and purposes, the origin of Gravel and Whiskey.

Although I didn’t know it at the time, the purchase of a cyclocross bike in the Fall of 2016 was the start of something big and important in my life.

Through the Fall of 2016, I had the recurring thought that there was something awesome on the horizon, and that I should chase whatever it was.

Fortunately or unfortunately, that something was the Dirty Kanza 200. The Grandaddy of all that is holy in the gravel cycling world.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

This is that story.

Before the Race

Coffee? Yes. The morning of the race I turned on the backpacking stove, slid open the window and boiled water for our coffee. Just like camping. Hell yes, this day was off to a great start in spite of our room not having a coffee maker.

Got there early– early enough to get into the primo parking lot behind the buildings on the main road running north and south through town, Commercial Street. 

Sat there eating my Bacon, Gouda and egg sandwich from Starbucks and working on finishing the coffee. Pumped up the tires, and tried to get a few pics with the DSLR camera. Wow, it was just starting to get light outside, but still dark. Damn it’s early. Ended up getting a Bacon Gouda Egg sandwich from Starbucks, right after we’d found out that Starbucks wasn’t going to open until we were already off at the start, so we hop over to there to see a handwritten sign that says they’ll open at 5 am. We went ahead and got half & half anyway for our coffee.

For each and every gravel race I’d done this year, and for every good result, I’ve had the same breakfast. Starbucks. Grande Pike Place in a Venti cup, extra cream. Bacon Gouda Egg sandwich. Good as hell, and it worked.

Pumping the hell out of those tires. Don’t want to get a flat.

I make my way to the start line and see that there is a ton of people already lined up, so I slide back behind the 16 hour sign and notice that even though that time is pretty slow, I’m still close to the front.

I look behind, and then the whole USMES (United States Military Endurance Sports) contingent rolls up together. Shit. I feel bad now for missing the team picture at 5:15. No, only for a second, and I say “Hey, teammates! Good morning!” And I introduce myself and shake hands with everyone, handful of dudes, 6 or so, and one woman. I turn back around and then I realize that Robert, from Colorado is wheeling up on my right side. We shake hands offer our best wishes and luck, and I jokingly ask if it’s too late to be having second thoughts at this point. Haha!

After a brief word from Jim Cummins, we roll out. Luckily experience has taught me that toeing the line farther back does not mean one can simply clip in and start rolling. The race starts, and I don’t move. Left foot firmly planted on the ground. Everyone around me clips in, and rolls forward the slightest bit, compressing the distance between wheels, and then grabbing brakes, either unclipping or wobbling precariously, like a newborn horse taking its first steps. Ok, now it’s time to clip in and start rolling. I rotate forward just a quarter turn, damn these new wheels are fast and roll great, and I’m slowly moving and clipping in, first round go, no look, no adjustment, no heel wiggle, all pro. Push, lift, press, clip, pedal. Let’s do this thing.

Push, lift, press, clip, pedal. Let’s do this thing.

clipping in at the start line