A multi-discipline squad covering road, gravel, time-trial and triathlon, the Ribble Collective is the British bike brand’s answer to the modern-day race scene. In this article, Joe Laverick, one of the Collective riders, takes us behind-the-scenes at Unbound Gravel.
I really wanted to hate Unbound Gravel. A 200-mile (340km) race in the Flint Hills of Kansas, it’s the jewel in the crown of the gravel racing calendar. Looking in from the outside, and even until race day, I deemed it to be over-hyped. I was wrong. Unbound Gravel represents everything that cycling should be.
Four of us travelled to the USA. Myself and Metheven Bond would race the 200-mile pro men’s race and then Amira Mellor and Maddy Nutt would take on the 200-mile pro women’s race. This is the story of the Ribble Collective’s first adventure into American gravel.
With all due respect to Emporia, it’s in the middle of nowhere. The town is a two-hour drive from Kansas City Airport or – as we were to find out – a twelve-hour drive from Chicago Airport. That said, it didn’t make the event any less well-attended. Walking around the small town was akin to stepping into a gravel fever dream.
First taking place in 2006, Unbound is one of the only gravel races on the calendar that has a degree of history. You only need to look at road racing to see that, in cycling, history is intrinsically linked with legitimacy. Winning Unbound is akin to winning the Tour de France – it’s where all the media attention and sponsor money is focussed.
It’s 3:45 on Saturday morning when the alarms sound through our camper to signify the start of race day. With the mammoth distance race in front of us, it’s an early start to allow both us and the 4,000 or so amateurs who also race to complete the course. Concoctions of overnight oats and jammy rice are spooned into the mouths of bleary-eyed riders.
It’s dark as we roll down from the RV park towards central Emporia. There’s little on the roads but a stream of gravel bikes going in the same direction. Like moths to a flame, we reach the high street.
There are thousands of people around. Pros and amateurs nervously shuffle into their respective start pens while family and friends line the street. For a 5:50am start time, I’m astounded by the turnout.
We roll out, apparently safer than most other years as the pro and amateur fields are now split by 10 minutes. It’s the calm before the literal and metaphorical storm. We hit the gravel and it’s a…
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