Unbound XL: My Most Hated and Loved Race
Words By: Chris Mehlman
Images By: Dan Hughs | Dan Hutchinson | Nol Van Loon
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 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.
Defending 200-mile champion Lachlan Morton was lining up. With the other person who has crossed over into the mainstream, 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.
In the days leading up, the time I spent with friends 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 of the dreaded peanut butter mud the race is known for. Logan Kasper, winner in the 2023 mud year, scratched from an ultra race attempt in the same area because of the conditions.
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.
Come race day, it was hot and sunny. I placed a bet with Logan: $20 that I would have to walk because of mud.
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.”
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 had about 6 liters of water and enough food for most of the race. I wanted to minimize stops, and on a relatively flat course, I figured I’d be ok. Still, the decision nagged at me.
The atmosphere on the start line was electric. The street was lined with fans several deep. A media helicopter hovered low overhead. As the national anthem played, I took my last few deep breaths.
The feeling at the start is always daunting. What lay ahead was anywhere from 20 to 30 hours of continuous movement. These were my last moments of calm.
The Race
We rolled off. The start was easy, but the intense sense of overwhelming fear was inescapable. I’d done this enough. I knew what I was in for. It would suck at times. I would want to quit so badly, even on the smoothest of days.
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 spent early 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 danger at high speeds.
A rider went down on the right side and landed in my line. I had to unclip and get to the other side. The split had been made. Rob Britton, Laurens Ten Dam, Robin Gemperle, Ted King, Cory Wallace, and Nol were riding away.
Wait.
Lachlan missed it too. I was in no man’s land, and he came by me. With the weight of my loaded bike, I dug deep and accelerated onto the wheel. He got us back.
At mile 40, we hit Divide Road. About halfway through, I heard a hiss. I didn’t panic, but I also knew that was the last I’d see of most of those guys.
I found a flint stone embedded in my tire like an arrowhead. I plugged it, inflated it, and worked to get it to seal. I settled into my rhythm.
When my tire went soft again, I stopped and saw a group of three behind me. Nick, Nelson, and another rider became my partners. I pushed hard but steady, and we started catching stragglers. We caught Nol and then Cory.
Eventually, I discovered that the creaking noise my headset was making was actually my stem bolts.
My bars were loose, and I couldn’t reach the bolts. I spent the next 20 miles in the drops to keep the bars from slipping.
At mile 108, I refueled and tried to fix the stem. I couldn’t reach the bolts with my multitool. Cory’s multitool was shorter, but I was still tightening at an angle. I forced it. The bolts were tight, but stripped. That was a problem for future Chris.
We continued. As night fell, reality set in. Rutted sections became treacherous. The air got chilly. I pressed on.
At mile 200,
I realized my tire was going low again. I inflated it. Still hissing. I tightened the valve. No luck. I shook the wheel, hoping the sealant would help. I burned two CO2s. Same pressure as before.
Nol dropped off with another slow leak. Eventually, it was me, Cory, and Nick. I started to fade at 4 a.m. I closed my eyes while moving. Caffeine did nothing. I waited for daylight.
When the sun came, my mentality improved, but my legs started to go. After a stop at mile 277, I was barely hanging on. With 65 miles left, I let them go.
Soon, my troubles mounted. Another hiss. Another puncture. I had dropped from the group in 5th-6th to 9th. I was out of CO2s, and the plugs weren’t holding. I had one option: a tube.
Installing it took forever. I was tired, forgetful, and wrecked. I couldn’t get the valve out, struggled with the insert, pulled out four Dynaplug heads, put my tube in, then began to pump. I got maybe 10-15 PSI.
I stood in the sun, realizing this might be it. I might have to call for a ride.
Then Bob daBuilder (yes, really, that’s his job and Instagram handle) stopped. He let me use his pump, then gave me a CO2. We rolled together for a bit. I was dehydrated and desperate for salt. He had a chili LMNT packet. I ate the powder straight. I couldn’t focus enough to mix it while pedaling.
We crossed paths with the 50 and 100-mile courses. We were in the last 30 miles. Bob left me with 20 to go. I crawled on.
With 5 miles left, I was almost smiling.
Then another hiss. My tube had flatted. The tire somehow held air at 5 PSI for a bit before my rim hit the ground.
I laughed. With 5 miles left, I rode the rim.
I 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 salvaged a top 10. Seeing that the group I was with until 65 miles left fought for 5th was bittersweet, but finishing was the most important thing. I’m proud of this one.
Reflections
It’s easy to quit. One phone call away.
It’s a lot harder to grit it out when things don’t go to plan.
What isn’t easy is living with quitting.
I feel fulfilled, happy, and like I’ve unlocked a new level of mental fortitude. I know I’ve done this, so I know I can do other hard things.
To keep up with Chris follow him on Instagram HERE.
