OF MUD AND MEN AND WOMEN: JAY'S UNBOUND GRAVEL RECAP
Why did I have to go and put White bar tape on the thing?
A preamble: I crashed at BWR Arizona this spring. While I ripped open my forearm with an injury that required five stitches, I also ripped open the bar tape real good and hadn’t touched it since. If I want to assign self-blame, that’s where it is. Because if you want to get 100 percent assurance that it will rain buckets with mud aplenty… put white bar tape on your bike.
Which is what I did.
The Perfect Gravel Bike for MUDBOUND
2026 UNBOUND Gravel was one that will become legend and lore. It was three years ago that everyone talked about the “mud year,” when a segment of the course was inundated by impossible mud. This 2026 edition made that one look like a cakewalk.
It’s largely for this reason that I’ve always been partial to Litespeed titanium bikes. Gravel can be dry and fast. But it can also be rocky or muddy, course aspects that can destroy a bike. Back during the “Mud Year,” I recall the wailing and gnashing of teeth from people distraught that chainstays worn through paint and resin by grit and mud were not worthy of a warranty claim. I suspect there will be more of the same after this one. Not from me though; metal bikes FTW. Ti is always gonna be the right tool for the job, as far as I’m concerned.
I buy my bikes like you, so I’d rather something that not only races well but can stand up to the conditions—and is less susceptible to the airline travel baggage throwing/bike breaking which we’ve all seen before. I’d simply love to avoid the chance of arriving at a race to discover that the chainstays had snapped. Crazy that’s where we are with air travel, but I’ve seen too many cyclists (and surfers) at airports with anguish I’d rather not be party to.
And so, I arrived in town and unpacked and built up my Litespeed Ultimate G2 in the hotel room — ready for anything, traipsing 100 miles around Emporia. 2005 was my UNBOUND debut on the North Course, and I was pumped to see what the South Course would bring. It always rains in Emporia. Just what I was giddy for. I WANTED to catch these hands. Who wants an easy day? I’m here for the stuff that makes everyone cry. Hence, the white bar tape. With visions of a fast, dry day and maybe a little bit of dust, I went with white, channeling my inner Pogacar and sprinkling a bit of hubris atop.
Is Anyone Else A Little Concerned About This?
I woke race morning, and my first check was The Weather Channel app on my phone, shrugging at the hourly forecast that fluctuated between 6% and 25% chance of rain at any given part of the day. A 25% chance of rain means a 75% chance of dryness, right? It was gonna do what it was gonna do.
Famous last words.
The first 40 minutes of the 100-mile race were actually quite benign; chippy pace, a little bit of position jockeying, nothing crazy. But as we hit the first rolling terrain in the Flint Hills, I could see it in the distance; a wide streak of black in the sky, approaching minute by minute. Within seconds, fat raindrops fell, first sporadically, then with disconcerting frequency. Tacky dirt we had been dancing over became greasy as a lube pit floor. A few riders instinctively grabbed brakes, and wheels slipped out from under them — the first casualties of the day, forcing me to pop off the trail and into the grass and bus stop around them to avoid the crash.
For nearly an hour, we were under a blanket of black, with a combination of light rain and gumball-sized drops pelting us. Mud was flicking up into the eyes. I’d been unable to see with mud coating the sunglasses, so I parked ‘em into the vents on the backside of my helmet, hoping the rain would wash them clean. As it would go, I wouldn’t put sunnies on until the final hour of the day; for the errant piece of mud in the eye, I was more intent on seeing every bit of the trail and wheels in front of me.
And of course, my plan to wear Meta glasses and listen to a bit of the day’s NASCAR race and Diplo house music on XM Radio (again, hubris) went out the window with all the wet weather as well. No electronics or entertainment, just total focus on the greasy roads and the wheel in front.
Nearly three hours into the ride (the collective surrounding me had all gone from race mode to ride survival mode), another wall of rain, this one packed with electricity that had everyone beyond concerned. With nothing but low corn and wheat fields on either side, lightning illuminated the sky, followed by immediate thunder cracks that had everyone exchanging nervous glances. “Is anyone else a little concerned about this?” one person said. “If this were a youth soccer game, the parents would have had everyone out of here,” another opined, to nods of agreement.
The lightning storm will pass, with another to follow in its footsteps hours later. The rain would abate, and blue skies would return, only to resume just a few miles down the road. This would be the cycle all day. Mud, rinse, repeat.
The Emporia Hiking Club
Oh yeah… the mud.
With rain comes mud. Most roads were rideable, and if you were sitting in the wheel, you were getting sprayed. In the face, on the legs, in your nose, in your eyes, in your mouth. It was unavoidable. I drained my hydration pack, and with all the cattle fecal runoff on the road, was afraid to put my mouth on the water bottles on my frame. So I pulled over and poured the carbs and electrolytes from my bottles into my hydration pack, knowing I’d be less likely to ingest anything nasty.
At about mile 30, I saw a collective of cyclists standing roadside just before our turn. Had someone crashed? Luckily, no, but my eyes popped wide at the scene that unfolded in front of me.
The road ahead was marked with footprints, yet nobody was on the road. It was the remnants of racers who attempted to ride, only to be met by mud packing up on their frames. With the road literally unreliable, there were two options: shoulder the bike and carry it, or move to the grass to the left of the road and push your bike.
Cyclocross portage seemed clever until the extra 30 pounds of mud weight added to the bike began to bear down, along with the suction of mud attempting to pull the shoes off your feet.
This — this moment — would be a defining trauma-bonding experience. A combination of “this sucks” and “this is awesome“ bounced among the collective, pushing their bikes like a plow across fields, attempting to not get sliced by the barbed wire that leaned in menacingly. After what seemed like a half-mile of hiking, the grand finale was splashing through a knee-deep flooded canal. It was a moment for everyone to attempt to rinse off whatever excess mud was on their bikes and shoes before hitting the dry roads again.
Once out of this mud pit, everyone pulled out their mud sticks to disgorge the excess mud and grasses. It was here I ran into a couple of old friends, Alison Tetrick and her husband Blaize, who were in full party ride mode. It was a great mental change for me to have friends to ride with for a bit, providing a distraction from the discovery that my rear brake was no longer working. The hydraulics were gone, the lever going straight to the floor.
The Part That Keeps Me Coming Back
The back half of the race was a blur. More rain, more mud, some fun doubletrack MMRs, some gnarly headwinds. My focus went to ticking off 10-mile increments. Would we ever get a break?
And then, a break. The rain stopped, and, for the first time all day, tailwinds literally sailed me home. After all the shit we’ve been through, it was the singular blessing.
Then, there it was. The water tower that indicated a return to civilization. The lit-up Shimano party tunnel. The Emporia State University building. The final climb into town and the finish chute.
I did UNBOUND 100 nearly an hour slower than the year prior. Which is just fine with me; this is the one that will have the stories. This one will live in infamy. We come to Emporia because it challenges us with the distance, of course. But we never gonna know what we’re going to get on race day. Heat, mud, and mechanicals all lay in wait. That’s the excitement. That’s the part that keeps me coming back. I mean, JFK said we choose to go to the moon and do other things “not because they are easy, but because they are hard. Because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills.” I was grateful to be kicked in the teeth this year and am excited to see what 2027 brings.
And if that means another Emporia Hiking Club member T-shirt, then so be it. I’m done tempting fate, though. No white bar tape next year.
