Dirty Kanza 2018

The Dirty Kanza is known as THE toughest gravel race in the country. Starting in 2006, it grew from 24 participants to 2,200 riders in 2017. A Sport's Illustrated writer wrote of it in 2017 "Dirty Kanza is a double century bike race on fire roads around Emporia, Ks. On a good year — Saturday, Jun. 4, 2017, for example — the winds are low and the roads are dry, the sun doesn’t scorch and the humidity isn’t oppressive. The lead racers take about 11 hours, and around 80% of riders finish. On other years, rain can turn the trails to thick clay, winds can blow riders off their bikes and temperatures can soar. Few finish in daylight, many fail to make the 20-hour cutoff and others abandon the attempt."

Dirty Kanza is actually comprised of four races: the DK25 Community Fun Ride (a 25 mile ride), the DK50 Lite (a 50 mile ride), the DK100 (100 miles in the Flint Hills) and the DK200, which is the crown jewel of the day. The DK 200 is considered by many to be the most difficult gravel race in not just the United States but the world. Riders travel from all over the nation, and a few from around the globe, to test their will and stamina. This year they have added a new jaw-dropping distance: the DKXL350, a 350 mile course that begins the day before, is completely self-supported, and which has 34 hand picked endurance riders.

I rode in the DK50 Lite in 2016 and 2017. The first year was like being dropped in a swimming pool for the first time and being told to swim.

And those were good conditions, with decent temperatures, no rain and moderate wind.

Last year was even more amazing in terms of the weather. What made it even cooler was that my husband Brian rode with me. He is an avid biker, accustomed to extreme sports. He completed the Louisville Ironman in 2011 so, yeah, he knows a little bit about endurance racing.

During the 2017 DK50 Lite race a rider died within the first 10 miles.

Our other riding friends, Barb and Jeff Kempf, were with us as we held up at the bottom of a hill at around mile 10. While waiting for the ambulance to arrive, we saw someone doing chest compressions on a man at the top of the hill. Then, when they finally gave us the green light, riders were allowed to solemnly pass by on the far right while his lifeless body lay on the gravel.

This was the second time I had been witness to someone dying in a race; the third time I had seen someone collapse.

The first was during Brian's 2011 Ironman. I was with him during the early morning hours of the start, hanging out in support while he waited within the mass of 2,685 swimmers eager to enter the water A flurry of activity started, a buzzing among the athletes, while a 46 year old man was being pulled out of the water. He had suffered cardiac arrest and drowned.

Then, in 2017, I was running in the Big 12 5K, a fun and relaxing race that includes fired up fans, awesome shirts and freezing temperatures. During the last 1/2 mile of the race I witnessed another runner performing CPR on a racer just seconds before I passed by. I witnessed the violence of the chest compressions and fell apart. Snot was running out of my nose as I cried while continuing on at the direction of law enforcement. A group of runners in front of me began to sing a hymn together, which resulted in MORE snot and tears. The next day I found out he had survived.

2011 and twice in 2017. I will never forget those moments and I will never take any physical activity for granted as a result.

The Dirty Kanza has grown so much that in 2017 registration for 2200 riders filled up within seconds of it opening. Brian and Jeff, for example, had planned to do the DK100 but were unable to get in. I remember frantically changing Brian's registration to the DK50 with me, which, fortunately, isn't the most sought after distance. It filled up in 15 minutes.

The DK100 is a signature achievement but completing the DK200 is like the Mount Everest of gravel riding.

This year they changed the rules and allowed riders to register in December. Then they held a lottery in January, notifying riders by email whether or not they had gotten into their distance of choice.

Brian and I, along with his brother Scott and Scott's wife Sarah, all four made it into the DK100. Hundreds of hopeful riders did not, which means I feel a sense of responsibility to take this seriously and give it my best shot.

Unfortunately, the Midwest version of Mother Nature doesn't seem to understand the importance of nice weekend weather. And being employed isn't conducive to long week-day rides.

Suitable riding weather finally arrived a few weeks ago and a generous boss has allowed me to flex some time during the week to take advantage of afternoons when the forecast called for sun and higher temperatures. This just means I'm finally getting saddle time with just five weeks to go. You might call this the "couch to DK100 in eight weeks," which is what it feels like. I'm racing against the clock to prepare my mind and body.

I'll be blogging about the process and sharing fun trail stories, like detailed descriptions of what it feels like to get hit full in the face by a teeming swarm of gnats as you fly down a hill. It's especially bad if the rider (myself) is singing to Metallica with her mouth open. Imagine Linda Blair circa 1973 wearing a bike helmet and projectile vomiting bugs after slamming a water bottle. Shiver.

Despite the bugs, this amateur is determined. Or maybe crazy. Or both. Either way, watch out Flint Hills. Here I come again.