Boiling down the 'spirit of gravel' to a new word: hardfun.

Back of the start line at the Black Fork Gravel Grinder on May 6, 2023.

I participated in a gravel race this last Saturday. Black Fork Gravel Grinder. I missed the deadline to register a few months back, but then I wrote an article about the race organizers and they graciously comped my entry.

Thank you Jay and Matt. Truly.

To my surprise, they signed me up for the 54-mile race route. I haven’t really trained though, so I thought I’d just opt for the 30-mile option this time around and make it a recon mission for a possible race next year. They also had a 23-mile route. (The 23- and 30-mile courses are not timed.)

I’m preaching to the choir here, but gravel races are a party. Fun crowd. Music. Camaraderie. Funky, diverse bikes. (I rode behind some jorted dudes riding bikes outfitted with BMX handlebars at some point.) People make jokes. (Like the guy who yelled “CAR BACK” at the beginning of the race when all 751 of us were climbing up a 12.5% grade hill on what’s colloquially known as “The Wall.” The joke was met with a few chuckles at the thought of the hypothetical.)

I guess it’s all part of the so-called “spirit of gravel.” Can’t lie … I don’t hate it. I wrote about this spirit of gravel a couple months back shortly after participating in my first gravel race. In that post, I shared some thoughts on what the spirit of gravel is.

While cranking on the relentless gravel hills of the Glenmont/Mohican area this weekend, a thought occurred to me. This is hardfun, I thought. And I think if you take the thoughts I shared in my original post exploring this idea, and then boil it down, you get this word: hardfun.

I arrived at this little epiphany because I gave myself a twofold goal on Saturday.

Goal #1: Have fun.

Goal #2: Stay in the saddle for every climb.

Arriving to the start line and moseying my way to the back, finding a fellow cycopath who recognized my face and saying “hello.” Fun.

Feeling the warmth of the sun on my pumping legs on the first stretch of the ride. Fun.

Feeling the lactic acid build up in those same legs on the first climb. Hard.

Forcing myself to stay in the saddle to accomplish my unspoken goal. Hard.

Spinning out the back tire on that 12.5% hill. Hard.

Pedaling ahead of a group of people by not bypassing the massive mud puddles on a descent. Feeling the cold muddy grit splash by body. Fun.

Being dropped by guys who look like Tadej Pogacar and Jonas Vingegaard. Hard.

Squeezing the brakes on a loose and gravelly 15% descent, blinking the tears away (because of course I don’t own eyewear) and blindly (literally) hoping I don’t fall. Hardfun.

I think you get the point. The spirit of gravel is hardfun. It’s hard; but it’s also fun.

By the way, I can proudly say I did not get out of the saddle — except at the aid station for a few minutes to pee and gulp down a Coke before embracing the pain and committing to another 10 miles of hard riding. (Hardfun.)