Dirty Kanza 2016

The Dirty Kanza.  For some, it’s merely a race to be won; for others, a test of one’s mettle.  But for all participants, be they riders, support crew members, organizers, or observers, it is the gateway to an amazing popup community of people all pulling toward one goal: get these riders to that finish line in Emporia.

My Dirty Kanza Half Pint did not go anywhere near to plan this year.  Various issues, mechanical (flat rear tire, saddle falling off), physical (lots of cramping, back out of place), and mental (constant internal debate about whether to call for a pickup) had me swearing off the race, and gravel riding, by mile 70.  I said so after the race.  I was ready to sell parts of my gravel bike off and convert it to commuter only status.  My anticipation for the next year was to not have to worry about it.  But here I sit, merely a week later, wondering if maybe I should try the full deal next year.  Earn that pint glass and the hug from Jim like so many of my friends.

What emotion (or insanity) could bring about such a swing in attitude?  The only thing I can think of is the feeling of community that envelops the ride, the town of Emporia, and all the people around the event for one weekend in June each year.  That feeling of belonging to something where all involved are pulling together for a common goal: get the riders to the finish.  Whether someone’s part in attaining that goal entails pedaling, supporting riders at checkpoints, cheering riders from the roadside or anywhere in between, it’s the overarching sense of everyone around wanting everyone else to have an amazing day.

I did not come anywhere close to meeting my goal of when I wanted to finish.  I did not get near where I wanted to in the standings.  My bike broke down.  My body broke down.  My mind almost went with my body.  But the one thing that upsets me a week later is that I didn’t see my good friend Matt finish his first, full DK.  Near heat exhaustion had taken its toll and I ended up taking too long of a nap.  All that went wrong with my ride and that’s what bugs me.

The only explanation I have for it is that sense of community that pervades the race.  A member of that community who is close to me was accomplishing something amazing and I missed it.  That feeling of missing out is something I’d like to avoid in the future.  Maybe next year, if my sanity returns, I’ll be there to support the riders at the checkpoints and get them in and out as fast as possible.  Maybe, if I’m close to being committed, I’ll be right there beside my friends at the start of the Dirty Kanza, ready to ride as part of a community that I can’t imagine ever leaving.