Surviving the BWR “Unroad” Ride
This weekend I lined up for the BWR “Unroad” ride with a neighbor and friend. When we first registered months ago, we signed up for the 100-mile course. At the time it sounded ambitious but doable. As the event got closer and we looked more closely at the terrain and elevation, wisdom finally kicked in. We dropped down to the 65-mile ride.
After finishing… I’m incredibly thankful we did.
Even the shorter distance was brutal.
Heat, Cramps, and Humility
The day started well enough, but by about mile 25 my legs started cramping. That’s never a good sign that early in a ride. I realized pretty quickly that I had not taken in enough electrolytes, and the desert heat was starting to do its thing.
And it was hot.
The temperature climbed into the mid-90s—about 10 degrees hotter than normal for the event. Out on those exposed desert trails there isn’t much shade and the sun just bakes everything. The heat seemed to pull the strength right out of my legs.
Several times over the next miles I had to stop, straddle the bike, and just stand there for a minute. Not sitting. Not walking. Just standing over the frame trying to will my brain to convince my muscles to relax.
You know that strange negotiation that happens during endurance events:
“Okay legs… we’re not asking for fast… just don’t lock up.”
Eventually they would loosen enough to get rolling again.
Trails, Dust, and One Crash
Despite the suffering, the trails were actually a lot of fun. The course mixed desert single-track, gravel roads, and rough sections that kept things interesting.
But somewhere along the way I overcooked a corner.
The front tire slid, the bike washed out, and I hit the deck. It wasn’t a catastrophic crash, but enough to leave my knee and hip pretty scraped up and remind me that desert dirt is not soft.
I dusted myself off, checked the bike, and kept moving.
That’s kind of the rule on days like this.
Gravel Bikes Everywhere… and My Questionable Choice
One thing became obvious early in the ride: most riders were on gravel bikes.
Light, fast, efficient.
Meanwhile, I was that guy riding a mountain bike.
In some of the rough sections it was great. But on the long gravel roads where everyone else was rolling along efficiently, my bigger tires and heavier bike felt like I was dragging a trailer.
At several points I thought:
“This might not have been the smartest equipment decision.”
But once you start a ride like this, you go with what you brought.
Six Hours Later
After six hours, I finally rolled across the finish line.
Six hours is a long time to be on a mountain bike, especially when your legs have been threatening mutiny since mile 25. But crossing the line still felt good.
Not because it was fast.
Not because it was pretty.
But because I finished.
The Good Kind of Hard
Rides like this have a way of stripping things down to the basics:
Pedal.
Drink.
Breathe.
Don’t quit.
There were moments where it was miserable. Moments where I wondered if the cramps would completely shut things down. But those are also the rides that tend to stick with you.
The heat.
The dust.
The crash.
The long grind to the finish.
It was hard.
But it was also the good kind of hard.
And next time… I might just bring a gravel bike. Yes, I said next time.
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