14 Hours Stuck, Missed Flights, and Manure: My Ranxo Gravel Story

Ranxo Gravel what an interesting day for me. I was really excited about this race and put a lot of pressure on myself to show up and just give it everything I possibly had because I just wanted a good result here.

The travel getting there was horrendous, getting stuck between two mudslides on a local mountain road, Highway 38. Jake and I were stuck for 14 hours, and with that, missed our original flight to Spain. We finally got rescued in the middle of the night and got home around 4:30 a.m. We went to bed, slept till 9:30 a.m., and instantly got up and just decided to drive to LAX and hope we could get the original flight rebooked. We arrived there around 1, and they told us that there was nothing they could do for us if we wanted, we could book a new flight with them for $2000, but it wasn’t even until 2 days later.

I was stressed out, crying, wishing they understood we were in an emergency situation and that there was no way we could make it in time but they didn’t. I sat on the airport floor with 2 bike bags, 3 suitcases, and 2 backpacks feeling defeated.

I decided to pull out my laptop and just see if there were any flights that would be less expensive leaving today. I found one, an Air France flight boarding in 2 hours. It was pricey, but it was today, and we were already there, already sleep-deprived, and determined to make it to Spain.

We got into the terminal with just 20 minutes until our plane boarded. We went over to the gate and, to our shock, no plane. We went over to the screen that shows when planes come and go, and our flight wasn’t on there. Confused, I’m thinking to myself, for some reason something really doesn’t want us to go to Spain.

We went to an agent, and she assured us our flight would be there, it was just delayed for 3 hours. We played card games and waited, hoping it would come. Finally, it did. We got on the plane and it left. What was supposed to feel like the start of our travel already felt like an eternity.

We took the first flight smoothly to Paris, then the second one from Paris to Valencia. It all worked out, but we were exhausted. We arrived at midnight local time and had to get our rental car and figure out what we were doing. We arrived at the rental car counter and they told us, “Sorry, you don’t have a reservation anymore, we only reserved your car for the hour you said you were coming.” We didn’t understand, as our rental was for 10 days, so how does it make any sense that we no longer had a reservation?

It was midnight, we were tired, and Jake was still determined to race La Traman at 9:30 a.m. that same day. Our only option was to book a new rental car and spend an extra $1000.

Feeling defeated and broke, we got our rental car and decided we were going to look for a hotel nearby. Then we plugged in directions to Girona, where Jake’s race was, and saw that it was 4 hours away with an arrival time of 4:30 a.m. We both looked at each other and realized we only had one option: drive all the way there now and just stay up all night.

I decided I’d do the driving, hoping that Jake could get some sleep before his race. We finally arrived in Girona at the race start, hungry and thirsty, but nothing was open at that hour in Spain. We eagerly waited for 6 a.m., knowing we could then go to a gas station and get water and hopefully some type of food.

6 a.m. rolled around, we got some gas station croissants and water, and felt a little better. We headed back to the venue. Packet pickup opened at 6:30, so we went down and they told Jake he needed to go to the start area to get his packet because it was already too late to get it here. That meant we were back in the car for another 40-minute drive to his race start area.

We arrived and he got his number plate. We were relieved. We had made it to the start, somehow, some way, and Jake was going to be able to start. I decided to start building his bike for him and helping him get ready because he didn’t have much time now.

Everything worked out and he was on the start line. The gun went off and a major sigh of relief came over my body. I thought to myself, “We did it, despite everything, we somehow made it.”

Everything seemed good, and I was waiting for him at aid 2, exhausted, barely able to keep my eyes open in the car, when all of a sudden a massive rainstorm broke out. It was a rainstorm like the one we had experienced the days prior, a torrential downpour. I became worried: is Jake okay out there? I saw the first few riders go by, they looked beat up, wet, muddy. I checked his location. He looked close but didn’t seem to be moving fast.

Around an hour went by and finally he arrived. He told me the last 4 miles were a hike-a-bike downhill because of all the rain, and that when he was on a hike-a-bike uphill he slipped and dislocated his shoulder. He was in a lot of pain and just glad he made it to me. He decided to call it quits.

Selfishly, I was relieved because I was so tired and just wanted to go to our hotel and sleep. Then I remembered, I needed to do my ride. I was contemplating between doing it then or later, but I knew despite not wanting to at all, I needed to just get it done. I had a 2-hour ride but felt so crazy I was only able to do 1 hour.

Then we went back to the hotel and were finally able to sleep. It was 3 p.m. and I slept till 8 p.m. Then we got dinner and slept again from 9:30 p.m. to 10 a.m. the next day.

Then it was time to go to Ponts for my race. I was ready to turn things around and started to gain focus on what needed to happen.

We drove 2 hours there and arrived near 5 p.m., and I was just barely able to squeeze in my 2-hour ride but felt surprisingly good.

The next few days flew by, exploring the city of Solsona, visiting castles, riding the race course, and getting immersed in the culture. It was a beautiful time and my heart was happy. I felt nervous but ready for the race.

The day before, I had a problem with my rear brake it was almost fully on at all times. I went to a bike shop and he fixed it, and I was thankful.

Nutrition was prepped, going for lower sodium than normal, thinking it wouldn’t be very hot looking at the weather. Feed zones were mapped. Course was ridden. Bike was clean. I felt ready to go.

We got to the race start and I was nervous but felt prepared and excited to give the day my absolute best. I knew I had to go hard to the first climb, but I had practiced that so I felt prepared.

The gun went off and I instantly lost the front group up the first climb. This frustrated me, I just wanted to be stronger. I thought to myself, “What am I doing wrong?” I tried to stay calm and kept pushing up and over the climb.

The race seemed to be going smoothly for me. I felt strong and found myself with a group of three. We worked together well. Then we rolled up on aid 1. I had drunk all my bottles and eaten all the gels I had. Then I saw Jake without my feed. I thought, “What’s going on?” and he yelled, “If I give you a feed here you’ll get disqualified.” Freaking out, I continued on because I didn’t want to lose the group I was with. Looking back, this was a huge mistake as I had very little water and was highly under-fueled for the next section coming up.

It got hot, and the course went through farm areas where cow manure was everywhere. The smell was constant, and unfortunately, it even got on my bottles. This is when things really started to take a turn for the worse.

I had put low sodium in my bottles, so I could feel the heat more than normal and just felt so thirsty. I thought to myself, “I would pay a million dollars for some water right now.”

It was bad. My power dropped a lot and I was just waiting for that aid station.

I got to the aid and Jake was there. He gave me two new bottles and gels. I wanted to quit so badly at this moment, feeling so sick. I had stomach cramps and felt so dehydrated, and everything smelled and tasted like manure.

I was over it. But somehow, I kept going. I was going very slow, but at least I didn’t quit. Then the throwing up started. I started throwing up black stuff that tasted like the manure I’d been smelling all day, and I got really nervous. This, paired with severe stomach cramps, made me just want to quit more and more and more.

But I didn’t. I kept going, having to make multiple stops to throw up. It was one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had on a bike.

Still not sure if I was going to finish, I just kept trying over and over again, one pedal stroke at a time. I was unable to eat my gels, and my bottle caps were covered in manure, so I was unable to drink my water. I just kept spitting, trying to get that awful taste out of my mouth from throwing up, unable to change it by drinking something.

I finally made it to aid 3. Just 13 miles from the finish, I was determined to finish now. I filled up my one bottle that was not completely covered in manure and got on my way.

Those last 13 miles were brutal. I was alone, and it was flat. I had to stay motivated if I wanted to finish under 7 hours. I kept pushing, I kept trying. I was not coming all this way to give up now.

I crossed the line just shy of 7 hours. Relieved, but also instantly so disappointed in myself. I felt horrible, smelled horrible, and had a sub-par performance. Honestly, between the heat, the constant smell of manure, and the stomach issues, it was one of the least enjoyable races I’ve ever done.

Sometimes days like that happen, and I look back on my time and think that the race was the least interesting thing that happened while I was there. I got to experience the beauty, the culture, and the history, and for that, I am so beyond thankful and grateful.

I will continue to challenge myself, push myself when things get hard. I have two more races coming up, so I get to put my foot forward two more times this year. Let’s see what I can make happen.

How my bottles looked post race!