UCI Gravel World Champs - A Rider's Perspective
A Belgian World Champs is peak cycling.
Tic-tac-tic-tac-tic-tac”
The sound of the helicopter comes from above as the countdown begins to the UCI World Gravel Championships. I didn’t think I’d ever be back on the start line of a UCI race in Belgium, let alone a World Champs.
It’s a unique feeling being on a start line like this. The calm before the storm. Nearly three hundred names were called up to be gridded in the elite men’s race. The crowd would politely cheer when a local was announced. The crowd would roar when a big name lined up.
Then, with two minutes to go, there was quiet. A calm fell over the hundreds of racers lined up, and the thousands of fans lining the streets. At that moment, I’m friends with the guys that stand next to me, minutes later we’re chopping each other to pieces in the first corner.
The whistle goes. The crowd roar. We sprint.
Strap yourself in Joe, there’s one more ride on the Belgian bike racing rollercoaster.
—
I qualified 100th place. That put me exactly one-third into the pack of three-hundred riders. It was strange being on the start line knowing that I was far from my best. I returned from the States at the end of July with some sickness, and haven't really gotten over it since. A healthy amount of COVID antibodies appeared in a recent blood test showing the root cause of my issue. I’m on the mend, but not quite good enough to be at the pointy end of a World Champs.
Deep down, I knew that my race had a timeline on it. My brain is way too logical to expect a miracle. I’ve been ill, and unable to venture into big training rides without hacking up my lungs. I’m a realist. If it was any other race, I wouldn’t start. But, it’s Worlds and it’s Belgium.
—
I woke up an hour earlier than my alarm with an excited-nervous case of butterflies. Whatever you think about gravel, World Champs are World Champs. I was like a kid on Christmas Eve.
I go through the motions. I eat a mountain of carbs, pack the car, and head to the small town of Halle. We decide to set-up shop over the road and down an alley. It’s a secluded little street with our rental car.
A team bus would be great. Team staff even better. But, this is professionally amateur.
Including myself, there are three of us in our little team that weekend. My girlfriend, Maggie, comes along for the show. We rarely get to see how the other half races and lives. We spend so much time chasing our race calendars that it’s rare we peek into the other’s office.
Then, there’s Jon Twigg of Pullwood Consulting too. Jon has been in my corner for a few years now. He’s one half of the brother duo that runs Pullwood Consulting, who just happens to be my headline sponsor. He’s also both a mentor and a friend. I’ve been trying to get Jon out to a race all season, but nothing seemed to fit. This weekend worked out perfectly.
I asked Jon to write a few words for this piece. They were so good, I’m reserving them for another article later this week.
—
My race plan is simple: survive. I joke that I don’t want to die. I joke that I’m participating, not competing. I guesstimate how deep my skill of riding a road peloton can get me into the race. Deep down, these jokes are out of insecurity - it sucks racing on the biggest stage without the level I know I can race at.
I stay out of trouble and use every trick in the book to stay in a good position. However much I try, I’m missing my engine. I never realised how much I relied on that thing. When things are getting spicy, I can often flick out of line and move myself up with one big effort. I can use my time-trial diesel engine to get me out of trouble. Not this weekend.
My brain knew exactly what to do, where to move, and how to race. My legs and lungs said no.
The course itself was hectic. I could write thousands of words about it. The first 40km were some of the most batshit crazy kilometres of racing I’ve done in my life. I thought I knew everything Belgium had to offer, but I was wrong. Single track, double track, fast corners, slow corners, steep road climbs, fast gravel forests and even a train station, plus every fucking cobble between Halle and Leuven.
The crowds were spectacular. Every corner we rounded, potato field we traversed or cobble we crossed, somebody was cheering.
Cycling is in the blood of the Belgians From five-year-old kids wearing replica rainbow jerseys to the eighty-five-year-olds with a moustache and a flat cap - everybody is a bike racing fan, and they come out in force. There were climbs in random forests which were a wall of noise. There were trumpets, drums, euro-trash pop and everything in between. It was one big party. Exactly how a bike race should be.
I wish everybody could witness a bike race in Belgium. It doesn’t matter what side of the barrier you are on, it’s incredible. I’m a writer, but I struggle to put into words what Belgium is. It’s emotion, it’s goosebumps, it’s the smell of beer and frites in the air. It’s a pure love of bike racing like nowhere else in the world. It’s ace.
I stepped off in the feedzone with one lap to go. My body was running on low, and had little fight left to give. I passed Maggie in the feedzone, braked and flipped a U-Bolt. “I’m done” - I say with a smile.
Nathan Haas comes flying past a minute later. ”Give me my helmet”, I scramble, “I’m heading back in.” I stop myself. I tell myself to be sensible and put health first. I smile, my Worlds is over. Thirty seconds later, my decision is vindicated. I move off to the side to cough up some phlegm. The coughing turns into a fit of projectile vomit, three times to be exact.
I’m done for the year. It’s time to rest.
—
Never in my life have I started a bike race having absolutely zero expectations for a top result or performance. This weekend was different. I knew, whatever my state, I’d regret not racing if I didn’t go to Belgium. The goal was a three-letter word we often forget about: fun.
There have been plenty of times in my career where I’ve questioned if I truly love racing. At some point, the thing you love as a kid takes over your life. It goes from being this fun hobby to the focus of every living moment. There were times when I didn’t enjoy racing, there was a time when I thought I was ready to step away from the sport completely.
I didn’t know what to expect this weekend, I just knew I wasn’t fit or healthy enough to race at the level I wanted to. I was reminded of one thing though, I bloody love bike racing. I love the carnage, I love the chaos, I enjoy the butterflies. I love throwing elbows, shooting gaps and getting that surge of adrenaline that can only come from being inside a peloton.
At some point in my life, I know all of that will stop. Two years ago, I thought I was ready for it to be over, I was wrong, I’m not ready to stop. Thank you to everyone who stood by me in those times. To those who believed in me.
The 2025 building blocks are slowly falling into place. I have my goals written, I have my calendar planned, now it’s just a case of finalising the sponsor line-up and the financials.
I’m going nowhere, you’ve got me daring to dream for at least one more season.
—
I’m going to end on this.
In the future, we will have a better course for the Gravel World Championships, but I think we’ll be hard-pressed to find a race that can match the atmosphere of this.
The story this weekend should be about a new discipline attracting the world’s biggest riders on the world’s biggest stage. It shouldn’t be about the riders who did or didn’t attend. It shouldn’t be about whatever ranking system we use. The race didn’t make sense, the course didn’t make sense, and the tactics definitely didn’t make sense either. But, everyone had fun, and everyone was smiling. Isn’t that what matters?
Belgium, thank you. I love you, I hate you and I love to hate you. We have a toxic relationship, but for some reason, I keep coming back.
Finally, finally, I saw my good friend, Nathan Haas on the side of the road forty minutes in with young Isaac del Toro. Haasy had braked and pulled over to help Isaac fix a mechanical. The spirit of gravel, I wryly said to myself with a smile as I zoomed past.
Nathan, I owe you an apology for that night at your apartment in late 2022 when I ridiculed gravel.
You, as normal, were right. It’s epic.
Oh, and finally finally finally - it’s a shame that we haven’t had a Gravel Worlds in the US yet. Come on UCI, get your act together.
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Great text, I almost feel like I was there!
Great article!