UCI Gravel Worlds: A Differing Perspective
A 'fly on the wall' account of my weekend in Belgium
I write a lot of words about my adventures across the racing world. I like to think my writing offers a ‘fly on the wall’ type perspective to those who don’t get to witness it. This past weekend at Gravel Worlds, I had Jon Twigg of Pullwood Consulting along with me for the ride.
I asked Jon to write me a few words for my previous piece, he did such a good job, that I had to share it in full. I rarely get to read a ‘fly on the wall’ type perspective into my own life…
It's time for the UCI Gravel World Championships and whilst it's true 'this ain't my first rodeo', it will be my first time at a gravel Worlds and my first time experiencing a race in Belgium, the gritty heartland of cycling.
What’s more, after two years partnering with Joe Laverick at Pullwood, this will be my first time watching him plying his trade on the loose stuff. There’s no denying I’m excited, and I have a professional curiosity to see how an elite athlete like Joe sets themselves up to perform.
It starts in earnest the day before with food – more on that later! – and a run-through of the likely scenario: logistics, race recon, weather, hydration, nutrition… I’m feeling quietly overwhelmed on Joe’s behalf, but it seems I’m the only one so off we go.
Before I know it, we’re circling Halle, this year’s start venue. And it’s already getting busy. In this town, on this weekend, blagging our way into the reserved parking is a non-starter so it’s time to politely turn our backs whilst ‘the talent’ gets to strip off in the local coach park before a quick spin to recon the opening sectors.
45km later we catch up with Joe outside Waterloo. His assessment of the opening loop of Halle reads like a litany of potential disasters - pinch points, unprotected road furniture, canal paths, barbed wire fences - but rather than sounding nervous or concerned, he seems to be genuinely excited. This is proper Belgian bike racing apparently!
Back at Team Camp on the outskirts of Brussels (aka a local AirBnB) it’s time to refuel. Whilst I’d like to think I’m reasonably conscious (and hopefully conscientious) regarding what I eat, you know you’re a rank amateur when someone can instantly tell you how many grams of carbs are in whatever they’re snacking on, and can wax lyrical on the impact of different Haribos.
Jokes aside, fuelling for endurance at this level is a serious business, from the hour-by-hour planning of in-race consumption to the pre-race cycle of eat-digest-eat again, and eating like this doesn’t seem like that much fun.
Before you know it, it’s the big day. There’s a pre-race routine and I’m watching closely but doing everything I can to not be a distraction. There’s the ‘just in case’ tightening of every bolt, followed by an extended version of the classic “wallet, keys, phone” check. For Joe this is more like “dynaplug, spare derailleur battery, tyre levers…”, with each one sounding like a talisman against a previous bad experience never to be repeated.
It’s all surprisingly calm and I find myself slipping into a typical Sunday morning routine scrolling through the news, when suddenly it’s show time - a quick game of car boot Tetris (carefully rehearsed the day before to minimise game-day stress) and we’re off.
Side note: whilst I’m almost certain she didn’t sign up for the job, my sanity & safety are in the expert hands of Maggie Coles-Lyster this weekend. Luckily for me Maggie competes at the highest levels so knows her way around the circus that is pro cycling. More importantly, she’s blessed with an unrivalled instinct for finding parking places, good coffee, and spotting Joe in a crowd. All of which I’ll rely on this weekend. Thank you once again Maggie!
The start zone is an altogether different experience from what I’ve seen at road races. Yes, there are still the garishly branded mega buses from the big World Tour teams, but they’re mixed in with campervans from local clubs, and friends & families unloading loved ones ready for their weekend activity.
In some respects, it’s a routine that’s a familiar fixture at sports fields across the globe. The difference today, here in Halle, is that every single one of them is going to be running out onto their ‘hallowed turf’ together. To compete. At the same time. I’m starting to see why the word “mental” has cropped up so often in the last forty-eight hours.
Fast forward a couple of hours and I’m struggling through the streets of Leuven trying to find a route to the feed zone that isn’t blocked by barriers, crowds, or friendly but uncompromising stewards. I’ve only got one job today and that’s to make sure Joe gets a fresh bottle after almost 90km of racing. Pressure’s mounting… I’m stood on a train platform trying to figure out how to cut through the station - not that simple given today’s race actually goes through the same station – when the message comes in: we’ve missed him.
Thankfully I know from our work together that Joe’s got real strengths when it comes to adaptability, and in this case ‘adapting’ is going to mean stealing someone else’s drink bottle. I can only apologise to whoever missed out. Blame me, not Joe.
As with so many tasks, once the pressure’s off finding the feed zone becomes simple. Or maybe that’s because Maggie’s back in control. Let’s chalk it up to good teamwork. The feed zone itself is crowded, but calm, with everyone relaxing in the sun and chatting with neighbours or hunched over to create enough shade to follow the race broadcast on their phones. And then it begins.
There’s a ripple in the quiet calm, which turns into action as soon as the distant ‘whop, whop’ of the race helicopters comes into earshot. The big trade teams here to support their riders have commanded the best spots, no doubt because they’ve had people here waiting for hours. They’re fully branded, fully equipped, and totally calm. Everyone else is donning random, but easily identifiable hats or gilets as they excitedly take up positions on the side of the road. And there’s me, with nothing but a bottle and a growing sense of panic.
When the riders finally come through it’s a maelstrom of noise, colour, and confusion. I’m pretty confident my brain was registering most riders’ nationalities about 5 metres after where I stood. How the hell am I supposed to not only spot Joe but hand him a bottle without taking out half the field? On reflection, the closest parallel I can offer is the imagery of the old Group B rally cars travelling at full speed whilst hordes of spectators seem to jump out of the way just in time to avoid a collision.
Despite the limited prospects that there would be a good outcome here, I stuck with it in the blind (and surely misguided) belief that when Joe entered the feed zone time would somehow slow to a crawl, I’d extend a bottle, and he’d accept it with an appreciative nod before disappearing up the road. As things turned out, that's almost what happened. The only slight difference was that it was Joe, not time, who slowed down before pulling over to the side of the road.
I can see how it must be almost impossible to resist the urge to pull on your national jersey and get amongst it if such a rare opportunity were to present itself, but at the same time finding yourself throwing up in the bushes at the side of the road is a fair indicator that recent illness has taken its toll and maybe this was always going to be too much to ask of the body after a long, hard season.
Discretion being the better part of valour I obviously chose not to share this opinion with Joe, I simply hand him a bottle and quietly pat myself on the back for a job well done.
It’s now Monday and the ever-present sound of Belgian drum & bass has finally faded. I’m left reflecting on the weekend and can’t help but draw parallels between my ‘normal’ world and the strange circus that I’ve been fortunate to observe. The calm confidence that comes from prudent preparation paired with an acceptance that things don’t always go to plan.
The instinctive pre-mortems that build adaptability in-the-moment. The appreciation of what ‘winning’ means in different situations (with thanks to Rob Lydic’s post for highlighting that one!).
In the business world we can and should be more intentional about adopting some of these practices to get us through the tough times and I’m looking forward to digging deeper into this with Joe during his well-deserved off-season.
For now, I’ll close by saying a big thank you to Joe, Maggie, and everyone who spared time to make this a weekend to remember.
Joe here,
It’s strange reading about my weekend through a different lens.
I’ve spent hours on the phone with both Jon and Nick (the other half of Pullwood) this year. Usually, I’m in some faraway land and some other time zone. I’m telling stories of my latest adventure or my plans for the next race over a Zoom call.
It was a pleasant change having Jon with me. I tried to give the most authentic race experience possible. Unfortunately for Jon, that often means a whole lot of nothing. I think the biggest nap came the day before the race when I exclaimed “I don’t know which to do first, go to the cafe, or nap.”
Bringing Jon into the race bubble was great. An extra pair of hands are always welcomed at any gravel event. I’m not sure it’s what he first signed up, and it’s far from the usual corporate hospitality that I imagine he’s had in the past, but it’s pure bike racing.
I hope that I can get him out to more races next year. Races where I’m performing at my physical peak and racing to win, rather than just participating.
Jon, Nick and Pullwood’s daily life isn’t bike racing. They’re experts in tech start-ups, growth and leadership. jon@pullwood.consulting and nick@pullwood.consulting are the places to reach them.
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