CHAPTER 5: Hell or High Water

And it’s not just the riders — fitter, more heat-adapted, more dialled in on nutrition — pushing the pace. Their gear has evolved. So have their teams. The feed zone, once a place to grab Oreos and a Coke or hit the porta-potty, now mimics an F1 pit stop.

“Since last year, when we got our own start, the time has come down significantly. It goes to show that men just get in the way sometimes.”

– Maude Farrell 

Some riders don’t even clip out, grabbing a musette from a mechanic or friend while rolling through. Others put a foot down just long enough for a teammate to yank an empty bladder out of their Blaerosuit and cram a fresh one in. At the pointiest end of the spear, everyone has someone.

Two days before Unbound, Anna, Sarah, Maude, and Ellen are practicing feed zone choreography in the driveway of their Emporia rental house. One by one, they sprint in, screech to a halt, and wait while Brandon, Jimmy, Kenny, and Dylan pull out deflated bladders and stuff in full ones. They’re aiming for sub-10-second transitions. 

At her first Unbound in 2022, Ellen rolled into the feed zone and lingered. She had a flat, which Dylan fixed. Her mom was there. They hugged. She went to the bathroom. Sat on the curb. 

“I was maybe there 10 minutes,” she says. “It felt leisurely. I was in no rush.”

Her finish time that year? 13:32.

This year — with a Blaerosuit and a sub 10-second stop?

10:51 and 25th overall.

“The feed zone doesn’t make or break your race,” Ellen says. “But if you’re not smart about it, it can burn a lot of your matches.”

Alma, the tiny checkpoint town at mile 70, wakes slowly on race morning. Riders are still hours out. Kids colour on picnic blankets while parents set up camp chairs. The bakery is selling out of their cinnamon rolls and drip coffee. Behind the Mobile Service Course, Jimmy and Kenny lay out Ellen and Maude’s supplies, each item in its place.

Everyone is here for someone.

Dylan, Sarah’s husband and longtime mechanic, is the de facto boss. He’s done this for years — for Sarah and many others — but he still gets nervous. Never has more than one cup of coffee so the jitters don’t affect his performance. Nevertheless, everyone is a bit jittery at this point. They don’t know what to expect, or what their riders might need. No news is good news, and so far no one has texted from the field. Until the riders are within 10 miles, it's a lot of hurry-up-and-wait

Then they arrive.

Sarah yells that her bars feel crooked. Dylan talks her out of it — “no time.” He swaps bottles and slings a musette. Maude doesn’t say a word. She’s in and out like clockwork. Ellen pauses mid-rollout to ask for an extra bottle.

In seconds, they’re gone.

A lot can change in a matter of seconds, miles, hours. That’s always true in bike racing — but it hits hard on a day like Unbound.

After her crash, Anna calls it a day at the first feed zone. Before the second feed zone, Sarah calls Dylan for a ride. She also got caught up in an early crash. Ellen’s day unfolds quietly — which, in a race like this, is a gift. And Maude? Maude has the ride of her life.

On hearing she finished 12th — she sobs.


Trust runs deeper than tactics. Because while gravel racing is getting faster, more tactical, for these four women it’s rooted in something else. Something shared. Yes, they’re racing for themselves — but also for each other. For the friend next to them. For the mechanic kneeling in the dirt. For the partner holding a bottle like a baton.

At the feed zone, everyone has someone. And maybe that’s the point — no matter how fast this thing gets, no one does it alone.