Why Gravel?

It’s a July morning, not early, but not so late that it’s hot yet. This is one of my first gravel rides and I’m still getting my bearings. My bike — a stiff carbon road bike with the fattest tires I could wedge between its narrow chainstays — isn’t helping.

It’ll be a while before I understand the algebra of gravel well enough to know that 34mm tires pumped to 55psi do not add up to a smooth ride. So as I awkwardly bounce down a hard-packed stretch of dirt outside La Veta, CO, I find myself questioning whether this is actually the solution I’ve been hoping for.

Like a lot of roadies, I’ve come to gravel because I’m tired of being scared. Hardly a week goes by that I don’t hear about another cyclist being hit by a car. I’ve bought Garmin’s Varia radar unit and I’ve moved many of my regular routes from open roads to paved bike paths, but rides nonetheless feel like something to be survived instead of enjoyed.

The bike industry is promoting gravel as the answer for guys like me. By making seemingly slight changes to the traditional road bike — wider tires, a more relaxed geometry — you create something new¹ that can more comfortably venture off pavement without sacrificing the essence of why so many of us love our road bikes.

Right now, though, struggling to stay upright, I’m not convinced.

Suddenly, I sense motion. Something is gaining on me from the right. In the city, I might have imagined a car, but this sounds different. I turn to look…and then I see them. Five horses. Two black, two brown, one gray. Thundering along the fence line that separates the road from the surrounding ranch land. They’re overtaking me quickly, but I accelerate, and after a few hard pedal strokes, we’re moving together.

I can’t tell if they’re even aware of me; I don’t really care. We’ve become a peloton of sorts, and I’m being pulled forward by the group’s momentum. For the first time in a very long time, I feel like I’m riding toward something instead of running away.

I can only keep up for a minute or two. As they pull ahead, I let up on the pedals and realize that the increased speed has smoothed my ride. I’m gasping for air, but in that moment, I’m a cyclist again.

The Roads Less Traveled

That was 2021, and since then I’ve taken to gravel with a passion I could never have expected. Cycling still has its dangers, of course. Today, however, I might see no more than a handful of vehicles on a ride — and they’re all going a whole lot slower than the ones that used to roar by on pavement.

I’m not here to argue that gravel is better than other kinds of cycling. After all, the bicycle’s most obvious purpose is transportation and exercise — you can get those benefits on any bike (even that stationary bike in your basement if all you’re after is elevating your heart rate).

But bikes can offer so much more. Peter Flax, writing for the Escape Collective, puts it well: “Bikes are magical machines that can get us to whatever practical or metaphorical destination we’re trying to reach.”

In my experience, gravel takes me to both of those destinations more often. Paradoxically, much of this may be due to the compromised nature of the gravel bike itself. Trying to be all things to all people is often the surest path to mediocrity. The gravel bike may be an exception.

Yes, it is neither as fast as a road bike nor as forgiving as a mountain bike. And yet it is also less constrained than either.

I now see that my road bike’s fragile tires too often dictated where I could and couldn’t go. Stay on the pavement. Avoid all that debris on the shoulder. And certainly don’t deviate from today’s planned route. It was a bit like always being forced to color inside the lines.

Sure, a mountain bike would solve some of that. But it would also take away the thrill we roadies get from speeding down descents and slicing through the wind on our drop-bar bikes. And, if we’re really being honest, it would also require learning some bike-handling skills that I suspect I’m too old to master.

My gravel bike is ready for most anything that comes its way. In a pinch, I’ve ridden it in road events and held my own, but it’s always ready to go off pavement and even occasionally take on some light singletrack.

If gravel is the middle path between road and mountain biking, it’s clear that it is also the widest, offering more far opportunities for exploration — quite literally on roads less traveled.

There are certainly those who race their gravel bikes (me included on occasion), and plenty of others who ride to test themselves in ultra-endurance events. But for so many of us, the gravel bike is, first and foremost, a vehicle for discovery.

Which, of course, is what this site is all about.

These explorations aren’t limited to riding in new places. Or even to the people I might meet, the meals shared, or the cultures encountered. Some of the most rewarding destinations are those internal ones.

To paraphrase Albert Einstein, the bicycle forces you to find balance by moving forward. But it is also often said that riding a bike has a remarkable way of making you feel like you’re 10 years old again.

I would argue that both are true, and it is in this restorative and open-ended space where so much can happen. Some days, it is where I can do my best thinking and problem-solving. On others, it’s where I can turn all of that off and simply experience the moment or, dare I say it, joy. Not knowing which you’ll get on any given ride may be cycling’s greatest gift.

Where the Antelope Play

Fast forward to a few months after my ride with the horses. I’m now on a proper gravel bike, and I’m back on Valley Road. Unlike most of the county roads here in southern Colorado, this one ignores the government’s customary grid and instead winds through the countryside in a series of gentle curves that follow the narrow Cucharas River.

Ahead of me, I spot a herd of pronghorn antelope. Here in La Veta, I regularly encounter all kinds of wildlife on my rides: deer, elk, bald eagles, and even a herd of buffalo that one Sunday morning charged across the road right in front of me.

I see these same pronghorns from time to time, but never up close. They’re usually already on the move, and if not, they always scatter² as soon as they see me. Today, though, they’re standing in the road, maybe 150 yards away. I get closer and, as expected, they flee to my left.

Except for one. He’s holding his ground, and, unlike the horses on that earlier ride, there’s no question that he’s looking right at me.

The gap between us closes to about 100 yards before he finally takes off. But instead of following his friends, he sprints directly away from me, bisecting the curves ahead like the bar on a dollar sign. His path is perfectly straight, bounding over fences and gliding across the pasture with ease. He reaches the road again, stops, and turns back to watch me wind through the curves. Is he waiting for me?

I continue pedaling and when I’m within 75 yards, he bolts again. He doesn’t seem afraid.

We repeat this dance two more times, and each time he lets me get a little bit closer. Eventually, he clears the fence one last time and rejoins the herd. I’m left to ride on alone and wonder about his intentions. Was it a game? Was he testing himself — or me? I can’t say for sure if he was having fun, but I know I was.

1. In truth, the gravel bike is hardly new or in any way unique. Cyclocross bikes, which have been around for more than a century, are close cousins. And the mountain bike has been shredding gnarly terrain for close to 60 years. ↩︎
2. Pronghorns are the fastest land animals in North America, able to reach speeds close to 60 mph. A conservation success story, they were nearly extinct a century ago but are thriving today. And yeah, they’re not actually “antelope.” ↩︎