I race as a privateer, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have a team making it possible for me to chase this dream of racing bikes. From the many friends and neighbors who volunteer to take care of Kweli to the organizations (and individuals) supporting me financially and through gear, the network supporting me is a critical part of what allows me to show up at the start line of each event.

Even so, on race day, it can sometimes feel a bit lonely. I almost always travel alone, which means that I don’t have “crew” on-course to hand up fresh water bottles or ice. Most of the time, I make it work. I carry a pack in addition to bottles, stop at neutral aid stations when necessary, and have pretty well dialed in just how far I can make it on just the fuel I can carry on my bike/body.

But when the forecast read 95F for race day for the 2024 Cross-Country Marathon National Championships, I knew I would struggle to race solo. The race was expected to be just shy of 50 miles, which was at least 10 miles further than I thought I could eke out of two bottles and a pack…and even that was questionable in temps like that. With only a few days to prepare for Nationals after arriving back in the U.S. from Pan-Ams, I scrambled. I hastily sent out messages to friends I knew would be racing, hoping someone would have extra hands in the feed zones.

That, however, was about as far as my preparation got. I had failed to organize housing, so threw the mattress in the back of my RAV4, planning to sleep in the back of my car in the WalMart parking lot if necessary. There, the heat was less my concern than light and noise that would make it difficult to sleep after already having two overnight flights in four days the week prior (thanks to the travel to and from Brazil for Pan-Ams).

Hoping desperately that someone would be available to hand up ice and water in the feed zones, I packed my cooler full of ice and extra bottles, and drove south to Auburn, Alabama. On the way down, I was able to stay with an old college roommate and her family, breaking up the drive. I also managed to squeeze three job interviews into the second half of the drive, stopping at coffee shops and mid-pre-ride to jump on calls with prospective hiring companies.

After pre-riding, things started to fall into place. One friend offered to let me stay on the floor of their hotel room to ensure that I was in A/C the night before the race. Other friends came together to make sure that I would be taken care of in the aid stations, essentially making me an adopted part of the Dirt Camp Racing team for the weekend. The Dirt Camp Racing team is one that I always love getting to race alongside, as its a team made up of absolutely wonderful human beings, and their generosity in offering to help make sure I got water and ice through the event only reinforced that feeling.

On race morning, I arrived early, set up my cooler and handed off my extra hydration pack to the Dirt Camp Racing crew. The plan was a bit loose, as they were also crewing for 40 other racers throughout the day, but I knew that I would at least get a few fresh bottles and hopefully some ice on course.

I surprised myself on the starting climb by staying with the pack, something that I was unable to do the previous year. Unfortunately, the residual fog of the week’s sleep deprivation and this surprise was enough for me to also be surprised by the start of the sprint into the singletrack (rookie move, I know). As a result, I got stuck in the back going into the singletrack, where space for safe passing was limited. I made yet another mistake by being a bit too patient to pass, letting the gap between the rider ahead of me and the next rider up grow. When I finally forced a pass, the next rider up was out of sight. For the next 40+ miles, I fought to close that gap. With all the mistakes of the day compounded together in the first five minutes of racing, I pushed hard all day. Each time I passed the feed zones, the Dirt Camp Racing crew were there with fresh bottles, ice, and even a rolling handoff of my second hydration pack, all of which was a life-saver in the suffocating heat. Even with plenty of water and ice, I was struggling to focus on the trails by the last few miles, and praying to be done.

I crossed the finish line in 8th, a result that felt meaningless in the excitement of Carson Beckett’s (Dirt Camp Racing) elite National Championship win and the success of many other Dirt Camp Racing athletes. In that moment, celebrating the team that “adopted me” for a day meant far more than any individual result or accomplishment.

DCR – thanks for letting me be a part of your family, even just for a weekend.