Way back in 2009, Farrow and I drove down to Spring in Red Wing to partake in my first gravel race, the Ragnarok 105. Rumor had it was hilly, really hilly. And the weather could be anything in early April. I was riding a singlespeed, woefully geared (good on the hills, spun out on the flats.) But that’s how it starts. Farrow berating me for how inexperienced I was. Me riding my first 100 miler ever, I think. I finished and that was all that mattered that year. The course lived up to its reputation of beautiful and steep (for Minnesota.)
I came back in 2010, 2011, 2012. Then life somehow got in the way.
Flash forward to yesterday, 2021. Back to where it began for me, and in many ways, for Heck of the North Productions (a huge part was also Chris Skogen and his Almanzo…sleeping in his backyard, pancakes and race packets that looked like a designer wedding.) The Ragnarok is still amazing. In fact, just about perfect.
I camped out the night before at Frontenac State Park. I’m a bird guy and the Driftless area is in full Spring fever in early April. I was awoken by eagles screeching along the shore of the lake. Pheasants were calling in the corn stubble. Cardinals were dutifully calling out their territories. Turkey vultures were wobbling above the cliff sides catching the first warm thermals of the day. Kestrels perch hunting from the power lines. Mourning doves singing namesake sad songs. Swallows, killdeers, chickadees, swans, Canada geese, sandhill cranes. All were serenading my thawing Duluth Winter brain. I can not think of a better Spring ritual.
But this Ragnarok course. It is perfect. The hills are steep and long; long enough to get into a good rhythm. Sometimes so steep, with one gear, it is all you can do to turn one more revolution of the crank. The valley rivers are flowing thick with Spring rain. The turns are just frequent enough to keep my hyper brain occupied; sometimes head down into the wind, then another mile and a quartering or, if you’re lucky, a tail wind. The beautiful brick farmsteads, swerving around roadside chickens, goats and manure hauling tractors.
I caught myself wishing there were a few more miles. I am already looking forward to next year. That is the sign of one well designed course. A simple thing of beauty in the world of cycling. Here is my official ‘thank you!’ to the good people that have made this happen since 2008.
***And the green “chore boy” gloves were a checkpoint buy in Zumbro Falls. The temps were just on the edge of cold and my trusty wool gloves were carefully forgotten in the car. Life savers! And traditional cue cards are the best!
