The Radavist

Ian Graber-Stiehl explores the current state of cycling in Northwest Arkansas, where Bikepacking Roots is working with the growing destination city of Fayetteville to establish six adventure routes that provide 750 miles of trails and pathways in the Ozarks. Does Oz live up to the marketing hype? Read on…

A local Arkansan who grew up in Bentonville, Hilary Lex left home after high school, swearing never to return. Fate brought her back and she rewrote the narrative of her relationship with The Natural State because of one unexpected thing: The Inaugural Arkansas Graveler. The Arkansas Graveler is a mixed-surface, 6-day ride across the state of Arkansas that takes cyclists from the rolling hills and hollers of the Ozarks down into the Arkansas Delta river bottoms. Read on below for Hilary’s personal recap…

I knew nothing of the lore of gremlin bells when I signed on for Ozark Gravel DOOM, at the urging of a friend after a coveted spot opened in the sold-out 2023 event. The race had been on my radar for some time, though I was intimidated by its 390-mile, mostly dirt, route that starts and finishes at the iconic Oark General Store, in a small town by the same name, and traces the boundary of Arkansas’ Ozark St. Francis National Forest. Anything billed as a throwdown by one of the hardest riders around – route designer and event organizer, Andrew Onermaa – was sure to test my limits.

6:27 a.m., Friday the 13th, 2022. Twenty-four grown-ass adults are walking around in circles ringing bells and there is a dude wearing a Scream mask counting down the minutes until a bike ride begins. What the F%#k is going on?

My mom worries about me when I’m out riding my bike, for multiple days at a time, alone. By the way, I turned 30 in March. She says it’s not that she doesn’t trust me, it’s other people she’s worried about. And while she’s never outlined this explicitly, I’m sure the fact that I’m an only daughter—not an only son—also plays a role. But, to her credit, she’s getting more comfortable (or, better at hiding her discomfort) with the idea of me pursuing solo endeavors. This time around, when I called her from the car to let her know I was en route to the Ozarks to attempt an Individual Time Trial on the 380-mile Ozark Gravel Doom route, instead of a flat-lined, “…what?” I heard her pause, then—on the tail-end of an exhale—say, “Okay.”

A strange sensation grips the mind when a long drive begins in the darkness of predawn. The city remains still, holding onto its final few hours of sleep, and the highway remains virtually empty. There is a promise in the loneliness of the opening hours of long highway travel. Exits flutter by in the darkness; distant lights of tractor-trailers and roadside oasis’ are the only possible signs of life beyond the confines of my car. The falling snow has narrowed my concentration to the reflecting lines on the asphalt as I navigate south and west on my way to Fayetteville, Arkansas, for this year’s Cyclocross World Championships.