92 Miles, 8,500 Feet, One Hot Dog

A day at ENVE's signature gravel event, tallied up.

The sky was still fully black when my alarm went off. Half-awake, I burned the sausages, filled the Airbnb with smoke, and made twice as much breakfast as my three bleary-eyed coworkers wanted at that hour. (I stuffed myself.) By the time our truck pulled into ENVE's lot I was still loading the route onto my Garmin — bailed out by the ever-prepared Tamas, who sent me the file on the drive over. I hoisted my Niner off the tailgate and let its Gravelkings smack the pavement.

Grodeo. ENVE's signature gravel event: one route, 92 miles, 8,500 feet of prime Northern Wasatch terrain. We're all experienced riders, but far from home we came armed to the teeth with the best gear we could pull off the shelf. Every gravel setup is a balancing act between road-bike efficiency and mountain-bike robustness, and on unfamiliar terrain you want to be ready for anything.

Light bled across the sky, gentle orange sorbet — the clock hit 7 a.m. — and our police escort, a fleet of glossy classic motorcycles, lit up and peeled away. A few hundred riders rolled through the quiet Ogden streets, making a beeline for the mountains with the low sun in our eyes. Riding on the right edge of the group, I smacked my hand on a delineator hidden by the riders ahead. Pinky numb. Pay attention.

Ogden Canyon carried us up swiftly to crisp alpine pasture. We sailed north through towns named Eden, Liberty. Our tires touched dirt, and the sweet crunching was pure ASMR. A herd of horses galloped across distant foothills. We climbed through forest, punctuated by the crack of rifles and the reek of carcasses. Utah, brimming as promised with raw majesty.

The fire road pitched up — 5%, 8%, 12% — and the group splintered. I've long favored Shimano's GRX 820 components. I winched my way past other riders, clicking through gears on Deore's steel 51-tooth sprocket, hands comfortable and secure on the textured hoods. Low weight and gizmos aren't my focus: the course was fully supported, but a broken cassette or a dead battery out here would still mean a miserable hike.

Nor did I want to spoil the fresh S-PHYRE gravel shoes I was testing. They wear less rubber than their XC903 MTB cousins — but I'd learn they trade loose-dirt hikeability for startlingly road-like heel stability, thanks to their unique floating Pontoon Cleat lugs. Every bit counts on a rough seven-hour day. Add the stiff carbon soles and XTR's short-spindle pedal option, and I was climbing with pavement-worthy Q-factor and feel, yet stump-pulling MTB gearing.

The course pulled no punches. The descent off the first climb was baked-in washboard with embedded rock. I slammed my dropper, followed our rep Matt's line, and let the bike run — you need speed to skip across these impacts, or you'll bog down and lose control.

The silence caught me off guard. 650b wheels may have fallen out of fashion, but my ENVE G27s were cut on these very roads — their carbon rolled in Ogden behind me. They pounded through the chop without complaint, even when I bottomed the rim on an errant sharp edge. Shimano's MTB-bred clutched derailleur reined in my chain with ease.

After navigating rocky singletrack (grateful for the PNW Coast's suspension feature), we broke out into Mantua: a small town of big houses, sparsely set in an agonizingly idyllic landscape. Sailing the reservoir edge past families and fishermen, air thick with cottonwood down, I asked Clay whether we might have hit a tree and died on the last descent. Then heaven gave way to a sun-blasted highway grind.

From then on, every aid station was the presumed hot dog station. None were. We rolled through a town named Paradise (deserved), declined a donut hand-up from a nice lady, and traded a paceline on smooth asphalt. By the fourth hotdogless station, dread was churning on the horizon of my mind.

Six hours in, my favorite Carbs Fuel gels could help me no further. I told Clay I had to make a break for the hot dogs or I was going to crack. I ripped the cord, hammered across the beaten gravel in a Hail Mary attempt to outrun my bonk. When I next saw the black ENVE flags topping a hill, they were accompanied by the savory smell I craved.

Fortified, we strode out to dispatch the day's last challenges. The final climb's entrance was hidden on private property — tire-width singletrack that burrowed through foliage, then opened onto a grassy hillside over 20% grade. Even my 38×51 low gear was a challenge. Then came smooth forest singletrack, berms in the shade, cool ferns.

Then the ferns gave way to shattered loose rock. Worried about hikers, I flipped on my Timber bell — but it was so deafening that riders started scrambling off the trail ahead of me. "Sorry for the racket!" I yelled. I wonder if they heard me.

When we reached the river bike path, I knew the end was close, and picked up the pace. The riders behind me hustled in response — I grinned, grabbed another gear, dove into the corners and sprinted out, working my Galfer rotors one last time to open a gap. They still had enough bite for a good skid across the line, right into Chris's camera lens.

A hearty burger, an ice-cold towel, and a finisher's sheriff's star were our rewards — but the memories are what we'll savor. And Tamas, our resident Cat 1 road racer, had been sitting outside the ENVE showroom for two hours by the time the rest of us rolled in. We'll be back at ENVE's sleek headquarters, and the mountains behind it, soon enough.

Build Your Own Grodeo READY RIDE

From Shimano groups to ENVE wheels, PNW droppers, and the tires that make hardpack disappear — the kit that carried us through 92 miles of Wasatch, ready for yours.