Clara's Gravel Blog: Between Freedom, Chaos, and Lots of Dust
- 23 hours ago
- 4 min read
Clara Koppenburg reflecting on her first months in the world of Gravel Racing.
29.04.2026
For ten years, my world was clear and structured. Road racing meant a plan, control, and a team. I knew where I had to be and when, what I would eat, and when to get on the bike.
Most of the time, someone else was taking care of everything else.
Now, sometimes I find myself standing in a kitchen, stirring pasta. Next to me, a freshly washed Gravel bike dries in the living room. Jan, meanwhile, is somewhere around, mounting tyres.
Welcome to my new world.
I’ve switched to Gravel—and it feels a bit like starting all over again.
I’ve switched to Gravel—and it feels a bit like starting all over again. Just with more dust… and fewer people doing things for you.
The day before a race is probably where I feel the difference the most. It used to be almost ritualised: a 1.5-hour easy ride, lunch, massage, a team meeting, maybe a presentation—and then the most important part: doing absolutely nothing and calling it “preparation.”
Now, I still ride for 1.5 hours, but after that, the second part of the workday begins.
Cleaning the bike. Changing tyres. Checking the chain (or replacing it when it’s seen more dust than lubrication). Preparing bottles. Grocery shopping. Somewhere in between, I try to fit in a foam rolling and stretching session. Often, while trying not to forget about the boiling water for the pasta.
Jan and I have developed a kind of unspoken system. We don’t really talk about it, but somehow it works.
One takes care of the bikes, the other of the food—and occasionally we both do the same thing at the same time, realise it, laugh, and then just improvise.
Then it’s off to race number pickup, often combined with a presentation, a bit of chaos, and lots of familiar faces. Back at our accommodation, we attach numbers and transponders to the bikes, and at some point, we sit there, look at each other, and ask: "When do we actually have to leave tomorrow? How are we getting to the start? And did we really think of everything?"
Spoiler: we didn’t. But somehow, it ultimately always works out.
The start itself is… different. More chaotic. Less predictable.
We start shortly after the men, and before long, things get busy. As the age-group riders come through, the crowd thickens. Suddenly, you’re surrounded by groups, unsure if they’re part of your race or just passing through. No race radio, no instructions, no backup plan—just you, your instincts, and whatever is unfolding around you.
I’m still learning, especially during those first kilometres of a race. They’re brutally fast, and so much is decided right there. Everyone is fighting for a good position in the first gravel section. And me? I’m often still a bit too cautious. Maybe a bit too respectful of the distance, the intensity… or maybe just still figuring it all out.
I tell myself to stay calm, not to overdo it because the race is long—and a few minutes later, I find myself riding alone.
Alone in the wind, in my own rhythm, I ride at the front in every photo—always just doing my own race. Whether people sit on my wheel or not, I feel calmer keeping my speed and line exactly as I do in training. As others begin to fade towards the end, I grow stronger, reclaim positions, and steadily work my way to the front.
But I’m starting to understand that “coming back” and riding at the front all day is the harder option. Being there from the start and taking turns, like in an echelon, or just being that annoying girl who “sits in,” would be the smarter move. Much of it is mental now. Trusting myself more. Having the courage to push a bit over the limit early—and believing I can handle it.
And then there’s the technical side: Six months ago, I would never have imagined riding through rivers or navigating rocky singletracks. I never learned that, never really did it—and suddenly it’s part of my race reality.
The funny thing is, in the race, you don’t think about it that much. You switch off your brain and just try to get through every obstacle somehow. Not always elegant, not always fast—but somehow, it works.
Well… most of the time.
There are still plenty of sections where I have to get off the bike. And yes, that’s something I still need to learn too —especially getting back on again.
The classic Cyclocross remount—a move where you jump back onto your bike while running after an obstacle—definitely isn’t my strength yet. Mine looks more like a very controlled, slightly cautious “standstill grandma-style” mount—safe, stable, and absolutely drama-free.
Not exactly fast, but at least I made it back onto the bike without any incidents.
Corners are another story. On loose gravel, when the bike moves underneath you, I still hesitate too much and brake too much. I lose time while others just float through like it’s nothing.
But that’s part of the process. Learning to trust the bike, pushing those limits little by little, and sometimes just going for it… even if it doesn’t always feel natural yet.
Despite all of this—or maybe exactly because of it—I really love it.
And then there’s what happens after the race:
No strict schedule. No rushing back to a team hotel. Instead, you sit somewhere, still a bit dusty, with a plate of pasta in your hand, listening to everyone’s stories. Everyone has their own battle and their own little adventure. You see the exhaustion—but also those genuine smiles.
It’s less polished—but maybe that’s exactly why it feels so real.
I still consider myself a professional rider. The basics haven’t changed. But when you look a little closer, almost everything else has. I’m more independent now, taking care of things myself—no staff, no one doing it for me. You really do have to do it all.
And honestly, I didn’t expect to enjoy that part as much as I do.
I don’t miss the old way.
For the next races, I want to be a bit braver— dare to take more risks, especially at the start,
and trust myself, without losing what makes Gravel so special to me right now:
That mix of challenge, freedom, and pure fun.
Because that’s exactly what it is.
And it feels like I’m only just getting started.
