The (Tandem) Day Across Minnesota - The DAMn 240mi Gravel Bike Race for 2024: by Nicholas Garbis

The DAMn is Back

I don’t remember the day, or the time, or where I was, but I remember the feeling.

Sometime late in 2023, I learned that the DAMn was once again alive. And, yeah, something touched me deep inside.

The DAMn is the Day Across Minnesota, a 240-mile (or 243-mile) gravel bike race across the state of Minnesota. It starts at the strike of midnight in the small town of Gary, SD, which is just an arm’s length over the western border of Minnesota and traverses the state west-to-east to the finish line on a small island in the Mississippi River in Hager City just over the eastern border from Red Wing, MN. Riders have 24 hours to finish the route. The fastest riders clock in around 12 hours (yes, 20mph average!), and the last rider usually arrives just a few clicks before midnight earning the honor of the “Lantern Rouge” — the red lantern award.

After a few years off, and the release of a documentary called “The Last DAMN” (on Amazon, trailer here), the DAMN was coming back to life in August 2024. I had completed it four of the five times it was run: see stories from 2017, 2018, 2020, and 2021. I was definitely in — until I wasn’t sure — and then I was definitely in.

I spoke with my partner Alison about it. She’d completed the DAMN twice and had received the same email message. She said, “Did you see that the DAMN is back? We should do it on the tandem.” My eyebrows popped up — “Are you serious??” “Yeah, let’s do it.” Long pause. “Ahh, Umm, okay then, let’s do it. Yes! In!”

Alison and I had done a couple of gravel/mountainbiking events on different tandems — the Chequemagon 40 (on a borrowed Salsa Powderkeg) and the Miesville 56 (on an aging 1980s touring tandem) — but nothing that was more than a few hours long. Our individual times in the DAMN were in the range of 18-21 hours, so while the endurance element was familiar, being on a tandem for that duration was completely new territory. But what is the DAMN without some new edge, a new frontier to explore? This was going to be and epic adventure.

Another Step Toward N+1

After those other events, before the DAMN was back to life, I had been searching in vain for a Salsa Powderkeg tandem, which turns out to be a helluva lot more elusive than a Kiwi bird. We needed something better than that old 80s tandem. I finally found and settled on a 20yr old Cannondale MR800 tandem mountain bike for about $1,200 on eBay. With a couple upgrades the bike performed well enough on gravel and single track (yes, single tracking on tandem is a thing … and includes a lot of drifting on the switchbacks!).

After we decided to do the DAMN, I immediately started to fret about the bike … incessantly worrying about the fit of the bike over a 20-hour period and the potential mechanical failures that cannot be ruled out for a 20-year old bike with an unknown history.

The DAMN coming back for maybe just one more time, I really didn’t want to get out there and DNF (did not finish) due to some failure of the bike. This is a situation where there really is only one solution — yes, a new bike. 🙂

I contacted MTB Tandems and Alex helped me to outfit a new Fandango gravel tandem with drop-bars, 29-inch wheels, 2.2″ tires (replaced with Terra Hardpack 700x50s for the DAMN), electronic 1X12 SRAM drivetrain, and bullhorn bars for the stoker (Alison).

So, this beautiful new tandem arrives in late June — in time for the Lutsen 69er mountain bike race, but the conditions were really wet so we wisely road the MR800 instead. This was a great decision as the course was so wet that we were walking through mud and muddy water for about 2.5 hours of what turned into an 8+ hour event.

Weather, work, and travel kept us from getting the new Fandango set up and on the road until July 19th(!)

day across minnesota ride report — First ride on the new tandem. July 19, 2024

Yes, basically three weeks before race day and we were just launching our new tandem. On July 27th we got in a 50-mile gravel ride, and that was pretty much it. The bike felt great, but with only 62 miles on it, were we ready to saddle it up for the better part of a full day??

To Avoid Last Minute Changes, Do Them A Few Hours In Advance

It’s Friday morning and we are going to be driving to Gary, SD later in the afternoon. The race starts at midnight.

I’m anxious about the bike and I got it up on the stand. We need to get our bottle cages set up, frame bags mounted, pedals swapped, computers mounted, … so why not change out the saddle, stem, and try to install aero bars at the same time?

Gary, South Dakota is not Paris, France, New York, or Rome — but it feels like home

We rolled into Montevideo around 5p to charge the truck at the Subway, where we lounged in the parking lot and at some pizzas we’d picked up in the neighborhood in NE Minneapolis before leaving.

Randy “MoFlo” was our ride to the start line. After the midnight start, he drove back to Minneapolis solo. We had a car stashed in Red Wing near the finish line on the other side of the state. We were riding unsupported, packing nearly all of our provisions onto the bike with a plan to stop for some rest and water at miles 85 (Morton), 150 (Henderson), and maybe 213 (Cannon Falls) before arriving in Hager City (mile 243).

As we were driving toward the western edge of the state, just outside of Gary, the clouds some rays of sun started to break through the clouds as the bass lines of Led Zeppelin’s “Ramble On” were shaking through the truck. The three of us were jamming and the energy was pumping now.

It was great to be back in Gary. The place was swarming with riders and crews, all of them a bit giddy. A bunch of the local residents were out visiting with everyone. The band playing in the Rock Room Bar was flowing its sounds out to the patio as we chatted with friends.

Unsupported but Fully Supplied

For the ride, Alison ad prepared 3 sets of 3 vegan wraps — 1 set to share at each planned stop — and we had paired these up with all sorts of gels and bars.

Checking in at Gary, we wandered about a bit and then set up our hammock for a rest. I ended up dozing for just an hour. Alison managed to get back in for another 1-2hrs until we started to get our gear on around 10:30p.

A leaking hydration pack sent Alison to the bathroom hand dryer for the next 20min, but we replaced it with another bladder and made it onto the bike in time to stop for a ceremonial beer at the Alibi Bar at 11:30p. The DAMN museum room was gone but the beer was still cold.

With midnight inching closer, we spilled out of the bar with the others and saw the mass of lighted riders lined up on1st Avenue from the Gary Fire Department all the way to The Alibi.

And The Fireworks Say Go!

My nerves were twitching and jumping during the last few minutes waiting for the midnight fireworks. The air was cool — cooler than expected. We had planned for a low of 55F around 5:00a, but it was already 55F and likely going to be under 50F sometime during the night. Alison and I were each wearing every layer we had brought with us. We were standing there waiting and starting to feel the chill setting in (or was it just the nerves?).

The fireworks finally went off, and we started rolling over the Minnesota state line into the dark following the string of red flashing lights winding up ahead and taking the first right turn.

The First 85

The first 60 miles of the DAMn are generally downhill, but not a lot. It’s something close to 400 feet of descent over 60 miles (about -0.1% grade), so it’s not the starting chute you might think based on the profile image.

As we were getting started, I was feeling wobbly sensations from the heavy load of food in the lower frame bag. I let Alison know that “the bike is handling different with all this weight on it. It’s all good, though. I should be used to it in a couple hours.”

We played it pretty safe in that early section, joining some smaller groups as we could, but with our extra weight we ended up popping off the front of these groups on the descents without applying much power (then usually get overtaken by them on the next rise). We were not great group riding partners for the others, but we were feeling pretty good getting started.

Once the initial nerves settled down, we were chatting about this and that. We were also stopping frequently because we had pushed down so much water before the start.

At mile 65, the slow descent was finished and we came into the valley of the Minnesota River averaging about 16.7mph. The next 20 miles along the river are some of the most challenging. This is not just a flat river valley trail, it’s up and down but not the kind of rolling hills you can really play around with, no real way to play the rollers, sliding down and up and over — and it’s 4:00a and our bodies’ circadian rhythms are twisted and confused, and the temperature is now at it’s overnight low around 49F.

My hands were getting cold with the cool moist air of the pre-dawn hours. I didn’t have any gloves with me (found them later when I got home), but I had a pair of extra socks (Twin Six, branded with Cars-R-Coffins), so I put them over my hands. I struggled to shift and to handle my water bottles, so we stopped and I cut a hole in the heel of each to reintroduce my opposable thumbs to my hands. Sacrificed the socks, saved the hands.

In the valley to our right, the layers of fog hover over the fields on either side of river, hovering long, soft sheets of muslin mist. At the line of the horizon, there’s a faint glow of twilight, then a dome of light above what must be Redwood Falls. A few more small ascents and we drop down into Morton at mile 85. The parking lot is crawling with cars and trucks and there are bikes leaned up against every side of the building.

There’s a small RV at the edge of the lot with a tandem leaned against it. We heard there were three tandems registered. We hadn’t seen any of them. This one was ahead of us and probably set to roll out before us as well. We were in second or maybe third place. The chances of catching up after our break seemed slim.

It’s 5:50a.

There was a line for the bathroom that was just not moving at all. Nature was not just calling, she was starting to have a screaming tantrum in my belly. I finally got in and out of there and tried to eat something.

Alison had made some vegan breakfast wraps (vegan sausage, egg substitute, and vegan cheese) but my stomach was in such a knot that I could barely choke anything down. Since we left Gary, I had barely eaten anything.

It was time to start rolling again. The time was 6:25a.

Getting to Henderson

Not far out of Morton, after a stretch of some more rollers, around mile 95, there’s an “MMR” (minimum maintenance road) which is a short, punchy climb with a lot of loose rocks that rises out of the valley into a narrow double track trail between some corn rows. Above the tassels, the morning sun glows orange straight ahead, soft enough that it barely requires a squint and warm enough on our faces that we can feel we have made it through the chill of the night.

We are heading due East, and the sun is leading the way through long stretches of corn and soy and power lines, on a ribbon of gravel above the grassy ditches on either side.

Out of the valley, up onto a shallow plateau, the Minnesota River dipped to the southwest to find the Blue Earth River and then work it’s way back up north toward us. Coming into Henderson, we came downhill into the valley again to meet up with the river.

Now it was really sunny and getting warm. The pavement led us through town passed the baseball field and onto Main Street where we saw the bikes and support teams outside Wagar’s Market at the BP station.

150 miles down. Time check: 11:15a.

Alison and I set the bike against the store railing and got a couple sodas then retreated to some cool shaded grass for a rest. I had fallen silent several hours ago and was still not much for chatting.

I was in pretty bad shape still. My stomach was tied up and had not accepted much food. Each time I was eating, I felt it might get rejected in bad way — and I needed to be careful … there’s another rider on the bike! My shoulders were on fire from being in the same position for so many hours. I was in a rough state trying to gather myself in the shade.

We had all sorts of layers from the overnight with us, and now it was downright hot. I bundled everything up into one stinky ball and asked a friend if her mom could haul the stuff to the finish line (or Duluth).

Then at 11:45a, we rolled out of Henderson. 90 miles to go. Alison asked me if I had kept any layers for later in the evening, and I sorta gulped and said no. I then started to imagine myself freezing at 8p and buying a t-shirt from a gas station in Cannon Falls. It was too late to go back.

We were not super fresh, but ready to climb back on the bike and out of the valley.

(Photo credit: Ben Hovland from MPR story on the 2024 DAMN)

DAMn on a Tandem

Alison and I had started the race with a lot of discussion of various things, but as the night fell and the day rose, I was really far inside my own vaporous thoughts, staring at the road or my bike computer, watching the road, and navigating around hazards. I wasn’t exactly tired, but really focused on my legs, my stomach, and the ten feet of road immediately ahead of us.

Eventually, Alison got out her earbuds and we shared them for a while. It was an 80s playlist her daughter had put together for her some years ago. We were playing a loose version of “Name That Tune” and then after a couple hours, I choose to go without the music and tune into the sounds of the gravel under the tires and enjoyed Alison’s sporadic singing from the back of the tandem.

We would ride for several miles and then one of us would need to stretch a bit and would call out “I need to stand” and then a “Stand on 3-2-1” and we would both stand for maybe 10 pedal strokes, and then “Sit on 3-2-1” and we would return to our saddles.

I Started To Do Some Math

So, it’s about noon and we have rolled out of Henderson — careful entering into Main Street’s midday Saturday traffic, across the river and, of course, out of the valley. It’s a legit climb and we pressed into the pedals a bit gently. We had rested a bit, but that doesn’t mean the legs return with magic firepower. Best to soften it up a bit and just get up to the top.

A couple hours later, we are around mile 180 and the bright green of the land is split by the white ribbon of gravel as it starts to roll and fold into the horizon ahead. We are on some extended stretches of rollers and moving through them pretty well.

I started to do a bit of math.

There is a course record for tandem in the DAMN set a few years ago — in the “Last DAMN” — which I had inquired about a few months earlier. The time for the Rood team was 18:53:55 — just a handful of minutes faster than 19 hours. When I learned this and looked at my times from previous years, it seemed like a real long shot. I had times that were a bit faster and a couple that were slower. Beating this time on a tandem seemed like a stretch. Over the next couple months, and through most of this ride, I had written it off. It was not to be.

Then I started to do a bit of math.

With 70 miles to go, it was about 1:20p (or 13hrs 20min into the race). That leaves about 5.5 hours to go 70 miles to beat the record — and that’s somewhere around 13mph average. That’s reasonable in normal circumstances, but a pretty big ask of our tired legs as we were rolling into the hillier sections of the race. I was assuming we would be around 12mph. I didn’t mention this to Alison. In fact, I was still mostly mute up in the front of the bike other than calling out our occasional standing sequences and acknowledging her navigational guidance.

I Think We Might Be Able To Do This

With 50 miles to go it was 3:00p — 15hrs in and we had almost 4 hours to get over the line. We were making really good time and if we could press through the series of punchy climbs and rollers, we might be able to set a new record.

“I think we might be able to do this,” I said from the front. “Do what?” “Break the record. We have fours hours to do 50miles.” Well, not much more needed to be said. Both motors started digging into deep reserves.

But 4 hours is a lot of time. It’s longer than any social ride, and it’s as long as most normal training rides. There is a very thin line between pulling out every bit of energy that remains, and emptying it all too fast and bonking out.

I could feel Alison’s energy ramping up. On the hills, it was like having the motor of an e-bike. When I was fading near the top of a climb, I would call out “need a bit more power!” and there would be a kick forward in the pedals and we would regain momentum and crest the hill, both of us gasping.

Meteor Theory Redux

It brings us back to the Meteor Theory, which is the (ill-advised, don’t try this at home) approach to gravel cycling races where you (okay, I) go out fast at the start and then burn everything possible to get across the finish line, ideally just before burning up into a pile of ash.

As the rolling sections started, we were playing through them with finesse. Pedaling into the start of the downhills, getting low and aerotucking, coasting fast before spinning the gears down as the uphill climb ate away at our speed, then crawling over the crest and playing it over again and again.

Gravelplaning

The descents are where we were going to make the best time, so we were letting it rip, hitting speeds of 30-35mph on the gravel and above 40mph on at least one of the rare paved sections.

This is a bike that is weighed down with a lot of gear and two riders — maybe close to 400 pounds rolling downhill on two pieces of rubber whose contact with the ground is less area than a stick of chewing gum.

And that sliver of rubber is not even touching the ground, it’s grazing over the uneven surfaces of a series of stones — stones which themselves are not actually attached to the ground but sitting there on top of each other, all of them above some harder surface beneath.

The longer descents all wind around and eventually bottom out in a valley where there is a small, usually single lane, cement bridge over a crick, creek, or stream. Flying down these descents is more like skiing. Once you commit to some speed, you can only peel off little bits of it at a time. We are just floating over the small edges of the gravel stones, keeping our balance steady in the curves.

Once we start to build speed, we are committed to it. We are gravelplaning our way to the bottom.

The thing is, Alison is incredibly trusting … and adventurous, too. She trusts meto get us to the bottom of these hills safely. Meanwhile, I am up front and feeling what I can through the handlebars and picking what I think is a safe line around the curves. There’s never any concerns from the stoker (Alison). I only I recall a couple of times where she was suggesting not to touch the brakes so much(!)

There’s one spot, around mile 222, where we come screaming downhill, over 35mph, cross a creek and a familiar scene emerges — a large group of families set up like a picnic near their barns. Kids are running around and everyone is ringing bells and cheering as we fly past them on the moment of flat groud. And then we hit the hill with all the energy they gave us, and it’s a straight up wall for a third of a mile that starts out around 18%. Our speed falls off fast and we creep up to the top where there’s a cooler and a pile of bananas with a handwritten sign. We stopped there for a minute. The banana did me well. We had about 20 miles to go.

Squeezing Out Everything That We Could Find

I started to speak again, calling out some timechecks based on the pace we needed to beat the record. No longer talking about how many miles, but how much time we had to get to the line. I was watching my bike computer and calculating things for hours at this point.

At 5:53p I called out our remaining mileage and distance, “One hour to go! Fifteen miles to the finish line!”

We had both been on the course and we know that getting into and through Red Wing was tricky. Riding on city streets amongst stop signs, traffic lights, and traffic becomes a foreign land after being alone on the gravel for the whole day. That was coming up and we knew it would slow us down.

There’s one last gravel section from mile 234 to 239, on Hay Creek Trail just outside of Red Wing. It is a loose and windy descent. We hit that hard, leaning softly into the turns and opening up past 32mph on the straighter sections.

With 5 miles to go, we had 20 minutes remaining — it was 6:33p. That meant we still needed to do 15mph or better to get to the line before 6:53p.

The gravel finishes on a ridge just on the edge of town, and it’s followed by a handful of final punchy climbs.

We were in full throttle now — grunting and moaning as we climbed up these sections. We were passing a handful of other riders along the way and I have no idea what they were making of the two of us thrashing and spurring ourselves to the finish line that was just a few miles ahead.

Our legs were on fire. We just needed to get through these streets without navigational issues and over the bridge to the finish line.

The time was moving in our favor. We kept making up time on the descents through town, topping 35mph at one point.

When we could see the bridge over the Mississippi, we knew we had it. We had shaved some minutes out of the time and just needed to get across safely.

We rolled across the state line into Wisconsin, and curved around the hairpin at the end of the bridge to face back toward Red Wing.

We pressed into a seated sprint — then we saw the finish line. To the left and across the line where Trenton, DAMN organizer extraordinairre, was greeting us with a huge smile and a look of shock.