From Swiss Epic to Iceland: How Gulo Wheels Carried Me Through a Wild Season

Photo credit: Danny Carp, Gulo Composites

Every race season tells a story — of places ridden, challenges met, and equipment trusted when it matters most. My 2024–2025 racing years took me from the high Alps of Switzerland to the rugged volcanic landscapes of Iceland, to the hot, punchy climbs of Australia, and across countless miles of my local Pisgah trails. Through it all, one constant carried me: my Gulo Wheels, built right here in Brevard, North Carolina.

“Ditch outdated steel spokes. Our braided carbon-spoked wheels crush vibrations, weigh 50% less, and handle more punishment with less maintenance—so you ride farther, faster, and with more control.”

That’s not marketing fluff—after two full seasons of racing across multiple continents, I can say it’s exactly what these wheels deliver.

Photo credit: Danny Carp, Gulo Composites

Swiss Epic — A True Test

My journey with Gulo began at Swiss Epic in August 2024, where my teammate Jennifer and I both rode Gulo GMX 30 wheels in the Master Women category, finishing 2nd overall. Over five grueling days, we climbed nearly 40,000 vertical feet and covered rugged, ever-changing terrain: steep grassy descents, rocky alpine passes, technical singletrack, and smooth flow trails.

Our Gulo wheels delivered flawlessly through every brutal climb and wild descent. While other wheels might have needed re-truing or lost tension over such terrain, ours stayed perfectly dialed from start to finish.

Swiss Epic Race Stats

• Stage 1: 46.19 mi | 7,159 ft | 4:56:05

• Stage 2: 46.24 mi | 8,045 ft | 5:54:09

• Stage 3: 39.02 mi | 6,293 ft | 4:29:46

• Stage 4: 39.37 mi | 8,301 ft | 5:36:33

• Stage 5: 37.68 mi | 7,972 ft | 5:06:08

 

Nationals & Worlds — Speed Meets Precision

This season, I raced both Marathon and Cross Country (XCO) Nationals in Roanoke, Virginia.

The Marathon course came first: rocky and rooty, with loose descents and miles of flowy, root-ridden singletrack. Riding my GMX 30 wheels, I felt confident, light, and smooth, and I was thrilled to finish 1st, bringing my total to five national titles.

A few days later came the XCO Nationals, a narrow, smooth, and very off-camber course where traction was absolutely key. Once again, my GMX 30 wheels delivered incredible grip in corners and on the climbs, and I finished 2nd in XCO Nationals.

Nationals Race Stats

• Marathon: 43.39 mi | 4,528 ft | 4:23:07

• XCO: 11.81 mi | 1,181 ft | 1:08:26

A few weeks earlier, I had raced at the XCO Masters World Championships in Cairns, Australia, placing 4th on one of the most demanding courses I’ve ever ridden. It was hot, steep, and technical, with rocky climbs and fast, jump-filled descents — a true test of both rider and gear.

Cairns XCO Race Stats

• Distance: 12.15 mi | Climbing: 1,483 ft | Time: 1:10:51

Rift MTB Iceland — A Wild Ride

One of the season highlights was the Rift MTB 5-day stage race in Iceland, where Ryan and I raced in the Elite Mixed Team category, finishing 2nd overall. Over five days, we covered 200 miles and 22,000 feet of climbing, riding through everything from proper technical trails to totally unridden mountain passes, endless stretches of loose rock, boggy wet sections, soft volcanic ash, volcanic boulders, and even snow.

Despite this relentless terrain, my GMX 30 wheels stayed perfectly true. No broken spokes. No loss of tension. Just smooth, controlled riding in some of the most extreme conditions imaginable.

Rift MTB Race Stats

• Stage 1: 25.39 mi | 3,540 ft | 2:30:54

• Stage 2: 27.09 mi | 4,163 ft | 2:51:57

• Stage 3: 39.09 mi | 6,243 ft | 4:23:03

• Stage 4: 50.33 mi | 2,438 ft | 3:42:37

• Stage 5: 40.93 mi | 4,898 ft | 3:53:35

Built in Brevard — Innovation with Deep Roots

Gulo isn’t just another wheel brand—it’s the product of over 40 years of advanced composite manufacturing experience. Gulo is part of Keir Manufacturing, a company based right here in Brevard, North Carolina, with decades of expertise in high-performance composites.

Photo credit: Danny Carp, Gulo Composites

The name “Gulo” was inspired by the owner’s son, drawn from the scientific name for the wolverine, Gulo gulo—an animal known for its toughness and resilience. It was also his idea to apply Keir’s composite expertise to cycling, leading to the creation of the G-Spoke, a spoke unlike any other, blending smooth ride quality, ultra-low weight, and unmatched strength.

Photo credit: Danny Carp, Gulo Composites

Stronger Than Steel — And Built to Last

Gulo’s triaxially braided carbon spokes represent the future of wheel technology:

• Half the weight of steel

• ~20% higher tensile strength (around 1,000 lbs per spoke)

• Minimal stretch under load — holding tension consistently

• Returns to original length when flexed (unlike steel)

Thanks to these properties, Gulo wheels don’t need constant truing. Even after two full seasons of racing across the toughest courses in the world, my wheels stayed true and reliable. The only issue I ever encountered was a single rare spoke defect, which Gulo’s local team identified and replaced immediately — and the wheel was perfect ever since.

Vibration Damping

Gulo’s composite spokes also absorb trail chatter, reducing vibration by 8% compared to metal spokes. Over long races, this smoother ride translates to less fatigue, more control, and the ability to push harder when it counts.

Impact Strength

Through their custom Gulo Impact Tower Test, each spoke is tested to survive 4–12 joule direct impacts at varying tensions. G-Spokes consistently outperform steel spokes — staying intact without losing tension or deforming.

Photo credit: Danny Carp, Gulo Composites

Riding Local. Racing Global.

One of my favorite parts of riding Gulo is that their factory is right here in Brevard, just a few miles from the trails I train on. I can stop in, chat with the crew, and see the wheels being made. It’s rare to find this level of local craftsmanship combined with world-class innovation.

Over the 2024 and 2025 seasons, I’ve raced two sets of GMX 30 wheels in every event — Swiss Epic, Rift MTB Iceland, Nationals, Worlds, and Pisgah. They’ve been light, strong, smooth, and completely reliable, giving me confidence on climbs, corners, and wild descents.

Photo credit: Danny Carp, Gulo Composites

I’m also incredibly excited to upgrade to GMX SL wheels next season, which promise to be even lighter, faster, and smoother, and I can’t wait to see how they elevate my riding to the next level.

Wheelsets I Use

• GMX 30 — Trail | Everyday | Stage Races (2024–2025 seasons, Swiss Epic, Rift MTB, Nationals, Worlds, Pisgah)

• GMX SL — Coming next season (super light, cross-country focus)

  

  Photo credit: Danny Carp, Gulo Composites

From Brevard to the Alps and beyond — Gulo Wheels have been a game-changer. Light, strong, smooth, and local, they’ve carried me safely and confidently through every mile of two unforgettable seasons.

Ride stronger. Ride smoother. Experience the future of cycling wheels — Gulo.
👉 gulocomposites.com

Through Pain to Stars: My Marathon National Championship

 Marathon National Championships – Roanoke, VA

43.39 mi | 4:23:07 | 4,528 ft climbing

Photo credit: Snowy Mountain Photography

The picture that captured the day wasn’t me crossing the finish line—it was Kristen, last year’s winner, stepping toward me with a huge hug. We both knew what it had taken: the years of training, the endless preparation, the hope, the laser focus, and then—on one single day—you either piece it all together through unimaginable pain… or you don’t.

That hug said: I know what you went through, because I went through it too. But it also spoke to something bigger—that it’s not just about racing. It’s about the friendships we build, the way we can be genuinely happy for each other while chasing the same dream, and the joy of doing what we love. That, to me, is the most incredible part of all.

This could have been the hardest race of my life. Not just because of the course, or the heat, or the competition—but because of everything that happened in the weeks leading up to it.

Three weeks before Nationals, life took the most devastating turn. My husband Pax suffered a massive heart attack—air lifted straight to emergency surgery, and days in the ICU that felt like an eternity. I stayed by his side in that hospital room, barely moving, sleeping on a pull-out chair, terrified every second.

I didn’t ride for a while nor I cared to. I was burned out from fear, uncertainty and exhaustion. When we finally came home, it felt like a gift—but also a shadow. Nothing was the same. We had change so much. I rushed through short rides, unable to stay away from the house for long, constantly worried. So when Nationals came, I said I’d be fine skipping it. I’d raced so many before, and nothing mattered more than being with Pax. But he insisted: Go race. I want you to race. So I did.

Roanoke greeted us with a wall of humidity. Just stepping outside was overwhelming. The course itself was excellent - flowy, fast, rocky, and technical—but in this heat it felt punishing. I rode a couple of the big sections beforehand but couldn’t summon the energy to see it all. Just standing in the sun felt like it drained me. And not just me, I could see it was a struggle for Pax too. 

On race morning, I stood at the start line and looked over at Pax. He had lost 17 pounds, looked pale, fragile. Tears stung behind my glasses. I thought: this is too soon, for him, for me. But I was here. I was as ready as I can be in this position.

The race exploded off the line and for the first hour, everything clicked. I was riding up front, shoulder-to-shoulder with strong women from other categories. Through the first singletrack, I felt sharp and fast, even as the heat pressed down like fire. At one point I rode next to Libby—such a powerhouse—and I asked if she felt as hot as I did. My face felt like it was burning. But my energy was good, maybe a reserve I had built weeks and months before.

On a gravel stretch I told her to stick with me. Normally she drops me, but I was flying. I yelled out excited greetings to Mayra, Kelly, and others as I surged by. The race felt alive.

Photo credit: Snowy Mountain Photography

On a rocky side loop, Libby pulled away. I told myself to ride my own pace—it was too hot to go above red. At the first feed zone, I spotted Pax and managed only a few words: “Are you ok? These next two hours are going to be very important.”

The course pitched upward into flowy, climbing trails. I was still catching riders, but then things started to unravel. My fingers cramped first, curling sideways on the bars. I thought it was odd, but kept going. Then on the gravel climb toward the mountain top, I felt my earlier speed and energy was no longer there.. By the bottom of the descent, disaster struck—both legs locked completely. I couldn’t pedal. Pain ripped through me. I screamed. I had never cramped before, not like this. I always had been grateful not to experience cramps, beside very short two occasions in all my years of racing. And suddenly, just like that, I couldn’t turn the pedals without agony.

I was only halfway through the race, and my body had betrayed me. Every time I tried to put power down, cramps shot through my legs. Still, I managed to catch riders from younger categories. Amy, a good friend, tucked in with me for a bit. But as soon as we hit a narrow uphill singletrack, my calf spasmed violently and I had to stop, screaming, while she and other rider rode away. I was shaken. This wasn’t racing anymore. It was survival.

Carla appeared—super strong, normally untouchable and she should have been in a far front, I should not be seeing her as she started earlier. I asked how her day was. She told me she was suffering too, so badly she had jumped into a lake mid-race just to cool off. Even she wasn’t herself, but she still pushed through, holding onto third in her class.

Meanwhile, my day dissolved into a cycle of cramps, spasms, and screams that echoed through the forest. At times I thought I would faint. My body shook, my head spun. I questioned how I would even get back to the feed zone. When I did, Michelle—my friend Humberto’s wife—was there and handed me a bottle. I didn't want to have Pax there in this heat for that long. So I am very grateful for this help. Her smile and encouragement were a lifeline. Around us, volunteers and spectators cheered, unaware of the agony inside me.

                

By then I had lost over five minutes of moving time. My body barely worked, yet I was still clinging to first. The final sections of singletrack in the small loop, were mercifully more flowy, and I nursed the pedals, trying to manage the spasms. But when I asked volunteers how far was left, their answer gutted me: “A couple miles of gravel, then maybe three of singletrack.” On a normal day, that would have sounded easy. Today, it felt impossible. I looked back often, convinced someone was closing. The thought of losing now, after all this, terrified me.

The last singletrack tilted upward. I caught a rider stopped on roots and asked to pass, but he was still in the way when I arrived. I had to put my foot down—and immediately my calf locked again. I screamed, waited seconds that felt like eternity, then willed myself forward.

Finally, the top. I recognized a sunny, sandy corner from earlier, when we rode other direction on this first section. A blast of heat hit me like someone had opened a giant oven door. It was suffocating, hellish. Then the last climb. My legs cramped with every pedal stroke. I zigzagged, gasping, forcing each turn of the cranks. Then I heard it: cheers from the tent, voices shouting “National Champion!”

         

I crossed the line shattered with only one minute to spare, it was that close. My body was broken, screaming from cramps. But I was whole again. Under the tent, Lisa from Mountain Goat Adventures and her family covered me in icy towels, cooling my battered body. Around me, friends and riders shared relief, exhaustion, laughter.

                          

This title wasn’t just mine. It was Pax’s. He wanted me to race, and I raced for him. In the darkest moments, when I thought I couldn’t go on, he was the reason I kept moving. Finally, after years of chasing and countless second places - I was National Champion again.

After the awards, friend Beth came to me, shared her story, and wrapped me in huge hugs, her eyes filled with tears. She was so genuinely happy for me and proud. She knew what I went through—because she had also endured a very long and tough day out there. That moment wasn’t about results or podiums. It was about two riders who had both fought their own battles, recognizing the grit and heart it took just to finish.

Photo credit: Snowy Mountain Photography

 It’s been so many years of very strong finishes, close races, against very strong women. The last time I won a National title was back in 2018. This win reminded me that sometimes it can take years of consistency, persistence, and belief to keep chasing the Stars and Stripes jersey. And when it finally comes together, the weight of all those years makes the moment even more unforgettable.

 

Rift MTB – Iceland 2025: First-Ever Edition

First of all — what an honor. To take part in the very first edition of Rift MTB Iceland feels surreal, and I am beyond grateful to have been here. Riding my bike across such raw and untouched landscapes, meeting amazing people, and bringing home unforgettable memories — this is the kind of adventure I live for.

“Adventure is worthwhile in itself.” – Amelia Earhart

I love cool weather conditions for bike racing, and Iceland delivered just that: 50-degree days, some with sun, some with drizzle, fog, or light rain—and always that relentless wind.

This was also my first time racing in the Mixed Team category, and the same for my teammate Ryan. We knew each day would bring learning opportunities—how to race together, how to be as fast and efficient as possible, but also how to absorb the moment, the scenery, and the journey.

From the moment we landed until our planes took off, the Rift crew gave us true white-glove service: arranging domestic flights, picking us up at airports, transporting bikes, and storing our bags so we could enjoy Reykjavik before our flight north. Without this race, I never would have seen so many remote and spectacular places—it often felt too good to be real.

We settled into a beautiful hotel in Akureyri, right on the fjord. Each morning and evening, we were spoiled with delicious meals and surrounded by incredible people. 

The atmosphere quickly became like family: racers, crew, mechanics. By the end of the week, we weren’t just participants in a race — we were part of a shared adventure.

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Stage 1 – Fjord Sprint

25 miles, 2:20 hrs, 3.5k climbing

The opening stage included trails from the local bike park, tucked right behind our hotel. 

We rolled out with a long road start that quickly pitched upward onto gravel, climbing higher and higher until we were above the gondolas. From there, the first descent was a playground: flowy berms into open, exposed rock slabs where you could pick any line and let it fly.

Then came one of the trickiest sections: a narrow, off-camber singletrack along the river’s edge, where one slip could send you swimming. A short metal bridge carried us safely across the water before the course pitched brutally upward — too steep to ride, forcing a grueling hike-a-bike straight into our legs.

Cresting that challenge, the reward was a ripping descent into the lower bike park — a magical Icelandic forest of mossy singletrack, lush greenery, roots, tight turns, and just enough slickness to keep every rider humble.

Ryan and I quickly learned during the gondola climb that the first Elite Mixed team was out of reach. Our real battle would be with the strong third-place team, who excelled on gravel climbs. Luckily for us, every time we hit technical descents we clawed back time, often passing them on technical bits.

The stage ended with an all-out push along the walking path skirting the fjord—wheel to wheel, grinding hard alongside our Brevard friends, Nick and Nell. Just a minute back, another mixed team was chasing fiercely. A short but savage opener, it was clear from the start that this race would be tight all week.

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Stage 2 – Above the Clouds

28 miles, 2:50 hrs, 4k climbing

This time we left the hotel in the opposite direction, climbing straight out of town on a steep road. A small singletrack cut through led us onto doubletrack that climbed relentlessly. We pushed hard to stay with the front, finding ourselves alongside the leading women’s team. At one point, a huge group of schoolchildren lined the trail, reaching out their hands to clap as we rode by—it was a special moment.

The climb continued, gravel giving way to higher alpine terrain. We pushed above the gondola station, higher than the day before, until we were riding through clouds. It was the bluest, warmest day of the week, with endless panoramic views when the fog cleared.

The descent was wild: a narrow rollercoaster trail through thick brush, steep in places, dropping us back to the exposed rocks and then into the now-familiar green bike park trails. 

Other teams were close, and we could hear them breathing down our necks. Once again it came down to a furious sprint to the line—this time with just a slim gap of maybe a minute. Stage two complete, and still locked in battle.

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Stage 3 – The Queen Stage

39 miles, 4:23 hrs, 6.2k climbing

Our first remote start meant an early breakfast already in kit, then an hour’s bus ride through tunnels and rolling green hills toward the coast. Even the transfer was breathtaking: streams tumbling into the sea, tiny fishing villages clinging to the cliffs.

This was the Queen Stage: the longest day in both time and elevation.

Thank you Mucha!

The trails weren’t bike trails at all—hiking routes and sheep tracks, raw and wild.

We rolled out from the harbor in thick fog, cold wind, mid-40s. The road tilted skyward and within minutes we were climbing into a wall of mist. Sheep darted across the trail. Groups splintered. Soon it was just us and our Brevard friends, grinding toward the top. The fog was so dense I had to take off my glasses. The descent was chaos—loose, round rocks everywhere, impossible to avoid, arm pump screaming, feet dabbing to stay upright.

After a road stretch where Ryan pulled us back to two strong mixed teams, we climbed again—this time into true wilderness. A feed zone, then the infamous sheep trail: deep ruts, boggy turf, blueberry bushes, pushing bikes into a wall of rocks and moss. Fog swirled, voices disappeared. It was just me, the rocks, and the wind. I cursed out loud at one point —“Are there enough f***ing rocks here?!”— smiled and kept pushing. 

Then, magic. We broke through the clouds into dazzling sun. Glaciers glistened between jagged peaks, blue sky above, clouds below. Out of water, exhausted, I stopped to take a video just to remember it. And then—an arrow pointing straight onto a glacier. Yes, we had to ride across it. Sliding, laughing, dodging crevasses, it was pure Icelandic madness.

The descent that followed took us through foggy ridges with twin waterfalls, fairy-tale meadows with tiny flowers, bogs, and rivers. At one point I crashed hard, pedal striking a rock and flipping, but even that felt soft, as if Iceland cradled me.

By the time we reached the fishing village finish, I was overwhelmed. I hugged Dana, the race director, and burst into tears. “It was so beautiful out there. Thank you.” Then we warmed up with bowls of hot chowder—the best of my life. This was a day I will never forget.

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Stage 4 – Lava Fields of Fire

50 miles, 3:42 hrs, 2.4k climbing

Another remote start took us east through the longest tunnel I’ve ever seen, past a massive beautiful waterfall, until the world turned black. 

We started in volcanic ash fields, surrounded by dark mountains. The atmosphere on the line was electric—music pumping, crews and racers dancing before the suffering began.

We called it the “Icelandic Fox Pack”: three teams, including us, pushing together into the ash and lava.

The terrain was otherworldly—fields of jagged lava, soft black sand, cracks in the earth. I clipped a pedal on a fence, almost tumbled into the lava, that small mistake caused us to fall back. 

At one point, I launched a solo attack into the wind, hammering nearly 20 minutes to catch and pass Brevard and another mixed team. There was a a moment when we finally descended and sat for a brief moment 3rd overall for the day. But we made a wrong turn on a split of a very windy and never ending looking road, and that caused us to lose a spot. But also when Ryan rejoined after stopping at feed zone, the gravel powerhouse team surged past us like rockets. We clawed what we could, but their strength on road and gravel was unmatched. 

The final stretch included smoking geothermal vents, endless headwind, and a long, lonely road climb that felt eternal. Fingers frozen, body fading, There was a small fun and slick singletracks that led us to the finish. We’d lost four minutes, but we were still in podium position. Onion soup by the harbor never tasted so good.

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Stage 5 – The Ridge of Bogs

40 miles, 3:53 hrs, 5k climbing

Cold, windy, damp—the final day. Spirits were high though, the Rift crew blasting music and cheering as we rolled off across the fjord. 

The first climb stretched the field. We stayed glued to the wheel of our rivals, fighting the wind as a group. It was completely white all around and the pace was strong. 

The ridge was boggy, muddy, and relentless. On a stone bridge our rivals stalled—we slipped past and opened a gap on the rocky descent.

But the course wasn’t done. After a flowing gravel section and a dramatic bridge crossing, the final climb loomed: nearly an hour of grinding switchbacks. I felt dizzy, almost ready to lie down in the grass, I saw the 3rd team just below us, I knew they would get us if we didn't really work hard as a team. Ryan pushed us to the top and I dug deep. 

At the ridge we were alone, shrouded in clouds, riding through pure white emptiness.

One more round of bogs, steep grassy climbs, then finally the descent—grassy, rocky, with wooden steps, and a stunning view of the bay and our hotel below. Road stretch, then the finish at the Forest Lagoon. Five brutal, beautiful days. Wrapped in warm blankets, with our bikes washed beside a waterfall. 

We had done it: 2nd place in Elite Mixed Teams.

After Five Incredible Days

“Dare to live the life you have dreamed for yourself. Go forward and make your dreams come true.” – R. W. Emerson

Antonio and Mari

When the dust settled on five incredible days of racing, we found ourselves in the Forest Lagoon, soaking in Iceland’s famous natural hot springs…we floated, toasted with friends, and savored a delicious dinner. Later, the afterparty and award ceremony brought more joy as the winners raised bull horns full of beer on the podium — a perfect Icelandic celebration.

Matt in action!

The Rift crew designed an unforgettable adventure — white-glove service, raw Icelandic beauty, and trails few people ever touch. Race director Dana set the tone with kindness, fun, and endless energy. The photographers and videographers captured every moment beautifully — and along the way became friends. My husband Pax joined Matt, chasing racers and filming our adventure, always smiling and having fun, while Antonio was everywhere, capturing fantastic photos of us racing with a big, happy smile. The SRAM crew kept our bikes dialed and even played the best rock music at the finish lines.

Our SRAM Crew 

It all came together to make this first edition not only a success, but an unforgettable experience for everyone. I leave with gratitude, awe, and the certainty that I’ll be back.

Dana. You Rock!!!