2024 Australian Gravel National Champion

Wearing Green and Gold: My Victory at the Australian Elite Men’s Gravel National Championships

On Saturday, June 24th, I had the privilege of lining up at Derby in North East Tasmania for the Australian Elite Men’s Gravel National Championships, hosted by the Devil’s Cardigan Race. Derby is already legendary for its mountain biking, but on this day it became the centre of Australian gravel racing.

Brutal Conditions, Iconic Backdrop

In the week leading up to the race, more than 250mm of rain fell on the course, with 100mm in the 24 hours before we rolled out. The course was super muddy, slippery, and truly Tasmanian. When we left Derby in the morning, it was just 3°C and covered in mist.

On paper it was no easy day out. The course was only 106km long, relatively short for a gravel race but it was packed with 2,300m of climbing, including three brutal ascents:

• Mutual Valley (8.3km at 4.2%)

• Ralph Falls (10.7km at 5%)

• The Un-named Climb of Hell (3.5km at 8.1%)

And to top it off, a mudddy singletrack climb that was barely rideable only a few kms before the finish.

The Race Unfolds

From the gun, the pace was fierce. The rain-soaked climbs and muddy roads split the field quickly, and every rider had to fight their own battle against fatigue and the elements. I had some dark moments early on where I wondered if I’d even make it through the day, but I kept finding ways to push on.

By the final climbs, the race had narrowed to a handful of us trading attacks. On the last major ascent, I made my move and managed to ride clear. It wasn’t smooth sailing – cramps and fatigue lurked at every pedal stroke – but I managed to hold it together, crest the final pinch, and roll solo into Branxholm with enough of a gap to savour the moment.

Crossing the Line

Crossing that finish line as the new Australian Elite Men’s Gravel National Champion is something I’ll never forget. To pull on the green and gold jersey – such an iconic symbol of cycling in Australia – is a dream come true. Knowing I’ll get to wear it for the next year on gravel roads across the country (and hopefully abroad) is both humbling and motivating.

A Race for the Ages

What made this event so special wasn’t just the personal result, but the atmosphere. Over 400 riders took on the Devil’s Cardigan, from pros to first-timers, all battling the same mud, climbs, and cold. Gravel racing has this raw, communal spirit that makes every rider part of the story, no matter where they finish.

To stand on the podium alongside incredible athletes like Alex Lack and Scott Bowden, and to share the day with women’s champion Justine Barrow, who also rode solo to victory, just added to the significance of the event.

Looking Ahead

This jersey means a lot. It’s a reminder of the work, the setbacks, and the grit it takes to make it through races like this. More than anything, it’s motivation to line up again and again, representing Australian gravel racing at the highest level.

For now, I’ll enjoy the feeling of mud still caked on my shoes, the ache in my legs, and the pride of knowing that, on one epic day in Tasmania, I managed to ride into the history books.

Would you like me to make this blog post more personal and emotional, focusing on what it felt like to win and wear the green and gold, or keep it more professional and race-report style for cycling fans?

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1st, Gravelista (UCI Gravel World Series)

My First Win in the Green and Gold – Gravelista Beechworth

There are some moments in a cycling career that stay etched in your mind forever. Winning the Australian Elite Men’s Gravel National Championships in Derby was one of them, but lining up just weeks later at Gravelista Beechworth for my first race in the green and gold jersey was something truly special.

The Weight of the Jersey

Pulling on the green and gold for the first time was more than just slipping into a piece of kit. It carried the weight of history, pride, and the responsibility of representing Australian gravel racing at its highest level. It felt surreal to zip it up on race morning in Beechworth but im not going to lie, I was incredibly nervous

Gravelista 2023 – A Festival of Gravel

The second edition of Gravelista saw over 500 riders descend on Beechworth, with distances for everyone, from the 120km qualifier, to the 80km race, and a more relaxed 45km ride for those just wanting to experience gravel

I was lining up in the 120km men’s race, and with such a deep field, I knew wearing the jersey also meant having a target on my back. Everyone wanted to test themselves against me

The Race

From the first climbs, the pace was relentless. The course demanded constant focus, fast rolling gravel, sharp corners, singletrack and little pinches that hurt the legs. I kept reminding myself to ride smart, not just hard, knowing others would be watching every move I made.

By halfway, a small lead group had formed, I knew everyone who had made the break and what they were capable of, I also knew everyone behind and how strong we were. The gap to the breakstayed consistant at 1 minute with a lot of climbing in the back end of the course. With about 20km to go, I made a real push to open a gap on the bunch I was with. I caught them on a steep climb and was able to go straight around. for the next 20kms i was solo riding into the finish at Beechworth.

Victory in the Stripes

Rolling into the finish, crossing the line first, and raising my arms in the green and gold was a moment of pure pride. To win in my first outing as national champion made the jersey feel even more real, it was a huge relief to make the jersey feel like something I’d earned and defended.

Sharing the podium with strong riders like Torben and Daniel Braunsteins, and seeing the depth of competition in the women’s race where Courtney Sherwell rode to a dominant win, reminded me just how far gravel racing in Australia has come in such a short time.

First win in the stripes: done. Now, onto the next challenge.

2nd, Melbourne to Warrnambool 276k

Battling the Wind and History at the Melbourne to Warrnambool

The Melbourne to Warrnambool is the kind of race that every Australian cyclist dreams of. It’s the oldest, longest, and arguably most prestigious one-day race in the country. At 270 kilometres, it’s not just about legs, it’s about patience, positioning, and grit. With more than 160 starters and all the top domestic riders on the line, the race was always going to be a war of attrition.

A Fast and Aggressive Start

Rolling out from Avalon Airport, the tempo was high straight away. True to tradition, a small breakaway went early, but I stayed committed to my plan, sit in the bunch, look after myself, and follow the favourites who also chose not to jump across.

As the kilometres ticked by, the race began to take on that familiar rhythm of Australia’s great one day races. Move after move went tried to go up the road, the bunch strung out and then back together.

The Crosswinds Hit

At around the 200km mark (70km to go) things changed dramatically. We hit a sweeping bend onto a wide, exposed road and suddenly the race lit up. A massive crosswind tore through the bunch, and everyone was guttered, full gas just to hold the wheel in front.

Riders started dropping everywhere, gaps opened up, and when the dust settled I found myself in the front group of about 30. Being in the right place at the right time had paid off.

The Break of Seven

Not long after, the selection got even tighter. A group of seven riders slipped off the front, we werent even trying but our small group was playing cat and mouse. What followed was one of the hardest efforts of the day, Our group of 7 going full gas for 15km, just to hold off the chasing groups behind and our gap slowly grew

With Warrnambool getting closer, there was no longer any cooperation. at the front. Riders launched attacks, testing each other, and the elastic snapped a few times. I bided my time, waiting for the right moment.

My Move

With 9km to go, I countered one of the attacks and went solo. I managed to open a decent gap and for a moment it felt like maybe, just maybe, I could ride it all the way to the finish.

But cycling is rarely that simple. Looking back, I could see Mark O’Brien, a fellow Bendigo rider, bridging across. He latched onto my wheel before immediately going straight past me on a short, sharp climb with 6km to go.

The Final Push

Marko was strong, brutally strong and slowly rode away from me in the run into Warrnambool. I dug as deep as I could, but the gap grew metre by metre. Finally, after 270km of racing, I crossed the line in second place at the Melbourne to Warrnambool.

A Special Result

Of course, part of me wanted the win. Every rider does. But standing on the podium of Australia’s oldest and longest road race is something I’ll never forget. The “Warrny” is steeped in history, and to come away with 2nd place in such a brutal edition is something I’m incredibly proud of.

It was a day of crosswinds, tactics, and pure determination, the kind of race that reminds me why I love this sport.

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3rd, Dirty Warrny 250km

Racing the Dirty Warrny – 250km of Gravel, Grit, and Mateship

There’s something special about racing the Dirty Warrny. It’s the gravel cousin of the legendary Melbourne to Warrnambool, a race with over 100 years of history and a reputation as one of Australia’s most prestigious events. The Dirty version covers the same epic distance, but instead of tarmac, we’re sent down fire roads, through singletrack, and across rugged off-road terrain. It’s a proper test of endurance, skill, and tactics.

Going into the race, I felt good. At the time I was the national champion, and the start list was stacked with some of Australia’s best elite riders. From the gun, there were plenty of little attacks, but nothing that truly stuck. It was fast, but controlled.

Everything changed around the 100km mark. I found myself riding alongside my coach, Scott Bowden, and good mate (and ex-pro) Dylan Sunderland. The three of us were chatting, rolling through the bunch, when the idea struck—we’d attack together. As we hit a narrow singletrack section, we all went. By the time we popped out the other side, the race had exploded. A peloton of more than 100 had been whittled down to just 10 riders.

From there, it became a war of attrition. Every kilometre ticked down like sand through an hourglass. With 150km still to race, it was about who could conserve, who could suffer, and who could gamble their energy at the right moment.

With 60km to go, Scott made his move. My coach, my mate, my biggest rival on the day—he went all-in. Dylan was sharp to follow, and before I knew it, the two of them had a gap. I tried to bridge across, but the group was onto me. Every time I moved, I was marked. Scott and Dylan rode away, their gap stretching to three minutes.

At that point, my race became a fight for the podium. In the closing kilometres, I was still with a group of four. On a steep climb heading back into town, I decided to roll the dice. I attacked hard, opened a gap, and held it. I knew I wasn’t catching the front two, but I wasn’t going to miss my chance at the podium.

I crossed the line in third—just a minute behind the win, and within eyesight of second place.

Of course, there’s a bittersweet sting in being so close to the top step, but honestly, I was stoked. It was an epic day on the bike, one that tested every part of me. To share the race with my mates, and to see Scott—my coach and friend—take the win, made it even more special.

The Dirty Warrny lived up to its reputation: long, brutal, tactical, and unforgettable. And I’ll be back for more.

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4th, Sea Otter Gravel

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18th, Traka 360k

The Traka 360 is one of the toughest gravel races in the world, Europe’s version to the legendary Unbound Gravel in the USA.

Held in Girona, Spain, it attracts the very best gravel riders from across the world, all ready to test themselves on a course that is as beautiful as it is brutal.

This year, I lined up in the dark, nerves buzzing and lights brightening up the park in Girona. The start was as savage as expected, straight uphill before the sun was up. The pace was steady on the climb, but the moment we crested and hit the descent, it was chaos, fast, loose, and still dark. The field stretched out, but I managed to hold position in the top 30.

The next 30km ticked by smoothly, relatively flat and fast, before the real racing began. Around the 40km mark, a small break went clear with two PAS Normal riders and a Tudor Pro Cycling privateer. I knew I couldn’t miss the move, so I jumped across. Soon we were eight strong, working well together, pushing the gap out on the tough course.

At the 100km mark came the first decisive climb. The group started to splinter, two riders dropped, then two more suffered flats on the downhill. Suddenly, there were only four of us left, with 260km still to race. We kept the pressure on and stretched the lead to nearly seven minutes, but I knew the main test was ahead. A 20 minute long climb at 8%

By the time we hit the day’s major climb at 200km, a relentless 20-minute grind, I was on the limit. We had three minutes at the base, at this stage it was myself a Jan Stokli from Tudor Pro Cycling, but I couldn’t hold the pace. I eased off, knowing the chase would catch me sooner or later. Near the top of the climb, I saw the reduced bunch of 20 not far behind. They caught me on the descent, and I tucked in, doing the bare minimum.

Then came the infamous hike-a-bike section. Five minutes of pure hell, hauling the bike over your shoulder uphill, calves burning, and back ruined. We crested together, but the moment tires hit dirt again, it was full gas. I cramped badly, lost contact, and suddenly found myself alone with 150km still to go.

The next five hours were a huge mental battle. Solo time-trialing across endless gravel, sometimes bridging to small groups, sometimes riding away from them, but mostly fighting just to get back to Girona.

Finally, after 360km and 12:08hrs, I rolled into Girona in 18th place. I had spent 170km in the breakaway and emptied myself completely. The Traka 360km lived up to its reputation being arguably the hardest gravel race in the world but also one of the most rewarding.

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19th, The Rift Iceland

This was no ordinary gravel event. It was 200km across lava, rivers and snowfields, set in one of the most remote landscapes on the planet. Held in the tectonic heart of Iceland, The Rift has quickly earned a reputation as one of the most epic stops on the Gravel Earth Series.

idk what i’m doing with my hands

Pre Race

The Rift begins in Hvolsvollur, a small town in southern Iceland. The course is as surreal as it is savage: volcanic gravel plains, glacial rivers, snow-capped ridges, and wind-blasted highlands. The course was to cover 200km and 2600m of climbing, with weather that can shift from freezing fog to blazing sunshine in the span of an hour!

Ella and I landed in Reykjavik a few days before the race, collected their campervan (home on wheels), and settled in, just kilometres from the start line. The backdrop? Snowy mountains, active volcanoes, and strangely, a golf course.

I previewed sections of the course and was left in awe. One moment I was climbing through misty green mountains, the next riding across black volcanic gravel and icy rivers, and then suddenly crossing bright white snowfields under the sun.

Race Day

With my classic breakfast of 6–7 Weet-Bix and a strong coffee down, I rolled to the start line for the 8am flag drop. I attacked immediately out of the neutral zone, joined by an Icelandic rider on a dual-suspension mountain bike. Together we rode clear, handling sketchy crossings and jagged rock with confidence. For 50km, it looked like a dream start.

River Crossing 10km in

The Hike-a-Bike

But at 60km, reality bit. A 25-strong chase group reeled them in on a steady climb. Soon after came the brutal hike-a-bike section: steep pitches, sharp descents, and terrain that scattered the peloton. Riders were left strung out across the landscape. I dug deep, clawing back positions through open black roads, glacial streams, and endless gravel.

Mechanical Mayhem & Recovery

At 178km in, disaster struck. A sharp volcanic rock sliced my front tyre open. Luckily, Ella and their campervan were waiting just ahead at the feed zone. In less than three minutes, I somehow managed to swap out my tyre and tube, rejoined the course, and turned the final 22km into a solo time trial.

F1 Style Pitstop

Crossing the Line

Six hours and fifty minutes after rolling out, I crossed the finish line in 19th place. A top-20 result in one of the world’s toughest gravel races!