August 15, 2026
Host
Alright, settle in, because tonight we're talking about the scariest thing I've ever read in sports news, and I've seen box scores from a baseball game that lasted 26 innings. I am, of course, referring to the Cadence Collective Classic, a women-only, fourteen-hundred-kilometer bike ride happening September twenty-third to twenty-seventh. That's right, fourteen hundred K, which for my fellow Americans who still measure in football fields, is eight hundred seventy miles. In one go. Or, as I like to call it, an unassisted trip from Los Angeles to Portland, except you loop back to a campground so you can nap and eat a burrito.
Guest
And they have to finish in a hundred and five hours. That's a brevet time limit, by the way, not a suggestion written on a novelty coffee mug. We're talking four and a half days of near-continuous pedaling, through mountains, desert, and coastline. The event is this bizarre hybrid—part race, part randonneuring brevet. So you've got the competitive fire of ultra racers mixed with the gritty self-sufficiency of randonneuses who carry their own spare tubes and existential dread.
Host
And just when you think, okay, maybe five people will show up for this sufferfest, the rider list reads like a who's who of endurance nightmares. We've got Meagan Killinen, the Tour Divide record holder. Jana Kesselhaur from Switzerland, who won the 24-hour time trial at worlds and the 2026 Transcontinental Race. Fiona Kolberg, past TCR winner. Rinko Soma, who conquered a thousand kilometers up and down Mount Fuji for fun. Crews are coming from France, Germany, Spain, South Korea—this isn't a local club ride, it's an international summit of women who laugh at distances that make my car's warranty invalid.
Guest
The funny thing is, the Cadence Collective started as an online community before the pandemic, just a bunch of ultra-endurance women and riding crews in Southern California, mostly over forty-five, who wanted to ride long without the usual gatekeeping. Then during lockdown, suddenly fifty-plus women were finding ride partners for these epic all-day adventures. And now, post-pandemic, they're absolutely dominating ultra racing. The classic origin story: a Facebook group becomes a global movement.
Host
So, is this like a very aggressive book club that decided to cycle until they hit the tectonic plate boundary? Because I love that energy. But speaking of origin stories, the event's structure is wild—a cloverleaf format. Four brutal loops all returning to a central hub at Bonelli Bluffs RV campground. So you get to repeatedly confront your life choices, but with a lake view.
Guest
Exactly. Each loop explores a different slice of Southern California: the San Bernardino National Forest, high desert, the coast, mountains... The hub becomes this tiny village with meal provisions, sleeping areas, and drop bags. It's like a diabolical summer camp where the crafts are replacing brake pads and the campfire stories are about hallucinating coyotes at mile seven hundred. The cloverleaf design lets riders face completely different kinds of suffering every few hundred kilometers, which is psychologically brilliant and physically terrifying.
Host
And here's the thing that keeps me up at night: the older women, the ones who've been around the sun more than forty-five times, often ride faster than the young guns in these multi-day events. I've read the science—it's like a cruel joke on anyone under thirty. As women age, the ratio of slow-twitch muscle fibers to fast-twitch actually shifts in their favor for endurance. Meanwhile, I eat a second slice of pizza and need a three-hour nap.
Guest
It's not just the muscle fibers. Women tend to have denser mitochondrial networks, and that density increases with age. More mitochondria means better fat oxidation, more sustained energy over days. In cycling, the gender gap shrinks as the distance grows, and research suggests that somewhere around the forty-eight-hour mark, women consistently outperform men. So by the end of this race, any middle-aged woman with a well-packed snack strategy could be dropping the fittest twenty-five-year-old guy on the planet.
Host
That is the most beautiful and threatening piece of sports science I've ever heard. It's like a slow-motion power shift that ends with my ego being left on a desert climb. And the sponsors clearly get it: Campagnolo, Profile Design, Pearl Izumi, Muck-Off, Continental, all the usual suspects. But the platinum sponsor is Lifetime TV. They're making a documentary. Imagine the emotional interviews where a rider talks about being told it's not safe to ride at night, while the camera captures her spinning through a forest as the sun rises on day three. I'm already crying and I haven't even seen a trailer.
Guest
That's the real beauty of this event. Lifetime will capture the raw, unfiltered stories—women who've been told they're not tough enough, not strong enough, shouldn't ride alone, shouldn't ride at night. And here they are, conquering distances that most people wouldn't drive in a week. The contrast will be incredible: soft-spoken determination against some of the most punishing terrain California can throw at you. Plus, you know, dramatic drone shots of someone fixing a chain in the pitch dark with a headlamp while muttering in four languages.
Host
And the mantra—oh, the mantra. This is where it becomes a lifestyle. The Cadence Collective's banner says, 'Ride Slow, Bring Snacks, Take Naps.' In multiple languages, by the way, because suffering is universal. They've got French: 'Roule doucement, apporte des snacks, fais la sieste.' German: 'Langsam fahren, Snacks mitbringen, Nickerchen machen.' Spanish: 'Rueda despacio, trae snacks, toma siestas.' Japanese: 'Yukkuri hashiro, oyatsu o moto, hirune shiyo.' Korean: 'Cheoncheonhi tagi, gansik chaenggigi, natjam jagi.' It's like a United Nations resolution on proper endurance conduct.
Guest
That philosophy is the polar opposite of the pro peloton, where everything is optimized for a three-to-six-hour burn. In the WorldTour, you've got team cars, mechanics, chefs, physiotherapists—basically, a rolling spa that yells at you to pedal harder. These women are self-supported for a hundred five hours. The mantra isn't just cute, it's a survival strategy. You need to pace, you need to fuel constantly with real food, and you need strategic naps to avoid microsleeps that could send you into a cactus.
Host
So the real difference isn't just distance, it's a complete inversion of how we define athletic performance. In the pro peloton, power-to-weight ratio on a twenty-minute climb is everything. Here, it's about your body's efficiency over four days, your ability to digest a peanut butter sandwich at three in the morning, your tolerance for loneliness on a highway at hour seventy. And that is where women's physiology becomes a superpower. It's not that they're just enduring; they're built to endure longer and smarter.
Guest
Exactly! And the qualification process reinforces that. Every rider has to have completed a Super Randonneur series—200, 300, 400, 600 kilometers—or submit a comparable resume of ultra-distance events. This isn't your weekend group ride that accidentally turned into a century. You have to prove you can handle sleep deprivation, navigation, mechanical issues, weather, and the mental gremlins that visit you at four a.m. It's the cycling equivalent of a PhD in resilience.
Host
And then, after over a thousand kilometers of that, you roll back to Bonelli Bluffs to a live band and a massive celebration. It's the most extreme version of 'you can sleep when you're dead, but first, let's dance.' I love that the finish isn't just a timing mat and a handshake. It's a full-blown party, probably with women swapping stories about the hallucinatory rabbits they saw on loop three while the band plays something upbeat. It's weirdly wholesome for an event that sounds like a psychological experiment.
Guest
The party is essential because it honors an entirely different type of riding. Look at the typical Tour de France broadcast: everything is about explosive sprints, GC battles on Alpe d'Huez, team tactics. It's a controlled, manicured environment. These women are out there navigating by GPS, fixing their own drivetrains, rationing water through the high desert, and making judgment calls that could end the race or their season. The celebration says, we see you, and what you do is terrifyingly magnificent.
Host
Wait, GPs? No closed course? No neutral support motorcycles blocking untersections? That's not a race, that's a treasure hunt where the treasure is finishing before your brain completely dissolves. I can barely find my car in a parking garage. Respect has been multiplied by a factor of ten. But it also highlights the self-reliance. These women are mechanics, navigators, nutritionists, and their own mental coaches, all while riding at a pace that would drop most category-one racers.
Guest
And they do it on a mix of standard endurance bikes and ultra setups. Since it's not a draft-legal race, aerodynamics matter, but so does comfort. You'll see everything from road bikes with aero bars to specially designed ultra machines with massive frame bags. The equipment choices become as personal as the snack selections. And because it's unsupported, you're carrying layers for mountain descents at night, spare tires, lights, batteries—your bike becomes a small, pedal-powered RV.
Host
Do you think we'll ever see something like this in the mainstream sport narrative? I mean, we've got a TV network investing, a documentary in the works, international athletes. It feels like a tipping point. But part of me worries that commercial interests will try to sanitize it, add follow cars, turn it into a made-for-TV spectacle that loses the soul of 'Ride Slow, Bring Snacks, Take Naps.' Where's the line between exposure and exploitation?
Guest
It's a real tension. The beauty of the Cadence Collective is its grassroots origin—it grew from women who just wanted to ride long and hard without being told they couldn't. If the documentary can capture the absurdity, the grit, the midnight snack breaks that look like a picnic from a fever dream, then it could be transformative. But if they try to make it palatable by adding drama or reducing the riders to backstories, it'll feel hollow. The challenge for Lifetime is to let the riding be the story, not the tears.
Host
We can only hope they include a ten-minute segment of someone napping in a ditch, covered in crumbs, with the caption, 'Ride Slow, Bring Snacks.' That's the content I need. But let's talk about the elephant in the camper van: the physical and psychological transformation over a hundred five hours. I've read accounts of hallucinations, time dilation, the 'drunk without the fun' feeling. How does the body not just... quit?
Guest
It's a layered shutdown. First, your digestive system rebels if you don't eat constantly—your body starts consuming muscle. Then sleep deprivation impairs decision-making; you might stare at a sign for ten minutes before it registers. The brain's default mode network goes haywire, leading to phantom sounds, shadows, even conversations with people who aren't there. But experienced randonneuses learn to recognize those as signs to eat, nap, or adjust pace. It's not about gutting it out; it's about managing a slow-burn crisis.
Host
So the winning strategy is basically high-level self-parenting: 'You sound cranky, when did you last eat? Time for a ten-minute nap.' I love it. Meanwhile, I'm over here needing a nap after a thirty-minute spin class. And that brings me back to the physiology angle. If women's mitochondrial density increases with age, are we looking at a future where sixty-year-old women are winning ultra races outright, and men are left drafting behind them like, 'please slow down, my fast-twitch fibers are useless'?
Guest
Honestly, we're already there. Look at the results of RAAM, the Race Across America, or the Tour Divide. Women over fifty consistently place in the top ranks, and sometimes win the overall solo category. The gap isn't just closing; it's inverted. So the Cadence Collective Classic could be a showcase for precisely that—a celebration of the age-defying, mitochondrially dense, slow-twitch dominant athletes who have figured out that the secret isn't youth, it's patience, fueling, and a really good chamois cream.
Host
Speaking of fueling, what's the cutting-edge nutrition strategy for something like this? Are we talking gourmet sandwiches from the campground village, or is there a secret stash of high-calorie paste that only endurance riders know about? Because my entire knowledge of cycling nutrition is those tiny gel packets that taste like sadness.
Guest
In a hundred-five-hour race, you can't survive on gels alone—your stomach would stage a violent coup. Most riders rely on a mix of real food: boiled potatoes with sea salt, peanut butter and banana wraps, instant ramen, cookies, gummy bears, bacon wraps even pizza if they can get it. The central hub village will offer hot meals and snacks but riders will also have personal stashes in their drop bags at the hub. The key is to avoid the bonk by consuming 200 to 300 calories an hour, often in savory forms because sweet fatigue is real after day two.
Host
A boiled potato at three in the morning while shivering on a mountain pass sounds simultaneously revolting and heroic. And coffee—if I were out there, I'd need a caffeine IV drip. But I'm curious about the mental aspect. Do riders go through distinct psychological phases, like the five stages of grief but with more chamois cream?
Guest
Absolutely. The first eight to twelve hours are often euphoric—the 'I'm doing this!' phase. Then night falls, and the second phase sets in: doubt, loneliness, the first serious aches. Around hour thirty to forty, you hit the 'dark valley,' where everything hurts and your brain tells you to quit. If you push through, you enter a kind of resigned acceptance. After that, small pleasures—a sunrise, a good song—become transcendent. The last twelve hours are a mix of raw survival and a burst of finishing energy. It's a condensed version of a midlife crisis, but with a finish-line party.
Host
And all of this happens while navigating a cloverleaf that brings you back to the same campground repeatedly. I can't decide if that's a psychological comfort or a special kind of torture—like seeing your hotel room but not being allowed to sleep in it until you've completed another loop. It's the world's most extreme game of 'just one more lap.'
Guest
It's actually genius course design. The recurring hub allows for support without being vehicle-supported. Riders can access their gear, food, and medical help, but they still have to earn each loop. It also creates a festival atmosphere: the camp becomes a village of support crews and family, a little bubble of energy. And because the loops are different, you're never bored—you go from mountains to desert to coast, so the scenery and weather keep your brain engaged. It's like a sampler platter of California's worst and best.
Host
So picture this: the drone shot fades in on the campground, fairy lights strung between RVs, a woman with a headlamp spooning soup into her mouth while someone hands her a fresh cue sheet. Then cut to her climbing a 15% grade at dawn, San Gabriel mountains in the background, and a voiceover—maybe in French, subtitled—says, 'I was told I couldn't.' I'm telling you, this documentary is going to win awards and make everyone cry into their indoor trainer. Lifetime better not mess this up.
Guest
If they can resist turning it into a reality show with elimination challenges, it'll be fine. But the inherent drama is already there: extreme weather, mechanical disasters, sleep-deprived decision-making. You don't need manufactured conflict. You just need to let Meagan Killinen or Rinko Soma tell their own stories. I'd watch a six-hour cut of just the food choices alone.
Host
One thing that strikes me about this event is how it redefines toughness. In traditional sports media, toughness is often linked to explosive, aggressive behavior. But here, toughness is the ability to eat a burrito at 2 a.m. while fixing a flat tire and being kind to a volunteer. It's a quieter, more sustainable form of badassery. And because this is women-only, it completely sidesteps the usual 'prove it against men' narrative. It's just, 'Here are the best, watch them.'
Guest
Exactly. That's the paradigm shift. By creating a women-only platform for this distance, the Cadence Collective isn't asking for permission or comparison. They're writing their own story. And the fact that so many top international riders are showing up proves it's not about novelty; it's about legitimacy. This isn't a side event at a men's race. This is the event. The qualifying standards ensure it's elite, but the mantra makes it inclusive. 'Ride Slow, Bring Snacks, Take Naps' is the most welcoming gatekeeping in sports.
Host
Does the inclusive philosophy risk clashing with the race element? If someone is purely there to finish within the time limit, respecting the brevet spirit, and someone else is there to win, how does that dynamic play out on the road? Are we going to see aggressive racing tactics or more of a 'we're all in this together' vibe until the final loop?
Guest
It's an unresolved tension, but a beautiful one. In traditional randonneuring, it's not a race; you get the same medal if you finish in 90 hours or 104. But this event explicitly has a competitive element. Some riders will treat it as a race from the gun, while others will ride within themselves, content to finish. The cloverleaf might intensify that—on the third loop, the leaders could lap the tail end, creating interactions you'd never see in a point-to-point. It'll be fascinating to see if camaraderie prevails or if someone attacks a climb at hour eighty like it's a crit.
Host
And imagine the tactical mind games! 'She just stopped for a nap, but is she really napping or is she just trying to make me think she's napping?' It's the Tour de France by way of a psychological thriller. But ultimately, I think the event's soul will win. You can't spend seventy hours with someone in the same general bubble and not develop a twisted sort of respect. Even if you're racing, you'll likely share a knowing nod at the next checkpoint over a cup of cold broth.
Guest
The community aspect is reinforced by the hub village. Having a central location where families, friends, and sponsors gather creates a constant infusion of energy. Riders roll in at random hours, and there's always someone awake to cheer, hand you a sandwich, or help with a mechanical. That kind of support is critical for the mental part of the race. It's the opposite of a lonely time trial on an empty highway. It's more like a medieval fair where everyone is obsessed with derailleurs.
Host
I want to attend just for the village. I'll bring a sign that says, 'You're doing great, sweetie, only 800 km to go,' and a cooler of electrolyte popsicles. But seriously, what does this event mean for the future of women's ultra-cycling? Could we see a world where the Cadence Collective Classic is the premier ultra event, and the Tour de France looks at it sideways, wondering why their audience is slowly migrating to four-day epic documentaries?
Guest
It's a real possibility. The attention span of sports consumers is fragmenting. Some people want explosive, three-hour action; others want deep, narrative-led endurance stories. The Cadence Collective Classic offers the latter—a raw, human-scale struggle that unfolds over days. It's like the difference between a sprint and a novel. If Lifetime's documentary hits, we could see copycat events and a surge in female participation at all levels. The women's ultra-endurance boom is already here; this could be the spark that ignites it.
Host
And the bike industry should take note. We're seeing more women-specific endurance bikes, better saddle choices, lighting systems designed for multi-day reliability. The gear used at this event will push innovation because the demands are so extreme. I wouldn't be surprised if we see new products emerge from the field testing—aero hydration packs that don't chafe, self-healing tubes, portable espresso makers that double as frame pumps. Alright, maybe not that last one, but I can dream.
Guest
The tech crossover is real. Ultra riders are notorious for hacking their setups. You'll see custom dynamo hubs, exotic dynamo-powered lights, frame bags made from recycled sails, and nutrition systems that wouldn't look out of place on a spacecraft. The cloverleaf format means you can offload gear at the hub between loops, which encourages some interesting strategic choices: do you go light and fast on the mountain loop and heavier on the desert loop? The equipment planning is a race within the race.
Host
It all comes back to the 'Ride Slow, Bring Snacks, Take Naps' mantra, doesn't it? That phrase is a profound piece of wisdom disguised as a bumper sticker. It subverts the entire ethos of hurry and sacrifice. It says, you can be a world-class athlete and still prioritize your well-being. In a world that tells women to shrink or to prove themselves through suffering, these riders are saying, 'I will bike farther than you can drive, and I will enjoy a nap while doing it.' That's revolutionary.
Guest
It's the ultimate act of quiet defiance. No one wins an ultra by ignoring their body's signals. So by centering snacks and naps, they're not being soft; they're being ruthlessly efficient. It's like a koan: the slower you ride, the faster you'll finish. The more you rest, the more you can endure. It's wisdom that applies to life, not just cycling. I'm honestly considering embroidering it on a pillow.
Host
Well, that's a perfect place to land. The Cadence Collective Classic: September twenty-third to twenty-seventh, eight hundred seventy miles, women only, terrifying and beautiful in equal measure. If you're anywhere near Southern California, find a spot near Bonelli Bluffs and cheer. And to every rider toeing the line: may your snacks be plentiful, your naps refreshing, and your cue sheets accurate. Ride slow, everyone. We'll see you at the after-party with the live band. Until next time, keep it on two wheels and, for the love of all that is chamois, bring snacks.