Stu Garwick Gets It: Why The Spirit of Gravel Isn't Dead Yet
- Seth Newsome
- May 5
- 6 min read
Updated: May 9
I recently listened to an episode of the Velo Chumps Podcast featuring Stu Garwick, founder of The Ten Thousand, a gravel ride through Illinois’ Driftless Region. It was my first time tuning into Velo Chumps—highly entertaining—and my first exposure to Garwick or his event. I’d previously heard Chase Wark mention the Driftless in reference to The DAMn (Day Across Minnesota), but I hadn’t explored it in depth. The area, shaped by a unique geological history—untouched by glaciers during the last Ice Age—is defined by steep, rugged hills and dramatic terrain. It’s gravel paradise and a bucket-list destination for any serious gravel grinder.
What struck me most, as I discussed with my friend Keith Smith, is that The Ten Thousand is a completely free event. In an era where gravel event prices are skyrocketing—often at the expense of the participant experience—this ride stands out for lowering the barrier to entry. It reminds us of what this sport was built on: accessibility and community.
After all, when you put a price tag on an event, a shift takes place. Riders go from being casual participants to paying customers. And with that shift comes expectation. You’re no longer simply showing up for a ride; you’re consuming a product, which suddenly entitles you to an opinion.
To put things in perspective, here are a few recent entry fees for major U.S. gravel events:
I love The Mid South. Bobby Wintle has done a commendable job keeping costs relatively affordable while still delivering a top-tier rider experience. On The Still Connect Podcast, Wintle dives into what drives him—and it comes down to this: the customer experience. Whether you’re a customer at District Bicycles or a participant in The Mid South, Wintle’s purpose is to offer the best possible experience and hospitality to anyone who crosses his path. And while other events command $200+ and sell out within minutes, The Mid South remains authentic and welcoming.
But even defining who a customer is comes with its own challenges. Wintle’s approach to customer service seemingly comes from Will Guidara’s philosophy outlined in the book Unreasonable Hospitality–a must-read for anyone in leadership. Guidara, who works closely with fellow restaurateur Danny Meyer, mentions Meyer’s concept of enlightened hospitality–the notion of an organization and its leaders taking care of its people first. The long-reaching effect is that people are bought in, culturally aligned, and customers are the beneficiaries.
The thing about culture is, everything in your life has a culture whether the organization steering it recognizes it or not.
The Gravel Conundrum
I’ve never ridden BWR or Unbound—and likely never will—not just because of the price, but because of the exclusivity. Lotteries and sellouts within minutes aren’t exactly what I’d call inclusive. In fact, they fly in the face of what gravel riding is supposed to be.
And while Gravel Locos is only 20 minutes from my home in Stephenville, I’ve stopped attending—even as a spectator. Why? Because despite the hype, it’s overpriced and underwhelming for the average rider.
But this post isn’t really about the price of events.
I’ve written before about how cost-prohibitive gravel cycling can be, especially when it comes to organized events. What I want to talk about is community, culture, what I’m trying to build through RIDE GRVL, and what so many others have already built. On that front, Stu Garwick gets it. In the Velo Chumps episode, he plainly says he’s never understood why people pay to ride public roads.
It’s a fair point. Why are we paying for something we can already do—for free—any day of the week?
People often ask if I’ll be riding Gravel Locos in Hico. After all, it’s practically in my backyard. But my answer is usually the same: “Why would I pay to ride roads I already ride for free every weekend?”
Now, I’m not trying to take shots at event organizers. As an entrepreneur myself, I understand the market: if there’s demand, by all means, build the product and sell it. Sell the experience. Just be honest about your intentions. If your priority is profit, then say so—don’t hide behind the idea of community and veil the truth from your paying customers. Because when money becomes the motive, it inevitably shifts the focus away from the people.
Garwick, on the other hand, speaks openly about his desire to build community and culture. He’s clear, passionate, and sincere about making and keeping gravel riding accessible, despite taking a step back from The Ten Thousand recently. And that resonates.
The “Spirit of Gravel” has, in recent years, gone from a rallying cry for camaraderie to something that’s starting to feel like a parody or pariah. Gravel used to mean long, hot days, hard climbs, dirty legs, and shared suffering—followed by a cold beverage and new friendships at the finish line. If we commodify the space too much, we risk losing what made it special to begin with: openness, grit, and genuine connection. To commodify gravel is to make it strictly transactional. That’s not community, that’s not culture.
The Spirit of Gravel: Cliche or Reality?
In today’s world, genuine community is rare. That’s why I believe gravel riders—people already bonded by a love for challenge and exploration and long days in the saddle—have a unique opportunity to rebuild those spaces. We should be standing in contrast to a culture that isolates, divides, and excludes—not replicating it with VIP tents, pro-only zones, and ticketed access to joy but rather being the vessels by which joy is communicated.
Gravel is about lifting each other up, about showing up for your fellow rider, about having character, integrity, and respect for one another. That’s why Bobby Wintle stands at the finish line of The Mid South to personally welcome every single rider home. He doesn’t just do it out of tradition—he does it as a statement, a punctuation mark on what gravel should be about.
Contrast that with Gravel Locos, where you’ll rarely see organizers mingling with anyone outside the pro corrals. That sends a message in contrast to The Spirit of Gravel.
Without getting too philosophical—though that day is coming soon—what sets gravel apart from other cycling disciplines is its culture. But just like in business, education, or politics, culture only lasts as long as its leaders are willing to nurture it. Leadership isn’t a title—it’s a mentality, an ethos. And cultural leadership is an art form that’s quickly fading.
It’s telling that so many people earn PhDs and EdDs in organizational behavior and educational leadership, yet the gap between true leadership and healthy culture only seems to widen. While you or I may not be able to change our institutions, we can embody servant leadership in the places where we show up every day—whether that’s in the workplace, the classroom, or out on the bike.
Be an instrument of change. Let yourself be used for good—however you define that and whatever that means to you. Be a beacon of hope, of connection. Be like the Spirit of Gravel.
At RIDE GRVL, my mission is simple: build something that brings people together and foster a culture of community. A space where anyone can show up, suffer a little, smile a lot, and feel like they belong. That’s why every one of my routes is available—for free—on Ride with GPS and through my blog.
Gravel is not a product. It’s an experience. And I’m not here to rob anyone of that joy. I want you to know how incredible the dirt roads of Erath County are. I want you to experience the same freedom and fulfillment I feel every time I clip in and roll out. I want you to see the colors, feel the pain of the next hill, and heighten your senses while you’re on the bike.
I always come back to what Bobby Wintle says, because it encapsulates what I believe so deeply:
“Together, we are heavy.”
Let’s keep riding, keep building. Let’s keep the Spirit of Gravel alive.