Events: Notes from the Hell of Batten Fly Project 2025

Early in the year, I set out to accomplish three very different events. Varying in seriousness, the events ranged from a gran fondo to a USAC licensed race. One was local while the farthest was far away. Across the board, each event featured unpaved sections. According to the law of averages, each course aggregated 100 kilometers. What I didn’t anticipate was the learning curve across the three events. Even after decades of riding, the spring events still offer lessons.

The Kermesse Sport event Hell of Hunterdon has always been a gateway to the spring campaign. Hampered by weather over the past few years, the Hell of Hunterdon delivered on sending cyclists - locals or otherwise - to lesser-known unpaved areas of New Jersey’s Hunterdon County. On the cycling calendar since 2009, the Hell of Hunterdon is a litmus test for riders coming out of hibernation with aspirations toward competitive outcomes. 

Traditionally, the Hell of Hunterdon is a dress rehearsal for the Tour of the Battenkill/ Battenkill Race, but 2025’s Hell of Hunterdon rainy weather did little to prepare me for the deluge throughout the newly-named Battenkill Race. The rain tapped the hotel roof of the Saratoga Springs, NY, accommodations prior to the Battenkill Race. It was cold and it was raining. These circumstances for Battenkill were more like Europe’s north coast climate.

After two events in considerable precipitation, I almost pulled out of the Black Fly Challenge. I had had enough of racing in the rain, but the forecast sneakily improved closer to race day. The race route features twenty-five continuous miles of gravel roadway, requiring the utmost concentration for ever-changing surfaces. After a poor start, I sunk myself into catching the lead pack after a break only to dial back my effort approaching the first climb. Though the Black Fly Challenge is the shortest race at forty miles, it was equally exhausting as the others.

We are completely lucky in our location along the Atlantic seaboard for such diverse parcours for cycling. The Hell of Hunterdon is close enough to be considered a home event, spoiling us with pristine gravel segments and views. The Battenkill Race is harder to manage, given the town of Cambridge’s svelte stature. Accommodations were sought elsewhere. Instead of a big-box hotel off of the NY Thruway, a quaint horse racing hotel in Saratoga Springs was selected. Of course the Black Fly Challenge required an elongated stay. Its five hour drive led to an Adirondack camp creaking with simplistic charm. 

The Hell of Hunterdon has never required USAC licensing. Its status as a fondo will never require membership. The Black Fly Challenge is not a sanctioned race, thus there is no need for USAC membership. Battenkill Race did have US Cycling oversight, but a referee suggested a one-day ‘experienced’ license for any category higher than five. It beats paying a full year’s membership to line up for a single race. 

A choice of bikes made all three events possible. Traditionally the Hell of Hunterdon is attacked atop a road bike. So, too, the Battenkill. Black Fly is a pure gravel event. Conversely, there is little faith in competitiveness through the Adirondack wilderness straddling a road race bike. Meanwhile, Battenkill saw several gravel bikes at the start. This felt like a folly until the gravel segments became pudding. Road bikes bogged down in the unpaved sections while gravel bikes floated by. Furthermore, Hell of Hunterdon and Battekill Race were circuits; the Black Fly Challenge is a town-to-town event requiring logistical gymnastics. I solved being forty miles from the team car by turning around and riding back.

The enjoyable aspect of all three events was the uniqueness. There was genuine excitement as each outing popped up on the calendar. And no sooner was one event finished than planning for the next commenced. The Hell of Hunterdon produced nostalgia, having participated in each edition since 2011. The return of Battenkill tapped into a similar traditional feel, as if I were ten years younger again, hammering for a bottle of Battenkill Creamery chocolate milk finishing along the old Cambridge stretch. And the Black Fly Challenge, slowly sewing itself into the spring fabric is a weekend festival to unofficially start summer. 

This project had a common thread running through it: water. It rained at Hell of Hunterdon, deluged at Battekill, but the Black Fly Challenge kept dry. But wait a second. I thought of the greatness of all three events, after the conclusion of the Black Fly Challenge, while sitting in an Adirondack chair on the shore of Fourth Lake. A pair of loons floated back and forth. I watched the sun setting over the lake, disappearing at almost 9pm. This was the spot. This was the moment the gratitude of having completed three enjoyable events in one season came rushing in. Fitting, this, that the final trip would involve both the gravel bike and the road bike to close out the Hell of Batten Fly project.

I suspect others felt the same way. In the peace of sitting along the shoreline, visitors walked along the dock, boats pulled up or pulled away, kids waded along the beach. The beauty did not escape me, but I came close to overlooking the importance of what I was witnessing. Sure these events are great, but I watched as the sun’s rays ceased to beam from behind the clouds. And it occurred to me that bikes had brought me to this Adirondack chair to witness this sunset. Bikes brought me to Hunterdon County to capture the rolling hills of New Jersey. Bikes brought me to eastern New York to see the very definition of rolling hills as they humped one after another into the horizon. The bike brought me out of my Saratoga hotel in time to witness race horses with bouncing jockeys clopping their way past my door to the track. 

Ushering in the darkness of the Adirondack night, I decided to stroll through the tiny town of Inlet, NY. Houses were aglow with guests. Businesses had closed for the night. The ice cream stand, clam restaurant, and taco place still had late diners, but everyone else was getting rest. Back in my room, I finished the Gary Paulsen book that was on the hotel desk and faded off to sleep, wishing to hold on to this feeling of accomplishment forever.