Finding Joy in the Forest: A Hungry Bear Gravel Story

The Hungry Bear Gravel Race in Cable, WI is a celebration of community, connection, and Northwoods adventure. With a vibe that welcomes riders of all backgrounds and experience levels, it’s grown into one of the most beloved gravel events in the region. In this reflective and deeply personal story, Monica Shoberg shares what it was like to take on the Snacking Bear 60-mile route, how she shaved three hours off her time from last year, and why the true heart of the Hungry Bear isn’t about speed, it’s about people.

Words by Monica Shoberg of Unruly Women

Driving to Cable, Wisconsin, is beautiful no matter the direction you take to get there, and if you blinked, you’d surely miss out on the opportunity to explore all this small town has to offer. I found my way to Tilly’s Pies, behind the River’s Eatery, about 20 minutes before pre-registration planned to begin. The New Moon Ski and Bike Shop and CAMBA tents were mostly set up, and already racers were lined up through the parking lot—a foretelling of the enormous event that was to unfold this weekend. I stepped in to help, being directed to whatever they needed me to do as a volunteer.

Pre-Event Pies, Music, and Community Vibes

The hours passed by quickly as hundreds picked up their tracking number plates, free goodies, and Hungry Bear swag before heading inside Tilly’s for pie or strolling over to the backyard of River’s Eatery to enjoy pizza outside under the towering pines. There was live music playing, people talking, and community buzzing.

Annually, it seems—myself included—many have the best intentions to ride the Hungry Bear 100-mile and ultimately end up dropping down to a lower bracket of the Snacking Bear 60-mile or the Climbing Bear 30-mile. The way we all say it too, minimizing the endeavor awaiting us because it’s not the 100, as if 30 and 60 miles are small potatoes.

I am enthusiastic to remind them those are no small potatoes!

Ultimately, this gravel race is not just about the distance. It’s about the whole experience and the adventure that unfolds before we even reach the finish line. They smile, usually laugh a little, sometimes agree, and continue on their way.

But it’s true!

"If you’re only coming out to race, you’re missing out on all this event has to offer—before, during, and after."

Participating in any of the Hungry Bear gravel race festivities is a great way to experience it to the fullest. Whether you’re racing, spectating, or volunteering, you’re sure to feel part of this welcoming community. Feeling both exhausted from this afternoon and excited for the race tomorrow morning, I headed to my campsite at ROAM Adventure Basecamp to spend the night.

Camping at ROAM Adventure Basecamp

Race Morning: Coffee, Calm, and Crunching Gravel

I woke up in the forest to bird songs and rustling leaves that sounded like water in a stream. The air was crisp, and having left the vestibules open all night, it was a bit of a struggle to find the motivation to get up. A cool breeze drifted in as my tent illuminated in warm sunlight. I could hear footsteps lazily crunching gravel nearby and bike tires rolling through the campground, sounding like Pop Rocks candy crackling.

I lazily stretched out my limbs, beyond pleased with myself that I had opted to bring the old futon mattress that filled the entire footprint of my tent and the extra sleeping bags for an extraordinarily cozy night’s sleep.

The siren song of coffee called to me as I found the motivation to emerge, happily remembering I had an entire Stanley thermos of coffee waiting for me only a few steps away in my car.

Sitting at the picnic table, I savored my mug of hot liquid energy and enjoyed the morning ambiance as the rising sun glittered between the trees. And while I also noticed how many vehicles had already left and how many people were quietly buzzing around getting their own bikes and gear together, I didn’t feel rushed and allowed myself to wake up a bit before loading up my bike bags for this morning’s gravel race.

As I filled and secured the bike bags to my bike around my strategically placed race number—hoping nothing would become loose, bounce, or flap in the wind—I felt confident carrying far less with me than last year, even though I planned to ride alone this year. Partly because I’ve ridden the course once before and knew what to expect, but it was mostly due to the facts that this year everyone would be tracked with timing chips, navigation would be thoroughly posted to avoid people getting lost, there would be twice as many racers out riding, and there were more volunteers sweeping for stragglers along the course.

I felt good about my last-minute decision to once again drop from the 100-mile to the 60-mile. Although my main goal was to just finish the race without getting hurt, my bonus goal was to finish a little faster than last year’s eight hours.

Finding My Flow on the Forest Roads

Anticipating parking to be filled quickly, I had arrived at the parking lot early, double-checked I had everything I needed, waited in the seemingly endless bathroom line for one last go, chugged the smoothie I’d pre-made, and biked over to the registration tent to say hello to the volunteers and see if I might run into any familiar faces.

There were people walking around with coffee, some sitting and talking, a line still long with racers registering, some pedaling around testing out their bikes to make sure everything was working as it should, and a Specialized tent was set up to help racers with any last-minute mechanical needs. I carefully pedaled over to the start line through the crowds of people heading in all different directions.

I’m not a fan of being part of the intense rollout of people and bikes packed like sardines all charging across the starting line. Instead, I’ve found it’s less stressful and more enjoyable to wait alongside the enormous crowd of Snacking Bear racers, cheer them on, and watch them go first. I heard my name being shouted and my eyes scanned the crowd of cyclists passing by. Surprised to see, it was my friend Mack! She called me over to join her and her two friends. I was stoked to have some accountability buddies to ride with and try to keep up with, even if only for part of the race.

The beginning of this race is a great introduction of what’s to come without being thrown right into grueling gravel backroads. We powered through rolling hills of pavement, surrounded by forests full of enormous white pines. With no gravel in sight, we threw caution to the wind and flew down them—each time I erupted with uncontrollable laughter and yelps of childlike joy from a place deep down in my soul.

Overcome by excitement of the race, the rollercoaster-like downhills, talking with and physically trying to keep up with Mack and her friends Erin and Jocelyn during the uphills and flatter sections—the first 20 miles flew by. We passed towering conifers, dark blue lakes, bogs that looked as though moose would be nearby, and endless gravel roads as far as the eyes could see.

Sand Traps, Singletrack, and Surprise Motivation

The gravel was a bit looser than last year, and even though I had zero hesitation pedaling downhill in high gear to gather speed for the uphills, a small voice in the back of my consciousness was very aware of the possibility of sand traps and loose gravel at the bottom of each descent.

I was having way too much fun trying to keep up to worry about slowing down.

If there was someone ahead of me that blew through the softer gravel or sand pit, I’d follow their same line and pedal harder to try to gather momentum to push me up the next hill. If there wasn’t someone ahead, I’d visually commit to a line, stand up out of my saddle, push pressure into both pedals, keep my knees and elbows bent and wide, exhale deeply, and allow that bike to float and swerve side to side beneath me along with the current of the dirt. Each time I made it through, I’d exhale in relief and disbelief, as if I’d just made it through the riskiest obstacle yet, and allow my body to relax for a moment as my legs pedaled on.

I was completely lost in the moving meditation of cycling through these forests and being with friends and found myself pushing harder than I knew I would be if I were alone.

"I was so sure a bonk was inevitable—surely in the next mile, around the next turn. I was convinced it’d hit. But that bonk never came."

Less than three hours in, we arrived at the aid station around the 30-mile mark. We’d been averaging about 15 mph, which is faster than I’ve ever ridden in my life—even on the bike trainer, let alone for that duration.

I definitely had a cycling high from the endorphins flooding my system.

The friendly volunteers were cheering and ensuring every racer had what they needed. One even helped me button my right sleeve after struggling to get it myself. Not paying attention, I also accidentally added a fruity pink electrolyte beverage to my coffee-flavored maple syrup, assuming it was water—but I choked it down for the electrolytes anyway.

Past the Bonk, Into the Joy

The four of us moved out, up a slightly discouraging steep uphill that seemed summit-less. But the scenery couldn’t be beat. The temperature was perfect, the sometimes intense wind kept the air from getting stagnant, and up until now I’d been able to stick to mostly shade. This route in its entirety is a moving meditation through forests and lakes and endlessly winding road.

When I wasn’t lost in the scenery around me, my mind occupied itself with brief chats with new friends and the Jorts song by Will Ferrell and Jimmy Fallon inspired by the racers wearing jorts. That led to random small personal outbursts of laughter because of the silly jingle—and I’m sure a bit of delirium.

Around this time, we began to get passed by the century pelotons. Most of the time we could hear them coming—their bikes sounding like a swarm of bees heading in our direction was our only warning. At one point, one of my friends got cut off by a leader of a peloton as we were nearing a right turn. She had no choice but to veer into the ditch. Thankfully uninjured, she was a little shaken up, but not a single person in that peloton looked back to see if she was okay. We continued on together.

Just as the heat began to get to me, the four of us began to splinter apart through my most favorite section of the ride: the double tracks around mile 40. Forced to bike slower and focus on remaining upright, the shade, cooler temperature, and fun through this hilly section rejuvenated me. This is where mountain biking skills really kicked in.

We all made it through and gathered together again as we ventured onto the more predictable gravel backroads. The lake about 15 miles from the finish is where my friend Kaila and I decided to stop for a much-needed dip last year to cool off after I’d gotten us lost, unintentionally adding on five miles. This time, I followed the trio of friends who pedaled past without stopping. I waved to the lake and thanked it for last year’s refuge and memories.

A Finish Line Full of Feeling

In the last 10 miles, the four of us scattered a bit. In my solitude, I remembered how last year at this point, Kaila and I were truly pushing our limits—but were still having fun. I caught up with Mack just before the small but fun section of mountain bike singletrack, and a second wind hit me.

"We yelped and laughed with joy coasting through the winding path between trees, cheered each other on, and were in awe once again of the views as we crossed the wooden bridge over the Namekagon River."

We rode side by side on the grassy double track for the last mile before the finish line, reminiscing about last year’s race and comparing it to this one. Seeing the finish line, we both pedaled harder and crossed it together.

I didn’t even know our finishing time, but I felt a dam of emotional relief was about to break. Jocelyn was already there cheering and taking pictures. Soon after, Erin crossed the finish line and we were all cheering for her, taking pictures, and congratulating each other.

"I realized I had shaved three hours off last year’s time—all thanks to the motivation of supportive people who cared more about the experience than the clock."

After we parted ways, I stumbled off to find my slice of caramel apple crumble pie. The kind women of Tilly’s Pies asked if I had a slice waiting, and my emotional dam broke. One woman wrapped me in a hug while the other found my pie. I sat in the shade near the finish line, called my partner to tell him I’d finished, ate my pie, and found new friends to talk to. We shared stories and cheered on riders as they crossed the line. Live music played, people ate, talked, and relaxed.

More Than a Race, It’s a Reminder

The Hungry Bear is more than just a race. It has the flexibility to be whatever you make it. Ride for fun, slow down to enjoy the scenery, make new friends, ride faster, prove to yourself what you’re capable of, take pictures, cool off in the lake, or break goals. But most of all, make memories.

Finish line

This year’s race more than doubled in registration to over 1,000 people and attracted more serious racers. But I was happy to still see plenty of cyclists wearing jorts, sandals, or dragonflies on their helmets. As this race continues to grow, I hope the casual, fun vibes and kindness that bring this community together shine brightest.

However you choose to participate next year, I hope that you ride your own race and make the experience whatever you want it to be. The heart of the Hungry Bear gravel race is the community. It doesn’t matter what you wear, what kind of bike you’re riding, who you are, or how good of an athlete you are. In the end, we’re all here to ride bikes, have fun, eat good food, be in nature, and feel part of something much bigger than just ourselves.