To understand the magnitude of this achievement, one must grasp the arithmetic of endurance. Jones's 295-watt average translates to approximately 1,050 calories burned per hour---a metabolic furnace that would reduce most mortals to smouldering ash within two hours. The traditional approach of modest nutrition supplemented by fat oxidation simply cannot sustain such an inferno.

"Unless Cam is sitting at his fat max---which is possible but unlikely---that's high zone two with a massive carbohydrate contribution," Wild explains with the precision of someone who has intimate knowledge of suffering. "I don't think it's physically possible to do that without the high carb approach."

This represents a fundamental shift in gravel racing philosophy. Where once riders approached Unbound as a survival exercise, accepting the inevitable energy debt that would accumulate over 200 miles, today's protagonists have discovered how to maintain their metabolic fires at full burn from start to finish.

The transformation is evident not just in finish times but in race dynamics. Where previous editions saw riders crawling through feed zones, grateful for thirty seconds of respite, Jones executed double musette grabs without dismounting---a roadman's efficiency applied to gravel's chaos.​

Perhaps no tactical evolution was more decisive than the early breakaway that ultimately decided the race. Jones and Simon Pellaud slipped away in the opening hours, establishing what would prove to be an insurmountable advantage whilst the peloton remained trapped in the familiar patterns of negative racing.

"I think in hindsight I would have tried to get in that break," Wild reflects, the wisdom of retrospection colouring his analysis. "You maybe lose 30 seconds to a minute on Little Egypt, but then everyone sits up and you gain that back without having to do a threshold effort."

It's a tactic borrowed from road racing's playbook but uniquely suited to gravel's unpredictable terrain. Unlike the controlled environment of asphalt racing, gravel offers countless opportunities for selection---technical sections that split groups, surfaces that favour certain riders, moments where positioning trumps pure power.

The psychology of pursuit in such circumstances reveals gravel racing's current adolescence. With no established team structures, no radio communication, and limited real-time information about time gaps, chase groups often dissolve into dysfunction. Wild found himself caught in precisely such scenarios multiple times throughout the day.

"Coming out of Little Egypt, you see a couple people trying to miss a turn or riding on their limit, and that throws off the rotation," he explains. "People get frustrated and don't want to pull the group along, then it swells to 60 riders just dawdling."​

For all the advances in human performance, gravel racing remains hostage to the fundamental unreliability of inflated rubber meeting sharp stone. Wild's race unravelled not through any failure of fitness or tactics, but through the lottery of punctures that defines Unbound's brutal democracy.

His first mechanical---a tread puncture from an "innocuous piece of trail"---required two dynaplug repairs before Orange Seal could work its magic. The second, a pinch flat in a rocky creek crossing, proved more costly, consuming precious minutes whilst gaps that might have been bridged became unbridgeable.

"Flatting at Unbound isn't terrible if there are still groups," Wild observes with characteristic understatement. "But at that point, that was the group. Then it was just ones and twos behind---solo TT for the rest of the day."

The equipment choices themselves revealed the sport's current uncertainties. Wild had originally planned 47mm tyres but switched to 50mm tracers based on pre-race conditions---a decision he immediately regretted. Meanwhile, seasoned campaigner Ian Boswell chose 45mm Pathfinders, reasoning that their centre strip provides both speed and puncture protection.

"If we had a 50 Pathfinder, it would have been no question," Wild muses, highlighting how equipment optimisation in gravel remains as much art as science.​

Perhaps most intriguing is gravel racing's cultural metamorphosis, exemplified by the influx of European talent treating these events as priority objectives rather than curiosities. Former Olympic champion Greg Van Avermaet lined up alongside Cape Epic winners and WorldTour veterans, creating a melting pot of racing philosophies and technical abilities.

"When I first got into racing, GVA was winning races as Olympic champion," Wild reflects. "If he told me I'd be racing with him in South Africa and then again in Kansas in 2025, I'd be like, that's pretty cool."

This diversity creates both opportunity and chaos. Technical sections like Divide Road become great equalisers, where mountain bike skills matter more than FTP, and where a former Paris-Roubaix winner might find himself struggling with surfaces that feel routine to a Cape Epic veteran.

The absence of established team structures adds another layer of unpredictability. Unlike traditional road racing, where domestiques sacrifice themselves for designated leaders, gravel's individualistic nature means even sponsored teammates often race as privateers united only by jersey colour.

Wild's power files from the race reveal the brutal arithmetic of elite gravel racing. His 296 watts normalised power over seven hours demonstrates the sustained efforts now required to remain competitive at cycling's frontier.

Perhaps nowhere is gravel racing's growing pains more evident than in the chaos of feed zones, where traditional cycling's genteel conventions collide with Kansas pragmatism. Reports emerged of team staff riding alongside competitors, technically legal but ethically questionable---a grey area that highlights the sport's regulatory growing pains.

"In UCI racing, they're not even allowed to dump water on their riders," Wild observes, contrasting road cycling's strict protocols with gravel's laissez-faire approach. "The feed zones are the wild west."

This regulatory vacuum creates both opportunity and danger. Whilst innovation flourishes---double musette grabs, creative feeding strategies, technological experimentation---so too does potential for chaos. The spectre of serious injury without adequate medical support looms over every remote section of course.

As gravel racing professionalises, questions emerge about whether something essential is being lost in translation. The sport's appeal has always resided partly in its accessibility---the notion that weekend warriors and professionals share the same start line, facing identical challenges with dramatically different resources.

Wild's perspective offers nuance to this debate. Rather than lamenting gravel's evolution toward specialisation, he celebrates the diversity of backgrounds and motivations that converge at events like Unbound. Olympic champions race alongside Cape Epic winners, former WorldTour professionals alongside those who abandoned promising road careers for gravel's uncertain rewards.

"My why is different from GVA's why, different from Keegan's why," he reflects. "How we train, what we enjoy doing---but we all end up on that same start line."​

As the Lifetime Grand Prix series progresses toward Leadville's 10,000-foot altitude test, another evolution emerges. Wild reports that most Grand Prix contenders are preparing with drop bar mountain bikes---acknowledging that pure gravel bikes may no longer suffice for the series' diverse challenges.

"It is the year of the drop bar mountain bike," he predicts. "Keegan and Fintsy already raced them last year. Matt's already built his up."

This equipment arms race reflects gravel racing's broader maturation. What began as modified road bikes tackling farm tracks has evolved into highly specialised machinery designed for specific challenges. The romanticism of making do with whatever hangs in the garage is giving way to the cold efficiency of marginal gains.​

Unbound 2025 revealed gravel racing's central paradox: as the sport becomes more professional, more scientific, more precisely optimised, it somehow becomes more unpredictable, not less. Jones's victory came not through superior fitness alone, but through tactical acumen, nutritional sophistication, and the simple fortune of avoiding mechanical misfortune.

For Wild, who has progressively improved his Unbound performance each year---lasting three hours in his debut, five hours the second time, seven hours in 2025---the race represents an ongoing education in endurance sport's brutal mathematics. Power meters don't lie, and his data reveals steady progression even when results sheets fail to reflect the underlying improvements.

"Regardless of the result in Grand Prix points, I think it was a big personal win," he concludes with characteristic understatement. "Power meters don't lie, and I can see the progression I'm making year-over-year."

As the gravel racing circus moves on from Kansas, carrying with it new understanding of human performance limits and tactical possibilities, Unbound 2025 will be remembered as the year everything changed. The carbohydrate revolution, the tactical sophistication, the international influx of talent---all converging on a single morning in the Flint Hills, where the future of cycling was written in watts and grams of sugar.

The stories the Kansas wind carries now include tales of 194 grams of carbohydrates per hour, of tactical breakaways executed with roadman's precision, of punctures that decide podiums and power files that reveal truth. In the democracy of suffering that defines Unbound, science has become the great equaliser---not just surviving the race, but optimising every aspect of human performance to emerge victorious from cycling's most beautiful brutality.

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