Events: Monkey Knife Fight 2022
(2022) If you really must know, the best way to describe the long-standing gravel event out of Emmaus, PA, is the route goes past an airport runway that features a turn. But if you really must know, Monkey Knife Fight is much more than a double-take and an urge to see an aircraft demonstrate applicability of a dogleg landing strip. I had not attempted the Fight in over ten years and it was time to come back and give it a go. The gravel grinder has been operating for over a decade as a fundraiser for cancer; I was not prepared for such a fight.
Rain. Lots and lots of rain. It rained heavily in consecutive days leading up to the event. Then, as if an afterthought, the forecast said rain throughout the day of Monkey Knife Fight. Black clouds poured down anger during the drive to the Lehigh Valley. Giant blobs of cold rain came descended as participants huddled under the Emmaus Recreational Center’s bandshell, debating if rolling out was worth it. I registered with Eric, one of our ridekicks, and we played the blinking game near the registration table. A glance over his shoulder revealed a chowder festival in the pavilion across the puddles, hosing their buckets with steaming water; it looked like the right atmosphere over there. But here we were gearing up for the Gorilla route of the three at 70 miles in length. The Baboon and Marmoset were the 50- and 30-mile options, respectively.
Volunteers check in the late stragglers while those struggling to accept the conditions lingered at the Emmaus Recreation Center bandshell.
Amongst splashy puddles and two hours after the first riders dashed away, Eric and I rolled over the walkway for the opening meters of our Fight. The wheel spray got us straight away. The wind made sure to make the drenching complete. There are no unpaved roads for the first miles, but that doesn’t mean they provide warm up for the dust-up deeper into the hills. The Gorilla route is one of the few events that feature 100 feet of climbing per mile. Each of those feet of climbing were felt. It was also felt when, after the Garmin flashed a tight turn warning, the rider in front of us locked up on the slick roads and hit the deck hard. He assured us he was ok, but we did not know this was only the beginning.
The route itself is virtually impossible without modern day cycling guidance. The route is loosely shaped like a four-leaf clover of sorts. Roads are backtracked before heading out on another loop. That makes the event unique. That and runways with turns in them. At one point Eric and I descended through a ravine while groups ascended. Over the stream to our left was another group descending to meet up. This was Monkey Knife Madness instead of fighting. Yet it all felt right. Somehow among the mud-caked water bottles, the ping-pinging sound of debris on the rotor pads, and the brief Di2 malfunction, this felt right. It also felt draining. We were constantly wondering what would happen next.
Hill Church parking lot serves as the main rest stop for Monkey Knife Fight.
Being late starters we rode past few people. What that left were soupy gravel sections. They were power sapping and regularly uphill. Much of the time there was only one faint packed path through potholes and loose gravel to afford the feeling of making the right choice. Meanwhile, the scenery of swollen brooks cascading down and down along the climbing areas reflected the serene nature of where Monkey Knife Fight explores.
We bulldozed our way to Hill Church Union, the main rest stop and the farthest point from Emmaus. Here is where the route folds onto itself several times. After crushing several bags of delicious gummy bears and a can of root beer, and after getting emergency chain lube from the Trek neutral service tent, Eric and I decided to start making some short cuts. But if you must know about that, we hardly shortened the ride. We prioritized Goat Hill Road, definitely the main climb of the day. Its entrance is a short roll from the church parking lot. It’s welcoming ramp is steep, but the event KOM didn’t start until the pavement ended, nearly a half mile up the brutal climb. It only got worse. Eric bounded up on his Niner gravel bike while I took the metered approach on the road bike. I passed walkers but barely. We had nearly identical climbing speeds. But the walkers were occupying the firm route up, sending riders into the loose steep gravel. About halfway up before the big testy wall, the road completely loosened into a gravel pit and here I had to step off. Yet again, Monkey Knife Fight caused me to take my bike for a walk. I was pissed.
Hill Church atop it’s…well… Hill.
Atop Goat Hill Road was a party of sorts. As a matter of fact there were numerous parties around the course, mostly atop the hard climbs. Our first ‘host’ was slinging espressos atop one of the opening gravel climbs. We would see him four miles later when we would descend it. There was a small gathering prior to the church parking lot, attended by several women cyclists from Bikesport of Trappe. It had a rusted steamroller right outside; I wondered if it had been used to flatten gravel roads. Obviously the Church’s party was reliable. But the group atop Goat Hill, offering green beans and bacon to anyone coming up was uplifting. One of our other ridekicks, Glenn, was in charge of the music, the green beans and bacon, and was smartly dressed in a flannel, if you must know. He said if we went left we could take the shortcut for the fifty-mile route or straight for the seventy-mile route. We thought we were taking a shortcut by accessing the seventy-mile route, whatever that meant.
We continued on our way, wondering just what would happen next. A brief glimpse at the sky translated a familiar appearance. It had been sunny for a spell, but this looked recognizable, almost unseasonable. Suddenly the sky ripped open and stung me everywhere. I had never ridden in hail, but here it was coming down in shocking determination. A sudden stop under some cedar trees provided cover, too much cover because it set all of us up to get heckled by a lone passing rider. Quickly the ground was covered with ice beads. We simply had to laugh at the circumstances.
The 2022 Monkey Knife Fight route produced gorgeous views in rain, sun, and hail.
We rolled on quickly only to have Eric puncture his back tire. Here we stopped at a farm, ultimately having to put a tube in a tubeless tire system. Both DARTs broke off and that was that. While snapping the tube into place, there was the feeling of judgment. We both looked up to see a llama staring us down with immense displeasure, as if we didn’t fix the tire issues quickly enough. He even invited his buddies to stand at the fence and cast judgmental glares at the height of the repair.
Our vantage spot when the hail started letting up.
It felt as if the two of us should have been back sooner. Each update gave excruciating details about how not close to the finish we were. I had consumed only one water bottle on account of the mud buildup on both. I was in the opening stages of a bonk and problems were lining up. Climbs, gravel climbs more specifically, kept coming. One thing to know about Monkey Knife Fight is that it is a borderline mystery as to whether Emmaus stays on the map once you ride away. The town felt like it was keeping ten feet ahead of us. Text messages start trickling in. Friends were calling. Where were we? Did the flat get fixed? What was the llama’s name? Even other riders who had left earlier had started the drive home yet still wondering our whereabouts. As if the Fight wasn’t going to end easily, Eric and I had to negotiate an erratic cyclist in the final meters as we limped back to Emmaus Rec Center.
If you really want to know, Monkey Knife Fight is completely rewarding and worth the fight. Though we took a shortcut, we only lopped approximately five miles off the route, avoiding Mountain Mary Road. It sounds like our day could have been slightly more challenging.
Monkey Knife Fight had one final jab to throw. I stood in line for a tshirt, having decided I completed enough miles to earn one. The volunteer stated the guy next to me got the last size. Had I come in just a few seconds sooner, I would be wearing a green MKF shirt, but that’s life. I had to chuckle at that luck. The muddy, noisy, tired rig was loaded onto the car when the rain returned for a third time. I’d do it all over again if you really want to know. I’d do it again in the same conditions, too, because I was able to experience the luxuries of a Monkey Knife Fight.
