Buddy's story: The Mid South

BaseCamp athlete Buddy Mixon shared his experience at the 2026 Mid South gravel bike race in Oklahoma.

My first ever Mid South began with a last-minute trip decision just four days before. I arrived in Stillwater surrounded by music, excitement, and all my friends I've met over the years in Emporia and Lincoln, Nebraska, and points beyond. I started with the 9 AM shakedown ride, fully vibed out, casual at best, unprepared for what's to come at worst, in cutoff jorts, button down plaid cotton, and Chocos on my SPDSLs ready to join the party in the hundreds, even thousands, of riders who make this trip every year for what some people call the most soulful gravel event on the national calendar. All the stoke was alive in the huge group as I met up with other fatty riders and soaked it all in, the sun beat brightly on our backs and it was a glorious day for wheelies and sandal tan lines.

When we returned, the energy was up, and so were the high fives in the air, and everywhere you looked you met another friend. I hung around the expo chatting, I checked in with registration and soaked in even more of the music and the artwork and the great conversations surrounding cycling. As more riders continued to roll into town on Friday and the day moved on, I was still connecting with friends. Everywhere I looked I saw a familiar face! Deeply taking it all in and found myself lured into doing the second shakedown Chamois Butt'r ride at 2 o’clock. Captured in the moment, I'll let logical race preparation take a backseat to the enjoyment of the now, and I rode more and a little harder than I needed to, stayed out in the sun longer, stood on my legs longer, got sunburnt and ate fried food at a the food trucks. All was well, at least I stayed hydrated, and through out, I was incredibly happy to be there talking with as many people as possible. I got to hook up with Tom, and we shared some great miles together in conversation. It's truly wonderful to see another camper in the wild. Tom is one cool dude.

After some heavy merch splurging, I hooked up with my Dirt Squad team for dinner at the team house. We relaxed by the campfire and watched the sun go down, recounting the day and the stories of unhinged racing by the pros. The next morning I woke up, grabbed coffee and my gear bag, and we got a nice chill start to the day. We arrived at about 7:20, where I casually dressed at a sweet parking spot two blocks from the start. With no real sense of urgency, I continued my slow prep and finally made my way towards the starting line about 7:45. To my shock I find myself towards the back third of about 1100 riders with barriers preventing any last-minute cut-ins towards the front. I slotted myself onto a side road about 600 riders back from the start. We were packed in tight like sardines. All the emotions were on display the nervous Nelly, the blind confidence, the fearful of crashes, the wary of the day's miles. I myself was relaxed and eager to begin what would be an absolute furious start having to make up so many places from the absolute beginning.

As the countdown went 3-2-1, the front took off, followed eventually by the very back of this massive hoard of gravel racers and party pacers, which was mostly who I was surrounded by. I began a new strategy on the moment, full frontal nuclear assault as I blasted watt bombs through the group, slicing and dicing, shooting gaps and blowing through a sea of humanity, wheels and shifting clanks and clunks chopping corners, cutting through ditches, I set a furious chase and by mile 11 or 12, I had found my way into the front 150 and 2nd place in the fatbike category. We had a mean, strong group, unleashing a brutal pace. The watts stayed high. The motivation even higher. Everyone was playing for keeps today. I realized around this moment I had seriously underestimated the level and prestige of The Mid South. While everyone had brought their full suite of weapons to this national level race, I had left my aero bars behind and my USWE, I had approached it about as casually as a local event.

When we blew through the 30-mile checkpoint, we were right at a 19.5 average I had barely taken on board any nutrition, and I knew I needed that stop, but there was no way I was letting go of this group. I'd figure it out later. As we streaked past the aid down the road into the next turn, everybody dived into the Apex like it was a Tulsa Strong crit. Then accelerating hard out of the turn, boom 💥 my chain snapped! My group looked and shouted NO!!! that’s a tough break my friend. See you down the road…..and they were gone. I walked up and down the road for five minutes looking for the other half of my master link to no avail, and eventually as luck would have it, I was only a 10th of a mile past that stop, so I walked back towards the water aid station, chain held high in hand. I yelled for anyone that may have a SRAM 12-speed master link, and eventually someone did answer that call and said he'd go look in his truck. I stood and hung out with Ellie from BIVO, and after about 10 minutes, he returned with a flat top master link he said would work in a pinch. I installed it, then realized I should probably grab water, 💦 refilled my bottles, and off I went, completely cooled down, my body didn’t know what to do next, but my mind went right back to racing.

I had been in second place when misfortune struck, and now I had fallen into fifth. I chased again furiously, and in about 7 miles, I had caught and passed 3 fatties and regained my position. I rolled off of that strong group containing second and third place, and that’s when the effort and intensity began to show chinks in the armor. I would soon pay a heavy price. I began managing the small twinges and ticks of cramps everywhere, flashing around my body from my triceps to my ankles to my glutes and my neck, a large group of 20 riders containing two fat bikes eventually pulled me in as I backed off of the pace, and I sat in. I tried to conserve. I changed my race strategy again, and at mile 50, the wheels fell off, and the cramps went full system, lockdown. Unable to even pedal over the top of the stroke, a wag of my arm, and just drifted into the center of the road out of the paceline, gravity and rolling resistance brought me to a full stop. I was barely able to get my leg off the bike as I stood there in the middle of the road frozen like the tin man, every muscle group in my body completely seized up. For five minutes I stood there frozen like Han Solo in carbonite, screaming, helpless, hopeless, and again back in the position of a possible DNF. Riders yelled as they passed by, Buddy what's wrong? I couldn't even respond. No words, one rider yelled as he recognized me and swung over to help, he gave me some sports and science 30 g chews, I thanked him and wolfed them down. I could drink again, I could start to walk slowly. I moved forward after another painfully ugly five minutes of walking, my gait became normal. I was able to get out of the middle of the road. My muscles were relaxing.

I had a new race plan: finish. After testing the waters, I was able to put a leg over my saddle, and slowly I was able to turn the pedals without a cramp. I was below 100 W, but I knew I could make it to the finish. For the next 10 miles I pedaled between 100 and 140 watts as I moved slowly towards recovery and refuge at the 60-mile aid station.

I rolled in and slammed four shots of pickle juice, drank two cokes, ate three bananas, and had a PB&J. I refilled my water bottles and added the 90g boosted Formula 369. I had fallen into fifth place again and was grateful. I recognized the suffering on faces of riders all around me, a few well placed high fives and a battle cry had me out back on the road, determined to finish and not squander this opportunity given to me again, my body had recovered and I could go to the finish line on 200 watts.

The next 10 miles, I watched the watts rise steadily to 220, then 240 without cramping. I began to reel riders in, and to feel ready to work for the third time. I remembered I put in work, and I am a very fit SOB!! 👊 On a steep climb, 350 watts stared back at me on my screen, and I knew I was back again, resurrected from the ashes.

I caught another fat bike rider around mile 85. We rode together for a few miles, and we swapped stories of other races Unbound, Gravel Worlds, and others. Staying on my pace, I eventually dispatched him just before the chaise lounge stop at mile 95. I took time for a Coke and a photo with the Salsa chaise, and just as I was ready to leave, my fat bike friend rolled in and asked if we could take a picture together on the chaise. The dude abides. We shared another great moment of solidarity. He said he was done and wished me well, and off I went seeking a finish and glory on a day of racing through the ups and downs, through the fire and ashes. I reconnected with my friend, Youtuber Terry B, who I met on the road. We had shared many pulls throughout the day off and on through our own journeys. Together again for the finale, we pushed hard onwards and into a loose, and fun, two wheel drifting corner at mile 103 laughing. As the road straightened out, a live band, full stage and all, emerged right at the edge of the road, ripping a cover of TOOL!!! Seven people on the other side of the gravel road stood there dressed in all-black denim, just headbangin’ away! 🤘

This is the moment I realized the Mid South is perhaps the most special gravel race there is….how grateful I am to be alive at this time and place in history, experiencing the music, the racing, the community, and the love.

4th Place Fatbike, Stillwater, OK ❤️‍🔥