A local Arkansan who grew up in Bentonville, Hilary Lex left home after high school, swearing never to return. Fate brought her back and she rewrote the narrative of her relationship with The Natural State because of one unexpected thing: The Inaugural Arkansas Graveler. The Arkansas Graveler is a mixed-surface, 6-day ride across the state of Arkansas that takes cyclists from the rolling hills and hollers of the Ozarks down into the Arkansas Delta river bottoms. Read on below for Hilary’s personal recap…
Bent over my handlebars with tears streaming down my face, I’m completely overcome with emotions—I’ve just completed 365 miles of gravel riding with 27,000 feet of climbing across my home state of Arkansas. But that’s where the story ends.
Theoretically, this story began in 2005 when I left Bentonville, Arkansas after high school, swearing never to return. My relationship with my hometown was strained, sprinkled with broken friendships, a few painful memories, and a sense of not quite belonging. So when my husband’s career brought us back to Bentonville in 2018, I was reluctant and maybe even a bit resentful. I didn’t want to be back in a place I had tried so hard to leave behind. But life has a funny way of bringing you back to the places you thought you’d never return.
When I first signed up for the Arkansas Graveler, I wasn’t even sure I could do it. The elevation profiles and daily mileage looked daunting—well beyond what I thought I was capable of. I knew it would push me to my limits, both physically and emotionally.
Day One kicked off from Razorback Football Stadium, and the 97-degree dense, humid heat was already weighing heavy on us. By the time we hit a sleepy gravel road beyond Fayetteville, I realized this ride would be unlike any other—a chance to explore my home state on two wheels into a world both familiar and unknown.
The Arkansas Graveler isn’t just a bike ride; it’s a 6-day, 365-mile, fully supported traveling bike festival across The Natural State. Developed by Scotti Moody, she spent a year coordinating with local towns, musicians, Chef Biju Thomas, mechanics, the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission, Arkansas State Parks, expedition companies, medical support, and more to make it happen. Her vision was clear: to invite people to experience Arkansas beyond biking and touch on the essence of what makes this state unique. Her letter in the rider guide hit home for me: “My goal in helping craft this event is to evoke a sense of freedom experienced uniquely by bike, while fully supporting you to make this adventure whatever your soul needs.” I signed up knowing this ride was going to be physically challenging and unique—what I didn’t know was how personal and healing it would be.
Days One & Two: Finding My Rhythm
The first day threw everything at us—grueling 9 and 10% climbs, brutal heat, and a quick lesson in pacing. As I pushed my way up a hill I’d proudly conquered two months before near Hazel Valley, I had to dismount and walk. It felt like a personal defeat but I glanced over and met Doug from Iowa (who was also walking). I asked him why he was doing the Graveler. “Like the scarecrow said, if I only had a brain,” he quipped between labored breaths, and suddenly pushing my bike up the hill didn’t feel as heavy. Small moments of camaraderie like this that broke up the 65-mile, 5,000’ day would continue to be a theme of the week.
On Day Two we rolled out of Byrd’s Adventure Center with anticipation of breakfast 11 miles down the route at the Oark Cafe and General Store. Established in 1890, it’s the oldest continually operated store in Arkansas. The smell of pancakes and bacon, the kind of hearty, no-nonsense breakfast I craved, welcomed us inside. The floors creaked under our cleats as we filled our bellies and our spirits, preparing for the five-mile climb that awaited us just outside the door.
The climb was long, yes, but it was gradual—a long, steady ascent that reminds you how to dig in and just keep pedaling. Sweat clung to my skin, and the sun bore down just as relentlessly as it did on Day One. I reached the first aid station where I met Colton and Jordan, two fellow riders who were lounging like they had all the time in the world. I realized it was okay to slow down more and simply enjoy being in these raw landscapes.
Riding with my new friends, we stumbled upon an unexpected oasis: the Baptismal Well at Shiloh United Baptist Church. Jimmy Tart, one of the SAG staff, hollered at us from beside the old stone well. Without hesitation, he hauled up a bucket filled with ice-cold water from 40 feet below. The shock of the cold sent a shiver down my spine, but it was an invigorating relief from the sweltering heat. Core memory formed—baptized by the well, revived by the cold, and ready to finish the day.
Arriving at Horseshoe Canyon Ranch a couple hours later, I was met with a surprise: my friends from Bentonville had come out to support me and lift my spirits. As other riders rounded out the day swimming in the pool, ziplining, or shooting clays, it felt like summer camp all over again. That night, I fell asleep in my tent, rain cover off to stay cool, staring up at the twinkling night sky—an absolutely beautiful end to a slower, fun day.
Pro Tip: Become friends with the folks in the camper so you can run an extension cord with a fan into your tent.
Day Three: The Supported Becomes Supporter
I knew Day Three would be the toughest—66 miles with over 7,250 feet of climbing on probably the hottest day of the entire week. With 75 riders opting out due to the heat and elevation, I decided to trade my bike for an SUV and focus on photography. Ted, the owner of Gearhead Outfitters, lent me his Excursion, which became my roving base camp for the day. I had planned to capture the ride through my camera lens, but the day quickly transformed into something unexpected: I became another SAG vehicle, handing out water, gels, and support to weary riders along the route.
As I drove into Mt. Judea, I stopped at the Kent General Store, where I met Samuel, a retired high school principal turned cattle rancher, who had brought his grandkids down on his side-by-side for ice cream. “I’ve been retired for 11 years, and I’ve worked every day since,” he said, his hands showing the wear of years spent managing his land and livestock. When I asked Sam if his grandkids had bikes, he shared “Yeah, they do. But all these bikes coming through our little town, they’re fascinated by it. We’ve never seen anything like this.”
After leaving Mt. Judea, the heat became more punishing, and riders were struggling. My borrowed SUV became a lifeline; I gave out CO2 cartridges, two tubes, a ton of my leftover nutrition from the days prior, and helped riders fix flats caused by the sharp, chunky rocks on a treacherous downhill before Richland Creek. It was clear the day would be about more than photos—it was about showing up for others when they needed it most.
By the time we reached Marshall, riders were taking turns cooling off in ice baths, and exhaustion set in fast. And to everyone’s delight, Marshall High School graciously opened their gym for us to sleep in, offering a cool reprieve from the day’s heat. Between showers in the locker rooms and riders sprawled out in sleeping bags across the gym floor, it felt like we were having our own little high school lock-in.
Pro Tip: ALWAYS bring earplugs and eye shades.
Day Four: Storms, Sweet Tea, and the Unexpected
Day Four started with a new challenge: a fast-approaching storm. At breakfast in Marshall, Scotti announced that we would have to shelter in place in Leslie, AR, a little town 11 miles down the route. Adrenaline pumping, trying to beat the storm, my friend Kassie and I flew down this straight-line gravel road, reaching the Leslie Community Center just as the wind started picking up and sprinkles of rain began to fall. Serenity Bakery showed up with fresh pecan bread and warm focaccia, and the mayor even stopped by to proudly welcome us to his town, excited to give us a place to rest and recover while we waited out the storm system.
After the storm passed, we rolled out and immediately faced a 6% paved climb out of Leslie. Once we hit gravel, it was quickly evident just how much rain the morning’s storm brought. The gravel road took on the consistency of sticky peanut butter that caked our tires, made pedaling increasingly more difficult, and drained our energy.
Suddenly, in the distance, we heard the sound of banjos—yes, actual banjos playing. We rounded a corner to find an unmarked aid station. Turns out the music we heard was the Dueling Banjos tune from Deliverance playing on loop over a loudspeaker. Dave, a local, had set up a tent with water, sweet tea, Yankee tea (unsweetened for the uninitiated), and his homemade smoked turkey jerky. “I had to come out here and see what people paid $3 a mile for,” he plainly stated when a fellow cyclist inquired about his impromptu aid station that included a water hose he used to help free our cleats and wheels of the sticky mud. His presence, complete with a pistol in his holster, was so quintessentially backcountry Arkansas that it felt like a scene from a movie (I’m sure a literal soundtrack playing in the background helped). His aid station wasn’t part of the official route plan; even the organizers were surprised. It was pure, unfiltered Arkansas hospitality at its finest.
After a few sips of refreshing sweet tea and a bite of Dave’s jerky, we were back on our relatively clean bikes and on our way. Just a few miles down the road, we crested a hill and suddenly found ourselves atop a plateau overlooking an idyllic Ozark valley—farmland stretching as far as the eye could see framed by distant hills. Our second aid station was another unexpected treat: a natural spring with a cooler of Miller Lite set out for us at the edge of the water. I didn’t think twice; I shed my shoes and socks and waded in, the cold water shocking my tired legs. One rider belly-flopped in with a triumphant shout, “I’ve been saved!” It was a little gravel party on the side of the road and for a frozen moment in time, all the exhaustion washed away. I remember thinking, this is why we’re here… what the Graveler is all about—unique moments of pure endorphin-filled euphoria nestled deep in the hills of the Natural State.
Arriving at our Day Four destination, Mountain View, the self-proclaimed Folk Music Capital of the World, felt like stepping into the soul of the Ozarks. After another delicious Chef Biju homecooked meal, we listened to the Sons of Otis Malone at the Ozark Folk Center. Then Kassie and I treated ourselves to a cozy room at a local bed and breakfast—a perfect way to recharge with a hot shower and air conditioning while supporting the local community.
Pro Tip: Pickles and coke are a great combo on a long, hot day on the bike.
Day Five: The Watermelon Miracle in Cave City
Day Five was a day we all looked forward to—not just for the ride but for the legendary watermelons of Cave City. Known for its annual Watermelon Festival, Cave City had something special waiting for us. But getting there wasn’t easy. The day was filled with a lot of rollers that just stretched on forever. My legs burned and my energy was fading, but the promise of watermelon and live blues music pushed me right into the finish line.
Cave City got its name because of the numerous caves below its surface. When Kassie and I arrived, we took a detour to the Crystal River Cave for a tour. It’s believed that members of the Osage Tribe lived in this cave, using it for its fresh drinking water and natural protection. At a cool 58 degrees, it was the perfect relief from the heat.
We rolled back into our venue for the evening in time for dinner and slices of the juiciest, sweetest Arkansas watermelon. The watermelon backstory made it even sweeter: Bobby Finster, a Cave City local and Graveler participant, had been reaching out to farmers for months hoping to procure an early batch.
Securing watermelons a month before crops are usually ready was a risk. “You don’t realize how sacred it is to those growers,” he explained. “Each grower has their old timer, a generational picker who knows the art of selecting the perfect melon—thumping it, spinning it over, wiping it with a rag, and slicing it open with a case pocket knife before anyone is allowed to touch it.” Asking them to start their crop early for the Graveler was like treading on thin ice, a delicate negotiation of trust and tradition.
But then, just a day before the event, Bobby got the call he’d hoped for. The farmer who stepped up was Brian Carter, the same grower Bobby had hauled watermelons for during summers in high school. When he showed up to help pick the melons, Brian asked him, “Bobby, do you remember how to do this?” It was like stepping back in time.
So the evening we were all finally in Cave City together, Brian texted Bobby, “Were they okay?”—nervous that his early batch wouldn’t measure up. Of course, they were perfect.
Day Six: Coming Home to Myself
I woke up on Day Six with the anticipation of the final day of our journey. We rolled out of Cave City with a bagpipe send-off that brought me to tears. I think it was because I was starting to process how proud I was of myself and the other 299 folks who rode with me that week. But also because I was overwhelmed with how absolutely beautiful Arkansas is. As my new friend Philip put it, “It’s like someone opened a secret door on what the state of Arkansas has to offer.”
This last day was distinctly different from the days prior as we descended into the Delta. It was a flat 75 miles to Jonesboro and drafting behind various riders proved beneficial more than once. We rode past miles and miles of lush rice crops and through seemingly endless corn fields before ultimately rolling into our final finish line at Arkansas State University.
To say that my confidence on the bike and, therefore, my confidence in myself were transformed over the course of those 6 days would be an understatement. I rode faster, descended with more control, climbed more steadily, and dug deep when I needed to. I’d become more comfortable, more in tune with my body, and more attuned to the rhythm of the ride.
I also learned so much about recovery because frankly, I had to. The formula that worked for me? Immediately soak in an ice bath—five minutes is ideal. Follow it up with a scoop of Tailwind vegan recovery mix (salted caramel is my favorite). Use a massage gun while enjoying live music in the evenings, taking breaks to stand up and dance. And lastly, take one Aleve and some magnesium right before bed to help muscles recover and ensure a good night’s sleep, even on the hard ground.
I was amazed by the diversity of riders—35 states represented, ages ranging from 21 to 77, and all types of bikes, from gravel bikes and hardtails to e-bike cruisers. While Arkansas has gained attention for its rise in the mountain biking scene, gravel riding offers another way to experience the state’s beauty. For me, gravel cycling is where I’ve finally found a sense of belonging, connecting with the varied terrain and community in a way I hadn’t before.
Pulling back into Fayetteville, where it all began, I was finally seeing, I mean really seeing, Arkansas through my own eyes. For the first time ever, I think I experienced Arkansas for me and only me. I had rewritten my relationship with my home.
The Arkansas Graveler taught me that limits really are perceived, growth happens outside those thresholds, that sometimes you need to wander, and other times you need to come home to find yourself.
The Arkansas Graveler is returning in 2025! June 3-8. Keep your eyes on their website and social media for announcements on the route. Registration opens January 1, 2025.