It is exhilarating to shoot photos at bike races. It doesn't matter if it's gravel, MTB, or road; I am genuinely giddy when I'm out on the road or trail with a camera in hand, waiting for the first racers to come into view.

Anticipation sharpens alertness. Before the lead racer gets to me, I'm constantly surveying the setting for interesting camera angles and perspectives. Then once the first rider zips by, it's run-and-gun photo shooting for the rest of the race.

It's in the moments in between that I have time to think and reflect about not just the race, but the whole spectacle of race weekend festivities.

Most race directors know how to promote a race.

Far fewer know how to build a brand.

Every year I see race directors pour enormous amounts of energy into registration announcements, sponsor posts, deadline reminders, and race-week updates. Then for many, almost as quickly as the finish line is packed away, the content stops.

The race disappears from social media.

The website sits unchanged for months.

Momentum fades.

Then, months before the race begins again next year, the process starts all over again.

I keep thinking there has to be a better way.

I’ve been a part of more gravel races than I can count. Most of the time, my role is that of a photographer, capturing the moment. On some levels, that sounds exhilarating. While it is a blast, most of my time is spent waiting, watching … and thinking.

Recently, I shot photos at Cascadia Super Gravel outside of Olympia, Washington. It was my first time there. While I’ll circle back around to more details of the event itself, I want to pick up where I left off in that first paragraph … thinking.

It’s easy for small towns to look at places like Bentonville, Arkansas, or Moab, Utah, and think: “Well, sure ... but we could never do that here.”

Truth be told, most communities are looking at the finished product instead of the starting point.

What many of today’s well-known cycling destinations figured out early was something surprisingly simple: People will travel for experiences. Especially experiences that feel authentic, scenic, adventurous, and different from everyday life.

That’s where cycling events come into the picture.

I have an affinity for older DSLR cameras.

My first full-frame was a Canon 5D Mk II, which I still shoot with on occasion. Beyond that, I’ve built up a collection of 15–20+ year old Canon bodies—XTi, XT, XS, 20D, 30D, and more.

It started as a teaching tool.

Every fall, I teach an intro to photography course. Instead of handing students the latest gear, I give them cameras I’ve picked up at thrift stores or on eBay for $10–$40.

And honestly? They’re perfect for learning.

There was a time when posting about your race on social media actually meant something.

You could share a few photos, write a quick caption, maybe tag a sponsor or two, and people would see it. Riders would register. Momentum would build.

That time is gone.

Not completely. But enough that it’s worth saying out loud.

Social media is no longer a reliable way to grow a race if that is your exclusive way to grow awareness.

And if you’re a race director still relying on it as your primary marketing tool, you’re not alone. But you are at a disadvantage.

This isn’t a critique. It’s just the reality of how the system works now.

If you've followed along for any length of time, you'll also know that I still love and utilize social media a lot.

“We just need better content,” a race director told me recently.

He said it the way most people do ... frustrated, slightly overwhelmed, convinced the algorithm had turned against him. (Who doesn’t feel that way???)

When I asked what kind of content he meant, he paused.

“More reels, probably. Maybe more drone shots. Something that pops.”

That’s when I realized the real issue wasn’t really about creativity ... it was more about clarity.

“We don’t really have a brand. We just put on a good event,” a gravel race director friend told me.

He said it casually. Almost proudly.

And in one sense, he was right. His course was solid, and the race was a blast. The volunteers showed up. The aid stations were stocked. Riders finished tired and smiling.

However, if you put on a race, you have a brand.

The only question is whether it’s intentional.

By now, the pattern should be clear.

The story starts months before race day. The quiet (and boring) middle matters. Consistency builds familiarity. Storytelling is not promotion or hype.

So the real question becomes: If storytelling is not about selling harder, how does it actually support registration?

The answer is simple.

It reduces uncertainty.

The race directors that I know do not want to sell harder.

They already feel the weight of promotion. The pressure to post. The anxiety around registration numbers. The sense that every piece of social media or email newsletter content needs to perform immediately.

That pressure often leads to urgency. Louder messaging. More reminders. A harder push.

Urgency rarely builds trust. But storytelling works differently. It does not ask people to act right away. It helps them understand first.

This article reframes storytelling as something sustainable for race directors. Not a campaign. Not a tactic. But a long-term way of helping people get familiar with your race before they ever decide to register.