Every year, the gravel cycling world turns its attention toward Emporia, Kansas.

Thousands of riders from around the world travel to Unbound Gravel. The event attracts roughly 5,000 participants and generates millions of dollars in economic activity for the community. For a few days each year, Emporia becomes the center of the gravel universe.

It’s an impressive success story.

But I think many rural communities are asking the wrong question.

The question isn’t, “How do we become the next Emporia?”

The better question might be, “What is our version of Dufur?”

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.

Race mornings in small towns are special. I love watching these communities come alive in a different kind of way.

Coffee shops and breakfast places are packed before sunrise. Bike traffic noticeably spikes around town. Hotels that might normally sit half-empty during shoulder season are booked out. Downtown streets buzz with energy.

For many rural communities, cycling events such as gravel races, mountain bike festivals, fondos, and stage races provide an immediate and visible economic boost.

Walk into almost any small-town tourism meeting, chamber of commerce gathering, or downtown revitalization discussion, and eventually the same question surfaces: “How do we actually get people to notice us?”

Not just once.

Not just through a lucky viral post.

But consistently.

That’s the challenge many rural communities are wrestling with right now.

I’ve worked with a lot of race directors over the years.

Different regions. Different disciplines. Different goals.

But one thing always stands out to me the moment I show up on race day: Every race has a personality.

You can feel it before the start. Some races feel more grassroots and raw. Others feel polished, sleek, and fast. Some are quiet and community-driven. Others feel like a full-on festival or party.

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.

Last year, I stood on the side of a wide Eastern Oregon highway and watched a field slowly come apart with the snow-capped Wallowa Mountains in the background.

Not explode.

Not some dramatic highlight-reel moment.

Just … come apart.

It was late morning. That dry Eastern Oregon light that makes everything feel sharper than it probably is. I could hear freehubs and the hum of tires on the road before I could see faces. A thin line of riders stretched across the road. Shoulder dust lifting slightly when someone drifted too far left.

Then the hesitation.

A rotation half a second late.

The crosswind shifts just enough.

That’s all it takes out there.

Separation.

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.

My DMs on Instagram are buzzing daily, with conversations with race directors not only across the country but also overseas. There's something unifying about the stress of lower-than-expected registration numbers as race day looms...

If you've been following along for any length of time, you'll realize there's about a 20% overlap in content in my articles from week to week. Not only am I trying to build bridges from one article to the next, but we also need weekly reminders of many of the same things (I know, I do).

I received a DM from a race director who was sharing, "We just need to push harder on social this month." I don't think there's a race director anywhere on planet Earth who doesn't think and feel the same.

I could sense his panic. Registration had stalled. The race was eight weeks out.

When it comes to social media and creating more awareness for your race ... what would you do? Or maybe more accurately, what DO you do?

“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.