Imagine breaking your own rules to chase a spark that hasn't lit up your world in years – that's the thrill of discovering Gravel Burn.
On my Overnight Success podcast, I've always stuck to a strict policy: I only spotlight businesses after they've had at least a decade to really take root. After all, what the world calls an "overnight success" is usually the result of ten long years of grinding effort. But this time, I couldn't hold back. Just last month, I ventured into the vast, rugged Great Karoo in South Africa to witness the very first Nedbank Gravel Burn, a groundbreaking event created by Kevin Vermaak – the visionary who turned the Cape Epic into the ultimate mountain bike stage race. I stumbled upon Gravel Burn during a chat with Kevin about his Cape Epic journey, and his passion for this fresh idea reignited something in me that felt long dormant.
Given how instantly captivating this event proved to be, I grabbed the chance to sit down with Kevin and dive deep into its business strategy, the bold design decisions behind it, and his belief that "scalable intimacy" holds the key to Gravel Burn's future allure.
This conversation has been polished for smoother flow, better clarity, and concise delivery. Catch the unedited full episode right in the podcast player below.
Wade Wallace: It's barely been over three weeks since the debut Gravel Burn wrapped up. I'm still buzzing from the high, but I'm wondering, Kevin, what was the dominant emotion for you just a couple of days after it all ended? Pure joy, or something else?
Kevin Vermaak: Honestly, Wade, the biggest feeling was sheer relief. Relief that we could finally shift gears into refining and improving based on what worked. Before the event kicked off, we had this grand vision – picturing gravel bikes tearing across the bumpy Karoo roads and shifting camps daily as an absolute blast. But you never truly know until you pull it off that first time. It wasn't just mimicking the Cape Epic; we gambled big on numerous fronts.
That sense of accomplishment hit me in those standout moments. One unforgettable one was the Night Burn. I'd dreamed of this 20 years ago: cyclists racing through the night amid roaring bonfires. We tested it in Botswana once, and it flopped miserably. But here, with Tom Pidcock weaving through jumps to pass rivals, dazzling laser displays, and smoke machines puffing in the desert – it sent chills down my spine. And then there was capping it off with 24 hours in Shamwari, crossing the finish line inside a Big Five game reserve. That required massive commitment to make happen, and it was worth every bit.
But here's where it gets controversial: Is this level of exclusivity and adventure worth the hefty price tag, or does it risk alienating everyday cyclists?
Wade Wallace: Let's unpack that evolution. The Cape Epic shifted from sprawling point-to-point routes to a tighter format for better logistics. Gravel Burn flipped the script by embracing that daily camp-moving adventure style. Is this the fixed blueprint moving forward?
Kevin Vermaak: For the Cape Epic, our aim was to create a top-tier, fiercely competitive international mountain bike stage race. If that meant eight brutal days of World Cup intensity where riders were pushed to their limits – bleeding and exhausted – that was the dream. With Gravel Burn, though, it might reflect where I'm at in life right now. I crave seven days of thrilling rides where I can still compete fiercely, but with a stronger focus on camaraderie over cutthroat racing.
If relocating camps each day is essential to capturing the Karoo's magic, we'll stick with it. Yet, maybe the perks of settling in one spot for comfort could outweigh the novelty of new vistas every morning. We saw top international competitors slide hundreds of spots in the standings because they paused to marvel at rhinos for half an hour. I adore that spirit. So, we might tweak it to linger two nights in spots for more ease, while keeping the core adventure intact.
Wade Wallace: One surprise for me was how socially vibrant the solo racing turned out. In the Cape Epic, teaming up often keeps you tucked away with just your partner. But here, I felt connected to 500 new faces by week's end. Was that intentional?
Kevin Vermaak: The solo setup stemmed mainly from safety and practical reasons. In a gravel pack cruising at 40 or 50 km/h, glancing back for a teammate is a recipe for disaster – one pothole could bring down the whole group. Plus, gravel biking has firmly established itself as a solo pursuit.
We didn't design it solely to spark mingling, but we did prioritize closeness. Enter our idea of "scalable intimacy." I wasn't keen on cramming 1,000 riders into one giant dining tent. Instead, we set up "Lapas" – small circles of 20 to 30 tents clustered around a central campfire. You dine and share facilities with that tight-knit circle, fostering genuine bonds within the bigger crowd. As the event grows, this modular approach will help maintain that personal touch, no matter the size.
And this is the part most people miss: How does this 'scalable intimacy' truly redefine what community means in endurance sports, potentially bridging the gap between elite athletes and casual riders?
Wade Wallace: Shifting to growth, let's dissect the business side. The meticulous planning must have racked up huge costs. How does it all balance out with just 500 participants? And what's the path for expansion?
Kevin Vermaak: Folks often eye the entry fee – a steep US$3,990 or AU$6,080 – and label it pricey. But if you haven't experienced it firsthand, it's hard to grasp that the fee barely scratches the surface of our expenses. Costs rise directly with rider numbers, so simply boosting attendance isn't the full solution.
Sponsorship and media are game-changers. Nedbank stepping in as title sponsor was pivotal. We're also pouring resources into a top-notch media presence. We don't profit from media sales, but it amplifies our brand's worth. Pros aren't paid to show up; they're drawn by the global exposure on TV, which in turn lures more sponsors. It's a virtuous cycle. I don't anticipate turning a profit for the first three or four years – this is about nurturing a powerhouse brand.
Wade Wallace: Talking brands, that "no spectators" policy at the finish line stood out as a bold branding move. It seemed risky. What drove that choice?
Kevin Vermaak: For me, a real sports event typically buzzes with crowds. At the Cape Epic, we'd use clever tactics like strategic camera shots or live bands, even inviting school groups to fake the energy. But Gravel Burn unfolds in remote isolation. Even if it explodes in popularity, drawing thousands to the Karoo isn't feasible.
So, I drew inspiration from the Dakar Rally – no one jets to Saudi Arabia just to spectate, yet it's massive. We embraced the solitude. The finish line is deliberately bare: a lone windmill, a single oil drum bearing a sponsor mark, and endless landscape. It lets the professionals unwind. I spotted Alistair Brownlee and Tom Pidcock casually grabbing lunch and chatting about their ride, no fans interrupting for photos. It crafts a uniquely serene, almost sacred vibe.
But here's where it gets controversial again: In a world obsessed with social media and fan engagement, does banning spectators make Gravel Burn less 'authentic' or more exclusive – and is exclusivity the future of niche sports?
Wade Wallace: I have to address the tough topic hanging in the air. I always feel uneasy about the stark disparities at these South African events. We're lounging in luxury with massages and fancy gear, while countless local workers, likely scraping by in poverty, handle the grunt work behind the scenes. How do you reconcile that, and ensure your operations genuinely benefit local communities instead of just extracting value?
Kevin Vermaak: (Note: The original content cuts off here, but in a full rewrite, I'd expand on this if space allowed, perhaps by adding a hypothetical response from Kevin emphasizing community initiatives, like job creation, training programs, or partnerships for sustainable tourism in the Karoo. For example, Kevin might explain initiatives to hire locals, provide skills training, and invest in regional development, turning the event into a catalyst for economic upliftment.)
To make this concrete, imagine Gravel Burn partnering with Karoo communities for eco-friendly camps, offering workshops on bike maintenance that employ locals long-term. This not only addresses inequality but turns the event into a model for ethical adventure sports.
What do you think? Does Gravel Burn represent the pinnacle of innovative cycling events, or is its high cost and exclusivity a barrier too high? Share your thoughts in the comments – do you agree with Kevin's vision of "scalable intimacy," or should events like this be more accessible to combat inequality? We'd love to hear your take!
