A View to a Thrill

The first cyclocross bike I ever saw lacked so much grace, that I think I wrote off the sport right then and there.  This particular bike had linear pull brakes, travel adapters, an boxy fork, and a filthy pair of knobbies.  At the time, cross was new to me, and made little sense.  Who wants to dismount a bike, intentionally?  To this day I try my darnedest to stay on my mountain bike and feel great shame whenever I have to put a foot down.  I dismissed it.

A few years later, I was in Gloucester, MA the weekend of the championship cross race, so I stopped by to watch.  I ran into fiends and colleagues, some were racing, some spectating.  Richard Fries was announcing the race over the roar of fans and the hum of food truck generators.   Beer trucks week also on the scene.  I got the sense that everyone was in good spirits whether they had just won, lost, were there to heckle, or to cheer.  I had fun, “I’d go back” I thought.

In November of last year some friends and I planned a fall outing to Northampton to ride mountain bikes.  After our second day of riding, we headed over to watch a cross race taking place that afternoon.  It was rainy, cold, grey, dreary, wet, and windy.  I am happy in those conditions, so long as I am on my couch under a blanket.  When I shivered so violently that I spilled my coffee, I headed into the car to warm up and wait for the others to do the same.  My interest in cross took a step back, how could I ever participate in something so cold, so wet?

Last Saturday, in Plymouth, Massachusetts, my small cyclocross heart grew three sizes.  I was there to cheer on my girlfriend who was an entrant in the Community Cross Race at Myles Standish.  We left New Haven at 4:30 in the morning, and pulled in three hours later.  The sun had only just come out, and the air was cold.  Riders zipped pass, still wearing baggy jackets to keep them warm prior to the race.  Kristin registered and took some practice laps while I scoped out a good place to watch.  My spot, a maze of zig zags so covered in pine needles that wheels slid out from everyone, looked to be a hot spot based on the number of people who began to congregate.  There was chatter between fans and racers alike as we all discussed how we would approach one particularly steep turn.  The race was delayed for an hour, something about an ambulance getting lost on the way in, so we got to know the racers, or at least recognize them by their colorful skinsuits. 

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When the race finally started, and riders attempted to take turns as fast as they could, the excitement elevated.  There were crashes, that proved harmless, but thanks to the soft dirt and pine needles looked spectacular.  There was cheering, heckling, and cow bells.  The whole park came to life.  Riders in different race classes gathered round to cheer along side, it felt like a brother/sisterhood.

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Watching how riders handled their bikes through the tight, twisting turns, was so satisfying.  I was bummed I was wearing jeans and had no bike to ride.  I wanted to try.  I wanted to see if I could ride the tightest turn, or if I’d have to run it like most, or crash like the rest.  For the first time I wanted to ride a cross bike, and compete.  I can’t say I am hooked, I have yet to try it, but the seed has been planted, and someday soon I will give it a try. 

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Let this serve as a warning to the Cat 5 guy who placed last, I’m coming for you.