1995
A warm feeling in winter
Fortunately for me and my fellow 'cross-aholics, cycling's most obscure sideline shows no signs of weakness. If the numbers of events and participants are any indication, cyclo-cross -- like its practitioners -- is growing stronger every year. And manufacturers, distributors and retailers are taking notice.
The aisles at Interbike Anaheim '95 told the tale. Bianchi, Ritchey, Redline, Steelman, Salsa and Moots all showed cyclo-cross bikes. And while no one was talking the kind of numbers that make an accountant's heart trip its circuit breakers into fibrillation, most were thinking about ramping up production in 1996.
More Toys for the Boys.
Skim the pages of VeloNews; Durance Cycleworks in Ketchum, Idaho, is advertising Alan frames, Vittoria and Wolber tubulars and Ritchey clinchers. Schwab Cycles in Lakewood, Colorado, stocks framesets from Redline, Bontrager, Guerciotti and Gitane, tubies from Vittoria, Clement and UFO, and clinchers from Ritchey, Tioga and Michelin.Bruce Schwab himself pins on a number and goes 'round with the rest of us in the Colorado Cyclo-cross Series, which he helps sponsor and I help promote. And ours is only one series -- there are races from Washington to Wisconsin, Minnesota to Maryland.
Why? What in the Nine Million Names of God makes otherwise rational beings go running through the mud, wearing a perfectly good bike over one shoulder like a two-wheeled purse?
Well, for starters, it's good for you. Spending an hour each week chasing other mud-encrusted maniacs through the goop will make you stronger than a horseradish-and-green-chile sandwich. That will be nice come springtime, when all the dudes who beat you like a tom-tom this season will take one horrified squint at your barrel-size quads and faint dead away into a puddle of pee.
It's Called 'The Great Outdoors' Because It Is.
Secondly, cyclo-cross is way more fun than smelly weight rooms, endless rides to nowhere on the wind trainer, or flaming the Netwits in rec.bicycles.racing. You're outdoors, where you can catch a whiff of pine or wood smoke instead of some muscle-head's rancid feet. And if it's just a little bit damp and cold, well, hell -- that's why God made Gore-Tex, right? Plus, filthy weather encourages you to ride harder and run faster so you can get back inside, where the Scotch is. This will make you even stronger, thus imperiling CNC-machined cranksets, axles and district time-trial records.Thirdly, it's a whole lot easier to put on a cyclo-cross than to tackle a mountain-bike race or a road event. All you need is a mile or so of pavement, meadow and dirt, a dozen natural or man-made barriers and a few well-placed flyers. The Mud People will come a-running, in modest numbers that will pay the bills without sticking you with a mess that you'd need federal disaster aid to clean up. We get anywhere from 50 to a hundred 'crossers each week during our series -- that's a whole lot easier to deal with than the 400-odd who turn up for your average fat-tire flyer.
Finally, it's a giggle to do something that most other people, cyclists included, think is insane. Jumping out of functional aircraft, free-climbing skyscrapers and skidding skinny-tired bikes across icy slopes -- these are things that separate people who live life from those watch it on television.
Fun: What a Concept.
Shared weirdness, like shared danger, creates a camaraderie that's hard to find these days. Mountain biking is developing some serious attitude, and road racing's always had it. Track suffers from testosterone poisoning, and who wants to turn left all the time, anyway? Cyclo-crossers use their mouths for conversation, not spitting on each other. And they welcome newcomers with open arms, offering tips on what equipment to use and where to find it, or conducting impromptu clinics on how to dismount at speed without breaking a leg and how to leap back onto your saddle without breaking your ... well, the less said about that, the better.Best of all, once their own results have been taped onto someone's 4-Runner for inspection, 'crossers stick around to cheer on the rest of the categories, trade war stories and help stack mud-speckled barriers in your truck when the last slime-soaked sufferer has skidded across the finish line.
That, like good Scotch, gives me a warm feeling. But it's easier on the liver.
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