CrossGeek

Why is cyclocross so damned fun? Maybe it’s the mud, or the bruises, maybe the beer, or the loose semblance of camaraderie. I think what it boils down to is that I feel more alive during a cross race than at just about any other time. Cyclocross is the most intense hour of effort, pain and joy I have ever encountered. I’m attracted to cross because I can put everything I’ve got on the line for 60 minutes, come out of it totally exhausted, covered in rain, mud and grime, perhaps with a trickle of blood running down somewhere, craving ibuprofen, blowing mud out of my nostrils, placing top 30 if I’m lucky, and loving every minute of it.

Cross gives me a good reason to clean my bike every week and to keep riding as the weather gets bad. If I could give cyclocross a hug, I would.

Cyclocross is like a mostly healthy recreational drug (not that I would know about such things). The slipping of wheels, slamming of hips and faces in mud, gritting of teeth, and the sheer pain of it all feels oddly good.

A cross race is the perfect place to wring every ounce of energy out of your body for an hour, all for the unique feeling of total physical and mental elation for having finished.

Cross is great to watch too. Most bike races are not terribly spectator-friendly because you don’t get to see the racers very often, or the races are a long drive from anywhere, but cross is different. Spectators get to see the racers pass by every few minutes, often from multiple vantage points, and the races frequently take place at venues that are reasonably close to metropolitan areas. Bad weather is often a factor, but it never causes race cancellation. I’ve raced cross in heavy hail storms, snow, 10-inch deep mud, and below freezing temperatures.

I can recall my best placing at the district championships was fourteenth in the senior category B race, and I was happy with that. Why would any competitive person be happy with that? Cross is just so damn hard that sometimes finishing is a great reward in and of itself. A lot of people set the goal of not getting lapped.

One of the best things about cyclocross is the attitude. Gone is the testosterone-induced yelling and uber-competitiveness. Everyone seems to respect each other, no matter how talented or strong or skilled they are. Everyone cheers for everyone.

I will never forget my first cross race. It was back in the early 1990s before Seattle had enough racers to field more than one race each for men and women. I was about forty-five minutes into a sixty minute race when I heard a friend who was near the lead of the race, coming up behind to lap me. “Uh, Kelly?” he calmly asked. “Yeah?” I replied in between gasps of air. “When there’s room on the trail,” he said, “Could you please move to the right a little?” I said, “Sure,” and I moved to the right about ten yards up the trail.

That kind of understanding, laid-back attitude simply does not exist in any other aspect of bicycle racing. It’s as if each rider out there understands that everyone is going through the same grueling hell of an effort, and because of that awareness, there is a strong sense of empathy, and believe it or not, manners. As uncivilized as cyclocross can appear to be through all of the mud, sweat and rain, it is perhaps the most civilized form of bicycle racing. It’s definitely the most fun.