“You act like you don’t know anything about football—just to seem cool—even though you played it for years,” my wife quips when I say something snarky regarding a bowl game that is on at the restaurant we’re at. She is correct on all accounts. I know football; I did play it for years—lettered and all on a winning team, even. I have no defense*, but I did lose all interest in it, basically immediately as my high school senior season concluded. I did not give up on sports by any stretch, but I was done with team competitive efforts. I was already deep into surfing and skateboarding, with the later becoming a different way to view the world. That viewpoint had no need for competition. It was just your pals and you getting rad. Certainly there have been decades of surfing and skateboard competitions, but these and modern freeride events have nothing to do with crossing goal lines or getting the fastest time.
*Ironically, I played as a defensive lineman the entire time I was on my community league, junior high and high school teams. I had a low center of gravity, a chip on my shoulder, and was (and still am) shaped like a cinder block so messing up things for the offensive team was ideal.
On the contrary, bicycle racing is straight forward and objective. The lowest time and/or the first to cross the finish line wins. Style mostly doesn’t matter and your gear is just a means to an end. So, this time out I will briefly delve into racing and my past experiences. Additionally, I will ponder more recent adventures to explore the question of if I was not angling for a podium spot why I was even doing it. First, though, let’s wind out the tach with Maryland’s infamous hot bottom-feeders.
Music Selection: Clutch: Psychic Warfare Reading about or listening to podcasts about cults is so hot right now; like get with it! Hell, you can even listen to podcasts talking about how great it is listening to/reading about cults. I, like many in the heady daze of the late 1900s, heard about Clutch from the heavy MTV rotation of their song “A Shogun Named Marcus.” The song rocks and follows an irreverent lyrical theme. Thirty plus years on, that model has held true for all their output. I certainly would put Clutch in the category of being a cult band, for while they’ve never been huge commercially, they have a diehard fanbase and continue put out excellent music. While I chose the 2015 album Psychic Warfare, it’s tough to go wrong with any of their output. Psychic Warfare is notably high energy and upbeat, and it is those qualities that made me think about it regarding this episode’s subject matter. Neil Fallon is one of more unique and heralded vocalists in the stoner/doom/blues rock realms. One curiosity that perked up my ears when I later became more of a Clutch fan was the blues association. Mr. Fallon continues the long tradition of blues shouters like Wynonie Harris and Screaming Jay Hawkins that I had become a big fan of in the years preceding. Crank this stuff up and you’ll be performing rituals in no time.
The title for today’s post is the greatest heckle I ever had levied at me during a race. Sad, hilarious, and perfect. While I got into mountain biking in the late ’80s it would be just over a decade later that I entered my first off road races. As noted above, any real completive drive I had all but vanished at the end of high school. Yet in the late ’90s, I was a new resident in Georgia, meeting all kinds of riders, learning about the regional trails, doing organized group rides and eventually finding my way into races. I knew back then that my efforts were just to goof off, entertain myself and maybe others with no podium delusions. I already believed that I was not chasing any real competitive goals and perhaps being in my thirties played into this. I was never going to be an elite rider, let alone a pro. I had day job and so I was just racing myself at best and mixing it up along the way.
This approach only slightly changed a dozen years later when I got into cyclocross (CX). Reading somewhere that CX was the most “punk rock” of bicycle racing, I was all in and I had to learn an entirely different style of riding in the process. I did bring a level of seriousness to learning the techniques, but despite my occasionally brusk demeanor on the courses I came to realize not to take the racing or myself too seriously. I defined my three goals in any CX race as to amuse myself, make someone laugh or mad and not finish last.
This racing goal triad carried into all my future efforts from CX, to Ally Cats, XC, DH, Super D, and Enduro. I became interested in those last two during the last few seasons I raced CX. Enduro racing was popularized in Europe in the early ’00s and became a worldwide phenomenon in the ’10s, eventually falling under the World Cup purview. Enduro’s rise in popularity and world stage legitimacy notwithstanding, it’s remained more of local/regional soiree more about fun than any actual ranking or palmares. I found it to be the same riding my friends and I did. Winch up to the top and then bomb down. Add a strong helping of bad jokes, snacks, libations and you got yourself a real cool time.
My racing efforts faded though into becoming a volunteer/sponsor and coach as I realized I could enjoy all the fun without any registration fees. That was over nine years ago, and I figured that I was done.
Maybe I wasn’t though. Most of my riding pals had not raced in as much time as I had and had no interest. However, a combo of things came together for me to change my mind on this possibility. First, I felt great and had been riding great over the last year. My main bike has continued to feel amazing and has elevated my riding abilities. I had a hankering to go ride some places I don’t get out to very often and figured I could do so while being solo, but still around people that knew where they were going. Mostly it was just being bit by the adventure bug.
Bugs and warm weather aside, here are some standout experiences from the couple of enduro races I entered. Despite having ridden the trails previously, they came off as new to me. I felt great, through both races riding all the sections well, keeping the rubber down and managing all technical bits at race pace without any tragedies. I surprised myself, even hitting some more hectic portions blind and managing them with aplomb—including some big drops that I could’ve ridden around. Overall, I had fun and accomplished my race triad goals. Well, I don’t think I made anyone mad so maybe that’s growth, but I did get a few second glances wearing my Void t-shirt, so close enough.
Epilogue: I did not stick around either race for the awards because I didn’t give AF. I had my fun and just told the race volunteers to give any awards I might on the off chance receive to some kid that might want them. FWIW, I was a step off the podium, nabbing fourth place in both events. My reward was just pedaling my tuchus into oblivion and having this song perfectly match up timewise to the gnarliest run I did in the first race. I am not signed up for anything else and I have no plans to, but I follow Romeo Void’s mantra.
By me in fact, but as always I accept the flattery of having Padraig’s name on it. 🤘🤣