It’s a myth that you don’t have gears on a single speed. And I’m not talking about the well-trodden joke about the choices being pedaling, standing, or pushing. You can have as many gears as you can afford. You can have a stack of cogs piled high on the shelves in your garage. But once you leave the starting line of a race, your options close out.
So, the the day before I drove north for the Santa Ynez Classic, I indulged in the usual the neurotic perseveration about what to install on my back end.
I pored over the course profile, tried to remember what it was like last year on a geared bike, polled friends. Friday night found me back at the bike shop, wheedling the owner into putting a 22 tooth cog on the back. He raised his eyebrows.
Yeah, well.
I left San Diego early Saturday morning, committed to my wimpy gear. For the first time, I traveled with a pit crew, my 10-year-old son, Evan. We pulled into Charlotte’s Meadow and set up the tent. It was a spectacular afternoon; recent rains scrubbed the sky and the afternoon light lit up the spring-ish green hillsides.
I left Evan at the pump track and headed up to check out the course. After, ah, pushing my bike up the first two hills, I actually felt worse about the easy gear. If I’m hiking the hills anyway, shouldn’t I have a harder gear to go faster on the flats?
When my race went off the next day around noon, mechanical questions were the last thing on my mind. The weather had turned in the night, and the day dawned cloudy and cold. I warmed up for half an hour in a thick jacket, and I was still chilly. Should I wear it in the race? Or would I get too hot?
The starting line looked the dressing rooms on a Nordstrom’s sale day, with people piling on layers, stripping off arm warmers, handing over or receiving jackets from the spectators lined up on the rails.
But then we were off, everyone locked into their choice of gearing and apparel.
Two laps of a nine mile course; the first half would find the beginners on course with the us Cat 2s. The men in the single speed category were strong enough to get past the initial switchbacks without being caught by the fifty people who started behind us.
Me, not so lucky or strong. A lot of the time, I was off the trail, pushing my bike in the soft hillside, having yielded to the granny gear people who could actually still pedal. And despite the spitting sky, I was getting rather roasty toasty.
At the top of the first hill, I peeled off my jacket and tied it to a fence post. Which was a good move, because as soon as I remounted the bike, the sun broke through. But also not so auspicious, because I had left my glasses in the jacket pocket, and wasn’t wearing sun screen.
The first lap was a blur of bikes going past, bumpy bumpy trail, and wind that threatened to blow me off course. I am not exaggerating. My front shock isn’t incredibly plush, so my wheel bounced around unpleasantly. Every time the tire broke free of earth, it would come back down several inches to the left. Or right.
Is it meteorologically possible to have a head wind and a side wind at the same time? The sun went away after about fifteen minutes, and the weather turned nasty again. I spent a fair amount of that race in an unfocused delirium, with the wind blowing my hair into my eyes, and the bumps rattling my head so badly I had a hard time focusing my eyeballs.
Despite the pony-tail-in-the-face effect, I actually thought the wind was pretty fun. I’ve never ridden in that kind of gale, so entertained myself by seeing how far I could lean into it and still stay upright. It was like lounging against a wall. Or, sometimes, like riding in place on a stationary trainer. Kept my mind off the general slogging feeling.
With the 22, I could actually ride the back three hills and rolled through the starting chicane feeling pretty good. The beginners had finished their one lap, so I set off on my second and final round in relative peace. With the wind chill, I didn’t need my extra bottle of water, which is good, because Evan was still doing laps on the kiddie jumps. Hi, Mom!
That course was really, really hard without gears. But no whining here; I still love the simplicity of making a decision and then living with it.
I came in last in my category, as usual, but also know that there were very few sections where I could have worked harder. I generally like to have a narrower gap between my time and the rest of the guys, but Santa Ynez is known for being a power course. And I confess I don’t spend enough time running hills.
Because I loathe running. That’s why I compulsively race bicycles, instead of perpetually entering 5Ks. But maybe I should make peace with my tennies, so that I can get out of the infamous pushing gear a little more.
Meh.
So, the the day before I drove north for the Santa Ynez Classic, I indulged in the usual the neurotic perseveration about what to install on my back end.
I pored over the course profile, tried to remember what it was like last year on a geared bike, polled friends. Friday night found me back at the bike shop, wheedling the owner into putting a 22 tooth cog on the back. He raised his eyebrows.
Yeah, well.
I left San Diego early Saturday morning, committed to my wimpy gear. For the first time, I traveled with a pit crew, my 10-year-old son, Evan. We pulled into Charlotte’s Meadow and set up the tent. It was a spectacular afternoon; recent rains scrubbed the sky and the afternoon light lit up the spring-ish green hillsides.
I left Evan at the pump track and headed up to check out the course. After, ah, pushing my bike up the first two hills, I actually felt worse about the easy gear. If I’m hiking the hills anyway, shouldn’t I have a harder gear to go faster on the flats?
When my race went off the next day around noon, mechanical questions were the last thing on my mind. The weather had turned in the night, and the day dawned cloudy and cold. I warmed up for half an hour in a thick jacket, and I was still chilly. Should I wear it in the race? Or would I get too hot?
The starting line looked the dressing rooms on a Nordstrom’s sale day, with people piling on layers, stripping off arm warmers, handing over or receiving jackets from the spectators lined up on the rails.
But then we were off, everyone locked into their choice of gearing and apparel.
Two laps of a nine mile course; the first half would find the beginners on course with the us Cat 2s. The men in the single speed category were strong enough to get past the initial switchbacks without being caught by the fifty people who started behind us.
Me, not so lucky or strong. A lot of the time, I was off the trail, pushing my bike in the soft hillside, having yielded to the granny gear people who could actually still pedal. And despite the spitting sky, I was getting rather roasty toasty.
At the top of the first hill, I peeled off my jacket and tied it to a fence post. Which was a good move, because as soon as I remounted the bike, the sun broke through. But also not so auspicious, because I had left my glasses in the jacket pocket, and wasn’t wearing sun screen.
The first lap was a blur of bikes going past, bumpy bumpy trail, and wind that threatened to blow me off course. I am not exaggerating. My front shock isn’t incredibly plush, so my wheel bounced around unpleasantly. Every time the tire broke free of earth, it would come back down several inches to the left. Or right.
Is it meteorologically possible to have a head wind and a side wind at the same time? The sun went away after about fifteen minutes, and the weather turned nasty again. I spent a fair amount of that race in an unfocused delirium, with the wind blowing my hair into my eyes, and the bumps rattling my head so badly I had a hard time focusing my eyeballs.
Despite the pony-tail-in-the-face effect, I actually thought the wind was pretty fun. I’ve never ridden in that kind of gale, so entertained myself by seeing how far I could lean into it and still stay upright. It was like lounging against a wall. Or, sometimes, like riding in place on a stationary trainer. Kept my mind off the general slogging feeling.
With the 22, I could actually ride the back three hills and rolled through the starting chicane feeling pretty good. The beginners had finished their one lap, so I set off on my second and final round in relative peace. With the wind chill, I didn’t need my extra bottle of water, which is good, because Evan was still doing laps on the kiddie jumps. Hi, Mom!
That course was really, really hard without gears. But no whining here; I still love the simplicity of making a decision and then living with it.
I came in last in my category, as usual, but also know that there were very few sections where I could have worked harder. I generally like to have a narrower gap between my time and the rest of the guys, but Santa Ynez is known for being a power course. And I confess I don’t spend enough time running hills.
Because I loathe running. That’s why I compulsively race bicycles, instead of perpetually entering 5Ks. But maybe I should make peace with my tennies, so that I can get out of the infamous pushing gear a little more.
Meh.
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