Blood, Sweat and Beers

This is the second time I’ve returned from vacation and neglected my blog. I apologize, and offer an excuse (or three). I spent the last week playing catch up at work and at home, riding daily to meet Justin on his commute home before daylight savings strikes and “recovering” from what can only be described as the best event I’ve ever raced (and I use that word loosely) in.

On Sunday, September 20, Halloween came early in Durango, CO. Single Speed World Championships descended upon town and locals were treated to all sorts of costume-clad characters. SSWC custom dictates dressing up, and our crew (perhaps a little too) eagerly joined in.


At the crack of noon—or was it 11:00?— pros and novices alike assembled at the start line with more than 1,000 others, hung over and hankering to play in the dirt for 25 miles. To the townspeople lining the street we looked like a circus, I’m sure. But looks can be misleading. And in this case, looks are downright dishonest. Sure, Kelli Emmett may line up next to you in an ensemble straight outta Lieutenant Jim Dangle’s closet, but she’s here to race. Point proven by her third place finish.


Yeah, the course was hard, intensified by the extreme elevation gain, hike-a-bike sections and looming thunderstorm. But when 1,000 racers surge for the trail at once, we were assured plenty of “standing room only” occasions. I spent this time getting to know my neighbors and snapping photographs of the breathtaking scenery. (Harder than you might imagine while pushing a bike uphill.)


What seemed like a lifetime later, I made it to the top of the mountain where there was a party in full swing. A few people shoved plastic cups of beer in front of me as I pedaled by, and one friend I hadn’t seen in years begged me to dismount and drink up. After talking for a bit with the party-goers, other spectators shouted to keep going so as not to get caught in the storm. I heeded their advice and continued to roll my rigid 29er over the rocky crest. A look to my right assured I had made a smart (though unpopular) decision to ditch the party early. Dark clouds inched ever so close to the race. Additionally, one false move on the bike would’ve surely put me over the cliff.


By the time I reached the bottom, outside circumstances (such as the party stop) and my own meager skills got me cut off at the midway point. But I didn't care. I reconnected with Justin, who’d flatted in his purple unitard, and had one wacky conversation with Jacquie Phelan, who asked for my last name, then spelled it (correctly) and told me what it meant in Italian. Really.




The winners (guys: Ross Schnell; girls: Heather Irminger) didn’t get a cash-prize, or any prize, for that matter. They got a tattoo, once again, as SSWC custom dictates.


**Our good friend Justin Steiner took this charming shot of Heather Irminger receiving her winning tattoo.