Explaining cyclocross racing to people who have never heard of it

The depth of rotting leaves on the ground has inspired me to swap the tires on my Masi cyclocross bike from the 28-wide slicks of summer to 40-wide knobbies. I’m trying to ride the Masi–new in February of this year—as much as possible before winter descends on my wee Northwest B.C. town and the studded-tire mountain bike takes over for four months. Now that the wide knobbies are mounted, my friends, family and neighbours can no longer mistake the Masi for a skookum road bike. “What the heck kind of bike is that?” they ask when I pull up to their convivial group. Thereupon, if falls to me to try to explain cyclocross racing to people who have never heard of it.

I should have taken more than podium pictures with my cellphone last year at the Canadian national cyclocross championships in South Surrey, B.C. I could simply whip out the device, conjure up a photo and say, “Here, this is cyclocross racing in a nutshell.”

I can detect a note of disbelief in people’s faces when I explain the race’s European origins, along with descriptions of its compact circuits, dismounts, barriers, sand pits, and muddy hills, all the while pointing out the features on the rig suited for the racing. Warming up to the idea, they are most taken with the cables routed atop the top tube.

Occasionally some wag will ask, “But isn’t there already a bike for that kind of thing? Wouldn’t a mountain bike be more suitable?”

“This,” I reply, patting the handlebar, “is faster.”

It’s another one of those moments when the internal logic of cycling culture sounds mad to me even as I describe it. I might go on to explain how short the races are, imitate the cowbells, and describe how dry mud flakes off the riders’ faces when they can talk after the finish line.

“So people like doing this?” my townspeople enquire.

“They love it,” I reply. “Never seen people so thrilled to exhaust themselves while destroying a set of brake pads and getting sand in their teeth.” Sometimes it’s a fool’s errand to try to make the appeal of velo-suffering intelligible. I find, however, that the prospect of beer at the end of a cyclocross race needs no further explanation.

Recently I mentioned this year’s nationals in Winnipeg. “In late October?” a friend scoffed, “Won’t there be snow?”

“All the better,” I replied and wheeled away, for there are leaves to churn and mud to wear.