The Dirt Double: Spring Chicken MTB and Almonte Paris-Roubaix Race Weekend 2022

Some readers will have landed here to get a sense of what the Spring Chicken is all about. Others will know, and want to read what it was like to race at the front of the 64km race. For the former group, I’ll cover the event itself, kit and bike details, and a HOT TAKE. I’ll tell my story from Almonte Paris-Roubaix, which is more of a known quantity, but now positioned in the cycling landscape as a ‘gravel event’, which means a lot of new riders are seeking information about it. This will be less of a deep-dive, as Almonte is relatively ‘simple’ compared to the Chicken. I close out with thoughts linking psychological and philosophical aspects of racing in whatever phase of the pandemic we’re in.

I hope you find at least some of this useful, entertaining, and/or inspiring.

The Spring Chicken

The Spring Chicken is a bit of an enigma. The organizers, Beachburg Off-Road Cycling Association, don’t create a lot of pomp and circumstance around the event; it’s a bit of a sleeper. They dedicate their time and energy to creating a MTB XC racing experience that is, in my opinion, pure quality, zero fluff. This race is so good it’s weird that it isn’t famous. It’s a gem, and an example of what can be done with a focus on the product, not marketing. This is a place-based race, meaning the locals feel so good about their trails, they want to share them. Contrast this against events organized by folks who know there’s a market for an event product, then go looking for a route that will fit the marketing.

Two distances, 30k, 60k: what would you imagine? A 30k loop, done twice by the 60k riders? Some organizers would do that, because it would be easier, but not BORCA. The two routes share chunks of terrain, but they are also scaled to ability level.

30km course: mostly redpine plantation in true intermediate level singletrack. Moderate roots and few rocks except for the odd pile of stones from old farmlands (optional ride-around). Terrain is mosty flat. 60/40 singletrack/gravel road. 1 to 2 aid stations along the way, fully stocked with drinks/food.

The 30k ends up being 32k, and by all indications, the description above is totally accurate. I didn’t hear a single person say they thought reality was at odds with what war written on the tin. Happy riders, that’s what I heard and saw. The rider age and ability-level range I observed was broad, and I got the distinct sense that the 30k would be a fantastic first MTB race experience. There’s no scary trail content, no big climbs. There is wind out in the open, however! What better reason to ride with other people? 2 aid stations is 2 more than you’ll see at most MTB races, so there’s little risk of running out of liquid or food out there.

60km course: starts off as above, then becomes progressively more technical, with steeper and rockier singletrack mixed with ATV/doubletrack. This course features most of our singletrack including the Algonquin Pass and Brewery Trails singletrack sections. Advanced level singletrack (black diamond and blue square) on classic style singletrack. 80/20 singletrack/atv doubletrack. 4 to 5 aid stations along the way, fully stocked with drinks/food.

The 60k winds up being 64, and otherwise aligns with its description 100%. It had been years since I raced the Chicken, so everything felt novel to me. Certainly, some of the route’s singletrack was brand new, getting burned in by the race - not in a bad way, it rolled well - while a couple sections were newish. We passed through knee-deep water a couple times (same spot, doubling back), which saw some riders remove shoes, while others, like myself, just plowed through. It was warm enough out there for the feet to take it.

A neutral paved start transitions to the first double-track sector, where it was game-on. I went full-gas here, wanting to keep my team-mate and friend, Jim McGuire, connected. Three of us were away within a few minutes, including a young MTB gun, Nick Emsley. I learned his name after, we weren’t chatting. Not because we’re not friendly; the terrain was no joke.

We proceeded to transition from singletrack to open road - paved and not - and the odd section of doubletrack. The singletrack, as advertised, progressed from fast, flowing pine forest with speed limits (trees, stumps) to increasingly technical singletrack, plateauing with a network I believe is called Algonquin Pass, which is about as technical as you’ll find in an XC race. Lots of rock and power moves, this is classic natural MTB stuff, and none of it was janky. Tough, yes, but there were always clean lines to ride. It was a very physical portion of the race, testing deep strength and conditioning.

The final network of singletrack - Brewery Trails - was familiar to me from prior editions of the race, when we’d raced it in reverse -direction. It’s gorgeous, traversing the Ottawa River. This trail brings the farm fields riders know signal the last phase of the course into tantalizing view through the trees. Again and again. It’s sort of hilarious, thinking, “Ok, I’m ready to get out there and finish this thing off”; nope, not yet! This was and will remain a test of focus and presence; we get there when we get there. I’d been planning to wait to exit this final trail sector before attacking, but steadily carved out more than 1:30 gap over the 15 minutes, which was enough to both feel good about making the difference on the ‘crux’ phase of the course, and be able to ride the last phase of the race in a relaxed state.

Not too relaxed, though! The last portion of the course goes on for longer than you might imagine; steel yourself for 11km of farm track and dirt road to the line. I was imagining perhaps 3-4km, so wound up thinking about how tactical the final could be in an small group, particularly because it was windy. I imagine this would be a rare occurrence, given the ample opportunity for error through the singletrack late in the race. Riding solo in the wind is something I take pride in doing well, so this final 11k was more about managing energy for Sunday than suffering. It was nice to be able to offer words of encouragement to the 30k race riders as I passed by.

Tonnes of door prizes and a BBQ awaited the riders, and the atmosphere was great. So many happy folks, not a frown to be seen. Jim McGuire, rolled in for third, and both his sons were part of the day’s festivities as well, the younger, Trey, having ridden really well into 5th in the 30k race. David Wright and Darius Arjang, my travel-buddies, rode strong, well-paced 60ks, equally stoked with their experience.

Kit Details

Weather on the day was about as good as one might wish for in early May. 7C when we rolled out, I was relatively conservative with my kit selection: Castelli Sorpasso RoS bib-knicker, Prosecco Tech long-sleeve base-layer, and our custom Tekne Perfetto jacket, which is essentially a wind-proof and very water-resistant jersey. Summer-weight merino socks and long-finger wind-resistant gloves rounded out my selection, along with my trusty Lake MX 238 shoes and Julbo Ultimate glasses, which have an adaptive lens to handle the light transitions from open to wooded areas. This set-up was flawless, and perfectly balanced warmth, mobility, and aerodynamics. My jacket was zipped all the way up 90% of the time, and none of the climbs were long enough to approach overheating. The jacket is cut for a race-fit, so it was not a detriment in the wind, and felt comfortable in terms of range of motion through the technical trails. Being sufficiently warm could have also played into not having any lower back soreness. Keeping my knees warm was worth more than looking ‘full-race’, and the skin coverage also lends a bit of a sense of protection from offending objects, which is nice for the head-game. Despite pedaling through knee-deep water twice, my feet fared well, aided by the two ports my Lakes have on their carbon mid-soles. Water escapes out the bottom. Not all shoes have these!

I rolled with two large bottles, which provided the perfect amount of water for the 3 hours I was on-course. If your bike only has one cage, you’ll have the option of stopping at any number of 4-5 aid stations. Emsley took bottle hand-ups at most of them, which is an option if you have a friend or family member who’s keen to drive around for you. I packed 8 Nutrigrain bars, the only thing I could grab that was cheap and decent the night before. My strategy was to eat as many of them as I could, to both fuel the race at hand, and give myself every chance of recovering for the one to come. I got through 7, and they worked fine. Dry, but that encourages drinking, so that’s ok. A little fiddly to deal with while rolling, but not bad for a cheap option from a normal grocery store. One day I’ll get back to making ride food, but this choice fit into my low-stress approach to the weekend.

Bike Check

A number of small details contribute to what I feel is a very effective and fun all-rounder bike I enjoy riding across a broad range of conditions and durations. I can take a deep dive in a future piece of folks are interested. For now, the highlights:

Fit: I run an XL aluminum Trek Stache. This allows me to use a 30mm stem, which supports a 720mm carbon Race Face Next SL bar. This bar is designed for comfort over long and rough terrain, and I LOVE it. Absolute Black’s silicone grips add some comfort to the bars, and hold up well to many hours of use. I run a San Marco Shorty saddle on a Race Face 125mm dropper post. For 2022 I swapped from 175mm to 170mm cranks, which allowed me to move my saddle to less of an extreme rearward position, and I’m 100% sold on this length for efficiency and comfort while riding anywhere from fully-upright and fully-aero. I rode in an aero position a fair bit on Saturday.

Rolling: Woven Precision’s M9AM rims are ideal for the tire sizes I run: 2.25 - 2.6”. These carbon rims feel transformative compared to alloy; they also hold my tubeless tires and absorb impacts well. The set-up I’m on for tires is my favourite of 29er options thus far: Maxxis Rekon 2.6 front, Schwalbe Racing Ralph 2 .25 rear. The Rekon melds fast rolling speed with phenomenal cornering and braking grip, while the RR balances rolling speed and grip across all vectors. The bike never feels ‘slow’, even on pavement. I run about 19/20 PSI. I will add Cushcore to the rear for the balance of the season, but didn’t feel I needed it for the Chicken.

Propulsion: Kogel’s ceramic bottom bracket takes all the abuse I throw at it, including full-immersion twice during the race. I pulled the crank out to let it dry; no issues. I’m also riding their phenomenal KOLOSSOS oversized ceramic bearing pulley derailleur cage, which reduces drag on the chain (which is increased when using clutched derailleurs) while also enabling very precise and reliable shifting. I power-shifted once HARD on-course; zero issue. Chain retention is actually so good I’ve done full riders with the clutch off without dropping my chain. Various bolts from Kogel are titanium, and their Shimano crank preload bolt is aluminum; all this drops a little weight while infusing colour. Absosute Black’s 32t narrow-wide ring smooths out traction on the climbs, and holds my chain like a champ. I use their oval rings on all my bikes, and find they reduce muscle fatigue and damage.

Etc.: Little race-specific touches include the tire ‘bacon’ and tool taped to my top-tube for rapid access, and a master-link for my chain taped under my seat-stay. That’ll live there from now on. I’m on Absolute Black’s GrahenLube on my chain was normal, but proved itself rather race-worthy by holding up to both immersions without being flushed away. Amazing. I had two CO2 cartridges in my pocket, along with my multi-tool, and a mini-pump on my bike, just in case. Redundancy can be key; kinda annoying to ask other riders for their pump!

Hot Take

I started MTB racing almost 30 years ago. I’ve ridden a lot of race courses, and a few of them many, many times. Rarely have I ever said, “This course is so good, I’d want to come here just to ride it.” Ski-hill-based XC race courses, in my opinion, suck. They have little to do with how people choose to ride MTBs outside of the race context. Ride up a fire-road, descend? WTF? These races bias bikes toward ultra-light climbing performance and technical trail survival, and are won on the climbs. Is that how most of us want to ride MTBs? I don’t think so. Mountain biking would have never become a thing if this was how it began. Ski-hill racing is an outgrowth of combining XC and downhill disciplines in race weekends.

My MTB is ‘modern,’ and built for the 1.5 - 8-hour rides I like to do in my region. I ride from home on pavement, connect to singlertrack and doubletrack, more pavement, rail-trail; all the things (like this). The bike thrives in technical terrain, and also feels good on pavement. I have a 2.6” tire up front; it’s not really an ‘XC race bike’.

I didn’t want or need to adapt my bike for the Spring Chicken, despite the fact I’d wind up out in the open a lot. A ‘normal’ MTB set-up should be fine, I thought. Hoped. But I didn’t really care enough to think about it much. It’s my bike.

The Chicken 60k course is probably the best I’ve ever raced. I asked around, and the guys said the same. You know races like Leadville, Wilmington-Whiteface? They are famous, and they don’t come close.

Why? A useful, modern MTB was 100% effective, because the riding alternated between high-focus singletrack to ‘mental recovery’ roads, which supported actual decision-making about pace over the course. This is the secret sauce of racing MTB: choosing how to use energy, versus having pace dictated to you. A ski hill course puts one strategy in front of riders: ride as hard as you can up the climbs, manage anoxia through all the technical riding. These are essentially time trials. Dynamic, FUN racing isn’t time-trialing. It’s about who we’re with, what we can read off their body language, where we think we can go hard and where we can go easy, how to best engage the terrain with the skills and fitness we have on the day. ‘Easy’ sections of race courses, where drafting is possible, bring tactics into the fray, and render the race about power, skill, AND thinking. This is part of the intrigue of road racing, and a characteristic of good marathon-style races of any flavour.

BORCA has created and refined an event that I recommend to anyone and everyone interested in a MTB event. I say ‘event’, not ‘race’, because I think ‘race’ might not capture the full spectrum of value the Spring Chicken delivers. It falls far more into the vein of the best ‘gravel’ events I’ve participated in, where organizers create an experience that wouldn’t work for many riders outside the event frame. Meaning, without land-access agreements, aid stations, and road controls, the experience wouldn’t be possible. That’s more about simply riding a given route, let alone racing it. When events deliver an experience we can’t possibly create on our own, they deliver value.

The 64km I raced wouldn’t be an issue for me to cover solo, whenever. But I’m not relevant to the Chicken’s value. With some riders finishing perhaps three hours after me, the majority need aid station supports to complete the challenging course. Likewise, 30k riders new to the sport need supports to realize a great experience. It’s entirely possible to sign up with a properly working bike and just do it.

Mountain biking can be phenomenal, and it can be brutal. For a MTB event to effectively mirror the best MTB has to offer in regular riding is special. The Spring Chicken’s 60km course is a fantastic fit for riders who like riding technical terrain, and have a good amount of MTB experience. The 30k is perfect for those who prefer to keep the technical level capped at ‘low-moderate’, and/or those who prefer to spend less time on the bike. The whole spectrum of fitness and ability is covered, and everyone can have FUN. I loved it, and I’ll be back every year I can!

Almonte Paris-Roubaix

Back after two years pancellation, APR landed on Mother’s Day. 80km of dirt and paved roads, with four forest sectors, a few of us shared a chuckle over how APR, in its 31st edition, is now considered a ‘gravel event.’ Nobody would have considered associating it with ‘gravel’ in the past; there isn’t really much to be found. It’s probably more similar to Tro Bro Leon, if we’re talking European analogues, but really, it’s unique. Mixing roads and doubletrack trails has always posed a specific challenge, given the final sector is the most technical, seeing lots of ATV traffic, and sets up the final 2km of dirt road to the line. Poor tire selection can see riders bleed valuable time here, which is very difficult to claw back in what always seems to be a head and cross-wind final. Overall, the route’s terrain is rolling, with nothing I’d consider a ‘real climb.’ It rolls fast and highly favours group-riding; the sectors are not decisive enough to break the race into small groups, let alone ones and twos. The bias is so heavily on the side of roads that the sectors tend to function as attrition-drivers more than big move-makers. This is rather analogous to the actual Paris-Roubaix, if you think about it. You can’t win the race by crushing a sector, but you can lose it. I would personally love it if the race finished 20m from the end of the last sector, but I understand risk-management would lean away from this option.

A neutral start brings riders to the ‘line’: “If you’re asking yourself whether you should be in the ‘fast group’, put yourself in the ‘chill group.'“

If you’re here to get a sense of APR with an eye on participating for the first time, it’s hard to beat. There’s no on-route support, so yes, you’ll need to be self-sufficient for the 80km or 40km. The price of entry is always as low as it gets, and its a no-frills affair. This is part of the event’s endurance. It was the first ‘road race’ I ever did, and remains a great way to get a taste of the mass-start experience. None of the sectors approach the ‘wildness’ of something like Paris-to-Ancaster’s mud chutes, and even when it’s wet they can be navigated with relatively small tires. Sure, walking might be necessary. Folks used to ride 25mm tires for this thing! I was actually sort of amazed to see such a high proportion of folks on tires around 40mm, which was uncommon before the pandemic.

This wasn’t the first time I raced APR after doing a race the day before. In 2015 I raced Rasputitsa in Vermont on the Saturday, and was second to Anthony Clark. The following day I won Almonte. The thing, is, that Rasputitsa race, which happened to include more than 3km of running on snow, wasn’t nearly as hard an effort as the Spring Chicken. The Chicken took 30 minutes longer, and was far more physical, not least in terms of muscle damage from working the bike over the terrain while coasting (not to be discounted!).

Recovery was going to be key, but you can’t really recover well if you’re stressing out about recovering. I knew I didn’t need to worry about anything; Almonte would be icing on the cake. I’d been riding a set of 65/85mm deep Woven wheels with 35mm Rene Herse Bon Jon tires (tubeless, standard casing) for a couple weeks, and had decided to stick with the setup, given the dry weather. I couldn’t tell whether Matteo Dal Cin would be there, but guessed that if he was he’d make moves on pavement and dirt road more than trails. If Emile Hamm was there I’d want to sit in as much as possible and conserve energy everywhere I could. If I raced near the front I figured I’d see what I needed to see, and could manage the tires.

It was obvious I didn’t have great legs as I followed Hamm - Matteo didn’t show up - but not entirely clear how good or bad they would be once at full gas. I found out upon seeing the front 9 or so guys turn into the first sector, which I failed to see coming. 11km into the route, we turned right into ‘5A Unmaintained SE’. The guys went ballistic, and I was totally caught on the back foot, establishing that my tires were totally wrong. I didn’t have much power to work with above my threshold, so all I could do was ride as well as possible, and try not to smack into anything sharp. For comparison, in 2019, the last time I or anyone raced APR, I averaged about 25kph through this sector, with the front guys. This time I averaged over 30kph, and got gapped.

It was carnage, really. A big push was necessary to connect to the three who came out together, Hamm, Steve Chapman, and Alex Woodford. Tommy Omura, Hugo, and Michael Miller chased on ahead of me, and I made it on last. Only to realize my rear tire was soft; puncture!

Shit happens. I’m happy with not being pissed off or sad about the puncture, but to have just gotten on with what I needed to do. I pulled out my CO2, which I’d managed to bury within a bag inside a bag - why did I think rattling was something I needed to prevent? - and bring it back up to pressure without any evidence of a hole. Had to be a small one; roll on!

What a pursuit! I didn’t think for a minute that I’d make it back to the front group of 6 unless they missed a turn, but I could make it to the front group it I stayed on the pressure. It took almost 30 minutes to get there, 16km. I rolled the ‘Ramsay Rollers’ dirt road segment at PR pace, solo, for the 3rd fastest time on Strava. This was only beaten by Derek Gee (Olympian and young local legend) and Derrick St John (older local legend) in the 2019 edition. I was chasing the group at my threshold, and I guess I nailed it. This might sound more exciting than it was, as the truth of the matter is that long chases like this are exercises in constraint. Once the target group is in sight it’s tempting to surge and force contact. But that’ll most likely lead to overextension, and a drop in pace. It’s a matter of taking one millimeter at a time, taking pace when it’s ‘easy’ and being ok with not gaining where the cost is high, like on climbs. Calm tenacity. I didn’t have much to work with above my threshold power, so this was a relatively simple effort to manage.

Connected, I let my team-mates, Jim McGuire and Mike Reeves, know I was in, and proceeded to recover a bit before working with Jim to drive the pace on. The group was perhaps 20, with many strong guys present, but there didn’t seem to be any urgency in their pace. Emile Hamm was the strongest guy off the front, and he didn’t have any team-mates in the group, so I was a little surprised so many guys were ok with being 2 minutes back. Whatever, Jim and I received some help and we had what seemed to be the break in sight off and on after a while.

Intrigue struck as we approached the second-last sector, the ‘switchback climb’. Along the side of the road Hamm was collecting himself, kit shredded, Steve Chapman alongside, assisting. Uncertain whether they were the front or not, I crested the sector’s climb a couple minutes later at the front, Chapman pulling alongside. “Are we the front?” I asked. “No, three more are 2 minutes up.” Shit.

Steve was game to drill the pace, and riding really strong. On we went, hoping to catch a glimpse of the leaders, knowing this was unlikely. As the final 10km or so approached, Mike Reeves told me to stop working and recover; he’d cover moves as I prepared for the final. Jim was cramping, feeling the previous day’s effort. Legend.

Eating, drinking; Chapman and Hugo had demonstrated their strength and zeal sufficiently as we approached the final sector of the race to convince me that they were my primary concerns. In other editions I’d not wonder about my legs going in this phase of the race, but as the 90-degree right from pavement to dirt road approached I couldn’t help but wonder how I’d do up the shallow climb that marks the forest’s entrance. The smoother the better.

Steve’s brother, Tyler, initiated the acceleration into the right turn, setting things off. I followed his wheel, aimed myself at open space once upon dirt and upright; game on. Into the woods, Steve and I were elbow to elbow, battling for the best lines. I trusted he’d race clean, but knew that if he got in front of me the line would be his, and I’d have to deal with whatever I was left with. I can’t think of a more cyclocross-flavour race dynamic outside of cyclocross.

2/3 of the way through, my tires working well on the ATB-ravaged dirt, I nailed a sequence of lines and eked out a small gap. Believing Steve and Hugo had more pop in their legs, I had one option: go all in.

Having been in the same situation in this race many times, riding a gap out of the last sector, I was once again faced with a difficult task. Block headwind for 1km, right turn for the final km, wind from the left. My aim was to keep Steve - Hugo gapped behind him - off my wheel and battling the wind solo. Alas, he was on me before we hit halfway. I flicked him to take a pull, he did, Hugo pursuing. He flicked me back through, I took P1, and we turned right. 1k to go.

Wind from the left, I rode the packed strip of dirt road on the right side, leaving 5-6 feet of shoulder to the right. Steve followed, ignoring my elbow to come around, as one would expect. I slowed, Hugo nearing, wanting to force Steve to get anxious and take up the pace. He didn’t. Feeling more inclined to play the game and see what happened than care about 4th versus 5th, I sat up. Steve still didn’t take the bait. Hugo was now clearly going to connect.

Passing at full sprint on our right side, Hugo made his move. In an instant I was accelerating; I’d take his lead-out and see what happened.

What happened was bizarre.

Just as Hugo passed by, he veered sharply from at least 2-3 feet away, directly across my front wheel. As my wheel went left, my right foot went out to catch my fall, which miraculously worked; I have no recollection of how, this was a blur. Steve, however, couldn’t avoid my flailing bike; his front wheel connected with it, shredding his spokes and taking him to the ground.

As Hugo carried on, head down, Steve was livid. I won’t quote him here, but suffice it to say he was very unhappy with Hugo’s riding. I know this, because I stopped and returned to him to make sure he was ok, and to talk him down. Mike Reeves rolled by to take 5th, then a handful of others as I stood with Steve. When it became clear he was ok and would just need time to settle down, I carried on over the final 100m or so for 11th.

This was an unusual end to an otherwise great race experience. I spoke with Hugo, who was apologetic; I understood that he’s made an error. As I processed the day’s events and sought meaning in them, I couldn’t help but think back to Peter Tregunno’s words before we began about the sustainability of the event resting on the way we ride it. There’s no guarantee events like APR will continue to roll each year, and if not for Peter Tregunno’s efforts, it’d be done, not a thing. Shit happens, and will continue to happen, so the best thing we can do is learn when things go wrong.

These moments are where we learn to make the best decisions we can, and not because others will see us doing so. Steve didn’t stop with Emile because he had to; he knew it was right to. I stopped with Steve for the same reason; being human comes first. Everyone out there is on their own journey with bike riding and racing, and some of us will see opportunities for growth where others don’t. APR’s cyclosportif format has always been unique within our region’s array of organized event. As gray-area event, APR presents the opportunity to think about how we can operate in different modes within competitive contexts. There are times for ‘all-in’, and times for ‘ok, chill.’ We all get hyped up sometimes, and learning how to make good decisions while hyped up is part of the process of developing as a human in general, and a racer in particular. I don’t expect any of us to be ‘there’ already, but the dad and ethicist in me expects us all to try. Making mistakes, learning, and growing, together, is what makes cycling communities great, and sustainable. - Ed. I’ve edited this paragraph to take the edge off my original words and add context. This is a more constructive version.

Hats off to first-time winner, Tommy Omura! Fortunately, Emile and Steve’s injuries were superficial, and the vast majority of riders had a spectacular experience. Given the preponderance of 40mm+ tires, I came away wondering whether we’ve turned a corner, and APR is poised to incorporate more forest sectors, biasing toward more of an off-road emphasis. Easier said than done!

You can check out Robert Roaldi’s photos of the event here.

As if stage racing, for fun

I raced the Spring Chicken at least once before the pandemic (2013); time flies! 60km of MTB racing, with a mix of singletrack and dirt and paved roads is right up my alley, as this is the stuff I love riding locally; big ol’ MTB rides. Preparing for such a race so that it’s fun isn’t simple in early May. The bigger your base of fitness is leading into a first MTB ride, the more you can do with that opportunity to remind the body how to be and handle hours of trail time. For somewhat unusual reasons, I had a fairly huge base of riding over March and April, which led into a perfect opportunity the weekend before the Chicken to do a long local MTB ride. Trail conditions were amazing for that ride, and I was shocked to find I wasn’t rusty on my MTB. I can only attribute this to fat biking on singletrack all winter, the first time I’ve been off drop bar bikes outdoors through January and February in more than 15 years. As if by magic, I felt comfortable immediately on singletrack, and wound up riding 110km on the bike, pushing hard for the final 40k to simulate the Spring Chicken’s demands to come a week later. That ride was a big confidence booster, and I followed it up with an easier MTB ride two days later. This proved at least a day early, as I was still fatigued from my previous week’s 27 hours on the bike. I rode easy through Friday, and trusted I’d feel fresh on Saturday. The plan was to race with full commitment to the effort, manage energy as well as I could to minimize damage for Sunday, and enjoy the privilege and gift of being able to race.

The fun thing about taking on the double was that I got to experience a ‘stage racing’ vibe of my own creation. Hydration and energy consumption weren’t just for Saturday’s race, but Sunday’s too. I probably ate more than ever in a race, which might have been just enough. Neat.

The external ‘indicator’ of how it went is superficial. I won.

I was really happy to win, indeed, but I was happier about why and how. I got to win while also being a good human. Nick Emsley, the young gun I battled for the majority of the race, crashed into a post in front of me about 1/3 into the race. His crash looked potentially head-trauma-inducing, and it was concerning. I could have easily tossed a throw-away comment at him - “Aw man, bummer!” - and ridden away to take a bunch of time. I didn’t even consider doing that, but stopped to really make sure he was ok. I rolled on and waited for him to get back on my wheel before resuming race-pace.

Outcome-oriented thinking - “I need to WIN!” - could have easily pulled my mind toward capitalizing on Nick’s crash. Yes, I wanted to win, but thinking about that outcome only interferes with doing what is necessary in each moment of the race. For me, thinking ahead to the outcome only gets in the way of focusing and riding at the peak of my ability, which is what I wanted to do more than win. The true challenge of racing, after all, is creating a peak performance on the day, using every resource we have. One can do a MTB race like the Chicken and wind up having zero actual competition, ride like a muppet, and win. That’s a hollow win. A meaningful win, even if competition is thin, is like a masterful time trial: presence. In this mode, there’s no specific ‘plan’ for the way the race will unfold. Maintaining focus on riding well, pushing where it matters, backing off where it counts, keeping the pressure on, sustainably; there’s a best way to fit the pieces together, and joy resides in striving to manifest this composition. And this experience can be realized by all of us, since comparing ourselves to others isn’t actually what matters. Playing with others, and manifesting the best version of ourselves on the day, when it’s hard, is what matters.

Square peg, square hole

I race because I want to now, not because I ‘need to.’ Pre-pandemic, I was still committed to racing, my primary focus having become cyclocross. I attempted to win Masters National Championships in 2019 on a foundation of riding, racing, and training I felt good about within my constraints. I ran an experiment: could I ‘ride for fun’ through late summer and fall, not stress about racing, and be fast enough to win Nationals? The answer was no. This was disappointing, as it indicated to me that my racing ‘career’ was over; I couldn’t race for the win unless I sacrificed riding with friends, with variety, in ways that excited me, versus felt like ‘work’ on top of my actual job. “Racing for the win,’ for me, meant ‘playing the game’ at the front of the race, NOT at my absolute physical limit. Meaning, I didn’t want to be juuuuuust strong enough to be at the front, but firmly strong enough to chose how I used my energy at the front, as I do/have done in other disciplines. This is what I consider ‘fun racing’. If I had to prepare like a PRO in order to race in this way, I was dealing with a square peg in a round hole situation. I was out.

Then the pandemic hit. Having ‘retired’ from caring about racing, I seamlessly left thoughts of racing in the rearview. I quickly came to love not caring about being tired on the weekend or Tuesday or whatever.

In 2021 I did a few events/races because I felt like it. They seemed like they’d be fun, and I felt no pressure to perform better than anyone else. As it happened, I was able to race really well, surprising myself. I realized that the way I like to ride (when I’m not racing all the time) does in fact prepare me well to jump into races and ride well. The full-spectrum of mind/body benefits and beauty of cycling ‘for itself,’ not ‘for something else’ - racing - was compatible with and could manifest within racing. When I rock up to a race I don’t ‘need’ to perform amazingly to ‘make all the training worthwhile’; I can be in a state of mind that allows me to experience the event as an opportunity to ride as well as I can with whatever I have in me on the day, with gratitude for even being there and wanting to race at all. Because I’ve felt like I couldn’t even imagine wanting to race while under the weight of far too much work stress. To be balanced enough to feel energized and excited to go to a race now feels like a gift, not a given.

Thus, I don’t really give a shit what the outcome of a race is. I care about how I experience the race, and how I interact with others.

Outcomes are over-rated

Over the last two years, I’ve thought a lot about ‘outcomes'.’ In short, outcomes are nothing more than snapshots in time. Winning a race might seem like the end of a process, but the only end that really matters is the moment we leave this earth, and how we feel about the relationships we’ve experienced through our lives; how we’ve lived. If we think anything in our final moments, it’s not about our successes and failures, but the way others have touched our lives, and the love we’ve shared (and not). It’s easy to buy the line that winning shit is everything, and it’ll make us happy, forever. It’s not true. How we live, how we treat others, and the light we bring to the world is what matters.

Sport isn’t about sport; it’s about bringing out the best attributes of humanity. It’s about binding, and feeling, together. Sport is a catalyst, through which the best and near-worst in us manifests. It’s a vector through which some of us have opportunity to learn that the path to becoming the best version of ourselves is about balance, a sense of shared purpose, service to others, and self-actualization.

I spent many years stressing out about racing, and that experience taught me a lot. I had to live it to learn it. This spring, as races were being run through April, I had work and family issues unfolding that were very difficult to absorb. Thinking about how torturous being focused on spring racing would be in such context, I was happy to observe that I truly didn’t have FOMO over races being run. I had a weekend in mind that I felt really good and excited about, because it would be a square peg in a square hole, landing at a point in spring I’d actually have a good block of riding in me, and would have the resilience to ride two races back to back in a physical state that would be fine. By selecting a double-weekend as my ‘opener,’ I built a pressure-free dynamic into the plan. I had nothing to prove, I just wanted to ride well and see what happened. It would be fun.

It was, and I’m grateful.