Boyne XC Marathon

Bike races are interesting events. You have a whole spectrum of riders there: there are recreational cyclists, on good-but-not-great bikes, with most of the basic gear but with a look of uncertainty on their faces, and friends of those recreational cyclists, encouraged by their buddies to participate but unsure of what they're getting themselves into and looking a bit awkward with athletic shoes, platform pedals sometimes even cotton t-shirts. There are more serious riders who have been around the circuit but are still a little rough around the edges and independent, having not yet established themselves as part of any specific corps of riders; the cycling teams, sporting matching jerseys and pedaling around in disciplined, deliberate lines as they warm up for the race; and the elite racers whose sponsors adorn their busy jerseys and shorts, intense and quick off the starting line with unparalleled confidence in their riding abilities.

Almost everyone wears spandex and bright colors. Men unashamedly reach down the front of their shorts to adjust equipment or apply ointment to ease the chafing. Women forget to obsess about the size of their rears and are comfortable in thighs built up by hill climbs. No one seems self-conscious about their physical flaws, making no apologies for the small pooch of a belly or the hint of a love-handle. Riders of all shapes and sizes squeeze into busy, loud jerseys proclaiming their team affiliations, their love for a brand of beer or their preferance for a gear manufacturer. Their shoes can be just as attention-getting, often clashing with the rest of the ensemble while the clickity-clack of metal cleats on the parking lot provides a soft, crunching rhythm.

The racers shoot from the starting line, jostling for position and streaking into the woods. The more experienced riders are aggressive enough to end up in front while those new to the sport hang back to see what happens. There will be passing and repassing throughout the course, though sometimes riders will be spread out enough to feel alone on the trail. There will be crashes and cursing, "pleases" and "thank yous" from passing riders, frustration because they can't get around an unfortunate topple and concern when a real injury necessitates stopping with a fellow rider. While everyone is striving to cross the finish line first, no one places the well-being of a competitor below the cheap plaques awarded after the race.

And when all is said and done, they sit in their dirty clothes, whose bright colors are streaked with dirt and sweat. They trade their bike shoes and soaking socks for sandals, letting the wind and the sun dry their sticky bodies while recapping the moments on the trail. They wait for results and compare pre-ride, ride and recovery strategies, some downing more electrolyte-laden formulas while other crack open cans of beer. Sometimes they bother to wash their mud-spotted faces, legs and arms or tend to bloody, oozing scapes; most times, they wear these badges of honor proudly, spinning tales of downhill spills and uphill battles. If they place, they pick up their awards to a smattering of applause, shake some hands with their competitors and head home to think about training for the next one.

(Mitch rode over 20 miles at Boyne Mountain and placed second in his third race of the season. We both look forward to the Stoney Creek XC race in two weeks.)