Cyclocross Nationals!

Cross Theater at its finest in Bend, Oregon

Racers in the men's elite category at the Cross Nationals were cheered by nearly 5,000 spectators

The U.S. Cyclocross Nationals brought ice, then snow, and finally the comfort of mud under a wan winter sun in Bend, Oregon this weekend. Weather was an issue.

(See our photojournal of Nationals)

While temperatures were frigid, the cold seemed to bring out the best in riders and spectators at the 2009 Cyclocross Nationals. In the fall issue of 1859 Oregon's Magazine, we introduced many Oregonians to cyclocross in the splash of a feature.

Instead of riding over long remote roads like its civilized cousin, road biking, cross is done within a spectator-friendly radius that drives the popularity of the sport in Oregon and across the country. The sport's top races, Cyclocross Nationals, began on Thursday with the B women and men and continued through Sunday, when the best riders in the country turned physics into metaphysics as snow turned to mud. For convenience, I'll restrict my rambling to the elite men's and women's races, then a first-person account from the 40+ Master B race. In the elite men's race, it was defending champ Ryan Trebon's (Kona/Bend, OR) race to lose. The 6-foot 5-inch gazelle and Oregon resident found himself trailing a surging Cannondale team led by Jeremy Powers (Hadley, Mass.) in the first laps of the race. Soon Trebon and Tim Johnson (Middleton, Mass.), also of Cannondale, overtook a fading Powers. Johnson pushed a fast pace from the front while Trebon tried to keep him close. By the fourth lap, the two leaders had gapped the next riders and set up a ferocious two-man competition for first place. Trebon fed on the roaring hometown crowd of more than 5,000 to try to keep his title, but Johnson made no mistakes and continued to pull away to a first-place finish. Trebon took second place, back 25 seconds from the leader. Jonathan Page, of Planet Bike, rounded out the top three, back 26 seconds from Trebon. The women's elite race on Sunday pitted Katie Compton (Planet Bike), the top cross rider in the world from Colorado Springs, against other accomplished riders including: Meredith Miller (California Giant/Fort Collins), Amy Dombrowski (Primus/Boulder) and Alison Dunlap (Luna/Colorado Springs). Compton put the hammer down, winning her sixth straight cross national championship and leaving a one-minute gap for second place to Meredith Miller. Dombrowski, five seconds back, took third.

None less amusing, at least for me, was Thursday's 40- to 44-year-olds Masters B competition.The problem with many 40+-year-old male athletes is that the spirit of competition is compounded by the fear of losing their capacity to compete. Shake with ice and sub-freezing temps and the intersection of these lines makes the 40+ Master B category one of the most dangerous in just about any sport. My event started on a frozen Thursday with what you might expect: a modicum of half-hearted complaints, sloping icy corners, at least a couple broken bones and a warm beer tent for spectators. But the course was a beaut, morale was high and Team Yard Sale opportunism was turned up to 11.

I flew the Yard Sale green as I pedaled into the cold afternoon. (I acknowledge that I don't “race,” I simply “ride” to see what happens. Training is for the confused camp of conformists who believe their chances of winning are actually improved by practice, strength, etc.) If a mass pile-up at the front happens meters from the finish, I'll offer sincere concern as I skim past the highly trained crash victims. Nevertheless, 159 racers and one rider cranked around countless hairpin turns, down the kind of drops that fools gravity for a split second, up unnaturally occurring wooden stairs and over 18-inch horizontal boards designed to trip you for the amusement of the spectators in the adjacent beer garden.

Falling off a bike is generally painful. But if you're thrown from a cross bike, chances are that your fall will be mitigated by grass, mud, snow or ice. For the likes of me, `Yard Sale' is less a team name than a recognition of what's coming. Thursday, in an ice-covered labyrinth at Cross Nationals, I dumped on glare ice at least a half dozen times.

Like every sport, though, it's not about sulking and retiring, it's about rising to the encouragement of a guy with a mohawk and pitchfork dressed like a demon, and the dude with a Nacho Libre mask on running around in a Speedo. It's about hearing the tenor sax of the Captain Morgan figure and going on. For Team Yard Sale this race, there were no massive crash scenarios that would propel me from 80th place to first. In the final meters of the race, there was something much better than the fleeting glory of a medal. There was cheer, beer and family—perhaps the most essential foundation of cyclocross.