Michelle Mercer

Cyclocross was a novel sport to me last year when I went to watch friends participate in the U.S. National Cyclocross Championships here in Bend. As a road racer, I had a vague perception of cyclocross as a sort of sideshow in the world of competitive cycling. Racing hurts and when I heard 'cross racers sometimes wear costumes while they're competing, it seemed like people just didn't take 'cross seriously enough to really suffer on the bike.

It would have been easy to blow off last Saturday's Crossaflixion cyclocross race. With snow falling heavily on race day, the appeal of a Nordic ski, or a day on the sofa with a glass of wine, was obvious. With nationals less than two weeks away, however, many local racers packed up bikes instead of skis and headed up Cascade Lakes Highway.
Brent Chapman, the course designer and self-described Director of Fun and Pain for Fresh Air Sports, adapted to the weather at Seventh Mountain by shortening the lap to make it more accessible and safe. “Friday night it started to snow, and it got so heavy we couldn't ride the course,” he explained. “It was melting and freezing constantly.”

As Colin Dunlap and his parents watched racers slide down icy hillsides and endure sub-freezing temperatures during last year's Cyclocross Nationals in Bend, he could tell his dad was unimpressed.
“He wasn't that into it,” says Dunlap, who was a high-school freshman at the time. Colin himself wasn't too sure about the sport, either.

Cuckoo for Cross
Back in the day, autumn used to lend itself to a period of relative debauchery for competitive cyclists. It was typical for the lean-and-mean to gain a few pounds, stay up late and let all the rigors of training slide until after Christmas. Cyclocross has pretty much ruined the off-season and if it weren't so much bloody fun, it would be easy to dismiss. And, for an increasing number of cyclists, 'cross isn't an off-season way to stay fit – it's the focus of their entire year's training.

Cross Clinic
It's all well and good until somebody gets hurt, and I was fully aware that that someone might be me. While I'm an experienced road and track racer, many of my friends will tell you I'm pretty lame on the mountain bike. I didn't grow up on BMX. The gravel driveway in front of our rural Indiana home was as off-road as it got for my apple-green stingray and me.

I used to live in Los Angeles, where every bike ride exposed me to air thick with pollution. I would try to ignore it and not think too hard about what I was breathing. Frequently, local news people would report almost gleefully that exercising for a given amount of time, say 45 minutes, when the air was particularly bad was akin to smoking a pack of cigarettes. The message seemed to be that one should exercise inside like an animal in a cage, or just forget it and eat something instead.
Last week's forest fire was a good reminder of the clean air we consistently enjoy in Central Oregon and how easy it is to take it for granted. After only two days of not riding outside, I had full-blown cabin fever. Fortunately, the wind began to usher out the smoke on Friday. By Saturday, it was almost completely gone.

July in Central Oregon has cyclists of all affinities putting rubber to pavement and dirt. While I shuddered to see the well-meaning father pulling his toddler up Skyliners Road in a bike trailer a few days ago, mostly I am giddy to see so many people riding bikes of all kinds for so many reasons. True bike love.