What is Cyclocross without the mud?

Like a good peaty scotch, autumn, is an acquired taste for me. Maybe it was autumn’s historical association with back-to-school anxiety that soiled its reputation. Maybe it was just the end of summer fun. Either way, cyclocross racing helped me find a new a appreciation for the fall many years ago in Chicago, IL. Living in California for the past six years, deprived me of this most dramatic of seasons. The smells weren’t there, the leaves were all still largely on their trees, and the chill was quite chilly enough. Thankfully though, the competition was stiff, and the enthusiasm was hearty and genuine.

I’m back from the west now, and looking forward to a proper East Coast Autumn. The smell of dead leaves in cold mud, huddling over vats of chilli, racing not always to win, but sometimes just to stay warm- ok racing to win and stay warm.

One of my favorite things about cyclocross racing often occurs during those first two races of the season; the scalded lung sensation after the sixty minutes of sweet torture has elapsed. There’s little you can do to prepare for the white hot intensity of a well-contended cross race and even less you can do to avoid the sizzle. You just gotta jump in-tear the bandage off straightaway and embrace the pain.