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| From the Oregonian |
Another recent example is the Tough Mudder series. This series is more obvious in the appeal to the middle aged mud compulsion, putting it right their in the name.
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| From the Tough Mudder Web Site |
Perhaps in these tough economic times, we need less expensive ways to indulge the midlife crisis. Porsches? Corvettes? Harleys? Not many folks can afford them these days what with being all upside down in their mortgages and all. But sliding down hill in the mud like those drunken nights in college during the rainstorm? That's a completely affordable way of indulging the middle aged dip. Don't get me wrong, pretending to be a child is a good thing. No reason to stop having fun just because your bones are more brittle. It turns out that, like in many things, cycling is way ahead of the rest of the world. The sport of cyclocross has been around for quite some time, as evidenced by this vintage photo.
Being a cycling enthusiast, I thought I would try the sport of cyclocross. All the other cycling people were doing it after all. With my head full of grave concerns such as "will people think I'm trying to be a hipster?", I entered into the world of 'cross (as the cool kids call it). It's my belief that there is nothing more pathetic than a wannabe hipster. Hipsters themselves being hyper obsessed with their image, priding themselves in identifying the exact moment that something that was obscure and interesting 5 minutes ago is now over. Imagine being hyper obsessed and self conscious and being 5 minutes behind? It must be awful.
But I digress. Back to cyclocross. Being a beginner, they make you race at the unholy hour of 8:40 AM. The fast and exprienced guys get to sleep in, set up camps with canopies, heaters, trainers, grills, etc. I arrived at the venue, Pat's Acres, breakfast sitting uneasily in my belly, for the Canby Cross-Word CX Challenge. I've spent extremely little time ever riding a bicycle off road. Pre-riding the course, with slick deep mud, puddles, a soft sandy river crossing, and technical forested sections put fear in me. Skittering across the slick mud, teetering high in the sky, my 6'3" on 61cm 'cross bike made me feel like Bambi on ice. After shakily making my way around the course, I strongly considered a no-start. Very seriously if you must know. You see, I didn't feel any need or compulsion to get muddy. Also, I knew that in the anxiety of a race, with other riders inches from my wheels, I'd go down, take other riders with me, and end up with tire tracks across my face. When the start time arrived, I decided to ride anyway. Starting at the back of the pack, I immediately found that I was riding up on the wheel of slower riders. Maybe I wasn't so bad at this after all. I went around one, then another. My engine was starting to warm up and I was feeling the fitness of my many thousands of commuting miles. As I ticked off the laps, my confidence in handling the mud grew. I began feeling the flow of the trail. I was anticipating the corners with quick upshifts and downshifts, using my weight. I passed another rider. I tasted mud, and I didn't care. I was getting faster. I stood out of the saddle Then the bell lap and it was over. It was exhilarating. I wanted to keep riding, keep racing. I know I could have passed more people. Just one more lap. Afterwards, I realized I was caked in mud, as was my bike.
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| After the Race, the Ultegra got a little dirty |
Miraculously to me, everything still worked!
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| Feeling the flow |
Turns out that there were quite a few other middle aged folks out getting muddy with their bikes. I went to test my fitness against other riders. But I ended up gaining an appreciation for the sort of fun that only playing in the mud can give.
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