The event; the Crequamegon Fat Tire Festival Sunday Funday Criteriums.  The race class; Single Speed Open.  As the rest of the Sunday Funday events rolled along, the tension was building in anticipation for the truly final event of the weekend, the Single Speed Criterium.  Who would win, who would lose?  Who would blow out their knees, who would snap a chain?  Who would be sober enough to show up?  The throngs of spectators were abuzz with speculation, and a bit of disbelief that anyone would ride, or even could ride the hilly criterium course on a bicycle with only one gear set.

Who would ride indeed.  Five hearty souls appeared in the staging area ready to don their colorful helmet covers that allowed the race commentator to keep track of the competitors as they stormed around the track, elbow to elbow, furiously changing places in a blur of legs and spinning wheels.  The five were Former world champion Hollywood Henderson, Rasta Mama, Trashman, Blue Boy, and EZ.  Hollywood was still smarting from injuries sustained while defending his Single Speed World Championship crown in Bristol, England earlier in the season.  But Hollywood was here to make the statement that he was back on form.  Rasta Mama, the relative newcomer, appeared ready to challenge all comers with his sparkley new Bianchi C.u.S.S.  

Thrashman was really fresh having only ridden 40 miles doing clean up duty the day before picking up discarded Gu packs, water bottles, inner tubes, and helmets on the Fat Tire 40 course.  Could the Trashman’s strategy of only racing once in the weekend be the winning secret?

Blue Boy had his own agenda, wanting to prove that his class win in the Short and (Smart) Fat 15 mile race was no fluke.  And EZ, already a veteran of at least one SSWC, had that certain burn in his youthful eyes that told you he was serious about taking on the veterans.

The threatened appearance of the powerful Minneapolis Mafia Squad did not come to be, and it was rumored that they had, to a man, contracted a severe case of bottle flu.

As the contenders lined up at the start line, and the introductions were done, the announcer chastised the troops for deciding to only ride two laps.  “Wimps!” he said.  “Hey, 2:1 gears” was the first response from the troops.  Then Hollywood offered his bike to the insulter with the challenge “We’ll do two, you do ONE”.  But the challenge was declined.

Insults and challenges out of the way, the racers took their places on the line.  The last minute race instructions were given, and suddenly the starter yelled, “Go.”

But in a surprise move, all five of the racers whirled their bikes around, and began riding the course in reverse!  Such audacity, such anarchy!  The formerly jovial announcer now had taken on a much sterner voice, warning the competitors that they were now riding an unapproved course.  But the Single Speeders continued their struggle.

Down the first of two sharp drop offs it was Trashman in the lead with EZ only a half wheel behind.  However the lead positioned changed at least 4 times as the pack traveled down the first straightaway and into the first real climb.  The crowd had not seen such bobbing and weaving since Muhammad Ali left the ring.  The pack of was so close that tires and elbows rubbed as once again the lead positioned changed going up the climb.  Making the sharp hairpin turn at the top found Hollywood and Rasta Mama neck and neck, with Blue Boy and Trashman almost as equal.  The wily newcomer EZ seemed to be saving himself for the final lap.

Coming off the hairpin was a series of off camber drops.  Hollywood, showing the aggression of a champion, cleared the first with a mighty jump, barely touching ground before making the sharp left onto the front straight.  Blue Boy saw his opportunity and cut off Trashman before the T man could slip ahead.

As the pack hit the front straight, slightly strung out, the crowd must have been asking themselves “Why are they going so slowly?”  Possible because the racers had not ridden the “unapproved” course yet, and needed a parade lap to find their fastest yet safest line around the hilly and curvy course.  (They may be crazy but they are not stupid.)  But now, being on the front straight with only a gradual curve followed by a long climb back to the finish line, they new the way was safe.  Or possibly they sensed the displeasure of the crowd in the slow pace.

Or maybe the evil forces of testosterone finally broke free to cause these five to lose control of their sensibilities, throwing caution to the wind.  In any case, the race was on.  Hollywood charged for the apex, Rasta Mama chose a much wider, gentler climb around the corner and up the hill.  Blue Boy took the middle course as EZ’s powerful drive up the straight brought him past first Trashman, then Blue Boy, and finally Rasta Mama as the pack splintered and made the final turn to the line.  Blue Boy, always the wheel sucker, jumped on EZ’s tail and was pulled past Rasta Mama.  EZ was not to be denied as he continued to charge on the unsuspecting leader, Hollywood.  Lap Two brought a head to head race of the Champ and his challenger, as the remaining riders began to string.  Now at full speed, each racer had his hands full contending with the unfamiliar course, with many near collisions and falls as the pack circulated.  Blue Boy was indeed showing that his legs were strong, his speed convincing Rasta Mama to back off and ride with Trashman.  Meanwhile Trashman was having some level of mechanical problems with the seemingly simply yet deceptively complex drive system of two sprockets and a chain.

The lead position came down to a combination sprint and derby as Hollywood nearly took out the timer’s clock while trying to stay ahead of his challenger.  EZ, to his credit, avoided near catastrophe by swerving around the wandering Hollywood, and missing a concrete barrier in the last instant of the race.  Blue Boy kept his pace, knowing full well that any hesitation would cost him a well deserved third place, less than a second behind the front two.  Trashman and Rasta Mama showed true Armstongesque sportsmanship by crossing the line mere seconds behind, hands joined and raised in victory over the course, as they crossed the line.  And that’s the way it ended except for one final observation.  There were at least five times as many smiles on these racer’s faces as any of the other competitions that afternoon.

Rob  (August 2001)