S.S.W.C. 2G
SINGLE-SPEED WORLD CHAMPIONSHIPS
Thanks to Everyone!!!

WaaaHooo!

Single-Speed World Championships 2000.

I'm going to try and recount what I can remember about this past weekend, the Single-Speed World Championships 2000 - SSWC2G. Hang on...

5.11.00 Thursday Night: the British are coming. Chipps, and Jo Burt arrive at 12:50 am, after a full 24 hour day of travel. Before they even have their luggage, they present me with a bottle of 12 year old MaCallan's. This is going to be great...

5.12.00 Friday: The Dirt Rag have arrived. Beer! I pick up the NorCal Crue at the Airport: SteveSmith, Loud John, Paul, Sasha, Norm, Stella. 6 people, six bikes, with room to spare, thanks to the 15-passenger van I've commandeered from Mr. Adam Popp.

Friday night. Jeff Lockweed is in the building. Registration at Grumpys City Club. Mayhem immediately ensues. Windy conditions. Banners, patio, boxes, stuff blowing all around. Anyone got change for a $20?

DERBY!

Across the street, pallets turned into ramps, garbage cans set on fire, pallets burning, huge circle of riders, people are going dowwwn. Crashing and burning. Remember very little. My shoulder still hurts. And then the cops came... along with a fire truck.

5.13.00 Saturday: THIS IS HOW A BROKEN COLLARBONE MIGHT FEEL... Very banged up, cut. Bruised. Broken collarbone feeling. Off to see my lady graduate from the U of MN. Meet her dad for the first time. Alcohol on my person. Thank you.

On the ride home from graduation now. Cross Hennepin @ 1st street, dull roar with increasing volume, look down Hennepin to the sight of a monster group of riders heading down 3rd St. Holy Shit. At this point it hits me; we've created a monster! Get home, change, grab single, ride as fast as I can to race start. Looking over the bridge, throw the hesh, crowd roars approvingly. The start has been modified. Course shortened, by some lady taking down markers. Cheever confronts and handles it well.

Le Mans start. Mad rush. Bottleneck. Impressive sight. I'm guessing over 280 riders. "Hurl, yr going to jail..." sez Ingy. My shoulder is still throbbing. I'm just digging it, taking everything in. Kevin from The RideGuide interviews me in segments. I've got to go ride a lap. Head out on the Surly, just amazed at the size of this thing. Into the singletrack, swooping in and out of the trees. Come to the "your choice" section. High road and play it safe? Or lowside, up over the 2x12 planks nailed to a huge fallen log. Three weeks ago, I wouldn't ride this. Too sketch. Today, with the crowd, the energy, the rush, I just had to make an attempt. And I nailed it. Damn, it feels good to be alive. Swoop back down the switchbacks to the beach, climb out on the forced-dismount STEEP hike-a-bike, a leafy gully going straight up. Back on the bike, slashing through more epic singletrack, cross the railroad tracks up to the Spankinator. Drop in, g-out, and up. Hell yeah. Back down the other side, exit the the woods, greeted by Zippy Peterson's "Get the Hell Out" Stout, pit stop.This is as good a place as any for a break. What a beautiful day. Soon, the beer runs out. I head back to the finish line. It becomes apparent that there's been a snafu on the first lap. Pete Webber the Intergalactic Pilot and a few others have inadvertenly missed a section, and so even though Intergalactic Pilot is first across the line, "Tokin'" local, Hollywood Jay Henderson is the first to cross having rode 4 entire laps. Race official Kid Riemer offers several options to the first group of ten riders to come in, including a 1-lap race off, or a shared title. The decision is made to race-off, but in a display of outstanding sportsmanship, and camaraderie, Pete Webber bows to Henderson. That's a gutsy move, and well respected, let me tell you. I knew Pete would be near the front after seeing him decimate the single-speed field at the Fruita Fat Tire Fest just 2 weeks prior to the SSWC2G. The snafus were far from over though, in the female race, Catboxx Walgrave had a commanding lead throughout the race, but went out for a 5th lap as the finish line was not entirely evident as crowds formed at the finish. Stella Carey crossed the line first, just ahead of Fiona Lockhardt. More finish line discussion led to Stella being crowned champ, and so Hollywood and Stella found themselves with fresh ink by the nights end. Good thing this wasn't a norba event...

Back to Grumpy's for the awards! At this point a huge thankyou to all of our sponsors: Kenwood Cyclery, Tioga, RockShox, Swobo, Spot, Paul Components, Paragon Machine Works, Soulcraft, Surly, CRC, SRAM, Airborne, Bianchi, The Dirt Rag, Grumpy's, Derby Werks, Inc., Pedro's, Timbuk 2, Bicicleta. I'm sure there's more, and if I forgot anyone, thank you, too. Nearly everyone went home with some king of swag. Local sawhorse rockers, Woodshop took the stage and proceeded to kick out the jams, with their crowd pleasing hit ïDerby' as well as a fine cover of "Fried Chicken and Coffee." Next up, from Chicago, Illin'-noise, The Dishes took the stage and laid down the law with their aggressive agit-pop. All the boys in their moshingly best behavior fell in love with the three girls on guitars. Graeme the drummer took care of business on the skins, but we were too enthralled with these strong, rocking, women to notice. As much noise as the two bands produced, the coolest noise of the night, and probably I've ever heard, was yet to occur. Shortly before bar time (1 am; come on, Mpls. get yr. fuckin' shit together!) GeneO, Maurice, and SteveSmith were just about to rub their beards together. Standing near the glass-block wall separating the kitchen from the bar, apparently one of them leaned on it slightly, and the freestanding structure came crashing down in a crescendo of exploding glass. A deafening silence, a seeming eternity followed, and then the remainder of the glass joined its cousins on the ground. "That's it! Everyone get the fuck out!" is the last thing I remember hearing. Woo hoo!

5.14.00 Sunday morning arrived earlier than usual as supa-star Jeffrey Blockwood had to catch a 5:30 a.m. limo to the airport. By 8, all of the San Francisco contingent were lurking about, making last minute adjustments before catching their 9 o'clock flight out. Sunday morning, after Lockweed and the Bay Area Bashers left, The Dirt Rag showed up to say sayonara, claim their keg, and do some dumpster diving. Various childrens toys were extracted, and a ladies free spirit 10-speed was rescued, then sacrificed to the Dirt Rag van, Maurice giving Dodge love to the Sears-Roebuck bicycle. They then drove swiftly into that gentle good morning, stopping off at the Modern Cafe, before attacking their 16 hour drive. Godspeed, Dirt Rag! By then it was up to Matt Chester and Brian Hannon to accompany me to the Modern Cafe for breakfast. Chipps and Jo slept like Englishmen. At 1 o'clock, a group met at Grumpy's. It was here that I found my Surly 1x1. It was missing when I woke up; I was certain someone had borrowed it to ride home the night before. Turns out I had left it behind in the Grumpy's parking lot when I absconded with the sswc2g tshirt boxes the night before. Bad move, driving.

GeneO led us on a ride along the river, sampling some of our finest local singletrack, while escorting Blick and Delacruz to the airport to catch their flight home to Laguna Beach. Four hours later, we were toast, we including, Chipps, Jo Burt, E.Richter, Ben Hewitt, and yours truly. Refueling at Baja Tortilla Grill, E & I went out on the 3rd Annual Northeast Bar Hop ride, hosted by Breakfast Served All Day and J. Gerlach.

5.15.00 Monday morning was an open-air breakfast at the Sunnyside Up, and while Chipps, Jo, and Ben endured one more GeneO bushwack ride, Eric and I drank coffee at Bob's Java Hut before paying a visit to Castelli USA, along with Cyclesport International, my old Team Catera pals. At 5 o'clock I strapped Chipps' and Jo's bike on the roof of the Foxy Wagon, and hauled the limey bastards, along with long, tall Vermonter Ben Hewiit to the airport. Monday night, Eric, GeneO, Catboxx, Kelli, Shauna, and myself walked in the light rain to Origami and spent $300 on sushi. Gorged, I went home and went to bed.

Today it is Thursday, May 18. I am still wiped out from this monumental weekend. My shoulder still throbs. It's a wonder how I didn't break my collarbone. It's amazing that the Mpls. Mafia pulled off such an over-the-top event. Far beyond my expectations. Though I knew that the hardcorpse would break necks to put on a good show, it could have been marred in any number of ways. It's humbling. I'm proud. I'm stoked. I can't believe no one went to jail. Thank you to all of you for your own unique contributions.

OLN USA will air their piece on The Single Speed World Championships approximately mid July. Check the OLN web-site at www.greatoutdoors.com for airtimes.