The whistle blows. I'm racing along with the pack, keeping an eye on the jersey in front of me, barely aware of the rider behind me. My pace is steady and the obstacles are manageable. Then suddenly I notice that my breathing is a little forced. I'm taking larger gulps of air and trying to calm them down by breathing through my nose. I ignore the discomfort and keep on. Half a lap later my gasping is so loud that spectators can hear it. Instead of cheering they pause and listen. They know that something is wrong. They might even spot the problem before I do. In my mind I'm thinking: It's a race. It's supposed to be hard. There is supposed be pain. I'm pushing the pace. I'm focused on a goal. It is within this mentality that I am often the last to acknowledge what is happening, I was hyperventilating. My lungs were restricting, closing up, depleting the oxygen that my muscles desperately needed. I was growing weaker, getting slower. The obstacles be...

Introduction:  It's known as the party class. In CXSS you might race a gorilla, battle with Batman or tangle with a triple tandem. Bacon, bananas and beer are acceptable hand-ups. You choose one chainring, one cog and seal your fate with burning lungs and acid filled thighs. There is no description of this class that doesn't include the word: Crazy. This made me wonder if my sullen disposition and oft poetic ruminations were simply too serious for singlespeed. Then I thought... screw it! I'm gonna write whatever I feel. The Perfect Gear: Perfection is an ideal developed for suckers. Striving to attain ultimate glory with calculated inches is akin to maximizing horsepower with a new transmission. The vehicle is a tool. Only operators can fail. Only riders can lose. When I asked my local bike shop about dropping to 41t in light of my struggle to conquer ascents, they said no. Build stronger legs, they said. Build stronger lungs. When a retailer tells you not to ...

Photo by Pete Miner "I can't find a pulse," said the nurse who was pinching my right wrist. My ghost white body lay unmoving in the Millenium Medical facility. My eyes were closed and blood pooled under the heal of my left foot. My 2nd Cyclocross race was only 11 days away but I was starting to doubt that I would make it. I was having a little struggle with mortality but, as Billy Crystal's character in The Princess Bride said, I was only mostly dead . A Doctors voice urged from my left, "Come back to us son, open your eyes." They slowly opened to the light. "You're gonna be okay." I was surrounded by people and they sounded very worried so I tried to reassure them with weak words, "I'm here. I'm alright." "What is his blood pressure?" The Doctor was holding my hand while giving directions. "60 over 30." He nodded, "Let's get him some oxygen." Plastic tubes slid into my nose follow...