Saturday night was my first bike race ever. It was on the open streets of downtown Chicago, cold, and at the same time hundreds of people were driving home from the Ballet and Chicago Lyric Opera. Does this sound like a recipe for disaster?
Living in Chicago for a couple of years, I had heard about alleycat races. Covert competitions where the contestants were mainly bike messengers; packs of riders tearing through open streets unannounced, doging cars and stoplights. At first i thought this sounded crazy and dangerous. After commuting downtown for a couple of years it still sounds that way, but it also sounds alot like my daily rides. So I showed up at 9pm at the meeting point listed on the flyer, unsure of what to expect but ready for some fun. Outside of Cal's Liquor Store there was a group assembling, dressed in a combination of racing jerseys and ripped clothes; spandex, winter hats, and messenger bags. My friends Ian and Yoon were there, as well as a handful of people I know from Critical Mass. Everyone was bubbling with good-natured enthusiasm and drinking beer or hopping around to stay warm. There were a couple of rockabilly bands, complete with suits and frilly shirt fronts, dragging amps and stand-up bases past the clusters of racing bikes outside of Cal's, which doubles as a late-night rock'n'roll dive bar.
"Are YOU going to be racing tonight?"
"Did you see some of the competition?"
"So why are all of these bikes out here?"
"You're just going to race out in the STREET? Do the police know you're doing this?"
There was constant exchange between the racers, race spectators, and Cal's patrons. It reminded me of punk rock shows in Wisconsin and the way people would stand outside between bands and freeze in the pre-winter night air. Everyone was friendly. I had more strangers approach me and strike up conversations than I have in the last month. It was apparent that the racers were more than just a crowd, they were a tight knit community.
The rules were simple. Registration was five dollars. The course started outside Cal's, on Van Buren, and ran up Franklin, east on Lake, south on Wabash, and back west on Van Buren, a roughly two mile loop under the downtown El tracks. You did as many laps as you could in 40 minutes, then the officals yelled "last lap" and you hammered down for one more trip around. There were cash prizes for the top three overall, top woman, and top fixed gear.
"This is not a life or death situation," said the wiry black messenger who was officiating the race. The riders lined up in the alley, straddling their skinny racing machines.
"If the police stop you, you are not racing. You are just out for a ride. Do not tell them where the finish line is. Skitching is legal, drafting is legal, pretty much anything goes, but remember: you are out here to have fun. If you aren't going to make it through an intersection, don't push it. This is not life or death."
With that, the race was off. My first experience racing proved to be very positive. I got into a pace that was almost meditative and I focused on every part of my body to make it move in time. Push out all of the bad air, now breath in, keep focused on cadence and peddling form. I squeaked through traffic without any close calls and only got lapped by one rider. Before I knew it I heard the "last lap" call and I was riding as hard as i could, flying between the concrete El track supports, bunnyhopping chuckholes and tucking low over my handlebars for that final burst of speed.
I rode five laps in just over 40 minutes, and according to the count at the finishline, came in 10th out of 28. The last racers finished and people massed back up outside of Cal's to cool down, drink liquids, warm up, and hand out prize money. 1st place went to Nico, a guy from the Triple-X messenger racing team. I hooked back up with Yoon and Ian and got ready to head out to the after-race-party. Just as we were leaving, in a fit of irony and broken glass, a car driver blew a stoplight and smashed into two other cars right in front of the bar. This was mere feet from where the crowd of racers and spectators were gathered, and there was a general grim amazement that we had spent the last hour risking traffic at high speed, only to be nearly hit by a car while standing safely on the sidewalk. Fortunatly no one was injured and everyone proceded to the party in high spirits.
Hey, look what Andy is doing in Wisconsin!
:: Ira
11:03 AM
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