9 rounds in and the London Cross family of riders, dogs, kids, mums, dads, broken mechs and snapped chains steadies itself for the second start of the season, the bit where it gets COLD!
In late September, it is basically tropical, your only issue is if you’ve glued your mud tyres to your one set of wheels you’re running this season (you naturally broke everything last season and decided on an ‘all in one basket’ approach this year) and your now super soft compound tractor tyres are going to be worn out by lap two of the first round and about as fast as glacial drift.
In October you are starting to wonder what all the fuss was about last year, you seem to recall lathering heat rub into places you shouldn’t but you can’t remember why? This is quickly rectified with a bout of monsoon deluges that remind you why you have no bearings, a portable jet wash and a car that looks like a kennel. But at least you got the right tyres on!
Proper warm ups – essential for ‘cross. Photo: Roeland Suys
By November you are so into this you are thinking of moving to Oudenaard and starting an expat bunkhouse right on the famous Belgian cobbles. Your setup is dialed, your ranking is getting better and you’ve managed to convince yourself that anaerobic threshold for an hour should be followed closely by week long recovery and no holds barred eating. Annoyingly you notice something, its taken around 2 minutes to get into your skinsuit shaving at least 2 minutes off your personal best and you are reminded, its getting cold!
December you line up, the thick fog of festive appointments and work functions has meant enthusiasm for destroying your pristine beauty on a warm up lap is at an all time low. Walking the course may be an option but so is sitting in the car with the heater on until call up. Doubts have crept in that you were ever meant to take this sport too seriously and you are giggling at the fact you put on 5kilo’s in 2 days, it’s just a bit of fun right?
Graeme Arnott found ‘cross a great way to get through the Australian winter. Photo: Adam MacLeod
January, with Christmas presents dripping off your machine you realize why your cross bike rules and your road bike is a bit rubbish, the festive child gets all the attention! With renewed motivation you dive out your car to sign on while dropping belly laughs with your fellow riders at how ‘insane’ you all are in -5deg. One corner in and you are reminded that ice is the distant cousin of concrete, just a little uglier.
February rolls in and by now if you haven’t destroyed your bike completely or your body is still willing to face being assaulted by both nature and need you witness the glorious coming of age of the cyclocrosser. The reverse morphing from butterfly to battle hardened worm. One who meaningfully marches over to sign on in a blizzard with a knowing glint in the eye, icicles forming across a growing beard and steam rising from your mug of over sweat tea. The knowing nod, the routine of prep, the blistering start, the heavy landing and the perfect execution. The grab, the dab, the mix, the madness, pumping hearts and scrambling feet. You dig in, you battle, you cross the line, everything was left on that pitch, everything.
The clarity of focused insanity, another season done too soon but an education on everything that matters and the multitudes that doesn’t, keep fighting crossers enlightenment only comes through suffering!