[This is the third report in a series on learning cyclocross by contributor Stephanie Chase. Read the other two here and here.]
I run like a fairy. Seriously. Stick me in a tutu, cue “Swan Lake,” and I would fit right in; except for the fact that I’m in cycling shoes, sweating, awkward, and holding a bike.
At the third Alpenrose Cyclocross Clinic, we got closer to practicing on an actual cross course complete with a few barriers. I quickly learned that despite their diminutive appearance, the barriers were troublesome obstacles determined not to let me get over very easily.
finer pleasures.
(Photo © Jonathan Maus)
Part of the problem was them, but a good chunk of my stumbling and falling was my own fault. The pixie-like running didn’t help, either. After dismounting before the barrier, instead holding the bike up and dashing over the top like a pro, I fumbled into these little stutter steps followed by some kind of odd leap.
Back on the ground, it was more of the little stutter steps before grabbing the saddle with right thigh. All that’s missing was a pirouette. In my quest to look cool and badass, I am clearly losing.
Further complicating my quest for coolness, cyclocross seems to discriminate against the short. Instead of being able to reach down, slip my shoulder under the top tube and ease the bike up, like those lucky ones with 55 cm bikes, I had to pull some pretzel-like maneuvers to get my shoulder into my 49 cm Kona.
Not only is it more difficult to shoulder smaller bikes, but it’s harder to get enough clearance over the barriers. All this is particularly ego-crushing; a month ago during a visit to the doctor, I learned that I am actually 5’6, not 5’4 which is what I had been telling people since I stopped growing at sixteen.
Empowered with my newfound height, getting over a simple barrier should’ve been easy, right? Nope. My first couple attempts resulted in a bulldozing of the barrier. Those extra two inches proved worthless; hence I went back to my odd leaping which allowed me enough clearance.
The last clinic is tonight. It’s been hard, but I’m hooked. ‘Cross has suckered another one in!
Editor’s note: Congratulations Stephanie!
Thanks for reading.
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I have a shorter friend who does cross, and she and I thought up an idea that perhaps could level the playing field, so to speak.
Perhaps some limbo-type barriers could be added to the repertoire. Something that would be harder for us tall folks and easier for the shorties out there.
Cross spectators love a good barrier crash. They\’ll probably pay less attention to your style of making it over the barriers than they will your grace in falling, but they always cheer when you get up and keep going.
I ride a 54 aluminum fuji and have similar issues shouldering the bike (fat aluminum tubes). But in all of the cross races I have been in I have only needed to shoulder the bike in a couple of places. Usually with the barriers I hold the top tube and the top of the drop bars and lift the bike not quite to my shoulder (against my arm). It works real well for me and the transition back on the bike is easier. Also I have found that running the barriers without a bike to get the spacing and speed down is good practice. It\’s a mental thing for me, and once I get the run down it all falls into place. Oh, one more thing. I have also found that confidence is the key when re-mounting. A lot like surfing really. I bet no one has compared cyclocross to surfing! I know you think I am crazy but here is the idea. When catching a wave you need to commit to the \”pop up to stand\” to get the rail in and surf down side of the wave. If you stutter, wait a millisecond, do not commit, you pile head first down the face (ouch). Commitment is everything. When remounting after the barriers have confidence and commit. No stutter steps! You will be more fluid with the run bike transitions and expend less energy. It\’s a mental thing really, and once you get past the stutter steps you wonder why it seemed so hard to commit to them.