Cycling Blogs - Kathryn LaPointe

Mysteriously, factoring out gears has made me a much better rider. Maybe the 29s help, too.

Does it really matter, anyway?

My third ride on my new bike: Santa Barbara Bike Festival at Elings Park, XC race #6 in the Southern California State Series.

If you ride, hike or shuttle to the top of the urban hill, you are treated to spectacular views of the Pacific to the west. To the east, you can marvel at the towering mountains that Lance sometimes trains on. Nestled in between the two, a minature Santa Barbara charms like a school child's diorama of Mission architecture and swaying palms.

The course is as unforgiving as they come. Each six mile lap features over eight hundred feet of gain, cruelly distributed over three trips up and down the hill. Per six mile lap. You better like to climb: gravel road, switchback uphill singletrack, endless stretch of pavement.

Steering is not optional, either. The top is a spaghetti bowl of trails that loop back on each other, with each turn hidden by brush and wild fennel. And do try not to smoke your brakes on the hugely bumpy descent.

Who could ask for more? Even Bikini Girl was on hand, complete with cowbell, and not much else.

In my quest to find a race length I'm better suited for, I signed up for Cat 2 Singlespeed. Except they were scheduled to go three laps, just like the expert women. And I didn't bring a geared bike. Waiting for the start, I waved longingly back at the sport women. Only two laps for them. Sigh.

Eighteenish miles, 2500 feet of up.

I took my time up the first road climb, waiting for the deliciously long single track downhill. I'm still getting used to rotating the big wheels around the turns, but am already quite fond of their thundering velocity. That section is so bone rattling that by the third lap it became a water bottle graveyard. Lots of rocks to avoid, drinks shaken loose by the chattering choked the line.

As the only woman singlespeeder, back of the men, ahead of the geared women, I enjoyed being in a class by myself. I had decided to simply enjoy the new bicycle, but couldn't resist charging up the steep parts and risking crashes on the way down.

The sport women caught me early in their second lap, and I didn't try to retaliate, as I still had one more to go. Instead of resenting their ability to now visit the beer tent, I found myself with plenty of ganas to knock off one more.

Those trails were so perfect, and the ocean so sparkly, I was almost sad when it was over. Almost.

As much as I am surprised at my sudden ability to ride a bike, I'm even more startled by people cheering for me. Lacking a team, and hanging off the end of my former category, I've had to rely on internal chanting to get me through the long anonymous day.

On a singlespeed, though, I'm suddenly interesting. I swear I'm not on it for the style points, or to achieve some anachronistic teeth gritting glory. But I'll take the encouragement, truly. And thank you.

Larry Longo, the voice of Team Big Bear, sweetly called out my name when I finished, and insisted I stand on the boxes by myself for my latest attendance medal.

For the first time, ever, he also announced my shop. Kathryn LaPointe, riding for Quality Bike.

Two weeks ago, I questioned whether I should be out there at all. Now, it actually matters who I ride for. Weird.

If this season hadn't been so previously rotten, I doubt I'd have risked the expense and learning curve of a new bicycle.

Practicing the hill the day before, I had envied the downhillers their cush truck taxi to the top. But I had a lot of time to reflect on pain during Sunday's long, extremely sore muscled drive home.

I wonder if cross country misery is the price one pays for a sense of ownership of the view. Or if oxygen debt makes everything look shinier than it really is.