Ode to the Single Speed

Single-speed. The mention of this phrase may conjur up numerous images in your mind. Perhaps its of the first bike you had, that BMX style vehicle of fury on which you hopped from sidewalks and curbs with inexplicable mediocraty, destined to become the next Evil Knevel. Maybe its simplicity. The simplicity of having but one gear, pedals, and a set of brakes connecting you to the ground giving you the freedom to focus on cycling in its purest form. Or maybe its "Holy crap, thats nuts" as was my buddie's reaction when, as I am feverishly pumping up the quickly flattening tire on my expensive new mountain bike, a single speed cyclist comes pumping up the snow covered trail towards us. Sans fork, movable gears, and disc brakes the rider slows a bit as he passes and asks "You guys alright". I of course, quickly retort "Oh yeah!" knowing full well neither me or Brad had a tube that fit my rim and a patch kit was less than useless in this extreme cold. But how could I accept help from this madman? His bike appeared to be made of that inferior, rust prone material...steel and was outfitted with *gasp* centerpull brakes! He surely wouldnt have anything that would help us "real" mountain bikers. "Ok" he said and sent his legs whirring as he spun effortlessly past us on up the hill.

It wasnt like I wanted the day to go any worse. It had started out on a pretty normal note, with Brad, Shawn, and I being the only ones that made it for the sub-30 degree ride. We stood around in front of my house fiddling with gearing, dialing in brake pads, and talking about how cool the latest cycling technology was. My cyclocomputer said 25.9 degrees as we were leaving the driveway and headed out to the 7-8 miles of trails that were a mere half-mile from my doorstep. However, within 200 feet of my house on the first climb, Shawn's derailluer popped and bound up. His derailluer hanger was instantly broken like a potato chip (I said it was cold, right?) and his ride was over. As Shawn headed back to the house to begin calling local shops for repair parts, Brad and I head to our first trail in Frontier Plaza. Our legs are feeling good and we made it through Frontier loop without incident. On our entry into the Washington State trails, its a different story. First I am slapped in the face at 15mph by a stick overhanging the trail. A bit further down the trail, Brad's chain pops and makes a horrendous grinding noise, which both of us are certain signals the end of his ride and a long walk back to the house. All is well, however and we are back underway. Things go smoothly until we reach the Pine Thicket, quite possibly the most fun part of the trail and the descent of which is our reward for the past twenty some odd minutes of climbing. It is here, under the cover of darkness (save our headlights) that I begin to feel that telltale "whishy-washy-ness" of a leaking back tire. I wait until I am almost riding on the rim and we stop and begin pumping the tire back up. Thus begins the mind-numbing process of riding 100 feet, stop and pump the tire up, repeat. This is also when we met "The SingleSpeeder" and we had the conversation that opened this post.

As my arm burns from the nearly one million pumps it takes to fill a mountain bike tube with a mini pump, I marvel at why anyone would do that to themselves. Why limit yourself to one gear for all situations? Why pound yourself into oblivion with a solid fork instead of one of the nice cushy suspension forks on our bikes? Why stick to a braking system from decades past instead of moving up to disc brakes like the rest of the world? I pondered these questions and more as we made our slow painful descent back to civilization. Upon reaching the paved road, I knew my tube was a goner. We were stopping to pump after just a few pedal strokes and I was within a few miles of my house so I told Brad to head on home. I was going to hoof it from here. He obliged, after some prodding, and I watched his taillight dissappear over the hill kicking myself for not having an extra tube. There was only the sound of my pedal clips scraping against the pavement and the occasional passing car as snow began to fall and I trudged home. By the time I reached my block, our 30-40 minute ride had turned into a 2 hour marathon of repairs, hiking, and singing "Eye of the Tiger" over and over in my head. My toes were near frozen and my gloves had frozen to the handlebars. Just as I was cresting the hill that leads back to my house, a cyclist passed me. Wearing what appeared to be army issue cold weather pants with the legs duct-taped closed, the guy passed with one of the smoothest pedal turnovers I had seen. It was "The SingleSpeeder". He had ridden enough trails for the night and was on his return trip home. He waved as he pedaled by and out of sight, large tanklike tires whirring in the distance. It was then, at that very moment that I envied him. Whether he rode single speed because he is a purist or because he realizes that the majority of the newest technology available on mountain bikes does crappy in cold weather (think fork seals, hydraulic brakes, composite metal parts, etc.), I didnt know. But it didnt matter to me. He was riding and I was not. My light cross-country tires with their itsy bitsy thin walled tubes had failed on a night that his heavy mud tires had not.

So SingleSpeeder, I salute you. I will by no means give up my gem of a bike (I love it), but you have inspired me to build my own single-speed for those blustery winter rides or the days I just need to remember what biking is all about: forgetting about everything except the pulse of your legs and the whir of the tires.