SSWC2007- Aviemore, Scotland
When I was a kid, my parents sent me to camp for a week each summer. I recall each time I'd arrive at camp, there was a mixture of friends from last summer and a bunch of new faces. By the end of the week you knew at least half of them, you had more fun than was imaginable and you didn't want to leave or say goodbye.
The same is true each time I go to Singlespeed World Championships. I'm greeted by the best damned people in the world, whether I know them or not. We play hard, drink hard and ride hard for a week. Even if I see some of these people throughout the year, at tradeshows or other events, it's just not the same playground setting that SSWC delivers.
This year it was situated in Aviemore, Scotland. This was pre-determined after the UK folks won a beer swilling contest (AKA boat race) in Stockholm, Sweden last year and got to choose to be the host. I couldn't have been happier that they won, because the Brits and Scots were always the last people standing with us Americans each night, year after year.
En route to Scotland, Andy "Chu Hi" Corson, Ron "Chewey" Moffit, Hurl "Hurl" Everstone and I stopped for 24 hours in Reykjavik, Iceland. We really just wanted to check things out, so we walked around town, swam in some mineral spring geothermal baths, found some fish-n-chips and hit the local bar. Reykjavik is basically an old fishing village and viking outpost that is both desolate, cool, creepy and beautiful all at the same time. Later on we found a trendy little bar and spent $8-12 per pint the rest of the night as the locals cozied up next to us on the rain soaked patio. There was laughter involved.
The next travel day was as easy as 1-2-3. A 1-hour cab ride and a 2-hour flight on 3 hours of boozey sleep. Once in Glasgow, Scotland, we met Minnneapolis girl Shawn "Nutter" Postera, got our rental cars and drove on the other side of the road to Perth. Fiona Lockhart (also Mpls local) and her broken foot arrived at the train station, complete with her crutches strapped to her bike rack. We drove to Aviemore, found our rental house and flopped on the beds in relief that our travel day was over. We cooked some food, drank some beers and caught up on sleep. There was laughter involved.
Aviemore is a small little resort town with downhill skiing, golfing, hunting and a seemingly endless amount of beauty. In addition to the single speeders in town, there were also people in town for a chainsaw wood carving contest and some sort of ramp-jumping-into-the-water contest. These next few days consisted of catching group rides from town, catching up with old friends and catching a buzz at the bar later on. Sleep, rinse, repeat. There was laughter involved.
Onto race day. Fortunately, not too many people take this race seriously and they end up staying out until late the night before. It isn't about performing well, it's about maximizing the fun:hour ratio and sleeping is usually sacrificed. When I woke up the next morning, I recalled Hurl being the only other person awake with me before stumbling to bed. When I asked what time we got to bed, his answer was "a quarter to hell". As much as my head hurt at that moment, there was laughing involved.
We rode down to the race start, which was actually just the start of an hour-long rollout ride to the real start of the race course. Most of the people were quiet on this morning ride. Perhaps pre-race jitters, perhaps just burning off the fumes. Either way, we were strolling through some of the most incredible green and heather purple colored coutryside in the world with some of the best people on the planet. A kind dreadlocked gent from Australia named Dam-o had a bike sound system that was playing Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass. It was surreal.
The race course was 5 laps and we were guaranteed by the organizers, Telly Savalas Players Club, that it would hurt. The start rules had you put your bike down and run/walk/whatever for a few minutes until you find your bike again. Since the Indian food from the night before was burning a hole in my region, I opted to walk it out. By the time I found my bike, I was not-so-surprisingly riding with the same back-of-the-pack people I always ride with. Perfect.
The terrain was as rocky, raw and technical as expected. Towards the end of my first lap, the fit f'ers were lapping me and I pulled aside to watch them skip through the rocks with ease. I don't know how, but Adam Craig took his eyes off the trail to comment on my helmet of choice while he proceeded to close the gap on the three leaders.
At the end of my first lap, I was thirsty and stopped for a can of beer. This turned into a couple cans of beer, which turned into heckling the racers, which turned into spanking the lycra wearers, which turned into the only lap I'd ever finish. No worries, because having fun is the name of the game and there was an abundance of laughter involved.
As Adam Craig, now well in the lead of the race, passes through the start/finish/heckling area wanting something to drink. Everybody offers their water, but he refuses. Then I hand him my warm half can of Heineken and he's off riding again. As soon as he was out of sight from us, he crashed, went over the bars and skinned his elbows, but didn't even dent the can. He went on to not only win, but give me back my can and coozie and thank me for the beer hand up. Who said pro racers suck?
We all rode back into town after the race without Chewey. Nobody knew where he was, but if the woods swallowed him up, at least he died a happy death. In reality, he was out on the course, cleaning up the beer stash, chatting with locals, re-riding some of the technical trails and going for DFL, which he probably "won". The prize ceremony ensued, we gave away a frameset to the local who was the best volunteer of the event, there was a beard contest, a group Scottish dancing contest and a few more necessary goofy contests for prizes.
Then the competition to see who would host SSWC2008 was on. Honestly, I didn't pay much attention to how this was resolved, but there was a side-by-side stationary rollers racing contest followed by a not-so-wee swally of scotch followed by a Scottish dance-off. It was Curtis Inglis from Napa, California versus some hilarious guy from Durango, Colorado. The winner didn't appear to be the first on the bike or the first done with the scotch or the best dancer. But it was determined by crowd applause, which went to Curtis, respectively. So start saving up for wine country because SSWC2008 is going to be held in or around Napa, California next year. Guess who cannot wait?
On the last day, 8 of us drove back to Glasgow for the night before flying back to the States. We stayed in a cute little B&B and walked the streets looking for trouble. We found real graffiti, bars inside 200-year old churches, good food, better beer, the best cider ever and it sealed our love for this amazing country called Scotland.
It was naturally hard to say goodbye, especially knowing I'd have to ween myself from all the laughter slowly. But there is nothing like your own bed at the end of travel. Perhaps a more concise summary of the events I witnessed can be found in these here photos.
SSWC2007 photos here
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