Photos by: Tim Cannard and Corvos Images

It’s been three days since I left Louisville, Kentucky, yet my ears are still ringing from the cacophony of cowbells, my knuckles are still bruised and bloody from working on bikes and I’m still finding bluegrass mud hidden in nether regions of my body. Although I’ve been a cyclocrosser for more than 15 years, I’ve never experienced extremes like the ones witnessed in Louisville last week. From 70 degree temperatures with tornadoes and thunderstorms to face-numbing single digit readings with four inches of snow, experiencing one week of weather in Louisville for the 2013 Cyclocross World Championships was like experiencing one year of weather in any normal part of the world.

Aside from the ludicrous changes in weather, equally ludicrous was the amount of mud every racer, mechanic and even spectator had to endure. Woe to the person who showed up at Cyclocross Worlds sporting a new pair of hiking boots. One walk around the course – especially the Masters venue – and they were essentially ready for the trash can. The rubber boots I bought at Home Depot might have been the best 18 dollars I ever spent in my life, aside from the 30 dollars I spent on a waterproof rain suit and the two dollars I spent on a “I heart Hot Moms” t-shirt for the Raleigh Singlespeed Derby on Thursday night (which ended up the best event all week long).

If the weather wasn’t apocalyptic enough for the first ever Elite Cyclocross World Championship in America, old man Ohio River decided it was a good time to show all the Euros how a real river overruns its banks, ‘Merican style. Ten feet higher than normal levels, the rising Ohio River forced UCI officials to reschedule all Sunday events – including the main event – to Saturday in order to prevent the Cyclocross World Championships from becoming the Cycloswim World Championships. Good thing they did, because on Sunday morning, half the course was filled with radioactive carp and catfish.

To read about the conditions in Louisville and to actually experience them were two completely different things. As you read this you might think, “Okay, so there was mud and it was cold, big deal. HTFU.” For better context of how insane the conditions were, as I stood at a power washer in 15 degree weather with frozen Kentucky mud completely paralyzing the drivetrain of my teammate’s bike, a WD40 Bike employee who was busting his hump in a futile attempt to remove the frozen concrete told me “This mud can rip a track off an Abrams tank. I’ve seen it. I was stationed in the military here years ago.”

Editor’s Note: The Angry Singlespeeder is a collection of mercurial musings from contributing editor Kurt Gensheimer. In no way do his maniacal diatribes about all things bike oriented represent the opinions of Mtbr, RoadBikeReview, or any of their employees, contractors, janitorial staff, family members, household pets, or any other creature, living or dead. You can submit questions or comments to Kurt at singlespeeder@consumerreview.com. And make sure to check out Kurt’s previous columns.

What do you call two people going for a bike ride? A race. What do you call two people with Strava going for a bike ride? A race that never ends.

In concept, Strava seems like a good idea; mapping rides and archiving them for people to reference is a terrific service. It’s especially terrific for out-of-towners who don’t know of any good places to ride and need a quick guide at their fingertips. But in reality, I think Strava sucks because of one main reason — humans can’t be trusted to use it in a socially responsible manner. It fuels the alpha-male ego in all of us, eroding the social fabric that makes riding bikes fun.

Whatever happened to the old days of training where you had a wristwatch and a segment you regularly rode? Some days you’d go out by yourself and hammer it, other days you’d ride with friends and enjoy the social aspect of chasing after the fittest guy, seeing if you could hang.

Nowadays people brag about being 10th out of 200 on a specific climb, as if it’s some kind of huge achievement. Who cares? On Strava, if you’re not first, then you might as well be last. And that’s the problem. The constantly futile quest to be first is ruining the pleasure that used to come with riding a bike.

Strava is a true paradox, as it’s the most anti-social form of social media. Because everyone is so hell bent on personal best times or bagging the cherished KOM, people don’t talk to one another as much during rides. They’re either hammering, or getting ready to hammer. The social interaction doesn’t happen until everyone goes home and starts dicking with their smartphone or computer, giving ‘kudos’ and other cyber high-fives.

In a world without Strava, on any given day you could be first to the top of a climb and say “Yeah, I crushed that mountain. It was a good day.” With Strava keeping record, the results only confirm your overall mediocrity. At least without Strava, you could still claim that you were fastest on that one particularly good day.

Thanks to Strava, recovery rides are also a thing of the past. If you do a recovery ride and happen to have your phone or Garmin working, people will see you were 185 out of 200. Then the rumors start flying. “Oh man, did you see Billy Bob’s time up Monkey Hump? He must have fallen off the wagon!” And what fragile cyclist ego can handle that kind of abuse.

If you want to race, then either find the fastest group ride in your area, or open up your wallet and sign up for a race. Racing by yourself – or worse – racing on a ride that’s not supposed to be a race is just poor form. In the same way smartphones have forever altered the social code of human interaction, Strava has changed the way people ride — for the worse.

I don’t have a Garmin. I don’t even have a smartphone. I have an old piece of shit flip phone and rely on something called maps. You know, the paper kind? The kind with topographical lines and waypoints that tell you where an old mine shaft, service road or 4×4 trail is? Maps that you actually have to study before going out on a ride, so when you’re neck deep in the woods or way out in BFE you still have some idea of where you are. Thanks to the proliferation of Strava, cartography is a dying art.

Perhaps the greatest pleasure of not being on Strava is beating someone who contests every KOM. Most times I let the Strava kooks have their little race to the top. But once in a while I get fed up with the social disruption and get in the mix. Great satisfaction comes from beating a Stravaddict, because even though he holds the KOM, he knows he really doesn’t hold the KOM. Indeed, there are probably hundreds of luddites out there just like me who are not on Strava but who can ride his prized KOM faster.

And because you can never trust humans to behave responsibly, there’s all kinds of Strava-induced idiocy happening that not only ruins the social enjoyment of riding, but also hurts our broader reputation in the community. Take for instance the geniuses who are riding illegal mountain bike trails, then posting their Strava segments for private landowners, land managers and park rangers to see. Not only does this make the entire cycling community look bad, it puts future land access in jeopardy. On legal trails, corners get cut and obstacles removed all in the name of a few hollow, useless “kudos.”

Thanks to the constant quest of chasing KOM segments, humans are always looking for ways to game the system. There are even tips and tricks on how to cheat Strava, like driving your car to a big climb and doing it fresh or ending an actual segment inside your house so nobody can ever take your KOM. Seriously? And I thought running traffic lights, rolling stop signs and illegally weaving between traffic was moronic enough.

Most cyclists are familiar with the story of William “Kim” Flint II, the Berkeley, CA cyclist who was killed in 2010 when he careened into a car while chasing the elusive South Park Drive KOM downhill segment. In typical American fashion, a lawsuit quickly followed, filed by the family of Flint claiming Strava as the liable party. Although many believe the lawsuit to be frivolous, it has not yet been thrown out of court. As much as I think Strava sucks, trying to blame Strava for an individual’s irresponsible behavior sucks even harder.

In a world without Strava, riders are not thinking about the dozens of segments on a ride. If they’re riding easy, they can relax and enjoy nature and all the pleasures that riding a bicycle brings. If they’re riding hard, they’re thinking about the guys next to them and who’s going to be first to the top. They beat and hammer on each other, and at the end of the day, they’re not worried about going home to their computer to see who got what. They already know…until the next ride. And that positively doesn’t suck.

Read the counterpoint article “Freewheeling: Why Strava Doesn’t Suck.”

“If you could have one – and only one – bicycle, which would it be?”

All ride and no work makes prickly pear a happy cactus

Editor’s Note: The Angry Singlespeeder is a collection of mercurial musings from contributing editor Kurt Gensheimer. In no way do his maniacal diatribes about all things bike oriented represent the opinions of Mtbr, RoadBikeReview, or any of their employees, contractors, janitorial staff, family members, household pets, or any other creature, living or dead. You can submit questions or comments to Kurt at singlespeeder@consumerreview.com. And make sure to check out Kurt’s previous columns.This article originally appeared on Mtbr.com.

The other night I was faced with a quandary. It was one of the greatest quandaries of my entire life. A friend asked, “If you could have one – and only one – bicycle, which would it be?” I couldn’t immediately answer him, because, quite frankly it blew my mind. I’ve never even considered that kind of situation as a possible reality. One bike to rule all? Seriously? I didn’t think it was a fair question. Riding bikes is like eating chocolate chip cookies; you can never have just one.

I went home, opened the garage and stared at my collection of six bikes. Every one of them I ride, some more often than others, but they all get use. Otherwise, what’s the point in having them? I’ve got two Ibis Tranny mountain bikes (one geared, one singlespeed), an Ibis Hakkalugi Disc cyclocross bike, an early 1980s Columbus-tubed Bianchi touring/cyclocross bike, a Bridgestone RB-1 road bike set up as a singlespeed/fixie and my dad’s 1955 Miele Sport three-speed. Which one to keep?

Modern cross bikes are every bit as fast on the tarmac as most road bikes

Versatility would be paramount in this decision. It would have to be a bike that can do everything, because I’m a guy who likes to ride everything. Whether it’s a century on pavement, a week-long bikepacking trip, miles and miles of singletrack or dirt roads that stretch past the horizon, the perfect bike would have to be able to tackle it all with speed, agility and comfort.

Cyclocross bikes are the proverbial Swiss Army Knife of bikes. They can do anything and go anywhere, so my decision was immediately narrowed down to two bikes – the Hakkalugi Disc and the old Bianchi. Both bikes are incredibly versatile and feel at home both on the fastest stretches of pavement and on rocky, technical singletrack. But which one is better suited for do-all status?

Columbus-tubed Bianchi frame found for free at a garage sale

The Bianchi is near and dear to my heart because it’s a rusty old frame I picked up for free at a garage sale eight years ago. What I love about this bike besides the fact that it was free is its exceptional ride qualities, the original WTB/Specialized dirt drop handlebars, semi-horizontal dropouts for singlespeed use and eyelets for racks and fenders. What I don’t love is its 25 pound heft and its far too narrow 120mm rear hub spacing that limits rear tire width. And despite having Shimano M900 XTR cantilever brakes that work quite well, even the best cantilevers pale in comparison to hydraulic disc brakes.

Even with road slicks a cyclocross bike can explore off-road

For all-out, all-around performance, the Hakka Disc – or any disc brake cyclocross bike for that matter – is a hard bike to beat. Thanks to its 135mm rear hub spacing, not only can the Hakka accommodate 29er mountain bike wheels with tubeless tires as large as 38c, but it also has hydraulic Formula R1 disc brakes to help it conquer some of the most technical trails in San Diego with confident control. The recent advent of hydraulic disc brakes and tubeless tires on cyclocross bikes has only further solidified the cyclocross bike as the ultimate do-all machine.

With hydraulic discs, tubeless tires and a skilled pilot, a ‘cross bike can handle this trail

To prove its worthiness, I took the Hakka down a trail called Bowling Alley, a gnarly, rutted-out downhill in North County San Diego littered with rocks that knock you around like bowling pins. If it weren’t for the hydraulic discs and tubeless tires, there’s no way I would have made it down Bowling Alley without either double flatting or careening off the edge of a cliff with no brakes.

One of the greatest photos of all time – Long live Johnny Tomac

After conquering Bowling Alley, the next morning I slapped a set of 25c road wheels on the Hakka and did the Swami’s Saturday Ride, a super fast and painful road ride that sees uphill speeds approaching 30 mph. The Hakka felt nearly as fast as my old Madone, but with a lot more comfort and braking power. At 17.5 lbs with road wheels, the Hakka isn’t the lightest road bike you’ll ever own, but the Madone wouldn’t last 30 seconds in places that the Hakka thrives. It was hard to believe I was able to ride one of the most technical trails and one of the hardest group road rides in San Diego on the same bike.

So to answer the original question, if I had one bike to rule all, it would actually have to be a cyclocross bike that blended the best attributes of both the Ibis and the Bianchi. I guess you could call it what many consider a “monstercross” bike. It would have to be carbon, because it’s lighter and easily repairable. It would also have to be a disc brake frame with 135mm rear hub spacing, room for at least 38c tires, replaceable dropouts to run as either a geared bike or singlespeed, eyelets for racks or fenders, and oh yeah, it would have to be a breakaway bike so I can travel with it. Now that would be the ultimate Swiss Army Knife of bikes.

It’s a tall order for sure, but if I’m gonna have only one bike, it’s got to have everything. Now, does anybody know if such a beast exists? If so, let me know. I might have to add one to the collection just in case I’m ever forced to sell all my other bikes.

Brendan Collier of The Hub Cyclery in Idyllwild, CA works in front of a warm fire.

Editor’s Note: The Angry Singlespeeder is a collection of mercurial musings from contributing editor Kurt Gensheimer. In no way do his maniacal diatribes about all things bike oriented represent the opinions of Mtbr, RoadBikeReview, or any of their employees, contractors, janitorial staff, family members, household pets, or any other creature, living or dead. You can submit questions or comments to Kurt at singlespeeder@consumerreview.com. And make sure to check out Kurt’s previous columns.

The other day I was at my neighborhood bike shop when I saw this schmucky looking dude trying on some cycling shoes. I too was checking out shoes, but only ones that were on sale because, well, I’m a cheapskate. After trying on three pairs of spendy carbon sole shoes, Schmuck seemed to find a pair he liked. So instead of putting the shoes in the box and walking to the register, he pulled out his smartphone and took a picture of the shoebox.

Considering I still rock a dumb-phone and am clueless about anything related to apps, I asked him what he was doing.

“There’s this cool app that lets me check to see if I can buy these shoes for cheaper online,” said Schmuck. “Yep, here we go. Sweet. I can get these for $75 less on Amazon!”

Schmuck got up, put the shoes back on the rack and walked out the door. For a fleeting second I thought it was a damn good idea for an app, but then I realized something; as much as I think Strava sucks, trying out products at your local bike shop, then using your smartphone to buy it cheaper online is even worse.

What Schmuck was doing is called “showrooming” and it’s become a huge issue for independent bike dealers worldwide. According to marketing research companies Aprimo and Forrester Research, one in five consumers are now showrooming, and one in three leave the store like Schmuck, and then purchase the product from a competitor.

I don’t care if you want to go to Target or some other big box, corporate-owned store worth billions of dollars and showroom a set of cooking pans or a Dutch oven for your wife, but woe to the schmucktard who walks into a local, family-owned bike shop and showrooms.

Bike shops supporting bike shops. A mob of Adams Ave. riders at Velo Hangar in Solana Beach, CA

Hey, here’s a crazy idea. Why not take that pair of shoes up to the counter, show the owner of the shop what you can buy it online for and see if he might be able to work a discount? The bike shop might not be able to sell it as cheap, but you’ll save on shipping, you’ll get personalized service and most importantly, your schmucky cheapskate actions won’t be slowly eroding the business of a local bike shop owner and the entire bike industry as a whole.

If your weak justification for showrooming is that don’t you like your local bike shop anyway, then don’t go there to begin with. Either buy the product online and run the risk that it might not work out, or find a bike shop you like and support them. If you try to use some lame economics 101 justification about “healthy competition”, stop for a second and think; do you care the slightest bit about an industry that provides you with incredible technologies to ride a bicycle further, faster and more effortlessly than ever? More importantly, do you care about the people in the bike industry who work tirelessly every day to make a living?

Of course consumers aren’t entirely to blame. Some online retailers and eBay sellers make matters all too tempting, advertising product prices lower than what a bike shop can even buy them for. Companies like Shimano and Specialized are putting an end to this, cracking down on retailers who sell below minimum suggested pricing (MSP). But there are still plenty of brands out there that can be showroomed.

If you do decide to showroom or choose to buy a product online instead of at your local bike shop, if and when the product breaks, don’t be a colossal schmuck and march into the bike shop you just slighted to demand they warranty it for you. The extra money you pay at a locally owned bike shop is for the personalized service that no online price-finder app can deliver. Who knows, they might even help you find a pair of shoes that fit your feet better and cost less than the pair you just showroomed.

If you’re a true cheapskate who does all his own wrenching and simply refuses to pay full retail for products, then either stick with quality online retailers without showrooming your local bike shop, or better yet, buy what you seek slightly used from private sellers on Craigslist or eBay. There’s always someone who paid full retail for a bike that did nothing but collect dust in a garage, and these gently used bikes can be bought for less than half of retail cost.

In the end, you get what you pay for. The little extra you spend at a reputable, locally-owned bike shop will not only pay off with personalized customer service, but you’ll also feel good in knowing that you’re supporting a fellow cyclist who lives in your community. And most importantly, you won’t be acting like a schmuck.

As cyclists, we all try to push our fitness to a higher level, riding harder, longer and faster, for it’s an inherent part of riding a bike. But the harder we ride and the faster we go, the more we miss.

The Bianchi loaded up with Revelate bags, ready for a 500-mile journey.

Editor’s Note: The Angry Singlespeeder is a collection of mercurial musings from contributing editor Kurt Gensheimer. In no way do his maniacal diatribes about all things bike oriented represent the opinions of Mtbr, RoadBikeReview, or any of their employees, contractors, janitorial staff, family members, household pets, or any other creature, living or dead. You can submit questions or comments to Kurt at singlespeeder@consumerreview.com. And make sure to check out Kurt’s previous columns.

Let’s start today by calling out the obvious. Yes, I’m fully aware the above bicycle has gears on it. I’m a full-blown hypocrite and completely embrace the notion, but as Dirty Harry said in Magnum Force, “a man’s gotta know his limitations.” There is a time and a place for singlespeeding, and humping a 40-plus pound bike up the Pacific Coast Highway for 500 miles qualifies for neither.

This Thursday, I depart from San Diego and point tires northbound to the Sea Otter Classic in Monterey. It will be my virgin bike-packing trip. Well, only semi-bike-packing, as I’m staying with friends along the way. But I am camping two nights, so I guess it partially counts. The weather forecast for my five-day adventure is looking stellar. It’s a good thing too, because since this is a total half-assed commitment, I would have bailed on the trip at the slightest chance of rain.

Riding the California coast – and especially writing about riding the California coast – is about as cliché as using a Dirty Harry quote, but they’re cliché for a reason: Everyone loves big guns, Big Sur or both.

The preparation for this adventure takes me back to childhood when my parents would pack the car for our annual two-week summer vacation to Cape Hatteras. The loading of the car would start several days in advance, and I counted down the hours to our departure with more anticipation than the hours before Christmas. Life was good as a kid; all of the adventure without any of the responsibility or expense.

The drive from New Jersey to the Outer Banks was almost as much fun as being on the beach itself (except for the never-ending DelMarVa Peninsula). Sitting in the backseat, I watched the world happening all around me. No DVD players, no video games and no devices that start with a lower case “i”; just a back seat, a window and the outside world.

The higher you climb, the better the view.

This time around the seat is much smaller and the effort much greater, but the sensation of freedom and wonder will be exponentially higher. Mapping the routes, preparing my 30-year-old Bianchi, getting advice on gear, and contacting old friends along the route have only made the anticipation greater.

I haven’t even clipped into the pedals yet and the generosity from friends has been amazing. My buddy Ernesto is letting me borrow his complete set of Revelate bike-packing bags, which will make the trip so much more enjoyable.

My friend Kevin is schooling me on the finer points of packing light. Other friends who’ve ridden the coast are providing route intel on bike paths and back roads. And my teammate Brock is meeting me in Big Sur to ride the last stretch of the trip.

My gear is quite minimal. A hammock (of course), small tarp, lightweight sleeping bag, a down jacket, wool base layer top and bottom, breathable rain jacket, zip off pants/shorts, short sleeve shirt, a couple pairs of socks and underwear. That’s it.

The disco ball helmet will be transported by my buddy Phil, so RoadBikeReview’s Sea Otter booth will be dazzling like Studio 54 all week long.

I took the Bianchi out for a little shakedown ride yesterday with bags fully loaded. Although somewhat heavy, the bike rode smooth as glass with rock solid stability. As I crawled at a snail’s pace uphill in the small chainring thinking about the days ahead, an epiphany hit me, which is far more agreeable than a car.

Enjoy life more. Ride slower.

As cyclists, we all try to push our fitness to a higher level, riding harder, longer and faster. But the harder we ride and the faster we go, the more we miss. As I crept uphill at barely jogging pace, I realized how amazing it can be to ride slow. Painfully slow. You see so much more of the world around you. A red-tailed hawk on a telephone pole sizing up its next meal, a little girl playing with a German Shepherd puppy, a drunk guy taking a leak on the roadside while playing with a yo-yo.

The same is in life. The harder we work and the faster we live, the more we miss. Life is painfully short and fleeting, so each and every one of us should slow our lives down a little and see the world around us, both for its beauty and for its utterly comical stupidity.

We’re here today, gone tomorrow. Life presents us opportunities each and every day, but it’s our responsibility to recognize them and Carpe Diem and whatnot. Whatever crazy adventure you have festering in the back of your mind, stop making excuses as to why you can’t do it. Your life is short, and you’ve only got one lap. Don’t finish that lap and look back in regret. Go adventure. Now.

Riding an old steel Bianchi north up the coast from San Diego to Monterey

Every cyclist must experience Highway 1 at least once in their lives.

Editor’s Note: The Angry Singlespeeder is a collection of mercurial musings from contributing editor Kurt Gensheimer. In no way do his maniacal diatribes about all things bike oriented represent the opinions of Mtbr, RoadBikeReview, or any of their employees, contractors, janitorial staff, family members, household pets, or any other creature, living or dead. You can submit questions or comments to Kurt at singlespeeder@consumerreview.com. And make sure to check out Kurt’s previous columns.

It’s been a week since I rolled from Escondido on a 35 year old Bianchi touring bike tipping the scales at 42 pounds. My destination was Monterey where the Sea Otter Classic is underway as we speak. It was to be a five day journey of 560 miles to Santa Cruz, and the weather forecast was looking stellar.

People warned me about the headwinds riding north along the California coast, but on my first 140 mile day to Santa Monica, a 15 mph tailwind pushed me the whole way. Despite the cooperation of Mother Nature, I knew she was breaking me in nice and slow. And indeed she was.

A view of the engine room.

I didn’t need to pack any rain gear because the forecast called for nothing but sun throughout the five day journey by bike. But before my legs even swung over the saddle, I walked outside to find the Bianchi completely drenched in water after accidentally leaving it sitting next to a timed sprinkler that just happened to turn on. Something was telling me this was going to be an unforgettable adventure.

I’ve never done a bikepacking journey like this before, and leaving home on a bike with nothing more than a sleeping bag, hammock, some basic clothing, a camera and a whiskey flask was an incredibly liberating feeling. In fact, I’d never felt so free in my life. For the next five days my existence consisted of only three things: riding, eating and sleeping.

560 miles of beauty…with the exception of Long Beach.

Lately I’ve been going through some serious life changes, including the big “D”, so a trip like this seemed to be the perfect medication to cleanse my mind and soul. Spending time on the bike always clears the mind, and I was expecting to have some kind of epiphany about life. But as I spent as many as 10 hours a day on the bike taking in stunning natural beauty and the oddities of humanity (especially through Venice Beach), there were really only two things on my mind: what I was going to eat and where I could find a good place to pitch my hammock.

The simplicity of my existence was truly amazing. There was no television, no Twitter and no telephones ringing, just an abundance of time and freedom, a sensation that is all too rare in the complex modern world. Literally thousands of cars, trucks and semis buzzed by me during my five day adventure, and although they reached their destinations far faster and more effortlessly than me, they were missing out on the world around them, enclosed in their rolling steel capsules.

The redwoods of Big Sur.

They missed out on randomly bumping into friends along the way, something that happened to me twice; once in San Clemente when I came across my friend Eric riding to work and a second time near Los Olivos when my buddy Elliott drove by on his way to race mountain bikes at Santa Ynez.

They missed out on the post-apocalyptic industrial landscape of Long Beach, riddled with refineries, smoke belching big rigs and treacherous roads where bike commuters ride on bullhorned fixies with no helmets and bandanas over their faces to filter out the pollution.

Stage 1 that starts and finishes in Escondido is sure to crush some Tour of California dreams. It most definitely crushed mine.

Editor’s Note: The Angry Singlespeeder is a collection of mercurial musings from contributing editor Kurt Gensheimer. In no way do his maniacal diatribes about all things bike oriented represent the opinions of Mtbr, RoadBikeReview, or any of their employees, contractors, janitorial staff, family members, household pets, or any other creature, living or dead. You can submit questions or comments to Kurt at singlespeeder@consumerreview.com. And make sure to check out Kurt’s previous columns.

Today we pre-rode Stage 1 of the Tour of California which kicks off tomorrow, starting and finishing in Escondido after 103 miles and 11,000 feet of climbing. Thank God I’m not a professional cyclist. Tomorrow’s stage will be a kick in the crotch with steel-toed boots followed by a sucker punch to the face with brass knuckles, all while being conducted in a Bikram Yoga studio thanks to the heat that will be pushing 100 degrees.

I joined the local Escondido cycling club, The Ranchos, and pre-rode the course with a camera in hand to give you a peek at what the peloton is going to be faced with tomorrow. Being that Escondido has been my hometown for the past five years, I’m very familiar with the challenging terrain which has been home to former Tour winners including Chris Horner and Floyd Landis.

There are five notable climbs in tomorrow’s race. After leaving Escondido and dropping into the hotbox of San Pasqual Valley, riders will tackle Highway 78. Normally a total death trap due to no shoulder and the notorious tweekers and drunks driving their lifted pickup trucks between Ramona and Escondido, the peloton should have no problem negotiating this mild climb that gains about 1,000 feet over five or so miles.

Once through Ramona, the road goes slightly uphill for the next 20 or so miles with a few short downhills, hitting Old Julian Highway before rejoining Highway 78 where riders will roll to Santa Ysabel at about 3,000 feet elevation.

Electronic shifting, carbon wheels, power meters and 140mm stems are all the rage in the pro peloton.

This funky wishbone-style seat tube was spotted on a Cannondale team bike.

Current Road Race World Champion Philippe Gilbert has a TeamMachine in full rainbow stripes regalia.

It was a complete mob scene waiting for Sagan to show his face, but this Cannondale representative was far more accessible.

Radioshack Leopard Trek is one of the few teams that has riders using the top-mounted Di2 climbing shifter for the rear derailleur.

Sporting a mix of old a new, most of the RadioShack Leopard Trek bikes featured the new 9070 11-speed Dura Ace Di2 shifting with older Dura Ace cranks sporting SRM power meters.

This Seasucker portable bike rack found on a 5 Hour Energy team car secures to any roof with high power suction cups.

“I was all packed and ready to ride Tour of California Stage 2, but for once in my life I listened to reason.”

Yesterday’s Tour of California Stage 2 from Murrieta to Palm Springs was the most remarkable finish of a bike race I’ve ever seen in my life. The absolute carnage and destruction of the peloton was unprecedented thanks to soul crushing 23 percent gradients up Tram Way and temperatures that reached 122 degrees when factoring in the radiant heat off the blacktop. I’ve never seen harder men reduced to such human rubble.

Nearly every rider that crossed the line had to be escorted to their team vehicles because they had absolutely nothing left in their bodies to pedal another foot. Salt deposits turned jerseys into hardened pieces of fabric. Riders were splayed out on the ground, stuffing handfuls of ice into their jerseys and on their crotches. Some didn’t even make it to the finish, passing out from heat exhaustion hundreds of meters from the line. Race organizers should thank the heat stroke Gods that nobody died yesterday, or it would have been the end of the Tour of California.

I’ve done a lot of dumb things in my life, and two nights ago while packing my bike and gear into the truck, I realized that pre-riding the 124-mile Stage 2 with a few buddies in 120+ degree heat was going to be another entry in the dumbass files. Everything in my good sense was telling me not to do it, but peer pressure is something fierce, and since a handful of my friends were doing it, well, why shouldn’t I?

Making poor decisions has been a considerable skill for me. Skiing in New Hampshire with a wind chill factor of minus 60 degrees Fahrenheit resulting in permanent nerve damage to my feet, going four-wheeling with my father-in-law, bringing no supplies or tools and getting so stuck in the mud we had to sleep overnight in my brother’s Land Cruiser and widespread destruction of public property as a college student that should have landed me in jail are just a few examples.

So at what point does a man finally listen to that voice inside him saying “just don’t do it”? If you’re a really stubborn ASS like myself, you have to do the same dumb thing several times before you realize it isn’t worth doing anymore. It seems that every time I push my body well beyond its limits, I suffer so horrifically that the only thought going through my mind is “why am I doing this to myself?” It’s usually after the second time you realize the answer; “because I’m a stubborn dumbass.”

I love to ride my bike and I love a challenge, but I love having an affordable healthcare plan even more. I also love not having to get an intravenous drip of electrolytes to keep me from shriveling up into a human-sized raisin. So with a bit of reluctance, I shot my friends a message announcing withdrawal from the pre-ride. As a competitive person who doesn’t often turn down a challenge, it was a difficult message from me to send. But as Dirty Harry says, “a man has got to know his limitations”.

It’s an interesting paradox – humans by nature are programmed to avoid undue pain and suffering, yet many athletes proactively seek it out. This is the true definition of a masochist, and whether professional or just a spectator, everyone who rode Stage 2 of this year’s Tour is a full-blown masochist.

Instead of enduring the brutal heat of the Inland Empire, I opted to stay at the beach in Carlsbad, doing some work while watching endless eye candy stroll by, going for a swim in the ocean and taking a nice sunset spin down Coast Highway. My buddy Victor kept sending me photos of his Garmin. 105 degrees, 113 degrees, and the clincher, a blistering 122 degree reading on Tram Way. Clearly, I had made the right decision.

Who in a sane state of mind would voluntarily be out on their bike in that kind of weather? I don’t even go outside to get the mail when its 122 degrees, let alone ride my bike up a 3.7 mile wall gaining nearly 2,000 vertical feet. Some might call me soft for not having done the ride, and that’s perfectly okay. I’m proud of the decision, because for once I abstained from doing something utterly stupid and extremely dangerous.

They say wisdom comes with age. I’m still a long way from wisdom, but hopefully today got me just a tiny bit closer. My buddy Johnny rode the entire stage and was three Torpedo IPAs deep at the finish line watching the human destruction when he called me.

“You’re a smart man for not having ridden,” he said. “It’s stupid out here, but I conquered this damn mountain, and it feels amazing.”

Although I had made peace with the decision not to ride, there was still a little part of me wishing I had gone ahead with the idiotic mission. But knowing my friends, I’m sure there will be many more opportunities.

In a world of non-stop, in-your-face marketing, don’t lust after what you can’t afford. Be happy with what you have.

Editor’s Note: The Angry Singlespeeder is a collection of mercurial musings from contributing editor Kurt Gensheimer. In no way do his maniacal diatribes about all things bike oriented represent the opinions of Mtbr, RoadBikeReview, or any of their employees, contractors, janitorial staff, family members, household pets, or any other creature, living or dead. You can submit questions or comments to Kurt at singlespeeder@consumerreview.com. And make sure to check out Kurt’s previous columns. This article originally appeared on Mtbr.com.

Brian Caldwell of Highland Way.

My buddy Brian is a bona fide Scotsman. He has thick Scottish accent, a big bright smile, long blonde hair in a ponytail and is a singer/guitarist/songwriter in a popular Scottish folk band in San Diego called the Highland Way. He sings in broad colloquial Scots of the Highlands, and yes, he always wears a kilt to his performances. I cannot confirm or disconfirm whether or not he wears anything underneath.

Beyond his enormous musical talent, Brian is a fascinating guy. He’s a big wave surfer who has traveled the world in search of the ultimate ride, he used to be a windsurfing instructor, he has a recording studio in an old RV in his backyard and he’s married to a falconer. That’s right. His wife walks around with a giant falcon on her arm and raises exotic birds. She is also the only person who is trained and brave enough to work with Honey Badgers at the San Diego Safari Park. To show his pride, Brian wears a Honey Badger t-shirt to our Thursday night mountain bike rides, boasting his wife’s talent and bravery.

Because Brian is Scottish, he is also unabashedly cheap. He’s even proud of his frugality, cracking jokes at his shows including “Scotsmen are so cheap that they’re the only people who can drop a coin and have it hit them on the back of the head as they are picking it up.”

This frugality comes through with his riding gear. He rocks a 10-year-old Bell helmet that’s well past its service life, a pitted-out white cotton undershirt that’s tucked into some threadbare riding shorts and a red Specialized Rock Hopper that’s at least a decade old. Although it’s still in once piece, Brian’s bike is more haggard than Merle, with finely polished chainstays thanks to pedal rub and a head tube completely devoid of red paint on one side thanks to the most severe case of cable rub I’ve ever seen. His tires are almost completely worn down and his saddle has more holes in it than a bag of donuts.

The worse case of cable rub I’ve ever seen

But Brian couldn’t care less. The dude straight up hammers even though his handlebars are far too narrow, his saddle is too low and his cable-operated disc brakes haven’t been serviced in years. My three friends and I – who all ride high-zoot carbon fiber bikes – keep telling Brian he needs to get a new whip. We tell him how much faster he will be with a newer, lighter bike with a better fit, more suspension and superior braking power; not to mention a fresh set of tread. But Brian’s tightwad Scottish upbringing prevents him from making the jump to a new bike. “This old gal is fine for me”, he says.

One day a friend let Brian test ride his full-suspension Niner RDO with full SRAM XX. We were all a bit worried, because we knew that as soon as Brian got going on the bike, his riding would immediately improve. And it did, especially downhill. However, when I asked Brian how he liked the new ride, he simply shrugged his shoulders, flashed a bright smile and said “I dunno, it’s a bike.”

It’s a bike. I couldn’t help but laugh and have a new level of respect for the guy. In a country where in-your-face marketing and non-stop consumption are as routine as eating double bacon cheeseburgers and taking prescription medication, Brian is completely immune to it all. He’s just as happy riding his clapped-out Rock Hopper as he is a Niner worth more than his 20-year-old Toyota 4Runner.

I recently heard a standup routine on satellite radio by Katt Williams. He was talking about being happy with what you have. He said, “If you got a raggedy car, stop talking sh*t about your raggedy car. That’s your raggedy car. You need to go home and wash the sh*t out that muthafu*ka; put Armor All and everything on it.”

Katt Williams professes being happy with what you have.

All too often we get caught up in the trap of not being happy with what we have. Non-stop marketing and meaningless acronyms to describe new useless technologies are designed to make you feel that the bike or gear you have is inferior. With the exception of a few new innovations in the past ten years, there’s very little new under the sun. Don’t lust for something you can’t afford, be happy with what you have; because it’s most likely a lot more that what most everyone else in the world has.

Don’t hate on your bike regardless of how new or old it is, because every time you ride out into the middle of nowhere, you depend on that raggedy bike to get you back home. Treat it right. Wash it, clean it and keep it in good working condition. And when it’s time to buy the bike of your dreams, sell or give your raggedy bike to someone else, because as unlikely as it may sound, a ride like Brian’s old clapped-out Rock Hopper just might be someone’s dream bike.

This holiday, support bike industry manufacturers who make stuff right here in the U.S and A.

Editor’s Note: The Angry Singlespeeder is a collection of mercurial musings from contributing editor Kurt Gensheimer. In no way do his maniacal diatribes about all things bike oriented represent the opinions of Mtbr, RoadBikeReview, or any of their employees, contractors, janitorial staff, family members, household pets, or any other creature, living or dead. You can submit questions or comments to Kurt at singlespeeder@consumerreview.com. And make sure to check out Kurt’s previous columns.

As you’re standing around the barbeque this Fourth of July stuffing your gullet with hot dogs, potato chips, sudsy libations and apple pie while watching your neighbor light his backyard on fire with rogue bottle rockets, think about your next bike-oriented purchase. Whether it’s something as small an inexpensive as a pair of grips or something as wallet busting as an entire bike, do our entire country a favor and buy American.

Most people are patriotic in their spending habits when it comes to talking about spending money. They’ll tell you that they buy American all day long. But when it comes time to open their measly wallet, they look at the increased cost of the American product versus the overseas one, and they suddenly turn into the consumer version of Benedict Arnold.

Talk is cheap; even cheaper than the endless container ships of junk being shipped across the Pacific. Don’t get me wrong, there are of course many high quality products coming from outside the US, but for a little bit more money, you can have a quality American made product that helps support the resurgence of American manufacturers.

Spending money is a hell of a lot easier than making it, but many people think spending it on a quality, American made product is difficult because most everything is made overseas these days. While it’s true that it’s not simple to source products with a Made in USA badge, nothing in this life worthwhile is easy. God forbid we have to take a few minutes, use our brains and scour the Internet.

Intense Cycles has been American made since its inception in 1991, and made patriotic bikes like this for Shaun Palmer.

But the reality is that buying American-made actually isn’t as difficult as you might think. Thankfully for us lazy folk who simply can’t be bothered with doing our own research, there’s a terrific website featuring American-made mountain bike parts called Oldglorymtb.com.

Old Glory has a long, long list from A to Z of custom American frame builders. Working with virtually all materials from steel and aluminum to titanium, carbon fiber and even bamboo for crying out loud, there’s a builder perfectly suited for everyone. And if you want to really localize your patriotism, find a custom builder close to your hometown and buy from them. Not only will you get an incredible customer service experience, but you’ll also have a completely unique and custom bike tailor-made for you.

Even if you’re not in the market for a new bike, Old Glory can still help you source American-made components. Yes, there actually still is such a beast. Not every stem, seatpost and handlebar is made overseas. Popular brands like Chris King, Cane Creek, Moots, DEAN, ESI, ENVE, Hadley, Industry 9, Lynskey, ODI, Oury, Paul, Phil Wood, Thomson, Wheelsmith, White Brothers and White Industries all make components right here in the United States.

Chris King Precision Components are all made in Oregon.

With a list of names like this, you could possibly build an entire mountain bike with American-made parts. It would be a bit of a challenge for a geared bike, since most drivetrains are made in Taiwan, but as the ASS always says, “derailleurs are for failures.” Building an entirely red, white and blue singlespeed is no sweat.

What about American-made clothing? You’re in luck there too. Companies like Voler, Canari, Club Ride, Alchemist, DirtBaggies, Sock Guy, Pace Sportswear and Boure make their garments employing American workers in American factories.

If you’re looking for a new set of lights for night rides, then check out Jet Lites, Light and Motion, DiNotte Lighting and NiteRider, all of whom make their lights on American soil.

If you’re the do-it-yourself type and love to buy tools as much as new bike parts, then buy from Park Tool. Based in Minnesota, most of their 300-product catalog is made in the USA. How can you tell which Park Tool is American-made or not? American-made Park Tools say “Park Tool USA” on them. If it just says “Park Tool”, it was made overseas.

Shinola Bikes are all designed and assembled in Detroit, with their steel lugged frames and forks being made by Waterford in Wisconsin.

One of the most interesting American bike brand stories is Shinola. In addition to making handcrafted steel commuter bicycles in a renovated Detroit factory, Shinola also handcrafts beautiful precision watches. Their dedication to American manufacturing and the city of Detroit is the cornerstone of the Shinola brand, and simply looking at their website conjures up a deeply patriotic feeling. Even if you don’t need a new watch or commuter bike, the Shinola story is so compelling that it makes you want to buy one anyway.

Every steel lugged Shinola frame and fork is handmade in Wisconsin by Waterford Precision Cycle, the same company that made the iconic Schwinn Paramount. Hand polished head badges, custom Shinola dropouts and classic leather saddles round out an American-made product that’s as much a work of art as it is a form of transportation.

Now I know some people in the industry will get all defensive and bent out of shape about this article, thinking that I’m hating on companies who do business overseas. I want to make it clear that I’m not Asia bashing. I have a lot of Asian-made products myself. But if we want to see a positive change in our country, we need to stop buying everything we own from overseas manufacturers and start supporting good ‘ol ‘Merica.

Since 1981, Moots has built handmade frames in Steamboat Springs, Colorado.

Over the next 10 years, as the Asian factory worker continues to grow in prosperity, buying cars, TVs, houses, designer clothing and God knows what else, the cost of doing business in Asia must rise to feed the financial needs of workers who’ve fallen into constant consumption mode.

If we can simultaneously help support a resurgent American manufacturing economy by purchasing more American products, many businesses that are overseas now will see the changing dynamic and start coming back. If consumers demand American made, bike brands will have to deliver American made. And perhaps blighted, post-industrial places like Detroit will see a revival, only this time the revolution will be pedal powered, not gasoline powered.

List your favorite American made bike brands in the comments below.

Look who showed up at the the Downieville Classic.

The big news Friday at the Downieville Classic? The presence of multiple-time Tour of California winner Levi Leipheimer.

The former WorldTour rider, who retired earlier this year after being fired by his Omega Pharma-Quickstep team after admitting to performance enhancing drug use during a portion of his pro career, is now set to become the first cyclist to contest both the Tour de France and the Downieville Classic. And Leipheimer isn’t just racing the cross-country. He’s taking on the all-mountain category, downhill and all.

[Update: Leipheimer was first to the top of the cross-country climb by about 4 minutes. But a flat tire and slow repair dropped him to 10th by the finish. See full results from day one at the Downieville Classic here.]

Leipheimer says he’s only ridden the downhill course (including Butcher Ranch) two times. He’s been on the cross-country course once. The last time he rode the soul-crushing, eight-mile climb that gains nearly 3,500 vertical feet was five years ago — yet he still remembers the pain.

Leipheimer says he feels comfortable with the technical, fast 15-mile descent thanks to his Specialized S-Works Stumpjumper 29er with carbon SRAM wheels, SRAM XX1 drivetrain, and Rock Shox Reverb dropper post, adding that he rode both the downhill and cross-country course without putting a foot down. He even cleaned the notorious Waterfall section on Butcher Ranch.

But Leipheimer knows he’ll need a sizeable gap to hold off Downieville veterans like Carl Decker (Giant). How much of a lead? At least six minutes, he told RoadBikeReview.

Indeed, Downieville is one of the only races where a five-minute gap can be made up on the downhill, meaning Leipheimer will need to drop the hammer on the way up if he has any hope of winning.

That bike is definitely not UCI Tour de France legal.

So what are his expectations? He says he’s here to have fun, but he’s also an extremely competitive guy, so no doubt he’ll push himself as hard as possible in hopes of being first over the top of the climb. Then the goal is to survive the downhill without any flats, mechanicals or crashes.

And if he can pull that off, he’ll be due the respect only the Downieville Classic offers. Unlike the “mountain bike race” that is the Leadville 100, which Leipheimer won in 2010, Downieville is a true test of rider fitness — and technical skill. You must be an all-around rider to survive the beating handed out by Butcher Ranch, Pauley Creek, Third Divide and First Divide. It’s going to be interesting to see what happens. Stay tuned…

Leipheimer was no threat to Carl Decker, but considering his background, it was a solid effort.

Carl Decker (Giant) once again proved his dominance of the Downieville Classic, but he had an early scare during Saturday’s cross-country race thanks to one Levi Leipheimer.

The former WorldTour rider, who retired earlier this year after admitting to performance enhancing drug use, crushed Downieville’s eight-mile, 2,700 vertical foot climb to the base of the Sierra Buttes, putting nearly five minutes into second placed Decker. That was good enough to supplant Decker as Strava KOM of the Downieville Climb.

But on the way down, Leipheimer, winner of the 2010 Leadville 100, crashed, flatted and saw a huge chunk of shale rock get wedged in his bike. That turned a five-minute lead at the top into an 11-minute deficit at the finish line. Leipheimer (Levi’s Gran Fondo) ended up in 10th place, while Decker took the cross-country victory.

After relaxing by the Yuba River post race and enjoying the irresistible charm of Downieville, Leipheimer enjoyed a better go in Sunday’s downhill, though he didn’t come close to closing the gap to Decker.

“I had a great downhill run today and cleaned the waterfall section on Butcher with no issues,” said Leipheimer while relaxing at the post-race festival afterwards. “I hammered the climb up to Third Divide and used the flatter sections to my advantage.”

Although he wasn’t nearly as fast as podium finishers Decker, Adam Craig (Giant) and Jason Moeschler (WTB-Cannondale), Leipheimer’s climbing ability combined with solid — if unspectacular — descending netted him a respectable 17th place in the downhill, with a time of 48:52, four minutes behind Decker.

And with the exception of a few jeers of “doper” as he passed by the aid tent at the finish, most of the Downieville crowd seemed to accept the former Tour de France pro’s presence.

From a personal standpoint, though he clearly has a checkered racing past, I found Leipheimer to be a gracious competitor and a genuine, sincere person. And after such a good showing in his first attempt, rest assured Leipheimer will be back to Downieville, gunning for podium place again next year.

Celebrating the life of a remarkable human being and a loving father.

Editor’s Note: The Angry Singlespeeder is a collection of mercurial musings from contributing editor Kurt Gensheimer. In no way do his maniacal diatribes about all things bike oriented represent the opinions of Mtbr, RoadBikeReview, or any of their employees, contractors, janitorial staff, family members, household pets, or any other creature, living or dead. You can submit questions or comments to Kurt at singlespeeder@consumerreview.com. And make sure to check out Kurt’s previous columns.

A dear friend of mine was killed on Sunday. He was out riding his road bike when a bus struck him. I received the call Tuesday afternoon from a friend. The news hit me square in the gut. I didn’t know whether to put my fist through a wall and scream at the top of my lungs or cry my eyes out. Not so much for our friendship, but for the fact that my good friend Udo Heinz leaves behind two beautiful young children and a loving, caring wife.

Udo and I had a natural connection, with him hailing from Germany and my father also German-born. His personality was as German as it gets; exacting, meticulous and organized. I grew up with a German father, so I instantly understood Udo’s unique personality. On the surface he seemed all business, but the more you got to know him, the more you realized he was a fun-loving, laid-back and funny guy.

I’ve lost a few friends over the past 10 years, but nobody as close as Udo. We weren’t best friends, but we worked together, putting on two really fun and successful cyclocross races in North County San Diego. We complimented each other so well putting on those races. He was the law-abiding, responsible one making a checklist of things to get done, while I was the idea man and scofflaw, seeing what we could pull off without having permission. Although I know my aloof behavior sometimes annoyed him, I could see as our relationship developed, he seemed to loosen up more.

We always enjoyed each other’s company. When Udo found out I was riding my bike from San Diego to Santa Cruz, he and another close friend Victor escorted me out to the coast and wished me safe travels. I will never forget that moment as long as I live. It was the start of the greatest ride in my life, and Udo was there to see me off.

Victor and I recently put on the Quick ‘n Dirty mountain bike race series, and Udo was always eager to volunteer, often times with his nine-year-old son who wanted to do nothing more than race his mountain bike and impress his father. Udo was reliable, dependable and responsible; a selfless human being and remarkable father who loved riding and racing bicycles with his wife Antje.

I don’t know why the universe must take a man like Udo from us at such a young age. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that he is gone from this Earth. I could rant ad nauseum about how there is an epidemic of cyclist deaths on the road at the hands of careless motorists these days, especially in Southern California, but now is not the time for that.

Now is the time for paying homage to an exceptional human being and an incredible father; a role model to every man in this world who wants to be a father. My mind is constantly filled with the image of Udo riding his cyclocross bike with his wife and two adorable children chasing close behind, all of them smiling, laughing and enjoying the wonder of riding a bicycle.

Just this morning Victor and I went for a mountain bike ride on Emigrant Trail in Truckee. What started as a somber ride turned into one of utter joy. During the ride we came across a massive herd of sheep and rams in the middle of the trail; hundreds of them scattered everywhere. I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life. It was a gift to Victor and me from Udo. I looked up to the heavens and imagined him smiling and laughing as he looked down upon us.

Thank you, Udo. Words can’t even give justice to how much you will be missed.

Slated right in between the Breck Epic and the Pro Cycling Challenge, Breck Bike Week has a welcoming, laid-back atmosphere perfect for families.

Breckenridge boasts world-class singletrack trails all riding distance from town. Photo Credit: Byron Swezy CBST Adventures.

Breckenridge, Colorado is the most visited skiing destination in America, and in the last ten years, Breckenridge has also become one of the most popular summer cycling destinations thanks to its extensive network of singletrack trails and outstanding road riding. Whether your tire preference is on the knobby side or narrow and slick, “Breck” has a seemingly limitless amount of riding right from your front door.

As proof, Breckenridge was recently named a Gold-level Bicycle Friendly Community by the League of American Bicyclists thanks in part to its miles of paved bicycle routes connecting the communities of Breckenridge, Frisco, Dillon and Silverthorne.

In addition to popular events like the Firecracker 50 and the Breckenridge 100 mountain bike races, Breckenridge also hosted the fifth-annual Breck Epic – a grueling six-day mountain bike stage race showcasing world-class trails, with every stage beginning and ending in town.

The USA Pro Cycling Challenge passed through Breckenridge right after Breck Bike week.

Three days after the Breck Epic ended, the 2013 USA Pro Challenge rolled through Breckenridge, featuring the world’s finest professional cycling talent including Peter Sagan, Christopher Froome, Andy Schleck and American stars like Christian Vande Velde, Tom Danielson and Tejay Van Garderen.

Placed perfectly right in between both events was Breck Bike Week, a welcoming, non-competitive, laid-back community event celebrating the bicycle that’s geared specifically towards families and recreational riders of all skill and experience levels.

Breck Bike Week is geared fully towards making kids happy. Photo Credit: Byron Swezy CBST Adventures.

Running from Thursday to Sunday, all four days of Breck Bike Week were packed with fun activities including guided mountain bike and road rides, bike demos, kids rides and races, Strider races, a poker ride, women’s skills clinics, bike maintenance classes, parties, bike mechanic competitions, live music and an event expo with dozens of cycling apparel and gear brands. Breck Bike Week even raffled off valuable prizes like a brand new Cannondale Trigger 29er mountain bike.

This massive mountain bike made by TM Design Works out of Littleton, Colorado, was on display at Breck Bike Week.

During Breck Bike Week, everywhere you looked was dominated by the love for bicycles. The world’s largest mountain bike was in attendance this year as was the Breckenridge Bike Bus, a 12-seater bike bus that’s entirely pedal-powered by its passengers. A daily bicycle trials demonstration kept people in awe as riders from RipStoke showed off their acrobatic skill on the bike, jumping from boulder to boulder across the Blue River.

Left: Robbie Pfunder of RipStoke gets the crowd fired up with his river-hopping trials skills. Right: Not looking like a good hand…unless he three more threes hiding in his jersey pocket. Photo Credit: Byron Swezy CBST Adventures.

For those who like giving back, a Trails Maintenance Day taught volunteers all about proper trail design and building, maintenance and sustainable trail concepts. A fundraiser for the International Mountain Bicycling Association (IMBA) included a bike-in movie night complete with barbeque, live music and a movie, all on the beautifully manicured lawns of Carter Park.

History buffs enjoyed the scenic and informative guided ride with Breckenridge Mayor, John Warner and the Breckenridge Heritage Alliance, touring historic sites all over town via both paved and dirt cycling paths. Card sharks had fun with the Poker Ride that sent people on trails all over Breckenridge, collecting five cards and then meeting back in town to see who had the winning hand.

In Breck, you can park your call all week and ride or walk to everything.

Perhaps the greatest aspect of Breck Bike Week is the fact that once you arrive in Breckenridge, you can park your car and forget about it your entire stay. Everything you need in Breckenridge is within walking or riding distance from town.

Left: It’s hard not to love the endless miles of riding around Breckenridge. Right: There are many reasons to love Breckenridge.

Breck Bike Week just wrapped up its fifth anniversary, and next year it will surely be even bigger and better. Keep your calendar open during the second week of August 2014 and make a long family vacation to Breckenridge where riding bikes and having fun are the utmost priorities.

Get more details and information on 2014 dates at www.breckbikeweek.com.

“I was all packed and ready to ride Tour of California Stage 2, but for once in my life I listened to reason.”

Yesterday’s Tour of California Stage 2 from Murrieta to Palm Springs was the most remarkable finish of a bike race I’ve ever seen in my life. The absolute carnage and destruction of the peloton was unprecedented thanks to soul crushing 23 percent gradients up Tram Way and temperatures that reached 122 degrees when factoring in the radiant heat off the blacktop. I’ve never seen harder men reduced to such human rubble.

Nearly every rider that crossed the line had to be escorted to their team vehicles because they had absolutely nothing left in their bodies to pedal another foot. Salt deposits turned jerseys into hardened pieces of fabric. Riders were splayed out on the ground, stuffing handfuls of ice into their jerseys and on their crotches. Some didn’t even make it to the finish, passing out from heat exhaustion hundreds of meters from the line. Race organizers should thank the heat stroke Gods that nobody died yesterday, or it would have been the end of the Tour of California.

I’ve done a lot of dumb things in my life, and two nights ago while packing my bike and gear into the truck, I realized that pre-riding the 124-mile Stage 2 with a few buddies in 120+ degree heat was going to be another entry in the dumbass files. Everything in my good sense was telling me not to do it, but peer pressure is something fierce, and since a handful of my friends were doing it, well, why shouldn’t I?

Making poor decisions has been a considerable skill for me. Skiing in New Hampshire with a wind chill factor of minus 60 degrees Fahrenheit resulting in permanent nerve damage to my feet, going four-wheeling with my father-in-law, bringing no supplies or tools and getting so stuck in the mud we had to sleep overnight in my brother’s Land Cruiser and widespread destruction of public property as a college student that should have landed me in jail are just a few examples.

So at what point does a man finally listen to that voice inside him saying “just don’t do it”? If you’re a really stubborn ASS like myself, you have to do the same dumb thing several times before you realize it isn’t worth doing anymore. It seems that every time I push my body well beyond its limits, I suffer so horrifically that the only thought going through my mind is “why am I doing this to myself?” It’s usually after the second time you realize the answer; “because I’m a stubborn dumbass.”

I love to ride my bike and I love a challenge, but I love having an affordable healthcare plan even more. I also love not having to get an intravenous drip of electrolytes to keep me from shriveling up into a human-sized raisin. So with a bit of reluctance, I shot my friends a message announcing withdrawal from the pre-ride. As a competitive person who doesn’t often turn down a challenge, it was a difficult message from me to send. But as Dirty Harry says, “a man has got to know his limitations”.

It’s an interesting paradox – humans by nature are programmed to avoid undue pain and suffering, yet many athletes proactively seek it out. This is the true definition of a masochist, and whether professional or just a spectator, everyone who rode Stage 2 of this year’s Tour is a full-blown masochist.

Instead of enduring the brutal heat of the Inland Empire, I opted to stay at the beach in Carlsbad, doing some work while watching endless eye candy stroll by, going for a swim in the ocean and taking a nice sunset spin down Coast Highway. My buddy Victor kept sending me photos of his Garmin. 105 degrees, 113 degrees, and the clincher, a blistering 122 degree reading on Tram Way. Clearly, I had made the right decision.

Who in a sane state of mind would voluntarily be out on their bike in that kind of weather? I don’t even go outside to get the mail when its 122 degrees, let alone ride my bike up a 3.7 mile wall gaining nearly 2,000 vertical feet. Some might call me soft for not having done the ride, and that’s perfectly okay. I’m proud of the decision, because for once I abstained from doing something utterly stupid and extremely dangerous.

They say wisdom comes with age. I’m still a long way from wisdom, but hopefully today got me just a tiny bit closer. My buddy Johnny rode the entire stage and was three Torpedo IPAs deep at the finish line watching the human destruction when he called me.

“You’re a smart man for not having ridden,” he said. “It’s stupid out here, but I conquered this damn mountain, and it feels amazing.”

Although I had made peace with the decision not to ride, there was still a little part of me wishing I had gone ahead with the idiotic mission. But knowing my friends, I’m sure there will be many more opportunities.

In a world of non-stop, in-your-face marketing, don’t lust after what you can’t afford. Be happy with what you have.

Editor’s Note: The Angry Singlespeeder is a collection of mercurial musings from contributing editor Kurt Gensheimer. In no way do his maniacal diatribes about all things bike oriented represent the opinions of Mtbr, RoadBikeReview, or any of their employees, contractors, janitorial staff, family members, household pets, or any other creature, living or dead. You can submit questions or comments to Kurt at singlespeeder@consumerreview.com. And make sure to check out Kurt’s previous columns. This article originally appeared on Mtbr.com.

Brian Caldwell of Highland Way.

My buddy Brian is a bona fide Scotsman. He has thick Scottish accent, a big bright smile, long blonde hair in a ponytail and is a singer/guitarist/songwriter in a popular Scottish folk band in San Diego called the Highland Way. He sings in broad colloquial Scots of the Highlands, and yes, he always wears a kilt to his performances. I cannot confirm or disconfirm whether or not he wears anything underneath.

Beyond his enormous musical talent, Brian is a fascinating guy. He’s a big wave surfer who has traveled the world in search of the ultimate ride, he used to be a windsurfing instructor, he has a recording studio in an old RV in his backyard and he’s married to a falconer. That’s right. His wife walks around with a giant falcon on her arm and raises exotic birds. She is also the only person who is trained and brave enough to work with Honey Badgers at the San Diego Safari Park. To show his pride, Brian wears a Honey Badger t-shirt to our Thursday night mountain bike rides, boasting his wife’s talent and bravery.

Because Brian is Scottish, he is also unabashedly cheap. He’s even proud of his frugality, cracking jokes at his shows including “Scotsmen are so cheap that they’re the only people who can drop a coin and have it hit them on the back of the head as they are picking it up.”

This frugality comes through with his riding gear. He rocks a 10-year-old Bell helmet that’s well past its service life, a pitted-out white cotton undershirt that’s tucked into some threadbare riding shorts and a red Specialized Rock Hopper that’s at least a decade old. Although it’s still in once piece, Brian’s bike is more haggard than Merle, with finely polished chainstays thanks to pedal rub and a head tube completely devoid of red paint on one side thanks to the most severe case of cable rub I’ve ever seen. His tires are almost completely worn down and his saddle has more holes in it than a bag of donuts.

The worse case of cable rub I’ve ever seen

But Brian couldn’t care less. The dude straight up hammers even though his handlebars are far too narrow, his saddle is too low and his cable-operated disc brakes haven’t been serviced in years. My three friends and I – who all ride high-zoot carbon fiber bikes – keep telling Brian he needs to get a new whip. We tell him how much faster he will be with a newer, lighter bike with a better fit, more suspension and superior braking power; not to mention a fresh set of tread. But Brian’s tightwad Scottish upbringing prevents him from making the jump to a new bike. “This old gal is fine for me”, he says.

One day a friend let Brian test ride his full-suspension Niner RDO with full SRAM XX. We were all a bit worried, because we knew that as soon as Brian got going on the bike, his riding would immediately improve. And it did, especially downhill. However, when I asked Brian how he liked the new ride, he simply shrugged his shoulders, flashed a bright smile and said “I dunno, it’s a bike.”

It’s a bike. I couldn’t help but laugh and have a new level of respect for the guy. In a country where in-your-face marketing and non-stop consumption are as routine as eating double bacon cheeseburgers and taking prescription medication, Brian is completely immune to it all. He’s just as happy riding his clapped-out Rock Hopper as he is a Niner worth more than his 20-year-old Toyota 4Runner.

I recently heard a standup routine on satellite radio by Katt Williams. He was talking about being happy with what you have. He said, “If you got a raggedy car, stop talking sh*t about your raggedy car. That’s your raggedy car. You need to go home and wash the sh*t out that muthafu*ka; put Armor All and everything on it.”

Katt Williams professes being happy with what you have.

All too often we get caught up in the trap of not being happy with what we have. Non-stop marketing and meaningless acronyms to describe new useless technologies are designed to make you feel that the bike or gear you have is inferior. With the exception of a few new innovations in the past ten years, there’s very little new under the sun. Don’t lust for something you can’t afford, be happy with what you have; because it’s most likely a lot more that what most everyone else in the world has.

Don’t hate on your bike regardless of how new or old it is, because every time you ride out into the middle of nowhere, you depend on that raggedy bike to get you back home. Treat it right. Wash it, clean it and keep it in good working condition. And when it’s time to buy the bike of your dreams, sell or give your raggedy bike to someone else, because as unlikely as it may sound, a ride like Brian’s old clapped-out Rock Hopper just might be someone’s dream bike.

This holiday, support bike industry manufacturers who make stuff right here in the U.S and A.

Editor’s Note: The Angry Singlespeeder is a collection of mercurial musings from contributing editor Kurt Gensheimer. In no way do his maniacal diatribes about all things bike oriented represent the opinions of Mtbr, RoadBikeReview, or any of their employees, contractors, janitorial staff, family members, household pets, or any other creature, living or dead. You can submit questions or comments to Kurt at singlespeeder@consumerreview.com. And make sure to check out Kurt’s previous columns.

As you’re standing around the barbeque this Fourth of July stuffing your gullet with hot dogs, potato chips, sudsy libations and apple pie while watching your neighbor light his backyard on fire with rogue bottle rockets, think about your next bike-oriented purchase. Whether it’s something as small an inexpensive as a pair of grips or something as wallet busting as an entire bike, do our entire country a favor and buy American.

Most people are patriotic in their spending habits when it comes to talking about spending money. They’ll tell you that they buy American all day long. But when it comes time to open their measly wallet, they look at the increased cost of the American product versus the overseas one, and they suddenly turn into the consumer version of Benedict Arnold.

Talk is cheap; even cheaper than the endless container ships of junk being shipped across the Pacific. Don’t get me wrong, there are of course many high quality products coming from outside the US, but for a little bit more money, you can have a quality American made product that helps support the resurgence of American manufacturers.

Spending money is a hell of a lot easier than making it, but many people think spending it on a quality, American made product is difficult because most everything is made overseas these days. While it’s true that it’s not simple to source products with a Made in USA badge, nothing in this life worthwhile is easy. God forbid we have to take a few minutes, use our brains and scour the Internet.

Intense Cycles has been American made since its inception in 1991, and made patriotic bikes like this for Shaun Palmer.

But the reality is that buying American-made actually isn’t as difficult as you might think. Thankfully for us lazy folk who simply can’t be bothered with doing our own research, there’s a terrific website featuring American-made mountain bike parts called Oldglorymtb.com.

Old Glory has a long, long list from A to Z of custom American frame builders. Working with virtually all materials from steel and aluminum to titanium, carbon fiber and even bamboo for crying out loud, there’s a builder perfectly suited for everyone. And if you want to really localize your patriotism, find a custom builder close to your hometown and buy from them. Not only will you get an incredible customer service experience, but you’ll also have a completely unique and custom bike tailor-made for you.

Even if you’re not in the market for a new bike, Old Glory can still help you source American-made components. Yes, there actually still is such a beast. Not every stem, seatpost and handlebar is made overseas. Popular brands like Chris King, Cane Creek, Moots, DEAN, ESI, ENVE, Hadley, Industry 9, Lynskey, ODI, Oury, Paul, Phil Wood, Thomson, Wheelsmith, White Brothers and White Industries all make components right here in the United States.

Chris King Precision Components are all made in Oregon.

With a list of names like this, you could possibly build an entire mountain bike with American-made parts. It would be a bit of a challenge for a geared bike, since most drivetrains are made in Taiwan, but as the ASS always says, “derailleurs are for failures.” Building an entirely red, white and blue singlespeed is no sweat.

What about American-made clothing? You’re in luck there too. Companies like Voler, Canari, Club Ride, Alchemist, DirtBaggies, Sock Guy, Pace Sportswear and Boure make their garments employing American workers in American factories.

If you’re looking for a new set of lights for night rides, then check out Jet Lites, Light and Motion, DiNotte Lighting and NiteRider, all of whom make their lights on American soil.

If you’re the do-it-yourself type and love to buy tools as much as new bike parts, then buy from Park Tool. Based in Minnesota, most of their 300-product catalog is made in the USA. How can you tell which Park Tool is American-made or not? American-made Park Tools say “Park Tool USA” on them. If it just says “Park Tool”, it was made overseas.

Shinola Bikes are all designed and assembled in Detroit, with their steel lugged frames and forks being made by Waterford in Wisconsin.

One of the most interesting American bike brand stories is Shinola. In addition to making handcrafted steel commuter bicycles in a renovated Detroit factory, Shinola also handcrafts beautiful precision watches. Their dedication to American manufacturing and the city of Detroit is the cornerstone of the Shinola brand, and simply looking at their website conjures up a deeply patriotic feeling. Even if you don’t need a new watch or commuter bike, the Shinola story is so compelling that it makes you want to buy one anyway.

Every steel lugged Shinola frame and fork is handmade in Wisconsin by Waterford Precision Cycle, the same company that made the iconic Schwinn Paramount. Hand polished head badges, custom Shinola dropouts and classic leather saddles round out an American-made product that’s as much a work of art as it is a form of transportation.

Now I know some people in the industry will get all defensive and bent out of shape about this article, thinking that I’m hating on companies who do business overseas. I want to make it clear that I’m not Asia bashing. I have a lot of Asian-made products myself. But if we want to see a positive change in our country, we need to stop buying everything we own from overseas manufacturers and start supporting good ‘ol ‘Merica.

Since 1981, Moots has built handmade frames in Steamboat Springs, Colorado.

Over the next 10 years, as the Asian factory worker continues to grow in prosperity, buying cars, TVs, houses, designer clothing and God knows what else, the cost of doing business in Asia must rise to feed the financial needs of workers who’ve fallen into constant consumption mode.

If we can simultaneously help support a resurgent American manufacturing economy by purchasing more American products, many businesses that are overseas now will see the changing dynamic and start coming back. If consumers demand American made, bike brands will have to deliver American made. And perhaps blighted, post-industrial places like Detroit will see a revival, only this time the revolution will be pedal powered, not gasoline powered.

List your favorite American made bike brands in the comments below.

Look who showed up at the the Downieville Classic.

The big news Friday at the Downieville Classic? The presence of multiple-time Tour of California winner Levi Leipheimer.

The former WorldTour rider, who retired earlier this year after being fired by his Omega Pharma-Quickstep team after admitting to performance enhancing drug use during a portion of his pro career, is now set to become the first cyclist to contest both the Tour de France and the Downieville Classic. And Leipheimer isn’t just racing the cross-country. He’s taking on the all-mountain category, downhill and all.

[Update: Leipheimer was first to the top of the cross-country climb by about 4 minutes. But a flat tire and slow repair dropped him to 10th by the finish. See full results from day one at the Downieville Classic here.]

Leipheimer says he’s only ridden the downhill course (including Butcher Ranch) two times. He’s been on the cross-country course once. The last time he rode the soul-crushing, eight-mile climb that gains nearly 3,500 vertical feet was five years ago — yet he still remembers the pain.

Leipheimer says he feels comfortable with the technical, fast 15-mile descent thanks to his Specialized S-Works Stumpjumper 29er with carbon SRAM wheels, SRAM XX1 drivetrain, and Rock Shox Reverb dropper post, adding that he rode both the downhill and cross-country course without putting a foot down. He even cleaned the notorious Waterfall section on Butcher Ranch.

But Leipheimer knows he’ll need a sizeable gap to hold off Downieville veterans like Carl Decker (Giant). How much of a lead? At least six minutes, he told RoadBikeReview.

Indeed, Downieville is one of the only races where a five-minute gap can be made up on the downhill, meaning Leipheimer will need to drop the hammer on the way up if he has any hope of winning.

That bike is definitely not UCI Tour de France legal.

So what are his expectations? He says he’s here to have fun, but he’s also an extremely competitive guy, so no doubt he’ll push himself as hard as possible in hopes of being first over the top of the climb. Then the goal is to survive the downhill without any flats, mechanicals or crashes.

And if he can pull that off, he’ll be due the respect only the Downieville Classic offers. Unlike the “mountain bike race” that is the Leadville 100, which Leipheimer won in 2010, Downieville is a true test of rider fitness — and technical skill. You must be an all-around rider to survive the beating handed out by Butcher Ranch, Pauley Creek, Third Divide and First Divide. It’s going to be interesting to see what happens. Stay tuned…

Leipheimer was no threat to Carl Decker, but considering his background, it was a solid effort.

Carl Decker (Giant) once again proved his dominance of the Downieville Classic, but he had an early scare during Saturday’s cross-country race thanks to one Levi Leipheimer.

The former WorldTour rider, who retired earlier this year after admitting to performance enhancing drug use, crushed Downieville’s eight-mile, 2,700 vertical foot climb to the base of the Sierra Buttes, putting nearly five minutes into second placed Decker. That was good enough to supplant Decker as Strava KOM of the Downieville Climb.

But on the way down, Leipheimer, winner of the 2010 Leadville 100, crashed, flatted and saw a huge chunk of shale rock get wedged in his bike. That turned a five-minute lead at the top into an 11-minute deficit at the finish line. Leipheimer (Levi’s Gran Fondo) ended up in 10th place, while Decker took the cross-country victory.

After relaxing by the Yuba River post race and enjoying the irresistible charm of Downieville, Leipheimer enjoyed a better go in Sunday’s downhill, though he didn’t come close to closing the gap to Decker.

“I had a great downhill run today and cleaned the waterfall section on Butcher with no issues,” said Leipheimer while relaxing at the post-race festival afterwards. “I hammered the climb up to Third Divide and used the flatter sections to my advantage.”

Although he wasn’t nearly as fast as podium finishers Decker, Adam Craig (Giant) and Jason Moeschler (WTB-Cannondale), Leipheimer’s climbing ability combined with solid — if unspectacular — descending netted him a respectable 17th place in the downhill, with a time of 48:52, four minutes behind Decker.

And with the exception of a few jeers of “doper” as he passed by the aid tent at the finish, most of the Downieville crowd seemed to accept the former Tour de France pro’s presence.

From a personal standpoint, though he clearly has a checkered racing past, I found Leipheimer to be a gracious competitor and a genuine, sincere person. And after such a good showing in his first attempt, rest assured Leipheimer will be back to Downieville, gunning for podium place again next year.