When Laird Knight of Granny Gear Productions invented 24-hour mountain bike racing, he aimed to provide a format that engendered the camaraderie that pervades mountain biking culture. Harkening back to the early days of the 24 Hours of Canaan—with virtually the entire field camping side-by-side in a lumpy, muddy field just outside of Davis, WV and sharing the agony and ecstasy of a brutally challenging course—I’d say Mr. Knight got the formula correct from the get go.

At the time of those first Canaan races, tag-team racing was pretty much a foreign concept to mountain bike racers. But the format has proven wildly popular and has grown to the point where, on any given weekend, you can find teams competing in a 6, 12 or 24 hour race somewhere within striking distance.

Why has the tag-team format become so popular? Certainly different racers will have unique responses to that question, but for me it boils down to one simple concept: peer pressure. In a conventional, solo race, the only person I’m accountable to is me. Depending on how I feel on a given day, I might crush it until I feel like puking, or I might throttle back and keep the vital signs well below the red line—and feel not a bit guilty either way, regardless of the outcome. But, throw teammates into the mix, and it’s a whole new ballgame. Peer pressure rears is goading head, and urges one to drop the hammer and push beyond their comfort zone. And there is something magically liberating about those forays beyond the comfort zone.

For instance, in a conventional race I’d never have taken a half-dozen stitches to close a gash in my knee, and then get back on the bike and ride another lap. But that’s exactly what I did a few years ago at the 24 Hours of Snowshoe—on a very ugly course. Perhaps that was not the wisest decision I’ve ever made, but the pressure to not let my teammates down pushed me to keep riding at all costs. It’s all about the team.

Riding through a minor medical situation is just one manifestation of peer pressure at 24-hour races. You can bet that peer pressure is part of the equation any time a racer with aching, lead-filled legs suits up and takes another lap, instead of throwing in the towel. I’d never have crawled out of a warm, dry tent to ride in a rain-storm at Allamuchy at 3:00 a.m. were it not for peer pressure. And god bless those poor, disoriented souls that I’ve seen pushing/riding their bikes on what appears to be their first-ever nighttime lap—now that’s taking one for the team.

The 2008 edition of the 24 Hours of Big Bear is exactly one month away, and I’m already feeling the pressure of being on a team. I’m not one to kill myself with training rides, but with Big Bear approaching, I’ve already penciled a couple “training races” into my calendar, to try and whip my slack ass into some semblance of race-shape for the event. I’ll still be the slowest guy on the 4-man team, but I figure owe it to my teammates to be in peak condition. It’s the peer pressure.

I moved most of my family’s worldly possessions to a new house last weekend. New to me that is, as it was built in 1890. In process of packing up our stuff, I was reminded that I’ve got baggage, baggage of the bag type. Hiking bags, messenger bags, hydration packs, seat bags, panniers handlebar bags, and good old backpacks.

I’ve always been on the look out for the “perfect” bag for various cycling activities, some have come close, but in the end it’s always a compromise.

Take commuting for example. I’ve used an XL Timbuk2 bag for years. I got it made at Interbike in Anaheim in 1995 I think, back when Timbuk2 brought their production line to the show and took orders for custom bags. It is big enough to take just about anything I would want to carry on my back, but when carrying less than giant loads it is overkill and the sheer size of the bag keeps the sweat and body heat from dissipating during the summer. I’ve tried various back packs too, from a super minimalist bag from REI to the rather large Seal Line I tested in issue 133. I like all of them for various reasons, and have kept them in the quiver for certain loads in certain weather.

Same thing with hydration packs. I’ve got a super small 50 oz model (it is really my daughters, but I’ve borrowed it for XC racing), a minimalist bag with little more than a sleeve for the bladder and shoulder straps, and an older Camelbak Hawg for those long days in the saddle. I’m currently riding with a new Ergon bag and getting the fit dialed in. Again, all these bag fill a niche purpose and so I keep them around.

I also have a couple of sets of panniers, a few handlebar bags and various stuff sacks I’ve used for touring. In preparation for my self-supported 400 mile race from Philedelphia to Pittsburgh I’m trying out some bags from Jeff at Carousel Design Works. Jeff made the bags for Jay Petervary’s record setting ride Great Divide Race last year. The bags are designed as a system, using the bike itself to support bags, eliminating the need for racks. Between these options and my Xtracycle I’ve got tons of options for touring, from absolutely minimalist kit for moving fast and light, to slow rolling but supremely comfortable.

I’ve got a ton of other bags floating about, and have given away a fair share also after they failed to meet my needs or expectations. Better than collecting ceramics pigs, right?

It seems like most things there is no magic bullet for bags, much the same as bikes and wheel sizes. If you gotta choose just one type you make the decision based on what option works best for you combination of fitness, skill set, riding style and riding ares(s). I’m glad we’ve all got options these days.

Man! I don’t know what it is with the arrival of spring. Maybe it is just the good feeling of breaking out of an extremely long winter this year, or maybe it’s me getting (gulp) more mature and responsible. Whatever the case I feel energized! I love the sun. I’ve reflected on the past year to see what I’ve done right and wrong and know what I need to do this year.

But for today it felt good to ride my road bike after months of waiting and to dress on the lighter side. Music I’ve heard a thousand times before sounds fresh and I feel like I’ve achieved something new in my own playing, an awareness that has only occurred a few times before.

So, spring is here, life is good and I have a new task ahead of me. Six months ago I added a Weimaraner puppy to my household and now Roman is almost 8-months old and full of energy. He’s a smart pup, got the basic commands down and a few obedience classes under his collar. He loves hiking and running in the woods, listens off-leash as long as I have a pocket full of treats, and is now just about ready to begin mountain biking with me. In issue #111, Karen wrote an article “Singletrack Hounds” and I recently revisited it to check out her suggestions. Come to find out, her article is pretty dead on and she mentions a few things that I’ve read in other places as well.

One thing Karen’s article mentions, is that pups younger than 1-year old shouldn’t be run to hard, because of hip dysplacia and joint development, and I’ve researched the same conclusion as well. So I’m going to start at a soccer field near my house and have him concentrate on following me at a slow pace. The distractions there should be limited, there aren’t any trees for me to run into while coaching him and the perimeter is fenced in. Roman’s endurance and agility level should be alright for short rides while he gets comfortable running next to a bike and following my commands. His pack instinct is already really strong, so I’m sure he will want to stay with me.

The pads on his paws are pretty tough too. Roman’s been hiking with my girlfriend and me since he was 7-weeks old and has progressed from a 10-minute stroll to 2.5 hours of fun. His legs are definitely long and muscular, and his coordination and reaction speed has improved tremendously in the last month. I like to think it’s because of the indoor soccer I play with him using a tennis ball. He likes to cheat a little and bite my feet, so I just tackle him to keep it fair. He’s healthy, well fed and fast! But we are still going to take it slow to moderate.

Once Roman is following my guidance consistently on the soccer field, I’ll take him to the same trails he hikes on and pick the pace up as he matures. I figure a recognizable place will be good for him and I know when and where the most people visit the park, so his introduction to mountain biking on single track will be done on off hours and on trails that are out of the way, for both of our safety. It will also be easier to keep him behind me on the narrow trails and reinforce that I’m the leader of the pack, a necessity in any dog training.

Keep an eye out for updates on Roman’s progression and what I’ve found works and doesn’t work for us. Maybe it will help you and your dog, or future puppy, enjoy the trails together and keep everyone healthy. –Shannon Mominee.

Last summer I rode my bicycle across Pennsylvania, and then some. I kept a journal for each of the six days of the ride. This is an entry for my first day.

.: Day 1 :.

Erie to Warren About 98 miles

Around 4am, I heard some sort of animal breathing through it’s nose while at a soft gallop through the woods. Right towards where I was sleeping. Not that a tent would give me any protection, but at least I would be invisible to the beast hurtling towards me.

Taylor was sleeping about about 20 feet away from me, and he heard it too. He yelled over asking me what that was. Like I had any idea. I yelled at it, and clapped my hands. I heard it stop and resume his gallop in the other direction. In a matter of minutes, I was back asleep.

In what seemed another few minutes, the sun was up, and it was time to get going.

I had a pretty crappy sleep overall. Not only was I worried about critters coming to eat me, I had a lot of anxiety about the ride coming up. I don’t need to get into the detail, but you can imagine what would be running through my mind on the eve of a six-day, 500+ mile bike ride.

Add to that, the fact that the heat of the previous day, and the cold of the night allowed water to condensate on my sleeping bag and thermarest. No tent meant that all that water was on me. I was soaked.

I walked down the hill and laid out my stuff in a sorry attempt to dry it out as I got my stuff ready for the day.

Since there was no real time to get food together for breakfast here in Erie, we ate the donuts brought from the Church yesterday. There was coffee, too. Needless to say, I only ate the semi-fresh donuts. Three of them. What a start.

After a while, we finally got rolling. My main riding group usually conisted of Heath, Hans, Pryor, Joachim, Christine, Selene, Plunkett, and some others each day. Well, that was the group that usually left together. Usually within the first 30 miles, the fast people always split off the front.

I’m not one of the fast kids.

Our group, and about 20 other riders, kept together for about the first 20 miles today. In my road-riding neophyte-ness, while in the pack I was more concerned with not hitting the people inches in front of me. Thus, I missed seeing a huge rock. I hit it. My hands came off the bars and my GOOD wrist took a bit of a hit. I was only going about 20 miles per hour, and thankfully I held on and stayed straight. Otherwise, it would have been a bad, bad day. I was scared shitless that something that bad could have gone that wrong that early in the ride.

But I got over it.

We rode near Lake Erie for a good part of the early ride. Before I knew it, we spotted a sign welcoming us to New York. A few people at the head of our group, spontaneously had a sprint to the state line. I forget who won that one. But by the time we came back into Pennsylvania about 50 miles later, I won…because I was by myself. And I didn’t need to sprint.

It was a rather fast pace today, and the ride was relatively flat, except for one or two brutal climbs. For me, it was a nice indoctrination for such an event. At lunch, someone said that at this pace we would be done by two pm. Nice.

I felt really good on the ride. Nothing hurt, I wasn’t tired. My only concern was being scared of what was to come, how much I’d have to do, getting blasted by a truck, or running into my fellow riders. All pretty low level anxiety, but it was in the back of my head. Good thing, probably…at least it kept me alert.

Aside from running along Lake Erie today, we rode through a lot of vinyards. Who knew that northwest PA had a lot of wine? Of course, we didn’t have time to sample it, but I would have if someone offered to stop.

We stopped for a water fill at about 25 miles. I was feeling awesome up to that point. But the stop kind of put the drag in my ass. I kept at it, but just a bit slower for the next 25 miles. This is the point of today where our group busted up a bit.

Head down and turning the pedals for another 25 miles.

The support crew stopped at some ice cream and mini golf place. In New York, I think…for lunch. They had a real nice spread with fruit, and peanut butter and jelly sammiches. Man, did I house a few of those. I couldn’t believe I had already ridden 50 miles by this point…that’s already the longest I’ve ever ridden a bike. Do I really work for a bicycling magazine? Damn. Only 10 times this distance to go!

It was at lunch where I signed Bill Moses’s yellow shirt. He had a photo of his son pinned to tbe back. Bill kind of kept pretty solemn. He’s older and riding this for his son. It’s a really emotional thing to see him out there doing this, but it’s fucking awesome.

I did a lot of riding on my own today, but I did manage to catch some good drafts. Getting pulled by people here and there really helped me out.

But the hills I got to at 80 miles were kind of tough. I actually like hills, but I’m not going to lie and say they’re not hard. These were really hard. It was hot, it was late and a couple of them were steep as hell. So, yes…at one point, I had to stop on the steepest hill. Only for a second, but I quickly started the grind back up.

Soon after those hills, we came across our first freshly tar-and-chipped road. Driving on these kinds of roads sucks. Riding on them ain’t much better. Funny how such a road can be super-dusty and gooey at the same time.

As luck would have it, one of those nasty little stones got in Selene’s derailleur and sent it off the bike. Otherwise, I would have never caught up with her. Christine had brought along a test bike from Bicycling that was in the support truck. Soon enough, the truck showed up and she was on her way.

I had left before her and foolishly thought she wouldn’t catch up with me. So when I got to the support van and they were out of water, I noticed her bike on the back of the van. Wtih a full water bottle. About six of us shared that water, since it was at the top of another killer climb.

Sure enough, just after I put the bottle back, she rolls up nearly desperately needing for water. Whopps. I told her what was up, and gave her mine. Luckily, the support crew had already started filling up water from someone’s house a quarter mile down the road.

I ate a ton of energy bars, beef jerky, and Sport Legs…I love the Sport Legs…today. Need to keep hydrated and full.

I took it pretty easy for the last 15 miles. I have a lot of riding to do, so no need to hammer to finish early, or keep up with the fast kids.

At about 98 miles, this was my longest ride ever. I was on the bike for JUST over six hours, and I rolled in around 2:30.

I took a really nice shower, and then had a really shitty massage. The lady giving me the massage actually told me that she was going to pack a 30 minute massage into 15 minutes. And she did. It hurt, and it wasn’t relaxing. Great.

All I could think of for the last 30 miles of the ride was getting a burger, a beer and ice cream. I didn’t quite get it, but we did go get a beer.

After a few places that were closed, or we were lost, we just went to the American Legion where our dinner was to be held in about an hour and a half. About 10 of us headed there. We went in, and my first of many experiences of how many people we touched took manifestation. All the old people at the bar thanked us, and the president of the club gave us free food and bought all of our beer. Amazing.

Plus, the lady who first gave us directions on the street…we ran into her again. Turns out her borhter died of cancer, and he was a huge cyclist here in Warren. Amazing.

After we got a good prime of beer and some food, the rest of the people came in. So all 80 or so of us, went upstairs for our real dinner.

The nice, giving people here made fresh burgers…not frozen…and pasta. We stuffed our faces, and drank more beer.

The meeting tonight was another emotional and moving meeting. Budd Coates got up, choked up and talked about how much the American Legion meant to him and his family when his dad was ill when he was a kid. You could hear the pins and tears drop in the room.

We met the people who cooked for us and fed us, and we moved on.

Taylor and I saw the most awesome green Dodge truck in town. Then about six of us found some little, ugly bar and had a few beers before heading back to the school. The name of the bar was the Busy Bee.

I had left all my sleeping gear outside to dry out while we were gone.

I came back, and decided to bunk it out under the stars again. It was a nice night, but before I fell asleep, the condensation started again and I was soaked before I even closed my eyes.

Hey, folks! Another new face has crossed the threshold of the Dirt Rag house. I feel lucky to be here and I am excited to share my enthusiasm and experiences in cycling with yinz (spoken in a true –Pittsburghese-British accent). Wow, all of the years I spent tinkering with bikes and reading Dirt Rag have resulted in the realization of my dream job. I suppose you’re curious about my life with bikes and how this cycling-crazed British yinzer came to be. Here’s the story…

Growing up in the small village of West Haddon in Northamptonshire, England, I had no idea that nearly 20 years later I would be obsessed with bikes (vintage VW restoration), married to a girl I call “Margie,” living in Western Pennsylvania, and working for Dirt Rag. Who knew those formative years I spent cruising my Raleigh Burner BMX around the sleepy English countryside would be the beginning of many experiences on the trail. After my family and I moved to the United States, I turned sixteen and left my bikes in the garage to collect dust and rust. Finally, when the novelty of driving wore off, I began to crave the excitement of my former mode of transportation, a bicycle. Soon after I learned of a great job, a bicycle messenger.

When I learned about this job, I said to myself, “You get paid to be outside and ride your bike all day. Where do I sign up?” I loved working as a messenger because I met some of the coolest people, including some of my best friends that I still have today. I also learned the glory of clipless pedals, essential bicycle mechanic skills, and became an avid rider. Ultimately, a group of messenger friends took me to my first outing on the trails of Western Pennsylvania. At that moment, I switched my tires from slick to knobby and never looked back.

I worked as a messenger for over three years and after having cars bounce me around the city like a pinball, I realized it was time to take a break from the messenger scene. This proved to be an ideal time to experience life again in England. It was great to be home again. I soon found a job as bricklayer and spent my free time riding my cross bike from village to village. After about six months, I began to miss my future wife, Maggie, so I returned to the States. Before leaving England, I learned of an upcoming cyclocross race and experienced my first taste of bicycle racing. At dusk, in the stadium-lit field in the town of Rugby, I raced around the cyclocross course hurdling barriers and hoping to finish the race in time to catch the last train home. I loved the excitement of racing and discovered my competitive streak. Upon returning to Pittsburgh, I still wanted to work with bikes everyday, so the next logical step in my mind was a position in a bike shop. The rest is history. I spent the next decade working at bike shops, mostly as a store manager and a mechanic, while racing just about every genre of off-road cycling available.

So here I am now, loving my new position as Fulfillment Guy. It gives me a chance to do what I love, working with bikes and great people who share the same passion for bicycles as I do. Look out for me, your British Yinzer friend in the upcoming issues, or on the trails !

Do Bikers dream of Penfield Mood Devices? Or of a Wilbur Mercer Empathy Box for that matter?

A little to esoteric in the reference?

Let me explain.

Philip K Dick wrote about both devices in his classic Sci-Fi novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? A somewhat edited version for those who don’t care for the smell of ink on wood pulp would be the movie Blade Runner.

Ever since I read Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? I have been waiting eagerly for technology to catch up with the brilliant concept behind the Penfield Mood Device. Someone using this device can dial in emotions or even a regiment of feelings for the day and then go about their business. Get up each morning and dial in that you are a fantastic rider. No stunt is too hard or too impossible. Think how much more would be achieved if that pesky subconscious wasn’t always rearing up its nasty head with nagging thoughts like: “What really? You’re going to jump that?” Or “I don’t see this ending well at all…” One would never be slamming on the hand brakes and sailing over the handlebars from last minute second thoughts. We would all be transformed effortlessly into incredibly proficient riders.

The Empathy Box, on the other hand, is a little trickier. In the novel, the user grips onto handles attached to the box and is transported/fused into the subconscious of another person. In the book this happens to be Wilbur Mercer, but think about being telekinetically connect with a Pro Rider. How much easier could it be to pick up knowledge and skills when you are experiencing the ride via an expert rider? You would literally be ‘dialed in’ to borrow a phrase.

The draw back? Any injury sustained while piggy backing on the other’s subconscious while using the empathy box is physically manifested in the real world. Ouch. Better hope you pick the right pro to mind-meld with.

At any case, it doesn’t look as though science has been taking either of these ideas seriously-much to my dismay- so it looks like we are stuck learning to ride the old fashioned, and perhaps, more gratifying way. By trail and error. And hey, what’s a bloody knee/dirt in the eye every now and then?