Why I found a community for my introverted self in cycling
Outgoing is a term that I have had a mixed relationship with. At times, I appear that way. Deep down, though, I am far from that. I hate parties – from late-night ones thrown by college students to polite adult dinner parties – and balk at the idea of spending hours mingling with strangers. These activities drain me just as much as they give spark to others’ lives.
Cycling, seen at face value, is a solo sport. Teams, to the outsider, are not a thing. Even more lonely than an average cycling ride seems to be a 100-mile mountain bike race.
While I may have fallen in love with the sport because of the solo escape and focus it provides at times, I love it even more now for the community it has connected me with.
Most endurance races naturally have a local, grassroots vibe. From start line jokes of “chilling out together for a bit” to sharing food and tools, each event feels as much like a group challenge with the goal of getting everyone to the finish line as it does a solo pursuit. Every person in that race stands on the start line feeling bonded to the others who will be sharing in the same suffering. Ultimately, we all want to get back to the finish and feel the same accomplishment no matter whether we finished in seven or fourteen hours.
This bond extends from the start line to the race itself, during which your riding group becomes best of friends while acting like worst of enemies. At long events, you occasionally share jokes, talk about work or school, or simply complain to each other about the difficulty of the event. Whether through words or osmosis, a bond is formed that turns the post-race conversation into one of life-long friends rather than hours-old acquaintances. I recall one experience with Kiel Reijnen at a small race in Emporia, Kansas a month before Unbound. As someone I looked up to as a professional racer, Kiel was a dream race companion to spent 5 hours riding with. As it turns out he was an amazing companion but for a totally different reason; he was a great person. We talked about our riding history, the path to being a pro, the cycling community, and our futures. Now, when I see him at other races, he treats me like a friend. This type of interaction happens race after race.
Racing at Butte 100 last weekend helped to solidify why I love endurance mountain bike and gravel racing. With the 50-mile category starting 2 hours after us and using the second half of the 100-mile course, I spent the last few hours riding past some of those racers. Some looked fresh and ready to tackle another 50 miles. Others appeared to be on their last legs. No matter what, they all cheered me on, and I did the same to them. There is some connection made between the two racers when they both are in the “hurt locker” and just want to get home. My saying to one racer “this sucks” twenty minutes into a climb received a hearty “amen, brother.” Mutual support is what helped keep us going at our darkest moments. It made us smile, laugh, and feel, at times, like people out on a weekend ride rather than being in a long race.
After every race, the battle stories, embarrassing moments, and triumphs turn a solid connection into one as hard as a rock.
The friendships developed on the bike have helped me feel like part of a community while still being introverted. There is something about riding next to one other, sharing tough moments, and talking or joking at the end of a race that makes what would otherwise be dreaded, energy-draining conversations revitalizing moments that I cherish forever.