Paradigm Shifters

“Whoa. You’re hardcore.” It usually takes me a moment to realize they’re even talking to me, but when I look up they’ll point at my rear wheel and continue “…singlespeed. That’s crazy.” I appreciate these interactions, but they always leave me a little baffled. You’d think I’d been sentenced to ride this bike by some particularly cruel judge. I usually reply with some variation of “Not hardcore, just stupid. Can’t understand gears…”

Since I’m always on a ride when these interactions happen, I have plenty of time to ponder them. And I think I’m starting to understand why guys react this way (It’s almost exclusively men. When women notice, they tend to ask questions rather than offer opinions. For what that’s worth.) I think they’re unconsciously assuming mountain biking is only about speed and consequences. So whatever makes it faster, harder, or more dangerous is better. So, since my goal is surely the same speed and danger they’re after, I therefore must have no fear of the consequences whatsoever. But what if I’m operating on a completely different paradigm?

To quote Robert Frost, I chose “the road less traveled by” a long time ago, “and that has made all the difference”. There were these ads that Mongoose ran in the magazines, back in the early 90s, that featured illustrations of plants and animals. And photos of riders gazing out over beautiful vistas. Those spoke to me. That was what I wanted from a ride in the woods. Interacting with nature. Ads don’t look like that anymore.

I won’t say I’ve been totally unaffected. Racing was everything back then. These were the XC glory days of Tomac and Furtado. I tried it. Really stunk at first. But there was something validating about it, too. That was a time long before Strava, so perhaps what hooked me was the objective reality of it. I wasn’t the fastest – but I wasn’t the slowest. (Even though sometimes I literally was – but that’s a story for another time.)

A few years later, freeride and the north shore became all anyone cared about. Since I rode freestyle BMX during my teen years, the more individual aspect of it appealed to me. But with each passing month (Because I experienced it mostly through magazines. Remember those?) the riding got more and more high-consequence. And I wanted an hour in the woods, not a battle with existential dread.

Perhaps that’s because around this same time, I was finishing graduate school and worrying about what to do with my life. After 8 years of higher education and knowing exactly what came next, I was realizing that I had no idea and – though I didn’t know it at the time – starting to panic. I’d always been an anxious person, but this was something else entirely.

The exact details of my mental health aren’t important here, but what I came to understand during that time was that in a very practical way, the outdoors relaxed my mind and helped me escape the anxiety far better than anything else. I began to see my rides not as “fun” or a time to punish myself, but as something healing. I stopped feeling that vague guilt of avoiding responsibilities, and began to see the time in the woods as something essential. Less like a workout, and more like therapy.

Did I immediately quit racing? Did I suddenly stop taking any risks? Is every day a spin through the daisies where I never breathe hard or raise my pulse? Of course not. And I won’t pretend that I was or am unaffected by the same cycling trends as everybody else. But what I did do was begin to see riding as something more than judgment. I stopped measuring myself (as much) by whether I was going as fast as possible or whether I needed to prove myself (to who?) by riding that steep section or taking this drop. And the bike? It simply changed as a reflection of years of those Robert Frost choices (and a lot of questionable logic which I’ll spare you.)

Am I hardcore? Maybe – but not in the way they mean.

Words and Pictures - Rob Kristoff