After participating in Ruta del Jefe last spring, my interest in cycling events was officially sparked. Sure, I had always found joy in riding alone, but over time, as I continue to discover the joy of riding with others, bike racing gradually became more of a possibility to me. Many of my teammates and friends in WMBA COS (Women’s Mountain Bike Association of Colorado Springs) that race mountain bikes would share photos and stories after each event. The photos all looked very cool, and when recounting the race, it seemed like a very personal experience. I drank it all in and my curiosity grew.
I signed up for the Beti Bike Bash, a women’s mountain bike race in metro Denver, on a whim. I knew a lot of WMBA ladies would be there, and I knew their presence would encourage me. There were a lot of factors on my side, but my mental blocks still persisted. This would be my first mountain bike race, and I had no idea what it would really be like. Sure, I had done a couple 5ks before, and spectated bike races too, but actually participating in a race was a lot more intimidating. Crashes would be dangerous at higher speeds; what would I do if I hurt myself and couldn’t work? What if my bike had a mechanical problem? The race would be two 4-mile laps, 8 miles total. Knowing myself, something could certainly go wrong within that time. With all these doubts in mind, I deftly navigated to the Beti Bike Bash website, entered my info, and registered for the race. It was the kind of thing I had to do without overthinking it, kind of like trying a strange food for the first time, or cannonballing into a swimming pool.
At this point I had about three weeks before the race; not long enough for any meaningful cardiovascular improvement, but plenty long enough to worry myself into circles. Either way, my life continued normally up to the race. I went to work, bought groceries, and rode my bike regularly. I squeezed in a couple mountain bike rides before race day, and took my bike to a shop for last minute repairs. The day before the race, I double and triple checked my equipment, telling myself over and over again that this preparation would serve me well.
On race day, a brisk Saturday in October, I woke up at the fine hour of 5 AM for breakfast and last minute preparations before carpooling to Denver with fellow WMBA members. We arrived right on time, and a couple other WMBA ladies were already there, decked out in our fabulous pink and purple cycling kits. It felt good to see familiar faces. We gathered at our WMBA tent and did stretches, chatted with each other, and shook off pre-race jitters.
I kept an ear out for the announcer, who was yelling out general hype over the speaker. Eventually they announced for Never Ever category racers to line up at the start. I rolled on over, joining the riders near the front – my age group would be going first, meaning we would also start off the race. The other Never Ever age groups would follow after us in waves, and the other race categories would start later in the morning. But for now, we were the stars of the show.
I shivered at the start line. I had shed my jacket, figuring I would get warmer while riding hard, but a light drizzle had started up. The cloudy sky hovered over everything. I wiped the rain from my now useless sunglasses and continued to tremble. I wanted to go ahead and start already, but at the same time my nerves were eating me alive. All I could do was wait until it was time, until the announcer yelled loud over the speakers and then we were off, riding hard to establish our positions.
We rode until the wide gravel road narrowed into singletrack, and were forced to line up single file on the foot wide trail. Somehow I had gotten stuck behind a slower rider, and I tried to find a good place to pass – but it wasn’t the easiest. The grass on either side of us was a bit too tall. Still, the rolling terrain was a joy to ride, even in the rain. I felt a sense of kinship with my fellow racers – we were all out here in the same weather, riding our bikes. Maybe some people were feeling competitive too, but my nerves were still running high, and I wasn’t fully in the racing for results mindset. Right now, I just wanted to push myself a little more than usual.
Eventually I passed the aforementioned rider, and it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be! This encouraged me to push a little harder, especially as the race continued on and riders became spread out along the course. I felt better having some extra space. I could just ride my own ride, and race my own race. As a first time racer, this was the most important thing to me.
I had pre-ridden this course before the race, and that helped immensely. I knew I could handle all the features, and I let myself push a little harder – grinding more uphill and easing off the brakes downhill. There were spectators cheering along the route too, and the race photographer got a couple sweet shots of me.
I cruised into lap two feeling pretty good. I had made some effort to take it a little easier on the first lap, and this lap would definitely determine my pacing abilities. I definitely wanted to ride the whole thing, all eight miles of it. It can’t be that hard, I kept telling myself, it’s just one more lap.
As I rode along, I suddenly noticed a dog standing in front of me, on the trail. Its owner stood off to the side, staring off into the distance. I braked hard and wondered if I would need to yell – I hadn’t anticipated something like this at all. Maybe the course hadn’t been marked off, or maybe the dog wanted to be on the trail too, where all the fun bike stuff was happening. I remember maneuvering around the dog as it ran off at the last second, while its owner made vague motions to bring it back. I didn’t want this isolated event to ruin my race, but it was a reminder that this race mostly just mattered to me. Random people and their dogs probably couldn’t care less if I wanted a PR or to stand on a podium. With this thought in mind, I finished the lap strong, pushing myself just a little harder all the way to the finish line, where I could hear cowbells and cheering.
I coasted back to our WMBA tent and put up my bike. People greeted me and asked how my race went, and I asked others the same. Most people had fun, which was perfect and ideal. The sky had started to clear up over the course of the morning, and as the Beginner category lined up at the start, I went to spectate and cheer them on. It felt a little crazy that I had just been in their position, and now here they were, ready to take on their own races.
Looking back on the race, it was fun enjoying the camaraderie of the race, spending time with WMBA teammates, and challenging myself. At the same time, it stressed me out being in a new and more competitive environment. A couple people had a more serious energy, like they were in it to win it. Some of the vendors also seemed unhappy, which made me wonder why they signed up for this in the first place. Part of me knows I will never race bikes for a living, so there is a certain freedom and joy in only racing because I want to.
In the end, I had a good time at the Beti Bike Bash. It was really fun to see a whole gang of women racing their bikes, and being part of such a gang has brought me joy through all of life’s ups and downs. Bike events are one way to bring many joy seekers together at once, amplifying these good vibes so that the adult problems of household bills and lower back pain could almost be forgotten. And on that Saturday, we weren’t just wives, girlfriends, partners, daughters, or mothers – we were mountain bikers, shredding it up. To me, that was the most important part of this event, and something I hope to keep seeing at bike events in my future.
Eunice Wang 